High Hurdles Collection Two (21 page)

Chapter • 17

“Have you seen Andrew?” DJ asked.

Tony stopped, his horse beside him. “Nope, why?”

“He was supposed to stay with Bandit until I got back. He refused to come to the group class.”

“Maybe he went to the bathroom.”

“He took the bridle and saddle off Bandit.”

“Uh-oh.” Tony mounted his horse. “I'll look around outside. Maybe he's waiting for his dad.”

DJ asked everyone. Each took off in a different direction, looking, but no one had noticed the boy leaving.

“Where could he go?” DJ asked Bridget back in the office.

“I called his house, but no one answered. I will try again in a minute.”

“Maybe someone kidnapped him.” Krissie skidded to a stop beside DJ. “We looked everywhere in the barn. Sometimes we hide in the hay bales, but he's not there, either.”

“Feed room?” DJ asked.

“Nope, Hilary looked there. We've all looked everywhere.”

“Did anyone check the cars and trailers?” Bridget asked.

Amy nodded but grabbed Krissie, calling over her shoulder. “We'll
really
check them out this time.”

“I should have paid more attention to him,” DJ moaned. “I told him to wait so I could do a private lesson with him.”

“DJ, I do not want to hear ‘shoud have' from you again.” Bridget grasped DJ's upper arms. “Do you hear me?”

DJ nodded. “But—”

“But nothing. If we do not find him in ten minutes, I will call 9-1-1.”

But he was—is—my responsibility. I'm his teacher. His parents trust me to look after him while he's here
.

Cries of “Andrew!” echoed from every corner of the academy property, even up by Bridget's house, where no one was allowed to go except with a special invitation.

Could he be hurt somewhere and notable to answer? Is he playing a joke? Where could one small eight-year-old boy go? Or worse, be taken?

The thoughts rampaged through DJ's mind, the last one sending chills up and down her spine—and settling a boulder in her middle. “God, please bring Andrew back. Keep watch over him. Please, God, please.” But God hadn't been listening to her prayers lately.

Where did that leave Andrew?

All those at the Academy gathered in the office, shaking their heads and showing empty hands.

“You have looked everywhere?”

They all nodded in reply to Bridget's question.

“In the feed bins?”

“I checked twice,” Tony said.

Bridget picked up the phone and dialed the three numbers. “Hello, this is Bridget Sommersby at Briones Riding Academy. I need to report a lost child.”

DJ fought the tears gathering at the back of her eyes. Yesterday, Patches spooked and Mrs. Johnson broke her arm. Today, the Johnsons' child was missing. And DJ had been in charge both times. Would the police blame her?

A pin dropping would have sounded like a bowling ball in the room. Someone sniffed.

DJ felt frozen, like she'd been caught playing statue. Only her mind was in motion like a huge flock of blackbirds, all flapping in different directions.

A car drove up and a car door slammed. All eyes turned toward the door. Andrew and his father walked in.

“I found him halfway home. Walking. I hope this hasn't been a problem for you.” Mr. Johnson looked around the frozen group.

“Thank you,” Bridget told the 9-1-1 dispatcher. “The child and his father just showed up.” She put down the phone.

“Uh-oh. I would have called, but my car phone was dead.” Mr. Johnson laid a hand on Andrew's shoulder. “I think you owe these people an apology.”

“I … I'm sorry.” New tears joined the tracks already washed on his dusty cheeks.

“I'm sorry, too. I don't know what got into him.” Mr. Johnson shook his head. “I thought he was beginning to like riding.”

Andrew turned and buried his face in his father's side. Sobs shook his skinny shoulders.

“Aw, that's okay.”

“We're just glad you are all right.” The Academy kids gathered around Andrew.

“Time to get back to work and riding,” Bridget announced. “Thank you for all your help and caring.”

“Yes, thank you all,” Mr. Johnson said, turning to look at everyone. “You're a great bunch of people out here. I'm looking forward to riding myself.”

The kids left, many of them giving Andrew a pat on the shoulder as they went by.

DJ crossed the room and knelt in front of the boy. “What is it, Andrew? You've been doing so well.”

“H-horses hurt p-people.”

Mr. Johnson rolled his eyes. “Andrew, accidents happen. I keep telling you.”

DJ thought fast. “Did Bandit hurt you?”

Andrew shook his head.

“Did Patches?”

Another headshake.

“But falling off Patches gave your mother a broken arm?”

Andrew nodded. A huge hiccup shook the boy's body.

“He can't go through life being so scared of everything. That's why we bring him here.”

DJ looked up at Mr. Johnson. “He's gotten lots better in the last couple of months. Haven't you, Andrew?”

Andrew let go of this father's jacket and scrubbed his eyes with his fists. He took a deep breath, and when he let it out, his shoulders slumped. “My mother can't ride anymore.”

DJ looked at him, trying to figure out where he got that idea. “Only for a while, until her arm heals. Broken bones get better.”

“She said Patches is trying to kill her.”

“Ah.” DJ nodded and looked up at Mr. Johnson.

“Andrew, your mother was joking. She knows Patches didn't do that on purpose. A cat scared him.”

“Andrew, what would you do if someone suddenly jumped out and shouted ‘boo' at you?”

Andrew looked DJ full in the face. A tear beaded one dark eyelash. “I … I'd jump.”

“And?” DJ felt like Gran, who had always asked her questions like this.

“Uh … ahh …”

She waited. Again the room was silent, but this time there were voices coming from outside as the rest of the Academy went about a normal Wednesday afternoon.

“I'd scream.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“I … I'd run to my mother.”

“Or to your bedroom,” Mr. Johnson added.

Andrew looked up at him and nodded.

“Okay. The cat scared Patches, right?”

Andrew nodded.

“And Patches wanted to run to his room. Horses always go to their stalls when they are afraid. That's where they feel safe. But something was in his way. What was it?”

“The fence?”

“You got it. Would Patches run into the fence?”

“He could jump over.”

“That big fence?”

“Guess not.” Andrew shook his head.

“But when he turned fast, your mother didn't turn, too. She fell off.”

“And broke her arm.” Andrew rubbed his own arm, as if it hurt in sympathy.

“True. But it was an accident.”
And riding Patches for her is an accident looking for a chance to happen
.

“Bandit could run away, too.”

DJ sighed. This kid knew how to reason. “He could.” Thoughts careened around her mind till one stopped for her to catch it. “But Bandit is older and smarter, like your dad here. He doesn't get frightened as easily because he's seen that cat run lots of times. Just like your dad wouldn't jump so easily as you if someone shouted ‘boo.' ”

Andrew looked up to his father. Mr. Johnson nodded. “DJ is right. I'll come with you so you can ride Bandit now.”

Andrew sighed. The kind of sigh that came clear from the soles of his feet. “ 'Kay.” He took his father's hand. “Will you lead him?”

Mr. Johnson looked at DJ, who nodded back. “I'll get the lunge line for you.”

By the time DJ exercised Bunny's horse, Amy had already gone home because she and her mother were going shopping. Joe had left because he and Gran were going into the city to shop.

DJ mounted her bike. The ride home looked to be about a hundred miles—all up hill.

“Your dinner is in the microwave.” Lindy turned from helping Bobby and Billy with printing their letters at the dining room table. Her eyes wore that frosty look DJ was coming to recognize—along with the lines in her forehead. Lindy was not pleased with her daughter—again.

“Where's Robert?”

“Working late.” This time her mother didn't even look up. “Good one, Billy. Let's try again.”

Is she still upset with me from before?
DJ didn't know as she trudged up the stairs.

All the way up, one voice in her mind reminded her that if only she hadn't left Andrew alone, this wouldn't have happened. If only she'd been more watchful the day before, she could have chased the cat away before it spooked Patches. If only she'd gotten home on time, her mother might have hugged her.

She snorted at that thought. Her mother didn't like hugging horsey-smelling jerks like her daughter. Who did?

Brad would. And Jackie
.

DJ entered her mother's bedroom and picked up the phone. But the answering machine came on with Brad's voice asking the caller to leave a message. DJ set the receiver back in the cradle. They probably went shopping, too. She dialed Joe and Gran's, hoping they had come home. Another message machine.

She could hear her grandmother's voice as if Gran were right there.
You could talk with God
.

“Yeah, right. He's probably got His answering machine on, too. Maybe He went shopping like everyone else.” DJ dragged herself out of her mother's room and back to her own. Rain had been threatening on the way home and now poured down the windows.

She picked up her drawing tablet, then set it down to sharpen her drawing pencils. At least she could do that right. But the horse in the portrait looked more like a mule, and her hand was shaking so badly the lines squiggled.

One of Gran's sayings floated back through her mind.
“When you feel like you're at the end of your rope, pick up your Bible and read until you get a new and stronger hold on that rope.”
She always added,
“For that rope is God, and He will never let you go.”

DJ picked up her Bible, and it fell open at the Gospel of John. She started reading the underlined verse:
For God so loved the world
… Her eyes blurred until she couldn't see. She flung herself across her bed, the tears soaking the bedspread.

God, why am I such a flunker? I try and try, and nothing is ever good enough
.

Hearing a sound at the door, she pulled the pillow over her head.

“DJ.”

“Go away.”

She felt her mother sit down on the side of the bed. Her hand felt hot on DJ's jean-covered leg.

“Daddy's home,” the boys whispered so loudly it penetrated DJ's fog.

Tears filled her eyes and ears. Sobs tore at her throat, shaking the bed with the force of her cries. The hand stayed on her leg.

“What's wrong?” Robert's voice, quiet and calm.

“DJ's crying awful bad.”

“I don't want DJ to cry.”

The boys hovered on the verge of crying, she could hear it in their voices. But her own tears wouldn't quit. No matter how hard she tried to choke them back.

She couldn't even quit crying right.

“Darla Jean, what's wrong?” Her mother's voice came soft and gentle, sounding so much like Gran's that DJ cried even harder.

“Come on, boys, it's time for bed.” Robert again.

“But DJ won't stop c-crying.”

“I love you, DJ. Please.” The little-boy voice brought on a new attack.

“You can talk with DJ tomorrow.”

“Will she still be crying?” The voices trailed down the hall.

Still her mother sat, stroking her daughter's leg.

Lindy lay down beside DJ, her arm over her daughter's heaving back. “Oh, my dear daughter, if I had only known things were this bad.” The stroking continued. “Please forgive me for not paying more attention.”

DJ's head pounded. She rubbed her face on the bedspread, trying to wipe away the tears.

“Here.” A tissue ended up in DJ's hand. She propped herself on her elbows and blew her nose.

Robert sat down on the other side of her. “You ready to talk now?”

DJ shook her head. “I … I just can't d-do anything right.”

“Like?”

DJ told them about all the things that were going wrong. About losing Andrew and letting Mrs. Johnson get hurt. About flunking another algebra test, even when Robert helped her. About trying so hard and never catching up. The list continued.

“And us putting more pressure on you?”

Another run of tears. This time DJ was sitting up with both Lindy's and Robert's arms encircling her. More problems flowed out—the noise and bedlam at home all the time, fighting with her mother, the art weekend, giving up Saturdays at the Academy, not riding Major. No time, no time, no time …