Secret Horse

Out of nowhere a rash voice inside her head whispered:
Why not try the brush fence? Just see how he takes it. Then you’ll really know what you’re dealing with.
Lisa’s hands began to sweat. Reason told her to wait. But just this once she didn’t feel like listening to reason. She eyed the brush from twenty yards away. It was at least two feet higher than the tires, and with the shrubbery reaching up from its wooden box it looked even higher. Lisa told herself she was going to think about it. But riding Samson in a circle, she realized she was only lining up to get a better approach. She knew she was going to take the fence. Her confidence was up; there was no turning back.

C
AROLE
H
ANSON BREATHED
deeply. There was no better combination of smells than freshly mown grass and horses. And, she reflected, standing outside Pine Hollow Stables, there was no better time than the early morning in summer. For as long as she could remember, summer vacation had meant one thing: more time to spend at the barn. What made summers even nicer was that Carole shared them with her two best friends, Stevie Lake and Lisa Atwood. Stevie and Lisa were almost as horse-crazy as she was. They would be arriving soon. But for now, except for the stable employees, she had Pine Hollow to herself.

Carole paused before going in to greet her horse. The scene was arresting. A small group of young horses frolicked in the pasture that stretched out before her.
There were two chestnuts, a bay, a gray, and one pure black. Carole smiled as the black horse bucked and took off down the fence. Whenever she watched this particular young horse, her heart swelled with pride. His name was Samson, and he had been born and bred, and now was being trained, on Pine Hollow grounds. The stable’s owner, Max Regnery, had high hopes for Samson, as Carole knew. She lingered a moment longer to watch the young gelding at play. Samson was what horsepeople called a good mover. His gaits were long and even and smooth. He had excellent conformation and a good disposition. That was no surprise, Carole thought. It was just what you’d expect from the son of Cobalt, a fiery black stallion, and Delilah, a gentle palomino mare. Samson seemed to combine the best of his parents’ traits.

“Nice picture, huh?” said a low voice beside Carole.

Startled out of her reverie, Carole turned to see the head stable hand, Red O’Malley, standing next to her.

“I’ll say,” she agreed. “I was just thinking how great Samson looks.”

Red nodded. “He’s been going great, too,” he said. “I only wish Max and I had more time to work with him. We’ve been so busy, and now …”

As Red’s voice trailed off, Carole noticed that he was carrying his saddle and had a large duffel bag slung over his back. “Are you going away?” she asked.

Red nodded, his eyes bright with anticipation. “Yeah, I got a working student position with Toby MacIntosh. I’m going up to Vermont for a month.”

“Wow!” Carole exclaimed. “Congratulations.” Toby MacIntosh was a top three-day eventer. He took on working students at his farm every summer and, Carole knew, the positions were extremely hard to get.

“Thanks,” Red said modestly. “I just found out yesterday. I was on the waiting list and someone dropped out at the last minute. Max was great about letting me go on such short notice,” the stable hand added, a note of worry creeping into his voice.

Carole could read Red’s thoughts instantly. “Don’t you worry about Max,” she said firmly. “Stevie and Lisa and I are planning to hang out here every day. We’ll pitch in—muck stalls, clean tack, anything.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Red confessed. His face brightened. “There are horses to be exercised, too, you know, so it won’t be all drudgery.”

“Even better,” Carole said. They both looked out at the pasture again. The horses had settled down and were grazing quietly. “Samson, too?” Carole inquired.

Red nodded vigorously. “Definitely. The more he gets out, the better. In fact, it’ll be great to see what the three of you can do with him.” As an afterthought, he added, “Drop me a line and let me know how his training is going.”

Carole promised to do so. She walked with Red to his pickup truck. “Have fun!” she called as Red started the engine. “And don’t work too hard!”

Red gave a jaunty wave and disappeared up the driveway.

Walking into the barn, Carole glanced once more toward the pasture. She couldn’t wait to try Samson again. But her own horse came first. And if Carole had learned anything recently, it was that she was happy to keep it that way.

“Starlight!” she called. “Hello, boy!”

The bay gelding stuck his nose out over the stall, nickering faintly. Carole saw that he was chewing on a mouthful of hay. “Okay,” she said, laughing, “you finish breakfast and I’ll get my grooming kit.”

On her way into the tack room, Carole glanced idly at the bulletin board hanging on the wall outside. Max used the board to post notices about horses for sale, stable jobs, boarding fees, and horse shows. Carole had looked at it the day before—and the day before that—and didn’t really expect to see anything new. But then she did a double take. Tacked to the cork was a horse show program, and not just any program, but one for the Macrae Valley Open in Pennsylvania.

Carole could feel her heart start to beat a little faster. The Macrae Valley Open was one of the premier horse shows on the East Coast. Carole had dreamed about riding
in it since she was a little girl. She had been a spectator on several occasions, and each time she went, her desire to show there herself had gotten stronger. Besides being A-rated and having the reputation of attracting the best riders, the Macrae was particularly famous for its junior divisions. Many of the best Olympic riders had cut their teeth riding in the junior jumper division of the Macrae.

Gingerly, as if she were handling a sacred object, Carole removed the program from the bulletin board. She flipped through the heavy cream-colored pages with longing. But when she came to the junior section, she closed the program abruptly. It was just too hard to read about a show she couldn’t enter. The Macrae was hundreds of miles away. Carole didn’t own a horse trailer. Max, with his busy schedule of coaching, training, and farm management, could hardly be persuaded to take one rider that great a distance. Carole wouldn’t even want to ask him. Besides, if Max ever thought she deserved to go, he would mention it himself. That, Carole thought grimly, tacking the program back to the board, settled that.

Still, when Lisa and Stevie turned up half an hour later, Carole couldn’t help mentioning the show.

“The Macky Ray—what?” said Stevie, yanking on her cowboy boots.

“The Macrae Valley Open!” Lisa said. The three girls
were changing in the locker room. “Even I’ve heard of it.”

“Well, why don’t you just ask Max if you can go?” Stevie suggested. “I’m sure you and Starlight are good enough.”

Shaking her head wistfully, Carole explained that it was more complicated than that. She would need transportation, a driver …

“Maybe Red could drive you in the Pine Hollow van,” Lisa suggested. “I bet he’d love to go to the Macrae. Maybe he could compete as well.”

“Oh, I meant to tell you,” said Carole. “I just saw Red on his way out. He’s going away for a month—to be a working student on Toby MacIntosh’s farm. Maybe I’ll talk to him about the show when he comes back. But until then, I told him we’d pitch in and make up for his absence.”

Stevie groaned good-naturedly. Unlike Carole, who thought mucking stalls was sheer joy, Stevie preferred her days heavy on the riding and light on the barn chores. Still, when the time came to help out, she always did more than her fair share. That was one of the rules of The Saddle Club, a group that she, Lisa, and Carole had started. Members had to be (a) horse-crazy and (b) willing to help each other out in any situation. Because Pine Hollow Stables was the club’s unofficial home base, the helping out often took place there.

To soften the blow, Carole added, “Red did say there are horses to be exercised while he’s gone, too. Including Samson.”

The mention of Samson set the girls talking excitedly. Samson had been a Saddle Club project since day one. Since before day one, actually: since the girls had helped care for his mother, Delilah, while she was in foal. They had also been there at the colt’s birth. A local horse trainer, Mr. Grover, had helped Samson through his initial months under saddle, but The Saddle Club had been waiting for him on his return. More recently, they had watched him develop into a real riding horse.

“I saw Red riding him the other day,” Lisa remarked. “Samson looked great! He’s a really good mover.”

“I was just thinking that this morning,” Carole said enthusiastically.