The Whisperer. Elsa Winckler

had dared to tease her when Imke was around.

      They grew up together, went to university together and both went overseas for two years to work, make money, experience different cultures. Afterwards, they both returned to teach at their alma mater, the High School in Caledon.

      “And? What does the horse say?” Imke teased.

      “He’s alone, bored and on top of it, his boss is …”

      “Cute? Gorgeous? Sexy? All three?” giggled Imke.

      Cilla laughed. “Yeah, all three. He thinks I’m a witch and is about to cast a spell on his horses. I only hope for the horse’s sake, they find someone else who can help.”

      “Well, it’s his loss. Are you on your way to the farm?”

      “Yes, I am. Will you be able to help this afternoon?” Cilla asked.

      “Of course. I’ve already spoken to your mom and I’m spending the night at your parents’ place. It really is amazing what you and your parents have managed to do over the last six months. I am in awe.”

      “Every time I look at the happy and playful horses we have now, I’m so glad we were able to save them from the terrible conditions they’d had to endure,” Cilla said. “It cost lots of money and we’ve spent many hours on grooming and nurturing them, but they’re such a joy now.”

      “And now that you’ve managed to get the kids to visit the horses, your dreams have come true. To help now and again with your project is such a humbling and satisfying experience. I gladly help out when I can. Drive safely – I’ll see you later,” Imke called out gaily before ringing off.

      Cilla smiled as she put her phone away. In collaboration with social workers from Cape Town and various sponsors, they were able to start the programme in which they brought traumatised children and the horses together.

      Over the last few weeks they had also started working with an autistic little boy. The fact that Cilla’s mother was a well-known and respected psychologist, had made the whole process a lot easier.

      The healing process they’d been witnessing over the last few weeks was remarkable. Each trembling smile on a defenseless child’s face made her realize that all the effort, money and time were so worth it and she had a hard time keeping her tears at bay.

      Cilla took the turn-off on to the N2 on her way to Caledon. Fortunately she didn’t have to drive too far to Cameron’s farm this morning. The farm was a short distance from Villiersdorp, a small town about an hour’s drive from Caledon. It was a beautiful road, and this time of the day, there was hardly any traffic. Which meant she’d be in time for the children this afternoon.

      She passed the short-cut wheat fields. It was the end of March and one of these days, just before the first winter rains, the farmers would sow their wheat.

      From the top of the next hill, she had a lovely view of the mountains and hills of the Overberg. Close by was Babylon’s Peak, a well-known mountain peak that rose high above the farmlands. She couldn’t help smiling. To her, this piece of land would always be the most beautiful on the planet. She stepped on the petrol; she wanted to get home.

      Her mind drifted back to the farm she’d just visited. The man’s eyes were the most amazing shade of blue she’d ever seen. He looked so, so familiar. But where would she have seen him before? She’d ask her mother. Maybe they saw one another when they’d been kids. It was as if … Irritated with herself, she shook her head. Surely she would have remembered if she’d ever touched those black curls? Wouldn’t she?

      “Pure bliss,” sighed Cilla and, stretching herself out, took a sip of the chilled wine her dad had just handed her.

      The sun had just disappeared behind the mountains and they were all sitting outside. Imke and she had spent the whole afternoon with the kids and the horses and still had time to take their favourite horses for a gallop afterwards. Now her head was clear after the week and the frustration of the morning. Her dad was making a fire, they were having a barbeque later.

      “Okay, you’ve had enough time. Tell us about the cute, gorgeous, sexy man you met this morning,” Imke teased.

      Her mom started spluttering and Cilla groaned.

      “What man?” her mom asked when she could talk. Her dad came closer, holding a fork threateningly in his hand.

      “What man?” he asked as well.

      “See what you’ve done? I’ll never hear the end of this,” Cilla grumbled.

      “What man?” her dad asked again, swinging the fork in the air.

      Cilla sighed. “A few days ago, a stray dog scared the kids at school and …”

      “Cilla talked to the dog and calmed him down in front of the whole school. The kids talked about it for days,” Imke interrupted.

      “Anyway,” Cilla tried to continue with her story, but Imke continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted.

      “One of the matric boys mentioned the incident to his dad. His dad is a manager on a farm near Villiersdorp and the owner has a difficult stallion. The manager asked Cilla whether she’d have a look and … I don’t know the rest, you’ll have to explain,” Imke said.

      “Oh, may I really talk now?” Cilla asked sarcastically.

      “Come on, you don’t talk fast enough, I just gave the background. So, what happened then?” Imke asked.

      Cilla laughed. It was no use getting angry with Imke. When things didn’t move quickly enough for her, she took over.

      “I went there early this morning, but the owner doesn’t believe in what I do, he doesn’t like the fact that I’m a woman and … well, he basically has a problem with everything. He thinks I’ll cast a spell on his horse. Apparently, he didn’t know I was visiting. Ken, the manager asked me to have a look at the horse and the owner was very angry when he found out. His vocabulary is … explicit.”

      “Did you look at the horse?” her dad asked.

      “Yes, I did and I can help him but if the owner doesn’t believe in what I do, there isn’t much I can do. You know how it works.”

      “What is wrong with the horse, do you think?” her dad asked.

      “He …” Cilla shook her head and laughed. “You won’t believe me, but the stallion has a picture of a mare in his head and I … well, it sounds bizarre, but I could swear it was of Maggie.”

      “Our Maggie?” her dad asked, clearly amazed.

      “Yeah – a chestnut mare with a black mane. I know, I know. There are probably lots of other mares who look exactly like that, but what are the odds? The only way it’s even remotely possible, is that he probably caught her scent, but how? I should have asked them where he came from. Anyway, he is also very bored and wants to be able to run free.”

      Her dad nodded. It was never necessary to explain in detail what a horse’s problem was, but her dad knew what she meant.

      “Who is the owner?” her mother asked.

      “Cameron Rahl, he farms −”

      “… near Villiersdorp. On the farm Yonder Hill,” her mother murmured.

      Surprised, Cilla stared at her mother. “Yes, do you know him? I did wonder …”

      “No, you won’t remember, you were a baby at the time but I knew his mother well. We were at school together and after we moved here, I visited her once or twice but we lost touch. Her death was such a tragic event. They farmed with horses, she adored them. They had two sons. The youngest was about ten years old, I think, when she was thrown off a horse and died instantly. We visited once or twice afterwards, but the husband was completely devastated, I don’t think he ever recovered from his wife’s death. I remember being so sorry for the two little boys who had to grow up without a mother. You