Flying Horse (4 page)

“There wouldn’t be enough horses,” argued Stevie. “There wouldn’t be enough trails. Think of all the stressed-out bureaucrats and executives in Washington, D.C., alone.” Pine Hollow was close to the capital; sometimes a member of Congress or an ambassador came there to ride.

Carole bent to stroke Starlight’s neck. “We’re lucky.”

Stevie grinned. “Yes, we are.” For the first time in several days, she felt content.

T
HEY RODE FOR
nearly an hour. On their way back to Pine Hollow, they stopped at their favorite rock by the stream, tethered the horses, and waded in the cool water. “I’m really glad you came with us, Stevie,” Lisa said.

“So am I,” Stevie replied, and they smiled at each other happily.

But when they left the woods, Stevie began to worry about flying changes again. Topside, her mount, was a former international-level show horse, and he’d done a lot of dressage. Before Stevie had gotten Belle, she’d ridden Topside almost exclusively. If any horse at Pine Hollow could do flying changes, Topside could.

“I’m going to canter,” Stevie warned Carole and Lisa. She asked Topside for a right-lead canter. He took off willingly. A few paces down the path, she shifted her weight back in the saddle, tightened the left rein, and signaled with her right heel to ask for a left-lead canter. Without hesitation, Topside did a perfect flying change. Stevie repeated the request for a right-lead canter. Topside obligingly did a second flying change.

Stevie dropped him back to a walk. It was so easy for Topside! Why couldn’t it be easy for Belle? She felt close to despair.

“That was fantastic!” Lisa came trotting up to her. “I saw those flying changes—I’m not sure I could ask a
horse to do them right, but whatever you did sure made sense to Topside!”

“Of course it did!” Stevie cried bitterly. “He’s a superstar horse. Dorothy DeSoto taught him all sorts of dressage movements. Of course Topside can do them!”

“Belle will be able to do flying changes, too,” Carole said comfortingly, bringing Starlight up to join them. “Don’t worry, Stevie, you know she can—almost all horses can learn them eventually. Belle’s smart and athletic. Don’t worry.”

But maybe the problem wasn’t Belle, Stevie thought. Maybe it was her—not the way she rode, but the way she trained her horse. Or maybe Belle really wasn’t any good. Or maybe both.

“Don’t worry,” Lisa said, echoing Carole’s words. She didn’t really understand. She didn’t worry about flying changes. She’d never even done one. Why should one little thing bother Stevie so much? It seemed to Lisa that the competition between Stevie and Phil had finally gotten completely out of hand.

I
N
T
OPSIDE
’
S STALL
, Stevie gave the horse a pat on his shining flank. “Good boy,” she murmured automatically. “Thank you for the nice ride.” A sudden pang in her heart made her lean her head against his neck and shiver. She loved Belle so much; she loved Topside, too. What if Belle could never be the horse that Topside was? Would Stevie start to wish that she were still riding Topside? What if—

“Stevie,” Mrs. Reg said from the aisle, “come out here when you’re finished, please.”

Stevie quickly patted Topside once more, checked his water bucket, and came into the aisle. Carole and
Lisa were already sitting side by side on a hay bale, looking up at Mrs. Reg expectantly.

Mrs. Reg smiled at them, and Stevie thought Lisa and Carole looked relieved. Stevie slouched against the wall. “You know,” Mrs. Reg began, “for some reason this morning I started remembering my mare Madeleine. I rode her when I was not much older than the three of you.”

Carole and Lisa smiled, and Stevie felt herself getting interested. Mrs. Reg’s stories—though sometimes confusing—were always worth listening to.

“Maddy was a beautiful chestnut and the first Thoroughbred I ever owned,” Mrs. Reg continued. Her face took on a faraway look. “She was a superb field hunter, born to go with the hounds—”

“Foxhunting,” Carole mouthed, and Stevie nodded.

“—and she was a wonderful athlete, with a beautiful, stylish jump. But I admit, her personality could be difficult sometimes. She had a sense of humor, that horse.” Mrs. Reg shook her head fondly.

“I’d been riding her about a year when our hunt held a hunter trials,” she continued. “That’s a horse show just for foxhunters, you know. Oh, I was certain that Maddy and I would win everything. I dreamed about blue ribbons every night.”

Lisa smiled a little uncomfortably. She had been in that position before—she had taken Prancer to a
show, certain they would win everything. Prancer had kicked a judge and been disqualified. The experience had taught Lisa to concentrate on riding well, not winning.

“The hunter trials course was in a big open field, with solid jumps—log fences and stone walls—typical of hunt country,” said Mrs. Reg. “I schooled Maddy over it every single day for weeks before the trials. She started out well, but one day she began to refuse to jump, not for any reason that I could see. I got so mad at her—I wanted a ribbon!—but nothing I did helped.” Mrs. Reg smiled and shook her head. “Such a fuss,” she said. “But that was all a long time ago. Anyway, what I wanted to tell you girls—”

“But Mrs. Reg,” Lisa cut in, “what happened at the hunter trials? Did you get a ribbon?”

“Well, of course not,” Mrs. Reg replied. “We weren’t eligible.”

Carole frowned. “Not eligible? But you said—”

“Carole,” Mrs. Reg said patiently, “you must know that no horse can receive a ribbon if it has been eliminated from the class.”

“But that means—” said Carole.

“You can be eliminated in one of three ways: by your horse going up to a jump and refusing it three times, by falling off your horse, or by jumping the
jumps in the wrong order. That last one,” she said reflectively, “we didn’t do.”

“You mean you
fell off
?” Even though Stevie knew that all riders fell off their horses sometimes, she couldn’t imagine it happening to Mrs. Reg.

“As a matter of fact, yes, I did,” Mrs. Reg said crisply. “Maddy refused three fences in both of our first two classes, and in the third class she tossed me right over the log pile. Once I was on the ground I understood what my mistake had been.” Mrs. Reg grinned at the recollection.

Stevie felt her throat tighten. “Your mistake was that you thought she was a good horse,” she guessed. “You were wrong.”

Mrs. Reg looked astonished. “Why, no. She was one of the best horses I ever had. Someday I’ll show you a picture of us in full hunting regalia. But that is not why I wanted to talk to you girls. I just had a phone call from Dorothy and Nigel.”

“Dorothy DeSoto and Nigel Hawthorne?” said Lisa. “Oh, wow! Are they coming to Pine Hollow?”

“Are they giving another dressage demonstration?” asked Carole. “Is Nigel going to be in a show? Is he competing for Great Britain again?”

“When do they get here?” asked Stevie. “How long can they stay? Do you think Dorothy will want to ride Topside? I can get him ready for her.”

“No, no, no,” said Mrs. Reg. “Dorothy and Nigel aren’t coming here. They want you to go to them.”

The Saddle Club screamed with delight. “Oh, wow! To visit their farm on Long Island! Only Carole’s gotten to do that. Or wait—do they want us to come to New York City again?” All three of the girls talked at once. Carole and Lisa leaped up from the hay bale and exchanged hugs with Stevie.

Dorothy DeSoto and Nigel Hawthorne were good friends of theirs—The Saddle Club had even helped arrange their wedding. Dorothy was one of Max’s old students and had been a top-level rider before an accident had taken her out of the show ring forever. Nigel, her husband, had ridden on the British Equestrian Team. Together they ran a show stable on Long Island, and Carole had once spent a few days with them there.

“You girls are beginning to frighten the horses with all this excitement,” Mrs. Reg said. “Just like Max keeps telling you not to do. I think you’d better come along to my office, and I will explain things to you. Do not let your imaginations run wild. You aren’t going to be able to guess this, anyway.”

Carole, Lisa, and Stevie exchanged grins as they followed Mrs. Reg to the stable office. Everything they’d ever done concerning Dorothy and Nigel had been fun.

Mrs. Reg sat down in her leather chair and motioned the girls to sit, too. Carole perched on a window ledge, Lisa took the folding chair, and Stevie sat cross-legged on the floor. “Now try not to interrupt,” Mrs. Reg said severely, but a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “You may not be that excited when I explain everything to you. Dorothy and Nigel need The Saddle Club’s help.”

“
They
need
our
help?” Lisa’s voice squeaked.

“They can have it,” Carole said. “Whatever it is.”

Mrs. Reg nodded. “You remember Dorothy’s mother, Mrs. DeSoto—”

“Well, of course,” Lisa said indignantly. “We stayed at her townhouse in New York City, when we went to watch Dorothy ride at the American Horse Show.”

“Right. Well, she hasn’t sold her town house, but for a while she’s been looking for a reason to get out of the city during the summer months. It’s hot there, and a lot of people go to the shore. But Mrs. DeSoto likes to keep busy—she’s not the type to sit around on a beach. Dorothy and Nigel have found the perfect solution. They just bought a Victorian house on Chincoteague Island. Mrs. DeSoto’s going to run it as a bed-and-breakfast during the summer months.

“However, the house they bought needs a lot of fixing up before it can open for business. Dorothy and Nigel can’t spend the entire summer working on it,
and Mrs. DeSoto certainly can’t do all the work herself. Plus, they really want the inn to be open for Pony Penning Week in early July, the busiest time of the year on Chincoteague. So what they’ve done is send out an all points bulletin to their old friends, asking for help. They’d like to get most of the work done next week.

“Denise McCaskill has asked if she could go,” Mrs. Reg continued. “Red isn’t going, because Pine Hollow can’t spare him, but Denise said she’d really like a change of pace. Max was going to go, but”—Mrs. Reg’s smile widened—“he just got an overseas phone call from Deborah. She’s managed to cut short her commitments by almost a week, and she’s coming home Sunday. Max said they would come to Chincoteague and work, but I thought since I’ll be gone, they should stay and have the house to themselves for a few days. Max hasn’t been quite himself lately.” Mrs. Reg paused. “I guess Deborah’s missed Max as much as Max has missed her,” she said thoughtfully. “Otherwise, why would she be coming home early?”

“What about us?” asked Carole.

“Oh, right,” said Mrs. Reg. “Well, of course, Dorothy and Nigel want you to come, too. In fact, Nigel specially asked for you—he said any trio that could arrange his wedding so well, and so quickly, would be
just perfect for fixing up the inn! We’d leave early this Saturday—day after tomorrow—and come home next Friday morning. If we’re successful maybe the inn will be ready for a few customers by next weekend. Dorothy and Nigel don’t expect you to work twenty-four hours a day. The deal is this: You work four or five hours a day. In exchange, you get to spend a week in a Victorian mansion and enjoy the beautiful beaches of Chincoteague Island. Plus, of course, Dorothy and Nigel’s company. What do you think?”

Lisa thought it sounded like just what she needed—a vacation! Stevie, frowning, picked at the heel of her boot, but Carole spoke first.

“You keep saying ‘Chincoteague,’ ” she said to Mrs. Reg. “Do you mean
the
Chincoteague? As in
Misty of Chincoteague
?”