Secret Pony Society (3 page)

What do you want?” snapped the girl, in anything but a friendly tone. She looked down from the sleek back of her pony, her dark features full of contempt. The dog took a step forward, and I felt Drummer move toward it—Drummer wasn't afraid of the dog. He was all for tackling it head on. My crazy, brave Drummer.

“I don't want anything,” I said, pulling Drummer back. The last thing I needed was for Drum to get into a fight with the dog.

How could I make the girl believe I wasn't spying on the camp? I so blatantly was, and she was plainly unhappy at my watching her friends and relations. I swallowed, my heart thudding in my chest. This was more than a little tricky.

“I was just out riding,” I began breezily. “This is my pony Drummer. Your pony's lovely. What's his name?”

I hoped to strike a more friendly note. Talking about ponies usually did it for me, and I hoped the girl would take the bait and soften.

She didn't.

“Why are you spying on us?” The girl spat back accusingly. She had startling violet-colored eyes, and her straight black hair fell around her face and shoulders. She wore a green sweater, and her feet in sneakers dangled below the frayed edges of her faded jeans. The pony wasn't dark gray—almost black—as it had looked from a distance; its coat was flecked with specks of pure white, as though caught in a snowstorm. Its face and legs were black, and its glossy, silver-laced black mane cascaded over both sides of its neck. The bridle was black, with no noseband, and was the only tack it wore. Chewing nervously on the bit, the pony lifted a front hoof in impatience, its eyes wide, nostrils showing crimson, threatening to whirl away and put distance between itself and us. Its rider, however, held the pony there with effortless skill, her seat and legs preventing it from moving. Steam rose from the pony's flanks, swirling around its rider, making the pair of them even more ghostlike.

But it was the dog that worried me. It looked like a huge, thin, hairy greyhound, with a wheat-colored coat and suspicious, amber eyes. As it took a step toward us, the girl spoke sharply, and I was relieved when it instantly turned, standing again by her dangling foot, its eyes focused intently on us.

“Why are you spying on us?” the girl repeated.

“The game's up!” hissed Drummer, in his very best gangster voice. “You might as well come clean.”

This so wasn't the time to be funny.

I thought fast. Whatever lie I told, the girl wasn't going to believe me.

“I was interested in your ponies,” I said. “I saw you in the woods yesterday, and I wondered who you were.” The girl's expression didn't alter, so I stumbled on, making things worse.

“I ride around here with my friends. Maybe you'd like to ride out with us?”

“Not so talkative, your rider,” I heard Drummer say, doing his best to chum up with the gray.

“Yours doesn't have that problem,” the gray replied, her nose twitching. It was a mare.

“What's with your canine pal? He's looking at me like I'm lunch,” Drummer said.

“He's all right. Just a bit suspicious of strangers, that's all,” the gray assured him. I was pleased to hear that.

Oblivious to the equine conversation running parallel to the human one, the girl spoke again. “Ride out with you? You're either crazy or stupid! Your kind and my kind don't mix,” she said. “We never have.”

“But we both love horses,” I said desperately, not altogether convincingly. “We have that in common.”

“I'm Drummer,” said Drummer to the gray.

“Falling Snow,” offered the gray.

That took all my attention, and my gaze left the girl, settling on her pony in amazement.

“Oh, Falling Snow's a clever name—you have snowflakes on your coat!” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

The girl's eyes widened, and I realized my mistake.

“Oh, nice work!” exclaimed Drummer. “Explain that one, dingbat!”

I couldn't. I felt myself go red. Epona had done it again. But then, I thought ruefully, I was always blaming Epona when I was the idiot. Epona never made me open my mouth and blurt out nonsense; I managed to do that all by myself.

“Who told you my pony's name? Just how long have you been spying on us?” the girl demanded, leaning forward. Falling Snow looked more shocked than her rider.

“It's as though your person can hear me,” she said to Drummer.

“Er, well, technically she can. You have no idea how awkward it can be,” I heard Drum explain.

I bit my lip. What a total mess.

The girl sat up, her face expressionless again.

“Don't come here again, you don't know what trouble you'll cause,” she said sourly, and she turned her pony in one swift movement, cantering off through the trees, the dog bounding after her, its tongue lolling out the side of its mouth like a slice of pink ham.

“Oh, nicely handled!” said Drummer sarcastically.

All I could think about was how well the girl sat on her pony—relaxed and as one with Falling Snow. She had held her on the spot effortlessly, even though the pony had wanted to flee. I wished I could get Drummer to respond to me like that instead of our usual undignified wrestling. I hadn't seen the girl move a muscle, yet her pony pirouetted for her—and she'd sat there, without the security of a saddle, making like a centaur. Not only had I messed up big-time, but I felt a wave of jealousy about the girl's skill with her pony. That she had a way with horses was obvious.

I might be known as the Pony Whisperer, I might be able to talk to Drummer and the other ponies, I might be the person my friends came to in order to find out about their own ponies, but I was a fake. The girl on Falling Snow had a real talent, and it was all her own, not thanks to a little statue as mine was. I felt my heart sink—I'd have done anything to have that girl's natural affinity with ponies. She was more than a pony whisperer, she was a real horsewoman.

I don't understand why you're so interested in her,” Katy said, peeling off Bluey's purple stable rug. Her blue roan gelding nuzzled her pockets, and Katy produced the treat he knew was there. The stable soon smelled of chewed carrot as Bluey made short, crunchy work of it.

“She's just a traveling girl with a pony. I mean, she's not Ellen Whitaker or anything, is she? And Cat's really got it in for the travelers—she's even more anti than James,” continued Katy, flicking a tendril of red hair behind her ear. “She's certain they'll steal all the ponies.”

“Well, you can see why she's so worried. After all, Bambi's just the sort of pony travelers take to, what with her being skewbald and all,” said Bean.

“You'd better not let her hear you say that,” I mumbled. Telling Cat her pony looked like one of the traveler's horses wasn't something I'd volunteer for.

Our meeting room was Bluey's stable. Bean had jammed herself into his old wooden corner trough, sitting with her knees high, her legs dangling, and I sat on an upturned water bucket by the door. Only Katy—wearing shades of purple as usual—was upright, adjusting Bluey's rug and running her fingers through his tail, picking out bits of straw.

It was Saturday morning, and I'd got to the yard early and had already groomed and mucked out Drum. Usually, Bean, Katy, and I meet up and discuss where we can ride or what local events we can take the ponies to. This morning, I had made the mistake of babbling on about the mysterious girl I'd met in the woods. I just couldn't get her out of my mind.

“You should see her ride. And she's just got such a way with horses, a great, natural way,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. It sounded lame, now I was saying it out loud. It was difficult to describe the girl's presence to my friends.
They hadn't met her
, I thought. They'd understand if they had.

“Oh, come on, Pia,” snorted Bean, swinging her legs. “It isn't like you haven't got a way with horses. I mean, you're the Pony Whisperer, for goodness sake!”

Inwardly, I cringed. Sometimes I forget no one else but James is in on my secret. At least, I hoped that was still the case. My thoughts flew back to my anxieties about James and Catriona.

“Has anyone seen the travelers racing their horses again?” Katy asked, squirting Bluey's tail enthusiastically with conditioner. Bluey tugged at his hay net and chewed thoughtfully, oblivious to what was happening at his rear. (Katy is one of those people grown-ups call capable. She couldn't be more different from Bean, who's all over the place.)

“They were running some horses around in sulkies in the field yesterday. Dee and I saw them as we rode past,” said Bean. “There was a lot of shouting.”

“I've never seen this wonder girl you're going on about,” said Katy. “Are you sure she exists, Pia, apart from in your head?”

“Well, don't laugh, but that's what I wondered when I first saw them,” I said. “I couldn't help thinking about the séance we had in the summer…”

“Oh, don't mention that!” wailed Bean with a shudder. “All those letters, all those horrible words about death being spelled out. I didn't sleep for a week!”

“James pushed the beaker. I kept telling you that!” Katy sighed, the voice of reason.

Suddenly, Bluey's half door flew open and Dee-Dee leaped in, slamming the door shut behind her and making us all jump—including Bluey who stopped chewing for about a millisecond.

“Come in! All welcome!” exclaimed Katy. “It's open house here apparently!” She glared at Bean, who grinned back at her, lifting her legs so that Katy could get to the cupboard her dad had built under the manger. She fished out her grooming kit.

“It's a Twiddles emergency!” cried Dee, looking back out over the door, her brown hair flopping over her eyes.

“In that case, I grant you sanctuary,” said Katy, bowing theatrically.

Gingerly, I looked over the door with Dee. Twiddles Scissor-Paws is one of Mrs. Collins's cats and is super unfriendly. He hisses, he scratches, he has everyone on the run—except Mrs. C. With her, he adopts a cuddly kitty cat persona. Everyone else walks in fear of meeting him in the hay barn or seeing him curled up asleep on their pony's rug. Bean's convinced he's the reincarnation of Mrs. Collins's long-dead husband.

We watched the fat tabby strut past with the arrogant air of a cat scared of no one and head toward the tack room.

“Phew, reprieve!” Dee sighed.

“For us, maybe,” I said. “What about the mice in the tack room?”

“What are you all doing in here?” asked Dee-Dee.

“Subject? The travelers,” explained Bean.

“Oh, nightmare. My mom's changed the padlock combinations on Dolly and Lester's tack boxes. She's convinced we're going to be robbed blind.”

Dolly was Dee's show pony, and her mom, Sophie, had a show horse, a liver chestnut called Lester. Sophie is always nagging Dee about her riding, organizing lessons for her in ring craft, and dragging her off to shows. It means Dee tends to whine a bit. Well, quite a lot, actually.

“Why bother changing the combinations?” asked Katy, looking puzzled. “It's not like anyone else knew the old ones.”

“You ask her,” was Dee's reply, “and let me know how it goes.”

“I might. She's always nice to me. I like your mom.”

“Yeah, well, it's fine for you, she's not your mom. I get along all right with your mom.”

“Yeah, it's funny how that works,” mused Bean, picking at the seam in her jodhpurs and making a hole.

“Those travelers have got a really nice blackish pony that would show if it was turned out right,” said Dee. “I saw it when we drove past the Sloping Field.”

“That's Falling Snow, the girl's pony, the one I was telling you about!” I exclaimed.

“Pia got friendly with one of them,” Bean explained.

“What? Are you crazy? Don't tell my mom, whatever you do!” said Dee.

“I am not friends with her—anything but!” I replied. “Although I did offer to be friends—I mean, we're getting ourselves all worked up about the travelers, but has anyone bothered to get to know them? They might be all right.”

“They might just be
all right
at swiping things,” said Dee. “It's fine for you, but we've got our horse trailer here. They might be all right at making off with that in the middle of the night!”

“You don't know they steal things. We're just making assumptions,” I said, imagining the travelers racing down the roads in Sophie's expensive horse trailer. I couldn't see them getting very far—it's the size of a small house. Actually, it is practically a small house—it has a kitchen, beds, even a shower.

“I don't know why you're so keen to stick up for them, Pia,” said Bean. “I mean, they might take a liking to Drummer.”

“And Dolly's worth thousands!” added Dee.

“Hey, our ponies are totally priceless to us!” Katy interrupted.

“Palominos like Tiffany are highly prized, too. Your traveler friends would take her in a second, Pia!” said Bean, all indignant.

I didn't know how I'd suddenly become ambassador to the travelers—I'd only stuck up for them because of the mystery girl. I couldn't get her out of my mind. I held up my hands.

“OK, OK, keep your shirt on! Jeez, they're not my friends. I was just saying we're being a bit quick to judge them. We don't know they'll take stuff. We're making assumptions.”

“Better to be safe than sorry!” muttered Dee darkly.

“I don't like the way they tether their ponies,” said Katy, picking out Bluey's hooves. Bluey went into autopilot mode, politely lifting each hoof in turn.

“That's how poor Moth got teased and tormented,” Bean reminded us.

Everyone was silent, remembering how Moth had been ill-treated.

“But it wasn't the travelers who did that,” I said, thinking I ought to shut up and agree with everyone for my own sake. But my mouth kept droning on, ignoring my brain and better judgment. “It was some boys from the estate!”

“But what about the racing?” said Bean.

I changed sides without a second thought. “That
is
horrible,” I agreed. “The poor horses I saw were exhausted and terrified. I don't know why they have to do that.”

“Money!” said Bean. “They bet against one another. It's what they do.”

“And never mind the poor horses,” mused Dee.

“Who's coming riding?” asked Katy, moving the conversation on in her brisk way.

“I am,” said Bean, trying to get up out of Bluey's trough. “Oh, I can't, I'm stuck. Help!”

Dee and I grabbed an arm each and pulled until Bean popped out.

“I can't,” said Dee. “I have to do some training. Mom's paying ‘show pony producer legend' Geoff Chamberlain to come over to give me some last-minute tips. Boorrrring!”

Dee and Dolly had qualified for her show class at the Horse of the Year Show, and Sophie was leaving nothing to chance. She'd dragged Dee off to be fitted for a new jacket, and poor Dolly was rugged up to the nines. The dappled gray looked like the Michelin horse, swaddled from head to hoof in duvet rugs, bandages, and a hood, all to prevent her winter coat from coming through. Drummer had lost his shape to his winter coat already and resembled a fluffy, brown teddy bear, but when the layers were peeled off Dolly, her svelte summer shape showed through her sleek, tricked, summer coat. If the sun was out, she was allowed a layer off. As soon as a cloud loomed, Dee's mom appeared as if by fairy dust (or by broom, according to James) to replace it. Dolly was amazingly good about it all and was excited about the show—much more so than Dee.

“It's the big time, the one everyone wants to qualify for!” I had heard Dolly tell Drummer. “Every show pony dreams of making it to the national level.”

Drum had looked at her as though she was nuts. I tried to imagine how he would take to all the pampering and preparation for the national championship. It was as though he could read my mind.

“Don't get any ideas,” he had told me. “I don't mind the odd show on a sunny day, but if you ever aspire to all that nonsense poor Dolly has to go through, I'll run off and join the circus.”

“You'd soon run back again!” I'd told him. “Two performances a day? You couldn't stand the pace.”

“I'm just warning you,” he'd said. I hadn't liked to tell him that, handsome though he was, show material he wasn't. Some have it, and some, like my wonderful Drummer, have not. His talents lay elsewhere. I was still trying to discover where, exactly. He's a great all-arounder, but no specialist. But then again, neither am I. My mind drifted back to the mystery traveler girl's talent. One day, with work, maybe I would be as good a rider as her. I hoped so.

“I'll come riding—but let's not go anywhere near the Sloping Field because I don't want to get into any more arguments today,” I pleaded.

“Or see any nasty racing!” agreed Bean.

“You've got half of Bluey's breakfast on the back of your jodhpurs,” Katy told her.

Bean twisted around and, unable to see the chaff on the seat of her pink-and-now-holey jodhpurs, brushed wildly with her hand. She was wearing a really nice chocolate-brown quilted jacket that I wouldn't have said no to. It looked great with her brown half chaps and made her blonde hair look even paler. Dee had a red waistcoat over her fawn jodhs and her short jodhpur boots, looking the part for her oncoming date with Geoff C. I had on my lime green jodhpurs and orange fleece I'd won in the Sublime Equine Challenge at Brookdale. That had been where James and Catriona had got together. Yuck. Could I just stop thinking about that?

“Where are we going, and who are we going with?” enquired Drummer as I went into his stable with his tack.

“Don't know where, but we're going with Bluey and Tiff,” I told him.

“Oh, OK!” he said, pricking his ears and looking pleased.

A car pulled up. Catriona got out and waved good-bye to her dad. I was glad to be going riding. Leanne arrived just after her. Leanne's a bit of a dressage diva, and she and Cat are joined at the hip these days. I'd been the new girl when I discovered Epona, and when the Pony Whisperer thing kicked off Cat had been really huffy. Prior to my arrival, Cat had been the yard guru, the one everyone asked advice from, but when I helped everyone with their pony problems (due only to Epona, of course), Cat got bent out of shape, and as a result, relationships between herself, Bean, Katy, Dee, and James, who had all been friendly with me, had been put under strain. They'd broken down completely when Cat had tried to get us all disqualified at the Sublime Equine Challenge at Brookdale. It made things awkward at the stable—Bean, Katy, and Dee had a history with Cat and were reluctant to be her enemy, but they were also my friends now. Leanne, on the other hand, made no secret of the fact that I meant nothing to her, so she and Cat made a natural alliance.

Drum blew himself out as I buckled the girth. As usual. Then, when I tried to put his bridle on, he pretended his teeth were welded together.

“Open wide,” I said, working my thumb into the corner of his mouth, which wasn't easy with the bridle in my right hand, the bit in my left.

Drummer just fixed me with an innocent stare, like he didn't know what I was talking about.

“Wider!” I said firmly.

“Make me,” he said. Only it came out “maaaa-meeee,” as his mouth was wedged shut.

I sighed. “You won't want feeding ever again, then, if you can't open your mouth,” I said sneakily.

The bit slid in. I was fastening the noseband when Bean and Katy rode up outside the door.

“Hurry up, Pia!” shouted Bean. “I haven't ridden Tiff for two days, and she's standing on her head out here!”