A Summer Without Horses (15 page)

She wiped her nose with a tissue again and stuffed it in her pocket. Then she pushed her hard hat back a little and swept her arm across her forehead. All the motion and commotion in the saddle confused poor Southwood, who broke into a trot when he was supposed to be cantering. Bea hit him with her crop. That didn’t seem fair to me since I didn’t think it had been his fault in the first place, but it did make him try all the harder to please her.

I leaned against the fence of the schooling ring, silently watching Bea have a dreadful lesson. I realized that a lot of good riders have bad days, including me. Maybe it was the pressure of the show only two days away, but I didn’t think so. I thought there was something else and the more I watched her, the more sure I was. She coughed, sniffled, and wiped for a full hour. I thought she was sick and didn’t want to admit it.

After an hour, Dorothy suggested a fifteen-minute break. Bea rode Southwood right over to me so I could
hold his head while she dismounted. That was when I got a close look at her. She was as pale as a ghost. I also noticed some bumps around her neck. They were like little teeny blisters.

“Beatrice, are you all right?” I asked, forgetting for a moment that I wasn’t worthy of her attention.

“Of course I’m all right,” she snapped.

“But those bumps—” I touched my neck to indicate where I’d noticed them.

Her hand went to her neck reflexively, and the second she felt the bump, she glared at me and then at Dorothy.

“Flea bites!” she said disgustedly. “You people can’t keep the stable free of pests for animals or people.”

You
people
? It occurred to me to wonder who she had in mind, but her attitude was so rotten that I didn’t really care. It’s true that horses do sometimes attract pests that can annoy people as well, but I’d never seen a flea bite that looked like what was on her neck.

By nine o’clock, Bea had had it. I was pretty sure she was too sick to continue; she mumbled something outrageous about having to rid herself of pests and announced that she was going home, presumably to take a bath in DDT. At that point, I didn’t care what she did as long as she didn’t do it here. I was glad to see her go. If Dorothy shared my enthusiasm, she didn’t tell me.

“Too bad. If a rider has a bad lesson before a show, she’s more likely to lack confidence in the competition.”

“Bea, lack confidence? I don’t think that’s her problem, Dorothy. I wouldn’t worry about that one.”

“I guess I’m overreacting, huh? Well, Southwood still needs his exercise. Want to ride him?”

I did, of course. I wanted to ride him about as much as I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole life (except for owning Starlight, I’d wanted that more), but I couldn’t do it and I told Dorothy so.

“What do you mean you can’t ride?”

“It has to do with The Saddle Club. We made a promise to one another.”

“To not ride?” Her surprise was to be expected. After all, it did sound kind of weird.

“It has to do with Stevie, see.”

Dorothy grinned. “I suspected as much. Everything truly strange about The Saddle Club has to do with her.”

“And everything really wacky fun, too, remember.”

“I remember, so what’s the story this time?”

I told her about Stevie’s underside problem and the pledge we’d made.

“You know, I haven’t ridden a horse, other than at a
very
stately walk, since my accident. I miss it more than I can possibly tell you. I can’t imagine choosing to be grounded. That’s a real act of friendship and loyalty on your part.”

I knew Dorothy would understand.

“But just because you can’t ride doesn’t mean you can’t
work. So, take Southwood on a lead and run him around the ring a couple of times and then walk him until he’s cooled down. Then we’ll have lunch and after that, we’ll give his show grooming a trial run. Deal?”

“Deal.”

T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
, I was up again at six and down in the stable by 6:30. I suppose it was sort of a trial run for me. How was I going to like the life of a trainer when I grew up, if it meant getting up at very early hours? I knew the answer: just fine!

I began working on Southwood right away because I wanted him perfectly groomed by the time Bea arrived. I did a good job, too. His coat was gleaming when Dorothy came into the stable at 7:00. By 7:30 when Bea was to arrive, his hooves were clean as could be and coal black with hoof polish. He was ready.

Unfortunately, Bea wasn’t. The phone rang at 7:30 and it was Bea’s mother. Bea was too sick to make the call herself. She had chicken pox.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I never wished illness on
anybody—at least not serious illness—and even though I didn’t like Beatrice one bit, I hadn’t been involved in her getting sick. She’d gotten chicken pox all by herself. Her mother told Dorothy that Beatrice was just miserable, itching, scratching, and sore. I can’t swear to you that it broke my heart.

It meant, first of all, that I could spend the entire day around Southwood without any fear of someone telling me to remove my hands from
her
horse.

I turned to Dorothy. “You know Southwood is going to need a lot of exercise to keep limber for the show tomorrow, so I think I’ll work him on a lunge line. He almost doesn’t need a rider anyway, so it’ll be perfect!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Dorothy said.

“I am?”

“He does need a rider. He’s got to be in the show tomorrow. It’s really important for him to have the experience. It’s not that it’s an important show, but we want him to become familiar with the world of shows so that when he’s in an important one, he won’t freak out. You know the way some horses are the first time they’re away from home. They balk at the van, they balk at the temporary stalls, they balk at all the new horses they’ve never seen before, and they behave terribly in the ring. Southwood may have to get that stuff out of his system and I’d much rather have him do it at the local show tomorrow than the Sussex County Classic.”

It made sense to me. “So is Bea going to be ready to ride tomorrow?”

“Not if she’s itching and scratching, and besides, I think she’s still very contagious. Speaking of which, you’ve had chicken pox, haven’t you?”

“When I was three. I’m glad I don’t remember any of it.”

“Then at least we can be pretty sure you’ll be healthy tomorrow.”

“Of course I will. I wouldn’t miss the show for anything. I can’t wait to watch Southwood perform.”

“I wasn’t thinking in terms of watching,” Dorothy said. Then she gave me a meaningful look.

I got a funny feeling about it. “What are you talking about?”

“I want you to ride Southwood tomorrow.”

“Me?”

“Is there another old girl standing here with me who would qualify to ride in the junior events?”

“On Southwood?”

“Yes.”

I’ve got to tell you that the first thing that entered my mind was utter joy. I was thrilled at the very idea of being able to ride this magnificent animal, especially in a competition. I knew he didn’t have much chance of doing well, what with a new rider in a new circumstance, but just the thought of it gave me the nicest chills.

“Of course!” And then it came to me. “But I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“You what?”

“Stevie—our pledge. Remember? I can’t ride until she’s better.”

“Maybe we could call her and see how she’s doing?”

I knew how she was doing. She still had a very sore sitting place. No way.

“If you asked her, she’d say yes.”

“Maybe, but maybe she’d say no and it wouldn’t be fair. We made a pledge to one another. We take it seriously. You should, too.”

“I do, I really do,” Dorothy said and I knew she meant it. Some grown-ups might have made fun of the promise The Saddle Club had made, but Dorothy knew that we meant the things we’d said and she genuinely respected it. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go to the house, have some breakfast, and see if we can solve this thing.”

I fastened the latches on Southwood’s stall and followed Dorothy to the kitchen. Dorothy made scrambled eggs with the same confident manner that she trained a horse. In just a few minutes bacon was sizzling in the microwave, eggs were cooking in a frying pan, and I was setting the table.

Nigel joined us just as I poured three glasses of orange juice.

“Why’s everyone so quiet?” he asked.

“We have a problem,” Dorothy said. Then she explained about Bea’s chicken pox.

“But, of course, Carole can fill in for her, can’t she?” Nigel asked.

“That’s the problem,” I said. And I explained to him about The Saddle Club pledge. Like Dorothy, he understood that it was a serious pledge.

We sat down to eat and there was no conversation for a while. Then Dorothy spoke.

“Carole, I’m going to ask you to break the pledge and I’m not doing it lightly. I’m not doing it for me. I’m not even doing it for Beatrice, and I don’t expect you would do it for either of us. I’m doing it for Southwood. He needs to be in the show. He’s entered there. He needs a junior rider. You’re a junior rider and you’re qualified for the show. I only need to ask the judges to accept you as a substitute for Beatrice. They’ll understand and accept, I’m sure. I can’t ride for Beatrice and neither can Nigel. I don’t have another student who could fill in. All my other riders are adults. That leaves you. If you say no, I’ll understand, but if you say yes, Southwood will be the one who benefits most.”

I’d like to tell you I had to think about it long and hard, but it wouldn’t be true. When Dorothy explained it in terms of how important it was for Southwood, I couldn’t say no. I had to do it and ignore the possible consequences. Well, not ignore them, exactly.

“You can’t tell anyone at Pine Hollow. Lisa and Stevie can
never
know.”

“They won’t hear it from me,” Dorothy pledged.

“Me, neither,” Nigel added.

“Don’t worry,” Dorothy said. “There won’t be anything to tell. It’s Southwood’s first show. He’s sure to blow it. You won’t win anything, but I will because I’ll learn a lot about Southwood from watching his public debut.”

Somehow it seemed okay that I was doing it for Southwood. Way back in the recesses of my mind was a secret little smile for the fact that Bea would know
I’d
been the one to ride her horse in his first show. That was the part of me that hoped I’d win a blue ribbon. The rest of me knew that a ribbon was the least of my worries.

“Thank you, Carole,” Dorothy said. “Now, what are we going to find to put on you to wear in the show?”

“I brought all my riding clothes,” I told her.

“Even though you knew you wouldn’t ride?”

“Some things are just automatic,” I confessed.

Dorothy laughed. “I do exactly the same thing with my horse clothes and then I always forget my toothbrush! Did you remember yours?”

“I sure did. I mean, I remembered the toothbrush Dad bought for me in New York, since of course I forgot my own at home.”

“Birds of a feather …” Nigel said, watching the two of us.

“You should talk!” Dorothy said. “Remember the time
you didn’t bring any street shoes for a weekend in Chicago?”

“And I had three pairs of riding boots with me, didn’t I? Guilty as charged!”

We finished breakfast much more cheerfully than we’d begun it. Then while Dorothy and Nigel put the dishes in the dishwasher, I skipped up to my room and slipped into my riding clothes. It felt wonderful to be back in them.

S
ATURDAY
MORNING
, I was too busy with the things I had to do to be worried about the things I was going to do. My mind was a blur of dos and don’ts, didn’ts, wouldn’ts, and couldn’ts.

I’d spent three hours on Southwood on Friday—as much time as Dorothy thought he ought to be exercised, but I didn’t think it had been anywhere near enough for me. Once we put Southwood back in his stall, Dorothy and I just talked and talked about techniques and goals.

My main goal for the day was to be with Southwood and see how he reacted to everything at the show. Dorothy would see most of it, but, as a rider, there would be things I learned that she didn’t.