Secret Horse (4 page)

“We might be able to take Samson’s training a little faster than that,” she suggested.

“You mean because of his breeding?” said Carole. “Because that’s important, but it’s not everything. Right now we have no idea how Samson—”

“Yes, we do,” Lisa broke in. “At least I do.” At Carole’s and Stevie’s blank looks, she explained, “I jumped Samson today.”

“You did?” said Stevie, putting down her sandwich. “That’s great. How’d he do?”

Lisa paused for a second before answering, anticipating her friends’ reaction to the news she was about to give. Then she said slowly, looking from Stevie to Carole, “He did amazingly well. Judging by his performance today, I think it’s fair to say that Samson is a very, very talented jumper.”

“Really? Wow,” said Stevie. “What a great discovery.”

Lisa looked at Carole to see how she was taking the news. To her surprise, Carole didn’t look particularly excited. “Did you set up fences down at the ring?” she asked curiously.

Lisa shook her head. “No, I jumped him over the permanent obstacles, the … the tires,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

“The tires? Those are a good two feet,” Carole said thoughtfully. “Did you jump him more than once?”

“Several times,” Lisa said proudly. “Each time he was better than the first.”

“It sounds like he really liked it,” Carole remarked.

“Why shouldn’t he?” Lisa said a touch defensively. “I’m telling you, he’s a natural.” Excitedly, she began to describe what jumping Samson was like.

“I can’t wait to see Samson jump myself,” Carole said.

Lisa frowned. Her big news had barely made an impression on Carole. What she ought to do was tell Carole about the brush. That would get her attention for sure. But Lisa stubbornly felt she didn’t want to mention it. That jump, at least, she wanted to keep secret.

“Me either,” Stevie was saying. “Why don’t we take him out in a group tomorrow morning? Same time, same place.”

“Perfect,” Carole said. “We can take turns riding him.”

“Oh, darn!” Lisa cried, remembering. “I won’t be able to make it. I’m going to D.C. with my mother tomorrow. I promised her I would go to a museum at least once a month. She wants me to learn to appreciate art.”

“What about the fine art of horsemanship?” Stevie said indignantly. “Doesn’t that count?”

Lisa sighed. “Not in her book. The closest I’ll get to horsemanship tomorrow is a painting of a horse.”

“Come late,” Carole urged. “We’ll wait until the afternoon to ride Samson.”

“That’s okay,” said Lisa. “You guys go ahead and I’ll help out with mucking stalls in the afternoon.”

When Carole and Stevie protested, Lisa insisted. It was only fair that they get a turn after scrubbing buckets all morning. But that was only part of it. The truth was, she was almost relieved she wasn’t going to be there when her friends rode Samson. Even the idea of it made her the slightest bit jealous. Carole, especially, had been very possessive of Samson in the past, partly due to her love for Cobalt. When Samson had gone to live at Mr. Grover’s for a time, Carole had seemed to get over this possessiveness. But, Lisa thought, chewing anxiously on a fingernail, it could always come back …

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Carole’s and Stevie’s muscles were aching from the extra-long day they had put in. By the time they had ridden their own horses and helped with the evening chores, it had been nearly dark. Now they were back two hours after sunrise. But they wouldn’t have had it any other way. They loved getting into the groove of the stable, being there for the morning feeding and the evening haying. This morning, as they went from stall to stall filling water buckets, each was lost in her own thoughts.

Carole kept going over what Lisa had said. She hadn’t stopped thinking about it all night. But though she desperately wanted to believe in Samson’s talent, sight unseen, inwardly she forced herself to be skeptical. She knew from experience that a horse’s talent—for anything—could
not be judged instantaneously. While there was no doubt that Lisa had enjoyed jumping Samson, her enthusiasm might have run away with her.

But there was another reason Carole had to see the horse jump for herself. Ever since Cobalt had died, Carole had hoped Samson would inherit his sire’s talent. If what Lisa said was true, then Cobalt’s legacy would truly live on. But Carole didn’t want to get her hopes up only to be disappointed.

Stevie, meanwhile, was picturing herself moving out West with Belle. The two of them could live out on the range, sleep under the stars. She’d have a guitar strapped to her back. She’d play old favorites around the camp-fire—like “Git Along, Little Dogies” and “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” and—

“Uh, Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

“Any particular reason why you just launched into ‘Home on the Range’?”

Stevie grinned. “Just thinking about the future,” she said.

Carole laughed. The girls knew each other so well, Stevie didn’t have to explain any more than that.

They also knew that whenever one of them was absent, the other two felt it. Tacking up Samson, Stevie said she wished Lisa didn’t have to be at the museum.
“Especially since she’s the one who made the discovery about how great a jumper Samson is.”

Carole hesitated. Then she said, her voice dry, “Stevie, let’s wait and see before we draw any conclusions about Samson’s ability.”

“Sure,” Stevie said, “but Lisa sounded pretty certain.”

“I hope she’s right,” Carole said quietly.

Stevie gave her a sharp look. All at once she understood. It wasn’t that Carole doubted Lisa, it was that she was afraid to trust her. That was very different.

When Samson was bridled and saddled, the two girls walked him down to the outside ring. “Why don’t you ride him?” Carole said hoarsely.

Stevie nodded, noticing how shaky Carole sounded. “Sounds good.”

Carole gave her a leg up and then dropped back to watch horse and rider warm up. Again she noticed what a nice mover Samson was. After twenty minutes or so, Stevie shortened her stirrups a couple of holes and prepared to jump. Carole set up two low cross rails a few strides apart. Perched on the rail of the ring, she was almost afraid to look as Stevie trotted Samson toward the first. But as soon as she saw one jump, Carole couldn’t take her eyes off them.

Samson was spectacular. Like most green horses, he over-jumped, clearing every fence by a two-foot margin.
But in the air his form was picture-perfect. He rounded his back and snapped up his knees. In spite of herself, Carole laughed delightedly. “He looks like he’s trying to convince us to raise the fences!” she called to Stevie, “and give him something real to jump!”

“He’s got such a big jump I can hardly stay in the saddle!” Stevie hollered.

Eventually, tiring of the cross rails, Stevie rode Samson over the tires as Lisa had done. Watching the black horse soar over the fence, Carole couldn’t hold in her enthusiasm. She sprang from the rail, clapping her hands together. “Yippee!” she cried, jumping up and down and hugging herself. Her relief and excitement were enormous. What she had hardly permitted herself to think about was now a reality. Eyes shining, Carole found herself whispering over and over again, “He’s going to be good, Cobalt! He’s going to be just like you!”

B
EFORE CALLING IT
a day, Carole tried Samson herself. She didn’t want to overdo it, so she jumped him over only a few fences. But it was enough—enough to confirm that Lisa was dead right. Carole had jumped dozens of horses in the years she’d been riding. Very few—only a handful—made her feel the way Samson did. It was an edge they had over other horses. An Olympic horse she’d once ridden had had it. Cobalt had had it. It was the feeling, simply, that the horse could jump anything that
was set before him. Her heart pounding with happiness, Carole vaulted lightly off Samson’s back.

Seeing the expression on Carole’s face, Stevie didn’t have to ask her friend what she thought. She knew that in the past hour, one of Carole’s dreams had come true.

“Y
OU KNOW
,” C
AROLE
said, walking back to the barn, “Samson would make a great junior jumper. He’d make a great jumper, period, but why should the adults have all the fun? Max doesn’t need another show horse.”

“Whereas
we
…,” Stevie continued, hazel eyes twinkling.

“… definitely need another Saddle Club project!” Carole finished for her.

They walked a few paces in silence, then Stevie stopped dead in her tracks. She grasped Carole’s arm. “Carole,” she said in a low, urgent voice, “we also need a way to convince Max to take us to the Macrae.”

Carole stared at her. “Are you suggesting …?” Stevie nodded. The idea was wild. It was impossible. It was—“Fantastic,” Carole breathed.

“Do you think we could get him ready in time?” Stevie murmured, hardly daring to consider the reality of what she was saying.

Carole surveyed the horse beside her. Her mind seemed to be spinning yet focused at the same time. “It’s hard to say,” she said slowly. “He’s talented, but he’s
green. And it’s a big show. A
very
big show. But we wouldn’t have to tell anyone what we were doing.”

Stevie waited, wanting to shriek with enthusiasm at the very idea.

Carole was still being practical. “We’d teach Samson a lot just by trying,” she said reflectively. She gave the horse’s black neck a pat. “It could be our secret, couldn’t it, boy?”

“And if it didn’t work out, only The Saddle Club would know,” said Stevie.

“But if it did work out …” Carole allowed herself a shiver of excitement. “Imagine Max’s face when he sees us give a jumping demonstration on a horse born and bred right here at Pine Hollow!”

But Stevie’s mind had already raced far, far ahead. Her eyes narrowed. “Imagine Veronica diAngelo’s face,” she said, “when our secret horse jumps the pants—or the saddle—off Danny at the Macrae Valley Open!” In anticipation of that marvelous day, Stevie threw her arms around Samson’s neck. “If you beat Veronica,” she promised, “you can have my lunch-box carrots for a whole year!”

Talking a mile a minute, the two girls began to make plans for putting Project Secret Horse into action. They couldn’t wait to fill Lisa in on the scheme her discovery had hatched.

L
ISA HUNG BACK
from the crowd, her stomach growling. She had long ago lost track of the number of galleries she had walked through. Mrs. Atwood, of course, had insisted that they take the guided tour. Or as Lisa had begun to think of it, the extremely slow, boring tour that kept them from eating lunch.

“So we have the black figure on red, and the red figure on black …,” the woman droned on.

Lisa was an intellectual girl. She was interested in art and music. Normally she might have enjoyed a morning learning about Greek vases. But this morning all she could think of was how fast she could get to Pine Hollow. Making sure no one was looking, she glanced at her watch. Eleven-thirty. By now, Carole and Stevie would have tried Samson. What if they didn’t agree with her? What if Carole didn’t think Samson was that great a jumper? Yesterday she had acted as if she doubted Lisa’s judgment. Lisa bristled at the memory. Maybe Carole had been riding the longest, but Lisa knew a lot about horses, too. Carole could at least trust her opinion!

“Isn’t this fascinating?” Mrs. Atwood whispered. The group followed the tour guide into the next room.

Lisa looked up and saw another twenty or thirty groups of Greek vases. “Utterly, Mom. Utterly fascinating,” she repeated in a monotone as her thoughts raced back to Pine Hollow.

A second fear struck Lisa. What if Carole and Stevie
did
agree with her assessment? Then it wouldn’t matter that she had made the discovery. They would have just as much stake in riding Samson as she had. For some reason, this bothered Lisa. She almost wished she hadn’t said anything. Maybe she could have trained Samson on her own …

As the guide wrapped up her tour, Lisa fell into a daydream. She was riding Samson over a huge course of jumps. People were cheering for them. It was a big horse show. It was … the Macrae Valley Open! Snapping out of her fantasy, Lisa looked around sheepishly. She was embarrassed at even having dreamed about riding Samson in the Macrae. Talk about a far-fetched idea! If anyone got to ride in the Macrae it would be Carole, of course. She had the experience, the competence—