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ridden for years. Sarah was amazed at the grace and ease with which her son rode his pony—no fear, no hesitation in letting the animal know what he wanted. Every once in awhile he called out to ask her how to get his mount to do what he needed it to. David asked for no advice and somehow he wasn’t being thrown to the ground or run off with. Sarah knew she had psyched herself out with horses many years ago. Now she had living proof that it was all in her head. She watched John turn his pony off the road into the bordering field to explore it at a trot. Her cry had done her good. She was still worried, but the tension in her gut seemed to have eased. When John trotted up beside her she realized she had been holding her breath.
    “Isn’t this great, Mom?” he asked, his face pink with fresh air and his exertion. “Isn’t Star a great pony? We gotta bring him home with us.” With that, he nudged the pony into a trot on the dirt road to ride next to his dad.
    Is it just Americans who think in terms of ownership when they like something? She found herself thinking. Or is that a legacy of this generation of indulged children?
    John pointed to a running rabbit along the rock wall. Sarah smiled, and she could feel the knot in her stomach diminish. She could also feel Dan loosen up when she smiled.
    “Poor Dan,” she said. “Your friends got happy-go-lucky green riders and you got the basket case.” She leaned down and patted his neck.
    David trotted back to her. “I think there’s a farm up ahead,” he said. “If there’s anyone home, we can find out about our caretakers.”
    Sarah squinted in the direction he was indicating. “Maybe they are our caretakers,” she said.
    Within minutes the three of them turned down a long dirt drive that led to a small cottage with a barn, like their own place. A dog barked and ran to meet them.
    “He looks unfriendly,” John said.
    “He’s just alerting his owners,” David said. “Aren’t you, boy?”
    An old man stepped into the courtyard and silenced the dog with a hand signal as they rode up.
    “Hello,” David said. “We’re your neighbors from Cairn Cottage.” He smiled broadly. The man said nothing.  
     “The Americans?” David continued. “We’re renting the cottage.” He turned to Sarah and said, “Maybe he doesn’t speak English?”  
    “Might only speak Irish,” Sarah said. She smiled at the man who only narrowed his eyes at her. His fingers tightened on his dog’s collar.
    “I think we’re freaking him out, David. Let’s leave.”
    “I thought the Irish were on our side,” John said, as they all turned their horses and started back towards the main road.
    Just then, an old woman came out into the yard. “Hello,” she called to them. “Are you the Americans next door?”
    The riders halted and looked back at her.
    “Yes, that would be us,” David said.
    “Oh, come in, come in,” she said. “You’re all very welcome. And this your little lad, is it? What a handsome boy! Come in all of you.” She thumped the old man on the arm. “Have you gone totally daft, man? They’re the Americans . And you just standing there like some kind of ejeet .”
    They steered their horses back to the cottage. The woman wore a long woolen skirt and looked like she’d stepped out of the last century. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel tucked into her waistband. “Oh, it’s good they’re getting some exercise,” she said, patting Dan on the neck. “Sure, it’s one good bit of luck in all this that you’re not useless around horses.” She laughed loudly and winked at John. “Come in, come in,” she repeated. “Seamus will take the horses.” She touched the older man on the shoulder and spoke abruptly to him in Gaelic.
    Sarah dismounted and handed the reins to Seamus. “I’m Sarah Woodson,” she said, “and this is my husband David and our son John.”
    The older woman stuck her hand out and they shook.
    “I’m Dierdre McClenny,” she