Crown Prince (6 page)

“Where did he go?” Abby blurted out. “What stopped him?”

“He was running down the farm road when I remembered Jack telling us about a way to pull on the reins that will slow down a galloping horse—it's called the pulley rein. I tried it, and it worked. We were almost to Ridge Road when Gray Fox finally stopped.”

Her father stared at her intently. “Sarah, can you start at the beginning, and tell us everything?”

Mrs. Wagner had inched to the front of her chair, leaning toward Sarah. “Yes, this sounds like a dangerous situation,” she said. “We'd like to know exactly what happened.”

Sarah reluctantly filled them in, from the ill-timed tractor backfire, to when she finally halted Gray Fox, to the ride back to the barn with Mr. DeWitt.

“How fast do you think he was going?” Abby asked. “Like in the Kentucky Derby?”

Sarah shot Abby a look of disdain. “Yeah, right, Abby. As if Gray Fox could ever run like a Thoroughbred. But it was the fastest I've ever gone on a horse.”

The telephone interrupted them, and Abby jumped up to answer it. She picked up the kitchen wall phone, and after a moment beckoned to Sarah. “It's for you.”

Sarah recognized Jack O'Brien's voice. “Hi, Sarah. I thought you'd like to know Gray Fox appears to be fine after his escapade this afternoon. He was sound on the ride back to the barn, but to be on the safe side Lindsay rubbed his legs with a brace and put on support bandages for the night. Gus gave him a bran mash with his grain. I expect he'll be fine in the morning.”

“That's good news,” Sarah replied, relieved to have Jack confirm what Lindsay had told her was likely the case. “I guess it wasn't his fault the tractor backfired right beside him. Probably most horses would have done the same thing. But even when he was a long way from the tractor, he still wouldn't slow down. To tell you the truth, I think he liked running away with me.”

“Knowing old Fox, I suspect you're right,” Jack said with a short laugh. “But that's not all I'm calling about. Mr. DeWitt was here a few minutes ago. He asked if I could arrange a meeting tomorrow night at seven with you and your folks. He'd like you to come to the stable lounge by the office. Will that work for everyone?”

Sarah's grip on the receiver tightened. Something must be wrong. Why would the DeWitts want to talk to her parents? Whenever this happened at school, it meant someone was in trouble. She turned and spoke in a voice so low her parents strained to hear. “It's Jack. He's wondering if we can come to the farm tomorrow night at seven. Mr. DeWitt wants to talk to us.”

Sarah's parents saw the worried look on her face and heard the strain in her voice. Was there more to her story than she was telling them? What on earth could Chandler DeWitt want to see all three of them about?

“Gee, I guess so,” her father said. He turned to his wife. “How about you, Alison?” She nodded slowly, a puzzled expression on her face. “It looks like we can make it,” Mr. Wagner said. “But what's the reason for the meeting? Try to find out what Mr. DeWitt wants to talk to us about.”

Sarah turned back to the telephone. After a moment she found her voice. “We can be there. But what's this all about, Jack?”

“Mr. DeWitt didn't say any more, so I can't help you. He wants me there too, so I guess we'll just have to wait and see.”

Sarah frowned as she hung up the phone, rooted to the floor. Her parents and Abby waited for an explanation. “He doesn't know why,” was all she could say.

It was quiet while they considered what this could mean. Finally Sarah spoke. “Maybe the meeting has something to do with the runaway today. Maybe he thinks I should have stopped Gray Fox sooner. Maybe he blames me that Fox was able to run away in the first place.” Her voice faltered. “Maybe he's worried that having one of his horses run away with someone during a lesson will give the farm a bad name.”

“Sarah, honey,” her mother said, “I can't imagine that Mr. DeWitt doesn't know the runaway was an unfortunate accident. It certainly wasn't your fault the farm tractor backfired just as your horse was going by it. I'm sure you did a fine job of riding to rein that horse in from a full gallop.”

Her mother's words failed to reassure her. Sarah sat back down at the table, but no longer had any appetite. She pushed her bowl of chili away. “Maybe he doesn't think I should be in the Young Riders class—everyone else has been riding a lot longer. They all have their own horses, and they plan to go to shows this summer.”

“That doesn't make sense, Sarah,” her father said. “Don't overreact. The other riders can't be that far ahead of you.”

“Oh really? Tim and Paige went to a two-phase event in the spring, and they're entered to ride in the Fair Pines Horse Trials. Rita's father is going to take her to lots of hunter/jumper shows. Kayla will compete with Fanny at the Quarter Horse shows. And then there's me. Where do I fit in?”

Sarah fought the tears that welled up and threatened to spill out. The events of the day had left her stressed and exhausted. Now this meeting with Mr. DeWitt seemed more than she could deal with.

“Look, Sarah,” her father said, “Chandler DeWitt's farm is a business, and a business has got to make enough money to cover its expenses. I doubt that Mr. DeWitt makes a practice of discouraging steady customers like you. I think you're jumping to conclusions. Why don't we simply wait until tomorrow night to find out what's on Mr. DeWitt's mind?”

“You and Abby have both had pretty exhausting days,” her mother added, as she got up from the table. “You'll feel much better after a good night's sleep. I'm just relieved you didn't get hurt, Sarah, and I hope Jack will put you on more reliable horses from now on. But you need to shower and hit the hay early, both of you.”

The overwhelming sense of foreboding that had stayed with Sarah all day intensified when she and her parents arrived at Brookmeade Farm the next evening. She'd thought about little else except the meeting since she'd awoken that morning. She had come up with a number of possible reasons why Mr. DeWitt wanted to see them—none were good. When she told Kayla about the call from Jack, her friend was as baffled as she was. Both of Sarah's parents were quieter than usual during their early dinner, and even Abby didn't have much to say.
Well, here we are. We'll soon hear the worst,
Sarah thought.

They headed toward the stable lounge, a comfortable room with a large window looking out to the indoor arena. Turning a corner, there was the familiar scurry of paws from the DeWitts' Jack Russells. From the way they raced around Sarah, it was obvious Taco and Spin wanted to play. She bent down to pat them. The DeWitts followed closely behind their terriers.

Mrs. DeWitt spoke in her usual cheery voice. “Our two boys are very glad you're here, Sarah. They lobbied hard to come to the barn tonight in hopes they might see you.”

“They're the cutest dogs!” Sarah replied, and for the first time that day she smiled. Taco raced away to pick up a small towel for playing tug-of-war and ran back to Sarah. “No time for fun and games tonight, Taco,” Sarah said, as she rubbed him behind his ears.

Mr. DeWitt extended his hand to Sarah's parents, welcoming them to the farm. “I'm glad you could come on rather short notice.” He held the door open, inviting them into the cozy lounge where a large flagstone fireplace was centered on the far side of the room next to hickory-paneled walls decorated with English foxhunting scenes. Bookcases on both sides of the fireplace held a collection of equestrian books supported by hunting horn bookends. During the winter, a warming fire often blazed here. Parents could watch their young riders during lessons, or boarders could kick back to read the horsey magazines that were scattered on the coffee table.

Jack rose from a chair near the door and also extended his hand in greeting. Mrs. DeWitt gestured toward the leather chairs and sofa. “Please make yourselves comfortable,” she said. “Chandler and I are so pleased we can spend some time with Sarah's parents. She's one of our favorites, you know.”

Sarah's mother placed her pronged cane in the corner before seating herself next to her husband on the sofa. When Sarah sank down on the braided rug at their feet, both Spin and Taco vied for space in her lap. She played with Spin's ears after both of the dogs got comfortable. Mrs. DeWitt settled into the rocking chair before drawing her knitting from a basket.

Chandler DeWitt cleared his throat and immediately everyone turned their attention to him. “I appreciate your taking time from your busy schedules to come here tonight,” he began. “There's a matter Dorothy and I have been considering, and the time has come for us to talk to you about it.”

Sarah felt her heart pounding.
Here it comes. He's trying to break it to us gently.

Mr. DeWitt focused his steady gaze on Martin and Alison Wagner. “All of us here at Brookmeade recognize the good qualities Sarah brings to our riding program. Her high work ethic is second to none, and when it comes to riding and overall horsemanship, she's a natural. Normally we would reserve places in Jack's Young Riders class for teens that have achieved a great deal of expertise and are either actively competing or about to start. But Jack recognized that Sarah is nearly at their level, even though she doesn't have a horse. He urged me to make an exception to our standard policy, and you know the rest. Since she entered the class, she's proven she belongs there. Jack tells me she's fast becoming an accomplished rider.”

Sarah was puzzled by his words, but she began to breathe easier. Her eyes never left Mr. DeWitt as he continued.

“We're all aware of something that happened yesterday, something that firmly backs up Jack's recommendation. I happened to be at the stable when the school horse Sarah was riding was spooked by a sudden loud noise and bolted down the entry road. A terrified horse doesn't think clearly and can be difficult to stop. It's a dangerous situation for both horse and rider. Thank goodness Sarah rose to the occasion and was able to stop Gray Fox before he galloped right onto Ridge Road.”

Dorothy DeWitt rested her knitting on her lap. “I think what Chandler is leading up to is that Sarah is ready for a horse of her own. For her riding to improve, she should be riding something besides our school horses, and she needs to ride more than once a week. I'm often here at the stable when Jack is teaching her class, so I see how hard she works, and how well her horses perform. She obviously has the potential to do far more, but having her own horse is essential.”

Sarah looked up at her parents. She could anticipate what was coming next. The DeWitts would suggest her parents somehow come up with the money to buy her a horse, not realizing that it just wasn't possible.

The room was quiet until Chandler DeWitt spoke again. “We've made the decision to go forward with something we've never done before at Brookmeade Farm. We'd like to support a sponsorship program for a student we consider to have a lot of potential. In this case it's Sarah, and we want to help her get a horse.”

Sarah couldn't believe her ears. The DeWitts were talking about something that for her had been an elusive dream. She had longed to have a horse of her own for as long as she could remember. What the DeWitts were saying now was almost too good to be true. Could this really be happening?

Mr. DeWitt began to tell them of an old college friend who some years before had gotten into Thoroughbred racing. He had retained a respected trainer who advised him on the purchase of a few well-bred broodmares at a Saratoga sale, most in foal to desirable stallions. He had also picked up some valuable bloodstock at a dispersal sale in Kentucky. Many of the colts and fillies from these mares became successful runners, and his racing stable grew by leaps and bounds.

“I had a call from Hank earlier this week,” Mr. DeWitt continued. “He wants to cut back. He's decided to cull four horses currently in training at Raceland Park. All are geldings, so they wouldn't have any value as breeding stock, and for various reasons they aren't cut out to be racehorses. Hank and his wife Jean visited us here at Brookmeade last year, and they seem to think we know what we're doing. Hank feels this would be an ideal place to send horses to be retrained for something besides racing, and he'd rather these four become sport horses than be carelessly tossed aside.”

Sarah sat mesmerized. What Mr. DeWitt was saying was almost more than she could comprehend. She looked up at her parents once more, and saw they were intently focused on the man before them.

Jack spoke up. “Unfortunately too many Thoroughbreds who fail to pay their way at the track don't get another chance. Many are unsound, and are bought on the cheap by the killers. They go to a rendering plant. I know it doesn't sound pretty, but the sad fact is that some perfectly good horses that can't run fast end up at a slaughter house.” Sarah shuddered and hugged Taco a little closer.

“Your friend is doing a decent thing,” her father said to Mr. DeWitt.

“I couldn't agree with you more,” Mr. DeWitt said. “These four horses are all well-bred and supposedly sound. Hank thinks they are fine sport horse prospects, and has offered me the whole bunch for free. But we have two off-the-track Thoroughbreds here for training right now, plus a large number of boarders, so we really don't have stall space for four more.”

Dorothy DeWitt didn't look up from her knitting when she spoke. “Of course we also have to consider there are only so many hours in the day Jack can devote to schooling green sales prospects.”

“I'm not in a position to take them,” her husband continued, “but this is where Sarah comes in. I'd like to offer her the opportunity to pick out one of the four horses and buy him for a dollar, just to make it a legitimate sale.”

Sarah could hardly believe what she was hearing. A horse for a dollar! But then her mother entered the conversation. “Chandler, what you're proposing is kind and generous. But while I don't claim to know much about the world of horses, I'm aware there's a lot more than the purchase price to consider here. It must be incredibly expensive to support a horse, what with board bills on top of the cost of lessons. I regret that we must turn down your offer before you go any further. Our family can't possibly take this on right now.”