A Good Horse (20 page)

All day Friday, I made myself not think about those jumps, or the fact that Saturday we were going to go back and do it again. At one point, Mom said, “You’re awfully quiet,” but I didn’t say anything. Daddy was around, too, so she didn’t tell me anything about Danny. In the afternoon, I tried to clean tack, but sitting there rubbing the leather gave me too much time to think, so I stopped that. Only when the man came to look at Sunshine did I sort of forget about it, and that was because the man fell off, and I had to run and catch Sunshine and then listen to Daddy trying to persuade the man that Sunshine hadn’t “bucked” him off. And she hadn’t. He had been holding tight to the rein, and she had put her head down, and he just fell over her shoulder. Of course we were glad to see him go, but there was not going to be a sale that weekend.

The thing about school was that you were always looking forward to the days off—they were going to be so great—but then sometimes they were very long and seemed to be sort of a waste of time. When I had finished my work on Friday, I couldn’t believe that it was mid-afternoon and I was looking for a book to read and having no luck—all of my books were about horses, except for that Nancy Drew. Another irritating thing was that Stella had invited me and Gloria to spend the night Friday night, and I had turned her down without even asking Mom,
just because I didn’t think I would have the patience to sit around reading
Seventeen
and watching
The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
, which was a show they loved, all the time talking about Stella’s diet, which had been very successful—she had lost twelve pounds and now was the same size as one of those
Seventeen
models, though how she actually knew that, I didn’t understand.

Finally, I went to bed early. I thought it would be good to get to sleep, but it wasn’t. I dreamt of Jack getting his hock caught in barbed wire, up by the calves and the cows, and in the dream, Mom kept saying, “How’d he get up there? I can’t figure out how he got up there. Did he open the gate? Where are the other horses?” and I couldn’t understand why she just kept talking about that when he had blood running down his leg.

So, Saturday morning we had all the horses fed and watered, and Black George loaded up by eight. I was yawning and yawning.

Daddy said, as we were pulling out of our driveway and turning onto the road, “The next show is in two weeks. Miss Slater is wondering if you might take half a day off Friday afternoon and go in a couple more classes.”

I said I could do that.

“Will you have any tests that day?”

“I don’t know. That’s two weeks away!”

“I can’t say that I like your tone.” His own tone was low but meaningful, and I knew what it meant, but I said, anyway, “Well, what am I supposed to say? I can’t predict the future!”

Daddy knew just how to drive a trailer—you do everything
smoothly, and you are always aware of the horse in the back—so, although he took a deep breath, he looked for a spot and then carefully pulled over, came to an easy halt, put the truck into neutral, and turned to me. He said, “Ruth Abigail, I am going to give you one chance to change your disrespectful attitude.”

I sat there. Although he was not counting to ten out loud, I knew he was counting to ten in his head—I was, too. Around the time that we both got to eight, I said, “I’m sorry for being grumpy.” This was just on the edge of being the right thing to say. I would have gotten in more trouble for saying “Sorry!” and he was looking for something like, “Daddy, I am really, really sorry I have been disrespectful and contrary.” The edge was about all I could manage. He sighed and then, after a moment, looked in his sideview mirror, and pulled onto the road again. Back in the trailer, Black George whinnied. We had gone at least another five miles in silence when Daddy said, “Well, try to find out, and set it up ahead of time.”

I said, “Okay.” That was all we talked about on the way to the stables.

It was Saturday morning, so the stables were busy—lots of horses going in and out of the barns. It was a nice day, too—one of those days in autumn that are warm and sunny and calm, no fog, and the air bright, so trail rides were going out along with everything else. I saw Ellen running around, and I saw that girl Sophia Rosebury having a lesson with Colonel Hawkins. She was on the chestnut, who seemed to be doing fine today, but I didn’t have time to watch because Jane came running up to us. She said, “Oh dear, the rings are jammed today! It seems like every single boarder suddenly remembered what they’re spending
to keep these animals. Look at Rodney!” She gestured toward the mounting block, where Rodney was holding a small black horse while a woman at least Daddy’s age struggled to get on. Jane said, “The colonel has put Rodney absolutely in charge of Mrs. Jackson, who started out life as Miss Gould and has married railroads, airplanes, and hotels with equal lack of success. The colonel thinks Rodney can procure himself a sinecure.”

I didn’t ask what this was, because I could tell by the look on Daddy’s face that it was something bad.

“Anyway,” said Jane, “we will have to do the best we can under trying conditions.”

We now had the tack on and adjusted. Black George’s ears were forward, and as Daddy hoisted me up, Black George almost walked out from under me in his eagerness to get to the arena. But he was nice. He was like Alexis and Barbara weaving their way down the hall at school—excuse me; sorry; I don’t even see you because I see my destination over there, but I am a nice horse, so I won’t run over you or knock you down. We went on the light rein—we did not go to the farthest ring, where we had gone the first day (there was a group lesson in there) but to the one next to it, which was smallish but didn’t have any trees in it. As I entered the gate, I heard Jane say, “Goodness, Ellen! Have you been following us? Hasn’t your mother picked you up yet?”

“She’s coming at noon.”

I turned to look. Jane had her hands on her hips. “Noon! That’s almost two and a half hours from now! What are you going to do until then?”

Ellen shrugged, but I could tell what she was going to do—be
a pest. Daddy said, “Ellen, you stand here with me while Abby has her lesson.” When she went over to him, he picked her up and sat her on the top board of the fence. I wandered to the end of the arena and then made a circle, shortening my reins and asking Black George to soften and gather himself together. He was so eager to get started that I hardly had to ask him. That’s the way it is with a horse who has lots of energy—he feels ready to go and it’s easy to organize him, but it’s also easy to ask for too much and get a buck or some kicks.

But none of that with Black George—he picked up a courteous and willing trot, and we trotted all around the jumps, which Jane was arranging. When we passed Daddy, I heard him say to Ellen, “No, you have to be quiet and still. If you get excited, you can scare the horse. Don’t you know that by now?”

I didn’t hear what she said in reply.

Once Jane had the jumps set the way she liked them, she went to the far end of the ring and set a crossbar with a pole on either side. I was to trot over the first pole, canter the crossbar, and canter over the second pole, making sure to be in the exact center of every pole. I did this twice in each direction. Then she made the second pole into a small vertical, and I was to trot the first pole, canter the crossbar and the second pole. Finally, she made three jumps—crossbar, vertical, oxer, all one stride apart. Black George thought this was wonderful fun, trot, canter, jump, canter, jump, canter, jump, canter away—what could be easier, it was like doing three push-ups for him. Then she gave me my first course. There were no weird jumps in this arena—all standards and poles, white and natural-colored. The course made a big S curve, then a long loop, with the triple
in-and-out second to last, just before a big oxer down the long side. The jumps weren’t very high, so I sat up and made Black George gather his stride and go straight down the middle of every jump and very neatly around the corners. He was good, but bored by the jumps.

She put them up one hole, and we did it again.

I was having a good time, and it was funny to watch Daddy and Ellen. When she said, “Get me down!” he said, “Excuse me?” And she stared, or rather glared, at him for a second, then said, “Please, Mr. Lovitt, I would like to get down,” so he took her down. I saw Jane smile at this.

But then she put the jumps up. It was like I had an eagle eye, even though I was having a good time, and when she put the jumps up, my temperature rose, too. I took off my sweatshirt. This time, I only barely remembered the way around. It was like my knowing the fact that she had put the jumps up got in the way of the course, literally—I kept seeing in my mind that the poles were moving and I couldn’t remember anything else. But I only missed one jump—I cantered right past the one before the in-and-out, a white vertical. When I finished the course, she said, “That’s okay, you can get that one the next time around.”

And she put the jumps up.

Daddy was busy talking to Ellen—I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Jane was walking toward me, brushing her hands off and smiling. The trees at one side of the ring were rustling, and some horse and rider were standing outside of the ring, watching us. I said, “How high are they?” and without really thinking about it, Jane said, “Oh, four feet, something like that,”
and it was like I couldn’t think anymore. I made a noise of some kind, maybe a groan, and Jane looked up at me. She said, “These are easy for him. You’ve done this before. Now, just the same—”

“I can’t do it.”

“Sure you can. You did do it. More than once.”

“I don’t care. I can’t do it.”

“Abby! Don’t be—”

I knew she wanted to say “silly,” but she didn’t. Instead, she stood there looking at me, thinking about what to do. Daddy came into where we were standing. Jane said, “She doesn’t want to go any higher. It’s no problem for the horse, of course, but …”

Daddy pushed his cowboy hat back on his head and looked up at me. He was about to say something when a voice called out, “I’ll ride him.”

We all looked around. There, by the gate, was Sophia Rosebury, and she was already in the process of springing off her chestnut. She was the person on a horse that I had seen standing there. I didn’t say anything because I knew Daddy would shake his head no, and then we would have to figure something else out—maybe Jane would get on Black George—but Daddy didn’t shake his head no. He looked at Jane, who looked at him, and said, “Well, this is as good a time as any.”

As good a time as any for what?

Sophia ran up the stirrups on her saddle and brought the reins over her horse’s head, and led him into the arena. She had on Newmarket boots, which were boots with rubber feet and canvas legs. Lots of people had them for training, but you
couldn’t wear them in a show. When she got closer, I saw that hers did not have rubber feet; they had regular leather feet, which meant they were custom-made.

Daddy said, “I suppose that’s true.”

I suppose what’s true?

Sophia and her horse got closer, and then off in the distance, I saw Colonel Hawkins coming in our direction at a fast walk. I thought he would stop her for sure, but when he got to the gate, he said, “Ready?”

Ready for what?

Jane shrugged and said, “Well, he’s warmed up. Might as well.”

Daddy glanced at me and said, “Well, let’s try it. Abby, why don’t you get down and—”

“Get down off Black George?”

“You heard me.”

And I did. And if I hadn’t already gotten in trouble for being sassy that morning, I might have said something or just sat there, but I had, so I didn’t. I dismounted—a little slowly, I admit—and traded reins with Sophia. I held the chestnut, and she mounted Black George from the ground. She had incredibly long, thin legs, and she just put her foot up there and bounced on. When she picked up the reins, Black George pricked his ears and headed to the rail without a backward glance. Well, a horse can make a backward glance without turning his head, but not Black George, not this time. He was set to jump, and he didn’t care if it was me on his back or Sophia. In the meantime, the chestnut sneezed all over my shoulder.

Sophia knew the course, I suppose from watching—she had been going to shows for a long time, so maybe she was fast about learning courses. She began her trot circle, went up into the canter, galloped down around the S curve, then around the loop, slowing down a bit for the triple in-and-out, and then sitting up and asking for a bigger stride on the last fence. For me, it was amazing to see Black George jump because, as I realized while watching them, I never had before—I had always been the one riding. Sophia was a good rider—her form was perfect over every fence, her back straight, her heels down, her eyes looking where she was going, and her hands always alongside his black neck, the reins straight like taut threads between her hands and his mouth. Yes, she looked like a stick figure, but it was the sort of stick figure you draw to show what the right way to do something is. Over each jump, her braids flopped on her back.

But really, for me, the one to watch was Black George. I could see why Jane and Daddy were surprised I was scared, because he just bent his knees and went over the jump. And if you couldn’t tell by his form that it was easy and he was having a good time, then you could tell by the look on his face, which was perfectly calm. Horses have all kinds of looks on their faces as they are going to the jump—I had seen that at shows. With some, their eyes are wide and their ears are up and their nostrils are flared, and maybe they will refuse. Others look dull and others look determined, and others even look tricky—Sophia’s chestnut, who was breathing down the back of my neck right then, looked tricky that time, which meant no expression on his face and then his eyes narrowed and he was out of there.
I saw one horse who jumped all the jumps but was grinding his bit the whole time. Black George had the look of a horse who was taking care of his job and who liked his job. Just watching him made that skittery feeling of “four” and “feet” go away.

Then Sophia turned him in a circle and brought him down to the trot. She trotted over to us, did her leg-over-the-neck dismount while Ellen was clapping and shouting “Hurray.” Then Sophia said to Colonel Hawkins, “Yeah, I like him.” She threw him the reins. She didn’t say a word to me when I handed her the reins of the chestnut gelding, nor did she give the gelding a pat or say hi to him. She just said to the colonel, “I’m taking this one to be put away. I’ll get on the mare.” And off they went.