Secret Horse (13 page)

“That was amazing! That was incredible!”

“
You
were incredible!”

In the midst of their ecstatic congratulations, Lisa noticed a lone figure walking back up to the barn. But she wouldn’t let herself worry—not now, not yet. She had
done what Max had said: She had shown what she could do. She could only hope it would be enough.

T
HE DAY PASSED
in a blur of barn work. It was so hot Stevie hosed herself down from time to time. That, of course, meant that she hosed down anyone else who happened to go by. But Carole and Lisa were glad to get cool. Drying off on the knoll, they specifically avoided discussing Max’s pending decision. Carole and Stevie knew it would only make Lisa nervous. But when they were back mucking stalls, Stevie slipped away and ran down to the outdoor ring. Making sure she wasn’t being followed, she slid through the fence and darted over to one of the jumps. She leaned down and grabbed the soda can. Sure enough, it was a diet orange. Stevie’s eyes narrowed into two slits. She had a funny feeling that her spying was about to pay off.

Meanwhile, Carole quietly went to Max’s office. She knocked firmly on the door. “Come in!” said Max, looking up wearily from a stack of papers.

Carole cleared her throat. She wasn’t as great a speech maker as Lisa, but she had something to say. Without waiting for Max’s encouragement, she launched in.

“… and so, I believe that every woman—or man—deserves a chance,” she concluded a few minutes later. “And the Macrae Valley Open is Lisa’s.”

Max pushed his chair away from his desk. He formed a stack of papers and tapped them into order. “Have you three ever considered debating?” he asked. “If not, you ought to. The other teams wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Carole didn’t know whether Max’s joking was a good sign or a bad sign. She waited, hearing the tick of the clock on the wall.

Finally Max smiled. “I think Lisa deserves a chance, too,” he said.

“Yes!” Carole cried.

“I had to think about it because the horse is so green and the competition is so tough. But if she knows she can do it, then she
can
do it.”

“Max, that’s great!” Carole exclaimed. “It will make Lisa’s day! It’ll make her year!”

“I’m counting on you and Starlight to train with them,” Max said sternly. “And to help them out at the show.”

Before Carole could reply, there was a hesitant rap on the door and Lisa walked in. Seeing Carole, she stood still awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I—Well, the truth is, I know you said you’d decide based on this morning, Max, but I think I deserve a chance to tell you why I deserve to ride!”

Max put up a hand. “I just got that speech,” he said, “from Carole. The answer is yes.”

Lisa was dumbfounded. “It is?” she said.

Max nodded. “What do you think all this paperwork is? It’s two sets of entries for the Macrae!”

Lisa and Carole shrieked and hugged each other. As they embraced, there was a third knock. Stevie came in carrying a pitchfork and an empty soda can. An empty diet orange soda can.

Max took the can from her without asking what it was.

“Don’t you want me to explain exhibit A?” Stevie asked.

“I think I have a pretty good idea where—and whom—it came from,” Max said tersely. “I think someone is going to spend some time doing ground cleanup. I’m sure it wasn’t dropped on purpose, but I wouldn’t want to discover any more trash lying around where someone could get hurt.”

The Saddle Club remained silent, but Stevie couldn’t help letting a small smile flit across her face. Still, she knew from experience that when Max took things into his own hands, it was better to stay out of it—way out of it.

“And you can stop carrying that around, too,” Max commanded. “I know how much barn work you’ve been doing, and I appreciate it, okay?”

“But I like carrying the pitchfork around!” Stevie protested. “It means I’m always ready to muck a stall!”

Amid the girls’ celebratory chatter, Max stood up and waved his hands for silence. “I do have some bad news,” he said, looking at Stevie with concern. “As you know, I only have two free stalls in the van. If Carole and Lisa both ride, I won’t be able to take you, too, Stevie.”

“I don’t care about not riding,” Stevie said readily, “if that’s what you mean. I intend to go as a stable manager.”

Everyone stared at this pronouncement.

“Stable manager?” said Lisa. “But you hate barn chores!”

“In general, yes,” Stevie admitted. “But I’m not above getting my hands dirty to help the,
ahem
, common cause.”

Max looked perplexed. Unfortunately, The Saddle Club had to let him stay that way. They couldn’t explain that the common cause meant one thing: beating Veronica!

W
HEN
S
TEVIE AND
C
AROLE
cleared out, Max held Lisa back a moment. “Lisa,” he said seriously, “you had quite a ride this morning, jumping the brush instead of the tires at the end. That’s one big fence.”

Lisa blushed with pride. “I wanted to convince you I could do it—that Samson and I can jump any obstacle we meet.”

Max nodded. “That’s great. But I want you to understand something. My decision had more to do with the way you handled the combination than with the spectacular jump you threw in at the end.”

Lisa frowned. “Really? But I had to approach the combination twice. In a show, that would have counted as a refusal.”

“Yes,” Max said, “it would have. But in a show, as at
home, safety comes first. You thought fast and remained calm this morning. You made the right decision out there. And I’m proud of you. That’s why I’m letting you ride.”

Lisa nodded. She felt a world of understanding open up to her. “Thanks, Max,” she said. “You won’t regret it.”

D
INNER AT THE
Atwoods’ that night was a different story. Lisa was so excited she could hardly sit still. She waited until the meal had been served before sharing the good news with her parents. Mrs. Atwood set the plate she was holding on the table. “My little girl is going to compete in the Macrae Valley Open?” she said incredulously.

Bursting with joy, Lisa nodded. “Max just okayed it this morning.”

“I—I can’t believe it!” Mrs. Atwood cried. She hugged Lisa. “I’m so proud of you! All your hard work has paid off!”

“Congratulations, honey,” said Lisa’s dad. “I don’t know exactly what the Macrae is, but it sounds like a big honor.”

“Big honor?” Mrs. Atwood scoffed. “It’s the biggest! I can’t wait to tell my friends in the P.T.A.! We’ll have to get you a whole new outfit. Oh, gosh, I hope I run into Mrs. diAngelo soon!”

Lisa shifted uncomfortably. Now that she had made her announcement, she wished her mother would drop the subject. But Mrs. Atwood talked nonstop through dinner.

“Imagine if you won the trophy! Dad and I would get to go to the winners’ circle. I wonder if there’s a party afterward? What’s the date? I’d better make a haircut appointment. I’ll have to look my best in the spectator stands. This is so exciting. To think: the Macrae Valley Open Horse Show. One of the biggest society events of the year!”

By the time dinner was over, Lisa was exhausted. She crept up to bed, leaving her mother talking on the phone with one of her friends. “Do you realize what an honor this is? My Lisa!…”

Despite her fatigue, Lisa didn’t sleep well. She should have been happy. Her dream had come true, after all. But every several months, maybe twice a year, Lisa had a recurring nightmare. The plot was always the same: She would dream that she was going into a major exam. On her way into the classroom she would remember that she had forgotten to study, that she knew absolutely nothing about the subject. The teacher would hand out the tests. “But I forgot to study!” Lisa would plead. “Can’t you give me a break?” “I’m sorry,” the teacher would say, “but you know I can’t help you.” Lisa would look down
at the test paper, certain she was going to fail. Then she would wake up.

She had the dream that night. She woke up at dawn in a cold sweat. “Thank goodness it was only a dream,” she said aloud, relieved as she always was. But this time the feeling of relief didn’t stay with her. She tossed and turned until the alarm went off.

After breakfast she read a book until her mother called and said she was leaving. “I’ll drop you off at Pine Hollow, dear! I know you don’t want to miss a minute.”

Stevie and Carole were in the midst of haying and watering when Lisa arrived. “You can help Mrs. Reg with the grain,” Carole advised.

Lisa conferred briefly with Max’s mother, who handed her a list of horses to feed. “You go up the far aisle and I’ll go down the near and we’ll meet somewhere in the middle,” said Mrs. Reg.

Lisa was glad when she saw that the last horse on her list was Samson. After dumping premeasured amounts of pellets and sweet feed into his bucket, she hung over the gelding’s stall door. “I still haven’t told anyone about the first time we jumped the brush,” Lisa murmured. “It’s our secret, boy. But did you hear? I’m going to ride you in the Macrae! Carole, Max—everyone thinks we can do it.” Samson went on eating his grain with gusto.

Lisa wished he could talk. She wished he could reassure
her that
he
wanted her to ride him. “I just hope I’m good enough to—”

“It’s nice to watch a horse eat, isn’t it?” said a voice behind her. Startled, Lisa spun around to see Mrs. Reg, empty grain buckets slung over her arm. “I always stop and look in myself when I’m done feeding.”

Lisa nodded awkwardly, wondering how much Mrs. Reg had heard. “I guess you heard about me and Samson,” she volunteered finally, wondering what Mrs. Reg would say.

“Yes, that’s terrific news,” said Mrs. Reg.

For some reason Lisa had expected her to say more. “So—So you’re not surprised?” she asked.

“Why should I be surprised?” Mrs. Reg countered. “He’s a lovely horse, and you’re a good rider.”

Lisa barely heard the compliment. “It’s just—I don’t have that much experience with training green horses, I mean, at least not compared to—”

“Pshaw!” Mrs. Reg interrupted. “What do you think Prancer was when you started riding her? She was fresh off the track. That’s
worse
than green, harder to deal with, anyway. And you’ve done wonderfully with her.”

“I guess so,” said Lisa. Then, realizing how rude she must sound, she added, “I mean—thanks. Thanks, Mrs. Reg.”

“You’re welcome,” Mrs. Reg said pleasantly.

“You know,” Lisa added, her voice tentative, “I took a fall the other day—on Samson.”

“Did you?” said Mrs. Reg.

“Yeah. Over at the Grovers’. We got into a fence wrong and I—well, I just fell off.”

“You weren’t hurt, were you?” asked Mrs. Reg.

Lisa shook her head. “Oh, no! I was fine, Samson was fine, and I got right back on and jumped the fence that gave us problems.”

“Good,” said Mrs. Reg. “You did the right thing.”

You did the right thing.
That was what Max had said the day before. Lisa knew that this knowledge ought to have comforted her, but somehow it didn’t. “I—I guess I did,” she said worriedly.

Mrs. Reg gave her a searching look. “Is something bothering you, Lisa?” she asked.

Lisa felt her face redden. “Oh, no! Everything’s great,” she said. “I’m riding in the Macrae! What more could I want?”

“Well, I’d better go up to the house,” Mrs. Reg said finally. “Deborah is going to D.C. all day, so I’m baby-sitting.”

“Say hi to little Maxi for me,” Lisa said, relieved that Mrs. Reg wasn’t launching into one of her famously long-winded, enigmatic stories.

“I will,” Mrs. Reg promised. Reflectively she added,
“It seems like yesterday Maxi was a newborn, doesn’t it? And now she can crawl like lightning, pull herself up … She’ll be walking in no time. But babies—kids—are amazing that way. They’re all confidence. They can do anything they put their minds to. It would never occur to a baby to think, Maybe I’d better not try to walk; there’s a chance I could fall down. They just fall a hundred times and keep right on going.”

“Sure, Mrs. Reg,” Lisa said vaguely. “I, ah, had better get going, too. We’re cleaning all the bridles before lunch today.”

S
OAPING REINS IN
the tack room, the girls discussed the competition at the Macrae. “My mother’s all excited because the Macrae is a big society event in Pennsylvania,” Lisa remarked.

Carole nodded. “It sure is. This show is really for the richest of the rich. These girls all have the most expensive saddles, the most expensive boots—heck, I bet they go to the drugstore and ask for the most expensive hair nets!”

Stevie snorted with laughter. “I wonder if their horses eat special grass!” she joked.

“If it exists, you bet they do,” Carole said.

Lisa rinsed her sponge in the bucket on the floor. “Carole, I know you’re kidding and all,” she said, “but you don’t think we’ll be outclassed, do you?”

“On Samson and Starlight?” said Carole. “Hardly. And anyway, we can’t worry about that. At every show you go to, there’s somebody with a fancier horse or a fancier trainer—or a fancier everything. You just have to have faith in yourself and your horse. That’s what counts.”