A Contract of Honor
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 5: Lessons in Trust and Language
The three weeks following Steward’s return from Tucson established a new rhythm at the Grainger ranch, a daily choreography of healing and tentative trust. The legal papers remained a silent menace, locked away in his desk, but in the canyon, the law that governed them was Maria’s gentle wisdom and Steward’s unwavering commitment to his promise.
Maria was the foundation. She bathed the girls, nursed the lingering signs of malnutrition with fresh milk and vegetables, and worked tirelessly on their shared language: Spanish. But it was in the quieter hours, after the main chores, that Steward began the painstaking process of fatherhood.
He started simply: with the horses. Steward believed that trust, unlike a legal contract, could not be bought; it had to be earned through consistent, shared respect.
“Horses teach respect,” he explained to Elara and Miya one cool afternoon in the corral, speaking slowly in English, while Maria stood nearby, ready to bridge any gap with Spanish.
Elara (12) listened, her stance still wary but no longer fearful. Miya (8), bolder now, immediately mirrored Steward’s movements.
Steward led them to the small, separate paddock. He had chosen two mares specifically for their calm temperaments: a gentle, sturdy gray mare for Elara, which he named ‘Silas’ (a private, bitter joke about the lawyer), and a small, quiet, red-dun mare for Miya, which he simply called ‘Dusty’.
He presented them to the girls. “Yours,” he announced, pointing to each animal. “Your responsibility. Your lesson.”
Elara’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine surprise finally breaking through her guarded reserve. In her previous life, horses meant war, flight, or hard labor under duress—never a gift, never a partner.
Steward spent the next week teaching them the basics of horsemanship: how to approach the animal calmly, the proper method for brushing and feeding, and the critical technique of saddling ... He taught them the anatomy of the horse, pointing and naming: “Mane. Fetlock. Cinch. Bridle.”
The Yaqui sisters, quick students of survival, picked up the vocabulary rapidly. This was learning that directly connected to the world around them, making it meaningful. Elara mastered the brushing first, her movements deliberate and focused. Miya, though smaller, would often run ahead to meet Dusty at the fence, talking to her in a singsong mix of Spanish and broken English.
After they had mastered basic groundwork, Steward moved to riding. He taught them to ride bareback first, to feel the gait and balance of the horse.
“Ride quiet,” he instructed, his hands guiding Elara’s placement on Silas’s back. “The horse trusts your voice, not your fear.”
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