A Good Horse (6 page)

I said, “Do horses do that to each other?”

“Never saw it,” said Daddy.

Jefferson might as well have slapped his hands together,
congratulating himself on a job well done—that was the look on his face as he walked away. He touched noses with Lester, touched noses with Jack, and touched noses with Lincoln, then he trotted to a nice pile of hay and gave himself a reward. The dog, still evidently embarrassed, made his way to the far end of the gelding pasture and slipped under the bottom railing of the fence. Then he disappeared over the brow of the hill.

“Good riddance,” said Daddy.

Mom didn’t say anything.

Daddy said, “I guess we should put the food we leave out for the barn cats up high somewhere. That’s probably what the dog is looking for.”

“Probably,” said Mom. “But I’m not giving them anything much, just some leftover vegetables and some bread.”

“If he’s starving, that will be enough to attract him.”

“If he’s starving …” But she didn’t finish her sentence. Daddy was strict about loose dogs. If they were going to live like foxes or bobcats, they had to live like them and kill their own food. We wouldn’t leave food out for a bobcat, would we? If a cougar couldn’t make it on his own, we wouldn’t encourage him to come by for a meal, would we? Wild was wild, and there was no use pretending it wasn’t. And a stray dog could have distemper or even rabies. Mom and I knew all of these things. But it was a nice dog. Running, you could even say it was a beautiful dog that could use a bath and a brushing. But we didn’t say anything. Daddy checked over Lester and I checked over Jack, and then we went in the house and finished our supper.

O
N
S
ATURDAY, WE LOADED
B
LACK
G
EORGE INTO THE (NEWLY
washed) trailer and drove him, with the (newly washed) truck, out to the stable where Miss Slater worked. It was sunny when we left home, a bright, warmish day, perfect for riding, but as soon as we turned toward the coast, we could see a bank of fog lying like a gray pillow over exactly the spot we were headed toward. It made me shiver just to look at it. But Mom had sent along an extra sweater, so I knew I would be fine. Miss Slater had never seen Black George before, so we gave him a bath, pulled his mane, and combed out his tail, which was long and luxurious. I had also cleaned the saddle and bridle. We had not clipped the insides of his ears or his whiskers. Daddy said that a horse living out needed the hair in his ears to keep flies away
and the whiskers to find the grass. He kept a straight face as he said this, but I laughed, anyway.

On the way over, I did some homework. We had lots more homework in eighth grade than seventh, and sometimes, it was hard to fit it in. I had a book report due Monday about
Great Expectations
. I had not been able to make head or tail of
Great Expectations
, partly because I kept dozing off when I was trying to read it. I thought if I read while we were driving, I might stay awake. Our next book after
Great Expectations
was going to be a play,
Julius Caesar
. Alexis and Barbara Goldman had decided that in order to get through it, some of us were going to come over to their house and read it out loud, but I had to make something of
Great Expectations
first. As we were driving through the damp pines, I could just get glimpses of the ocean from time to time, and I tried to imagine a big old boat sitting out there, with a family living in it like a cabin, which is something that happens in
Great Expectations
. I couldn’t.

Miss Slater was finishing up with a lesson—a girl on a chestnut pony cantering around the ring with a determined look on her face. At one point, the pony slowed down, and the girl smacked him a good one with the whip. The pony sped up, with his ears pinned, but the girl stayed on, and the pony kept going. When they were finished, Miss Slater said, “That child is only seven, and I think this is her sixth lesson, but she keeps her heels down, and she
is
determined. So, let’s see the young man.”

She was referring to Black George. Daddy backed him out of the trailer and took off his lightweight blanket (which we had also washed). Miss Slater went, “Hmmmm.” But it was a long
hmm
, which went from well-I-wonder-what-they’ve-come-up-with-now to my-goodness!

Black George hadn’t been away from our place in months—not since Daddy brought him in from Oklahoma—so you would expect him to look bright, and maybe be a little nervous, but he stood quietly and evenly on all four legs, his neck arched and his ears pricked. When Miss Slater stepped up to him and began to run her hands over him, he sniffed her curiously but not impolitely (a curious horse is always better than a nervous horse) and then gave a sigh. She said, “How does he jump?”

“I guess we’ll see,” said Daddy.

We saddled him up and led him to one of the back rings, not one of the show rings, but nice, on the edge of the forest. I noticed that the little girl came along and climbed on the railings to watch. She still had that serious look on her face. Miss Slater called out to her, “Ellen! Don’t make your mom look for you again!”

Ellen shouted, “It’s okay!” She didn’t move. I had to smile.

There were only about five jumps in the arena, all standards and poles except for one white panel, but there was a chicken coop along the fence line, and out past that one I could see some jumps in a field. Miss Slater called, “Let’s see his trot!”

I thought about Jem Jarrow for a moment, then tweaked the inside rein just enough for Black George to lift his inside shoulder and step his inside hind a little in front of his outside hind. His whole body got lighter and more supple, and his chin tucked. We trotted a circle to the right and then a circle to the left, then straight down the long side of the arena, stretching out a bit. At the end of the arena, I just squeezed my fingers and he came right back to me, shortening his step. Then I crossed the arena in front of Miss Slater and Daddy and asked
Black George for a canter. He was happy to oblige. It went like this for maybe ten minutes, me trying to be Jem Jarrow, and Black George just being his perfect self. I was glad that, of all the geldings, he seemed to be Jack’s best friend; I hoped his good nature would rub off a little bit.

While I rode Black George (and Ellen stood on the fence, staring at me as hard as she could), Daddy and Miss Slater moved the jump standards and paced out the distance between them. I could see that Daddy was watching Miss Slater and asking her a few questions. Pretty soon, they had everything set up.

There were five jumps in a much simpler pattern than we’d had at home, just two along one long side, and then another two, farther apart, along the other long side. The fifth jump was set diagonally almost but not quite in the middle of the arena. There were two verticals—just poles, like a fence; an oxer, which is two verticals right together, the one in front lower and the one in back higher, really just a wide jump; and the panel hanging between two standards. The jump across the center was a double crossbar—that is, like an oxer but made of two sets of crossed poles.

Miss Slater told me to circle at one end of the arena, then trot down over the double crossbar, which was very low, about a foot high and a foot wide, and then halt, turn, and canter back over the jump. Black George did this well, took each pair of jumps, vertical to oxer, then took the second pair backward (though Miss Slater adjusted the fence), oxer to vertical. No problem. Black George was ready for the whole course.

It was easy—eight jumps: down over 1 to 2, through the middle, around 3 and back over it, then a wide turn at the end of the arena, and up over 4 and 5. Short turn back over 3, another short turn over 5, and around the end and down over 1, except that I got confused after 5 the first time, lost my way, and had to stop, because the course went from looking like five jumps set in a pattern to looking like a bowl of spaghetti. I came to a halt.

Miss Slater said, “You had this problem last spring. Just take your time and look at the turns.” She lifted her hand and made two of her fingers walk. Then she turned toward the jumps and held her hand up and walked her fingers through the air around the course. Then she looked at me and waited. Finally, I did the same thing. As soon as I started to do it, I could see Daddy out of the corner of my eye, nodding his head. But I felt like an idiot.

It worked, though. I got over the course, and I sat up in
the corners, and when I was finished, Ellen shouted, “Hurray!” and Miss Slater said, “Very good.” Then she and Daddy put the jumps up. When Miss Slater was putting the jump up over by Ellen, she talked to her very strongly. Ellen looked at her and then shook her head. I was walking Black George around, and I couldn’t help smiling. I went over the course again. This time the jumps were higher, but still not terribly high, maybe three feet. Black George couldn’t have been having a better time. When I brought him down to the walk and walked past Ellen, she yelled, “I want that horse! Is that horse for sale? I love him! Stop! I want to pat him!”

I stopped by the fence. She stretched out her hand and stroked his neck. Miss Slater marched over and stood in front of Ellen with her hands on her hips. She said, “Ellen Leinsdorf! You are being very naughty! Please don’t make me take you back to the big ring! I’m sure your mother is looking all over for you!”

The expression on Ellen’s face said, “Let her look.” Just then, Daddy walked over and stood in front of Ellen. Daddy was not smiling, and I knew he was going to come up with something about honoring thy father and mother and “Obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord,” but instead, he said, “Ellen, how about if I walk you over to the parking lot, and if your mother is there, we can ask her to come over here and watch the horse.” Ellen jumped down from the fence and slid through it, between the two bottom slats. She might have been the smallest seven-year-old I’d ever seen. She put her hand in Daddy’s, which surprised him, and they started walking. As they crossed the arena, I could hear her
talking a mile a minute. Miss Slater said, “She’s not a naughty child, but she is stubborn as a tree stump. Now, Abby, while they’re gone, let’s try some flying changes.”