Flying Horse (10 page)

“What I’d like to do is explore the lighthouse,” Mrs. Reg declared. “After that, you girls can take over and show me your favorite spots.” They left their bicycles on the edge of the parking lot across from the Visitors’ Center and began the short walk uphill to the red-and-white-striped lighthouse.

“Stevie, are you limping?” Mrs. Reg asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Stevie shrugged. She’d been trying not to show it, but her leg was still a little sore. “A wild pony kicked me,” she confessed, “but it was my fault.” She pulled the leg of her shorts up and showed Mrs. Reg the yellowing bruise. “It’s not serious; it’s just sore.”

Mrs. Reg examined the bruise and nodded. “Around horses, it’s easy for things to be the rider’s fault,” she said. “Do be careful, Stevie.” She gave Stevie a sympathetic look and continued walking.

As usual, Stevie wasn’t sure what Mrs. Reg meant, but she was glad Mrs. Reg wasn’t angry at her. She was a bit glad, too, that Mrs. Reg had found out about the accident.

“Mrs. Reg, do you believe in the Spanish galleon?” Carole asked.

“I certainly believe in Spanish galleons in general,”
Mrs. Reg said. “Did you have a particular one in mind?”

Carole grinned. “The one that was supposed to have wrecked off Assateague and left the ponies here,” she said. “Do you think it’s true?”

“I don’t,” Lisa cut in. “I enjoy reading about it that way, but I think the other story Denise told us—the one about the colonial horses escaping and banding together—makes more sense. It fits the available facts better.”

“But what if the facts aren’t available?” Stevie asked her. “The way I see it, the fact is if a ship sank, there aren’t any facts. Or if there are, they’re down on the bottom of the ocean with the rest of the ship.”

“But I really think it could be true,” Carole persisted. “If the ship is on the bottom of the ocean, that’s a fact, isn’t it?”

“
If
it is,” Lisa said. “And I think if it were down there, someone would have found it by now. And since no one has, it isn’t there. And therefore—”

“But think about it, Lisa,” countered Carole. “A whole shipful of ponies, worth their weight in gold, headed to a horrible life in the South American gold mines, and instead they get caught in a terrible storm, a hurricane, maybe—”

“Oh, definitely, make it a hurricane,” said Stevie.

Carole ignored her and went on, “—and then they
land on this wonderful island, with fresh water, sandy beaches, and good marsh grass, everything they need to live—”

“—happily ever after,” Lisa concluded. “It’s romantic, like a fairy tale, and that makes it a good story. But I don’t think that the best story is always the truth.” They had reached the lighthouse but discovered that it was locked. “I thought they’d have a lighthouse keeper,” Lisa said, sounding disappointed. “Isn’t that the way it works in books?”

“Now who’s reading too many books!” Stevie said, laughing. “Lisa, it’s electric. Automatic. They probably had a lighthouse keeper here a hundred years ago.”

“A lighthouse was first built on this location in the 1830s,” Mrs. Reg said, reading the sign near the door. “And they have a local art exhibit up here on weekends. Too bad we won’t be staying past Friday.” They walked around the base of the lighthouse, exploring.

“But back to what you said before, Lisa,” said Stevie. “About the most interesting story not always being the truth. Just because a story’s interesting doesn’t mean it can’t be true. You shouldn’t believe that the ponies came from the colonists just because that’s the most boring explanation we have.”

“I still think the ponies came from a wrecked Spanish galleon,” Carole said stubbornly.

“I don’t think it matters at all where the ponies
came from,” Mrs. Reg interjected suddenly. “All horses are basically the same.”

The Saddle Club stared at her in disbelief. “You can’t mean that!” Stevie said.

“Starlight,” Carole cut in indignantly, “is nothing at all like Patch!” Patch was one of the oldest and gentlest—and least athletic and least exciting—horses at Pine Hollow.

“And all the different breeds of horses are different from one another,” Lisa said. “Thoroughbreds are fast and athletic; quarter horses are agile and strong—”

Mrs. Reg held up her hand. “All right, all right! I didn’t mean it quite that way! What I meant was, all horses are horses. They all act like horses, and they all think like horses.” She paused, frowning as she looked for the right words to explain what she meant. “They all have the same instincts,” she finally said, “and they all have the same basic needs.”

The Saddle Club couldn’t find a way to argue with that, although none of them was exactly sure what Mrs. Reg meant.

“You mean,” Carole said at last, “a horse will never act like a cow?”

“Right,” said Mrs. Reg. “That’s exactly it. A horse is a horse is a horse.”

“Horses and cows are a little bit alike,” Carole said thoughtfully.

“Sure, they both eat grass,” Stevie said. “I eat apples, and so does Belle, but that doesn’t make me a horse! I guess I understand what you mean, Mrs. Reg, but I’m not sure that it matters. The wild ponies still had to come from somewhere. One of the stories must be true.”

They began heading back down the trail. An opening in the brush gave them a clear view of the beach fronting the Assateague Channel below. Another band of wild ponies played on the sand, and the girls and Mrs. Reg stopped to watch them.

“Look at the foals!” Carole cried. One pinto baby darted out of the pack of horses and began to gallop across the sand. Looking over his shoulder, he suddenly seemed to realize how far he was away from his mother. He wheeled around so quickly that he almost stumbled, and went galloping back to her side. Another pair of foals reared up, nuzzling each other in mock battle, and a piebald mare gave a great heaving sigh and flung herself down on the sand to roll with abandon. She stood up, shaking herself, and sand flew in all directions. The foals shied away.

Without warning the band took off, galloping madly across the sand. The mares leaped incoming waves, and the stallion, at the rear, trumpeted. They ran until they were nearly out of sight—the girls could see glints
of sunlight from far down the beach as the horses splashed in the surf.

“Why do you think they did that?” Stevie asked, a note of awe in her voice. “I didn’t see anything to scare them.”

Lisa and Carole shook their heads. Mrs. Reg laughed. “Why would they need a reason?” she asked. “It looked like they were having fun.”

“Fun?” Stevie asked. Her eyes took on a faraway, unhappy look. Carole nudged Lisa, who nodded.

Everything they did reminded Stevie of Belle.

T
HE NEXT DAY
was their last on the islands. The Saddle Club helped Dorothy and Nigel hang curtains in all of the newly painted guest rooms. Then they helped Mrs. Reg plant geraniums along the brick path to the front door. At lunchtime, Mrs. DeSoto handed them three large paper bags. “You girls have been such a big help this week,” she said. “I don’t know what we would have done without you. So I made you a little picnic lunch—it’s a specialty of the DeSoto Inn!”

The Saddle Club agreed that they’d like nothing more than to take their picnic to the beach on Assateague. They told Mrs. Reg where they were going,
rented bicycles in town, and headed for the ocean. The beach was less crowded than it had been the first time they visited it, and they quickly found a secluded spot on the sand to enjoy Mrs. DeSoto’s delicacies.

“I’m starving!” Carole said, spreading the contents of her bag—a fancy sandwich with the crusts removed, a salad in a little plastic box, a fresh peach, soda, and a handful of shortbread cookies—out onto her beach towel. “Boy, does this look good! Don’t you think so?”

“It sure does!” Lisa opened her soda and took a big swallow. “Stevie?” She noticed that her friend hadn’t opened her lunch. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Stevie looked up. “Oh, sure,” she said. Lisa and Carole frowned. Stevie had been strangely quiet ever since the wild mare had kicked her. She’d stared out the window for most of the afternoon that they’d spent making cookies. Even yesterday with Mrs. Reg, she hadn’t acted like her usual rambunctious self. Now she wasn’t interested in lunch! It wasn’t like her at all.

“Are you feeling okay?” Carole asked. “Are you sure that pony didn’t hurt you worse than you’re telling us? Or is it Belle?”

“You should tell us,” Lisa said gently. “Stevie, whatever’s bothering you, we want to help.”

For a moment Stevie looked surprised; then she smiled at her friends. “I’m not hurt,” she said. “I’ve been trying to act like nothing’s been wrong, but I
guess you two know me too well for that to work. But I’m not hurt—if anything, that pony kick helped bring me to my senses.” She pushed her lunch bag aside and her smile dissolved. “Lisa, Carole, I’ve been so worried! What if I’ve really messed up? I wanted to catch up with Phil so much that I forgot how important my horse is! What if somehow I’ve really
hurt
Belle?”

Lisa thought that Stevie looked ready to cry. She leaned over and put her arms around her friend.

“You didn’t hurt her,” Lisa said. “Belle knows how much you love her. I’m sure she’s okay.”

“I’m sure, too,” Carole said, reaching over and giving Stevie’s arm a squeeze.

Stevie wiped a few stray tears from her eyes. “Really? Do you really think so?” She looked up at Carole. Carole knew so much about horses—why hadn’t she asked Carole for help before?

“I really do,” Carole said. “In the first place, you were exasperated with Belle, but you were never abusive to her. There’s a big difference between not training a horse entirely correctly and training it incorrectly. And second, you weren’t asking her to do anything that’s beyond what she can do. At this stage in her training, Belle should be more than ready to do a flying change. In fact, I’m kind of surprised she hasn’t already been taught to do it.”

“Plus,” Lisa added, “you’ve only been pushing Belle
hard for one week. You may have gotten her a little bit upset, but it hasn’t been going on for very long, and she had this whole week off to relax. She’ll be happy and rested when we get back, and tomorrow the two of you can start over.”

Stevie smiled tremulously. “I’ve been so worried over the past few days,” she confessed. “I was really afraid that I had hurt her. I was afraid I’d go home and she’d hate me and not want to do anything that I asked her to at all. And then I was afraid that I wasn’t a good rider, and didn’t deserve my own horse, and then I was afraid that Belle wasn’t as good a horse as I thought she was—” She sighed. “Just telling you all this has made me feel a little bit better already.”

“Belle’s a terrific horse,” Lisa said. “And you’re a good rider. This was just one mistake.”

“Thanks.” Stevie returned Lisa’s hug. “Did you really mean what you said, Carole? You really don’t think I’ve hurt her?”

“Of course,” Carole said. “You didn’t hurt her.”

“Good. I should have asked you for help a long time ago.”

“I should have helped without your asking,” Carole replied. “I did try, sort of, but—” But I got angry instead, Carole thought, feeling a little ashamed of herself. The Saddle Club was supposed to stick together.

They lay back in the sunshine. “I feel better enough
to tackle a sandwich now,” Stevie said, opening her lunch. “So, okay, tomorrow I’ll go home and ride Belle again, only with a different attitude. I don’t want to lose my temper with her, but I do want her to eventually learn a flying change. I know that I was pushing her too hard, and I know that my reason for wanting her to do it—because I wanted to be just as good as Phil—wasn’t a good one, but, no matter what, I
still
don’t understand why she hasn’t learned a change. We did those exercises for
hours.
” She bit down on her sandwich emphatically.

“Hmmm,” Carole said, crossing her hands behind her head and thinking hard. She knew Belle ought to be able to do a flying change. “Well, Stevie,” she said at last, “maybe you aren’t looking at the exercises from Belle’s point of view. You got them out of training books, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but they’re very good books,” Stevie said. “Max told me I should read them sometime anyway, and—”

Carole held up her hand to stop her. “No, I know they’re good books, and they’re probably very good exercises. That’s not what I mean.”

Both Stevie and Lisa looked confused. “What
do
you mean?” Lisa asked.

“Let me think—it’s not really easy to explain.” Lisa and Stevie grinned. Carole could sound very confused
when she wasn’t talking about horses—it was a new experience for her to be confused when she
was
talking about horses.

“Okay,” Carole said, after a short pause, “it’s this. You read the book, so you know that the exercises are supposed to make Belle do a flying change, right?”

“Right,” Stevie said. “In the one I like best, the second one I tried, you pick up a canter, canter through a corner, then turn and double back through the same corner but going in the wrong direction. The horse is supposed to get thrown off balance by the turn on the wrong lead and do a flying change in order to get its balance back.” A seagull landed next to Stevie, and she tossed it a bit of cookie. Startled, it flew away.