The Painted Horse

Stevie wandered out onto the balcony to look through the huge window at Central Park.
There’s freedom out there
, she thought.

If only she were on the other side of the glass. If only she were outdoors.

Stevie looked at her watch. She had a whole two hours. She looked at the park. It wouldn’t hurt to take a break from all this culture. In fact, she owed it to herself. A breath of fresh air was all she needed.

She walked through the Egyptian exhibit back to the main hall. To the right was the museum gift shop. Stevie could buy postcards later.

She wiggled through the knot of tourists and hurried down the stairs. She ran along an endless fountain and turned left. Suddenly she was in the park.

Fresh air. Freedom.

“I B
ET
S
TEVIE
’
S
having lunch at one of those posh restaurants where models eat,” Lisa said.

“But models never eat,” Carole said.

“So they’re watching Stevie eat,” Lisa said with a laugh. Their best friend, Stevie Lake, was famous for her large appetite and for eating weird combinations of food, like blueberry sherbet with butterscotch sauce and chocolate-mint chips.

Stevie, Lisa Atwood, and Carole Hanson were members of The Saddle Club. The club had only two rules: Members had to be totally horse-crazy, and they had to help each other out whenever possible.

The three friends would have been doing something
together, but Stevie had gone to New York City on a class trip. Normally, she never would have done anything school-related over a vacation, but this trip was giving her the opportunity to bring her grades up. And, Lisa and Carole knew, if Stevie’s grades slipped too far, she’d lose her riding privileges. Besides, going to New York sounded like fun.

“She’s probably eating a buffalo steak,” Carole said.

“Or hearing the latest gossip from Skye,” Lisa said. Skye Ransom was a well-known actor whom The Saddle Club had met when they had all been in New York together. His horse had run away, and The Saddle Club had helped him catch it. He and the girls had been fast friends ever since.

When Skye had written The Saddle Club saying he was going to be starring in a Broadway show, Stevie had written back telling him a group from her class was going to be in New York at the same time. Skye had promised to introduce Stevie to the true glamour of the Big Apple.

Lisa and Carole, on the other hand, were stuck in Willow Creek on a miserable rainy Wednesday. It was their vacation, just as it was Stevie’s, and they had been planning to ride all week. They couldn’t ride outdoors because of the rain, and the indoor ring was booked for
classes and private lessons, so they were sitting in a stall at Pine Hollow trying to figure out what to do.

“If I were there, I could help Stevie eat gourmet food,” Carole said.

“I could help her ride in limousines,” said Lisa.

“She really needs us,” Carole said. “Maybe we could talk our parents into sending us up to New York.”

“What’s this?” came a voice. “Who’s going to New York?”

They looked up and saw Max Regnery, the owner of Pine Hollow Stables, staring down at them. His blue eyes were stern. “Who wants to go to New York when there’s so much to do here?”

“If we were ducks, there would be plenty to do,” Lisa said.

“I guess you’ve forgotten that this Saturday is the Spring Tune-Up,” Max said. The Spring Tune-Up wasn’t a competition. After the winter, riders and horses weren’t ready for a full-scale horse show. The Tune-Up was a way of celebrating the end of snow and ice.

“I guess there’s a lot to be polished,” said Carole glumly as she got to her feet. Usually Carole loved anything to do with horses—even cleaning tack. But the thought of Stevie in New York hobnobbing with stars and eating gourmet meals made polishing leather seem dull.

“The tack has to be sparkling by Saturday,” Max said.

Carole and Lisa looked at each other. Were they supposed to clean gear all week? This was vacation!

As they followed Max to the tack room, horses pawed and snorted, sending out a smell that was halfway between a wet blanket and a soggy dog.

“Phew,” Lisa said.

Max’s blue eyes twinkled. “You’re right,” he said to Lisa. “The horses and ponies do smell bad. After you finish with the tack, you can start grooming them.”

Lisa knew how much work was involved in grooming a horse on a rainy day. Their coats were sticky, so dirt and dander wouldn’t come out and their manes got tangled.

“It’s not only humans who have bad hair days,” Carole said. “Horses do, too.”

“That means that Starlight and Prancer need you even more than usual,” said Max, referring to their horses. “And while you’re at it, make sure that Belle is groomed, too.” Belle was Stevie’s horse.

“Me and my big mouth,” Carole muttered.

As they walked into the tack room, Lisa noticed that there were very few other riders around. Only total horse nuts would come to the stable on a day like this.

“Don’t forget to use metal polish on the bridles,” Max said.

“Of course not,” said Carole.

“And don’t forget to clean the undersides of everything,” Max added.

“Don’t worry,” Lisa said. As if she and Carole would try to cut corners!

Lisa looked around the tack room at the saddles—there were about a million—and the bridles—there were a trillion—and the halters—there were a zillion. She realized that she and Carole would be there all that day and all the next. “Where should we start?” she asked Carole.

Carole ran a hand through her wavy black hair. “Let’s start with the halters,” she said.

“The halters!” Lisa said. They were the least satisfying to polish. A lot of them were old, and they were made with leather that was strong rather than beautiful. No matter how much you polished a halter, it usually looked homely.

Lisa knew that Carole wanted them to do the most boring jobs first.
Carole is so disciplined
, she thought.
She always does the right thing—at least when it comes to horses.
For a second Lisa missed Stevie horribly. If Stevie had been there, she’d have turned the whole thing into a game. They’d be laughing and throwing sponges. They’d have a good time
and
get the tack clean.

“Why not?” Lisa said, letting the heels of her boots thud on the floor as she crossed the room. She gathered
a load of halters and dumped them in a messy pile in the center of the floor. “This will only take a couple of years.”

Carole got a bucket of water and a carrier with sponges, rags, saddle soap, and metal polish. “It won’t be so bad,” she said. “The leather is dry, but the glycerin in the saddle soap will soften it. Wait and see—it’ll be like magic.”

“Yeah, right,” Lisa said.

“I’ll do the metal. You do the leather,” Carole said.

Doing the metal was the worst part because metal polish smelled bad and took a lot of rubbing. Lisa knew that Carole was trying to be nice. She picked up a halter with straps so old and dry that they were twisted. “They should throw this thing away,” she said.

“That’s a great halter,” said Carole.

Carole never met a piece of tack she didn’t like
, thought Lisa.

But fifteen minutes later the halter did look great. The saddle soap had softened the leather and made it supple. The metal polish made the buckles and rings shine.

“You were right. Underneath the grime, it was a thing of beauty,” said Lisa.

There was a rich, warm smell in the air. It was a little like the smell of gardenias, but more delicate, and a little like the smell of lilacs, but richer. Lisa looked up to see Veronica diAngelo. Her black hair was combed into a
perfect pageboy, and her skin looked even creamier than usual. She was wearing a camel hair riding jacket and a pair of custom-made tan breeches, and her boots were gleaming. As far as Lisa knew, Veronica never came out in the rain. Lisa wondered what was up.