Horse Trade

by Bonnie Bryant

  “I’ve dot it,” she said. “I’ll stay dight on the drail.”

  The others laughed, but The Saddle Club also exchanged looks. Obviously, Hollie’s allergies were back.

  “Okay,” Phil said. “Let’s go.”

  He turned, and Teddy took off along the road, which was filled with tufts of grass. No-Name raised her head as if at last the fun was beginning and took off after Teddy in a beautiful gallop, with long, light steps. It was like floating, Stevie thought, or being a butterfly. As they entered the woods, climbing the stony mountain slope, dark hemlock branches brushed Stevie’s arms.

  Phil and Teddy disappeared over a rise, and No-Name,taking huge steps, scarcely working at all, followed into what looked like a giant saucer filled with silver grass.

  Phil raised his hand. “If you’re really quiet, you can hear the wind grass singing.” Stevie knew that this was a kind of grass that grew only in windy, exposed places. The funny thing about wind grass was that sometimes its dry blades picked up the sound of the wind.

  The riders closed their eyes. At first all Stevie could hear was the whine of a jet plane overhead. Then it came, a sound halfway between a buzz and a song.

  Stevie giggled. For some reason the sound of wind grass made her nose itch.

  Phil pointed to a slow gray ribbon that wound itself through the green fields below. “That’s the Silverado River,” he said to Hollie.

  “It’s fantastic,” she said. But she didn’t sound right. The words came out slowly and painfully, as if she had to force them.

  “Are you okay?” Stevie asked.

  Hollie didn’t respond at first. Instead she was taking shallow breaths that didn’t seem to satisfy her.

  “I’m dine!” Hollie said, and from the way she said it, with a toss of her head, Stevie knew that she was trying to raise a laugh. But there was nothing to laugh at, because Hollie had turned pale, with faint blue shadows under her eyes.

  A.J.’s expression was concerned. “You look like you’re going to faint.”

  “It’s her horse allergy,” Stevie said. She reached across to put her hand on Hollie’s face, feeling its clammy sweat. “You’re allergic to horses, aren’t you, Hollie? Tell me the truth.”

  But Hollie’s eyes were glassy and vague, and her skin was getting paler.

  “Can you hear me?” Stevie shouted. “Hollie!”

  Hollie focused on her and whispered, “Yes.” It came out as a horrible wheezing sound.

  Stevie remembered what Judy Barker had said about allergic asthma. Suddenly Hollie’s “cold” wasn’t funny. It might even be deadly.

  “We’ve got to get her back,” Carole said. “She’s got to go to the hospital.”

  Stevie glanced around anxiously. She knew that Carole was right, but the only way to get Hollie back was on a horse, and Hollie was allergic to horses. Still, that was their only option.

  “Help me put her on No-Name,” Stevie called to Phil. “I’ve got to move her fast.”

  Phil started to say something, and she knew that he was thinking that No-Name was an untested horse—who knew how she’d react to a second rider? But then Phil, sitting on Teddy, gently put his arms around Hollie and lifted her off her horse while Carole, who had dismounted, held Hollie’s legs. They slid her onto No-Name in front of Stevie. The girl was too weak to protest.

  With her arms supporting Hollie, Stevie pressed in with her knees.

  Immediately No-Name understood. She was off, stumbling down the trail, her shoes hitting a rock so hard, they sent off sparks. A hollow in the trail filled with spongy ground slowed No-Name to a stumble.

  This isn’t fast enough, Stevie thought, trying not to panic. With her left knee she pressed No-Name lightly.

  No-Name headed into a hemlock forest that was dark and tangled underfoot. For a second No-Name balked, but then she cantered over the dark ground, head down, dodging trees.

  “Hollie,” Stevie said, shaking her, “stay awake. Don’t give up. I need you.”

  Hollie wheezed something that Stevie couldn’t understand.

  Stevie looked up and saw that No-Name was headed straight for a tree. At the last second the horse bent left—a real dressage move—saving them all.

  “Stay calm,” Stevie told Hollie. “Make yourself be calm. Think of something. Think of …” But Stevie couldn’t think of what to think of.

  No-Name was falling, feet caught in an avalanche of stones, but without changing direction or losing speed, she angled onto the hard ground next to the trail in a perfect shoulder-in.

  They came to a stone fence, and No-Name easily soared over it.

  “You’ll be okay,” Stevie said to Hollie. “Think … dressage.” She knew it was ridiculous, but it was all Stevie could think of.

  From Hollie there came something that felt like a strangled hiccup.

  No-Name stopped with a jolt. They were on a high bank, looking down at a creek twelve feet below.

  Stevie slumped. This was hopeless. Hollie could die in her arms. But then No-Name was loping along the fragile bank in a perfect countercanter.

  Thorns tore at Stevie’s boot. One of them ripped through the knee of her breeches.

  Hollie stirred. “Think countercanter,” Stevie said, not knowing what she was saying anymore, just talking to talk.

  A gurgle came from Hollie. Stevie leaned forward to look at her and saw that the blue circles and swelling around her eyes had spread. She raised a hand to touch Hollie’s face and felt that it was cold.

  “We’re almost there,” she said, desperately trying not to think about the rest of the ride.

  No-Name pulled out of the thorn bushes, and Stevie heard the soft gurgling of the stream. It was easy now, she thought. They could follow the stream.

  But the stream was eight feet deep, and there was no way around it.

  No-Name plunged in, swimming left around a mossy green boulder and then right through a pool so smooth, it seemed invisible.

  “Hollie,” she whispered. “Are you okay? Are you with me? No-Name is doing a figure eight.”

  Hollie choked.

  No-Name’s feet hit pebbles of the bank with a crunch. She got her footing and scrambled onto the far bank. Stevie looked downhill. There was a field of soggy brown earth and hay bales. This was the worst kind of footing.

  “Think serpentine,” Stevie said to No-Name as she held tight to Hollie.

  Swerving from side to side, as Stevie fought to keep her seat, No-Name crossed the field, feet sliding, white foam flecking her neck, head high and proud. Finally, exhausted and relieved, she drew up amid a swirl of stones in front of the Cross County barn.

  “Someone,” Stevie yelled. “Someone come.”

  Silence. Everyone must have gone for lunch after the exhibition.

  “Help!” Stevie screamed again. “Help!”

  Carefully, gently, Stevie lowered Hollie from No-Name’s back. “Stand,” she begged Hollie. “Please.” But Hollie couldn’t stand, so Stevie had to let her sag onto the grass.

  Stevie jumped down and looked into Hollie’s face. Her eyelids were fluttering and her eyes were unfocused while her breath came out in horrible rasps.

  There was a clatter. Stevie looked up to see Carole and Phil riding to the barn.

  “Call an ambulance and see if you can find Mr. Baker,” Stevie said to Phil, and to Carole she said, “Get the first-aid kit.”

  Carole was startled that Stevie wanted a bandage at a time like this, but she tethered her horse and ran.

  Stevie looked at Hollie’s fluttering eyelids and knew that more than anything she had to get her away from the horses. She quickly tethered No-Name to the fence and ran back to Hollie.

  “Can you stand?” she said, raising Hollie to a kneeling position and putting her arm around her shoulder. Hollie didn’t answer, so Stevie half carried, half dragged her away from the barn and horses.

  Lisa and A.J. came cantering out of the forest.

  “How is she?” Lisa said.


  “I don’t know. Max must be back. Tell him to get Hollie’s parents.” Stevie was holding Hollie’s head in her lap. Hollie’s breathing was coming in shorter and shorter rasps, which sounded as if no air at all was getting to her lungs.

  Carole ran out of the barn with the red, white, and blue first-aid kit. She handed it to Stevie.

  Stevie opened the box and scrambled through the contents, scattering bandages and creams on the ground. Then she found what she wanted. She pulled out the EpiPen. She broke it open and gave Hollie a shot, remembering the instructions that Judy Barker had given her several weeks ago.

  Hollie’s eyelids fluttered and she wheezed continuously, gasping for air.

  “Come on, Hollie,” Stevie prayed out loud. “This is medicine. You’ll be better in a few minutes, you’ll see.”

  From the bottom of the hill came the scream of an ambulance siren.

  “WHAT’S GOING ON?” Hollie whispered, staring at the crowd of worried riders surrounding her.

  “You nearly died,” Stevie said grimly. “That’s all. Don’t try to talk—okay?”

  Hollie shook her head and sat up, still breathing with effort. But the swelling and circles under her eyes were fading slowly, and her lips were pink instead of blue, and slowly her wheezing eased.

  The ambulance whizzed around the corner. Two men in white jumped out and ran over to Hollie.

  “I’m okay,” she said to them. She made a movement to get up, then sank back, exhausted.

  One of the men in white took out a stethoscope to listen to her breathing, while Stevie showed the other one the EpiPen she’d given Hollie.

  “That was a good move,” the ambulance attendant said to her. “I think you saved your friend’s life.”

  A car came speeding around the corner of the barn, and Hollie’s parents jumped out. Hollie’s mother ran over to her and put a hand on her cheek.

  “Max and Mr. Baker are on their way,” Lisa said.

  Looking up at her mother, Hollie said, “I’m okay. Thanks to Stevie.”

  Hollie’s mother looked at the ambulance attendant, who said, “The wheezing in her lungs is down, but we have to take her to the hospital.” He turned to Hollie and said, “Can you walk?”

  “Of course I can,” Hollie said indignantly. But when she tried to stand, she wobbled.

  “She’s exhausted from the attack,” the attendant said to her mother. With the attendant on one side and her mother on the other, Hollie walked slowly to the ambulance.

  In silence Stevie, Lisa, Carole, Phil, and A.J. watched them. Now that the danger was past, Stevie suddenly felt weak. Her knees wobbled and her hands trembled. All she could think about was Hollie’s turning blue. Stevie didn’t know much about allergies—especially not before the last few weeks—but she knew enough to sense that Hollie had been in big trouble. Hollie owed her life both to a miracle and to No-Name’s unbelievable skills. Tears streamed down Stevie’s face.

  “You were great, Stevie,” Phil said, putting an arm around her. “You saved Hollie’s life.”

  “How did you know what to do?” A.J. asked.

  Stevie brushed away the tears. “I guess I was so into horse allergies that I learned something about human allergies,” she said. “Imagine.” She was stunned. She had spent the last few weeks trying to save No-Name’s life, and yet when the danger came, it was Hollie who needed her help.

  “Hollie was lucky you were there,” Phil said softly.

  Which brought up the thought that had been hovering at the edge of Stevie’s mind.

  She looked at Lisa and Carole. “None of this would have happened if we’d told Hollie’s mother she was allergic to horses.”

  Lisa nodded solemnly. “We knew how dangerous allergies are to horses. We should have known they’re just as dangerous for humans.”

  “Especially me,” Stevie said. “I was the supposed expert. I keep thinking about how I laughed when Hollie talked through her nose. Boy, was that funny,” she said miserably. “You could die laughing at a joke like that.”

  A battered brown station wagon pulled up, and Mr. Baker got out with Max. The five riders ran over to them.

  “I nearly killed Hollie,” Stevie said to Max.

  “Hey, settle down, start from the beginning,” Max said.

  “It all started with Annie,” Stevie said.

  “I can see this is going to take a while,” Max said, leaning against the fence.

  Ten minutes later, when the Lakes and the Marstens returned from lunch, Stevie was calmer, her hands had stopped shaking, and she was no longer convinced that she was a monster.

  “You’ll be proud of your daughter when you hear what happened,” Max said. He told them about Hollie’s asthma attack and pointed out that most people wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to handle things as well as Stevie had.

  “You’re wonderful!” Mrs. Lake said.

  “I’m proud of you,” Mr. Lake said.

  No-Name let out a loud whinny.

  Stevie couldn’t believe that she had forgotten about No-Name, who was tethered to the fence, looking longingly at the forbidden patch of weeds. Stevie rushed over and hugged the beautiful horse.

  “Forget about eating weeds,” she said to No-Name. “I’m going to have to watch you like a hawk from now on. But you’re a hero, No-Name. You saved Hollie’s life. If you weren’t such a great dressage horse, she would have died in the woods.” She untied No-Name’s reins and led her over to the mounting block so she could ride her back to Phil’s place.

  Stevie’s legs seemed unusually heavy, and her feet seemed to have turned into lead weights. Max was next to her, saying, “After a ride like that, your body goes into low gear so that it can rest and refuel itself.”

  “At least Hollie’s okay,” Stevie said as she lifted her leg over the saddle, thinking that if she was this tired, Hollie must be totally drained.

  Stevie and Phil rode the short distance to Phil’s house in silence. When they reached the gate of the Marstens’ place, Phil glanced at her. “This has been some day,” he said.

  “Terrible and great,” Stevie agreed. “Max said that when he phoned the hospital, he found out Hollie had been treated and released. What a relief.”

  “I’ll say.” Phil shook his head.

  In the stable Stevie took her time brushing and combing No-Name. It felt simple and relaxing to groom the mare. From running through the forest and swimming downstream, her coat was filthy. Stevie tenderly brushed willow leaves and milkweed silk from her mane. “You were great today,” she whispered. “It takes a champion to do what you did.”

  Stevie wondered where No-Name had gotten those amazing dressage skills she had shown in the race back to the barn. It had been pretty funny, she realized, that she had thought that she could teach No-Name a thing or two. Obviously, No-Name had been trained to be a champion. But by whom? And where? The more she got to know this beautiful horse, the more of a mystery she became.

  Stevie looked at No-Name’s eyes to see if she was listening, but No-Name’s lids were drifting downward, and it seemed that she was taking a catnap, or rather a horse-nap. Stevie figured that No-Name must be even more tired than she was.

  Her parents had driven to the Marstens’ house, so after No-Name had been untacked and groomed, they bundled Stevie into the back of the car. As soon as the car started, Stevie felt groggy. She wasn’t much of a napper. In fact, usually she thought that naps were an incredible waste of time. But today …

  “So what do you think of No-Name?” Mr. Lake said.

  “I couldn’t have done it without her,” Stevie said, snapping back into alertness. “No-Name is the greatest. Mr. Baker can take her back and keep her with the other horses at Cross County now that he knows what makes her allergic.” The thought of someone else riding No-Name made Stevie miserable, but the dressage exhibition was over, and her allergy problem was solved. Stevie had played her part. Now it was time to step aside. “Of course,” she went on sadly, “she’s a l
ot of horse, and it will take a strong-willed rider to control her, but I’m sure he’ll find someone when he’s ready to sell her.”

  “Strong-willed, hmmmmm?” Mr. Lake mused.

  “Yup,” said Stevie. “She needs someone who won’t put up with any attitude from her, and who loves her and knows where her best tickle spot is, and who will keep training her in dressage, and …” Stevie’s words trailed off because suddenly she was feeling sad. She had been dreaming of having her own horse for such a long time. And while they were together, she and No-Name had seemed like the perfect pair.

  “I’m glad you like her because we just bought her for you from Mr. Baker,” her father said.

  “What?”

  Mrs. Lake turned around to face her daughter. “She’s yours, honey. We know how much you’ve been wanting a horse of your own. After seeing your performance on her today, and hearing about her role in Hollie’s rescue, your father and I agreed that we couldn’t think of a better horse for you to own.”

  It took a moment for her mother’s words to register. And another moment for Stevie to swallow the incredible joy that was gathering in her throat.

  When she could finally speak, it wasn’t to say anything special—only to shriek so loudly, it could be heard for three counties.

  “ARE YOU ALL right?” Carole asked as Stevie walked into the tack room five minutes ahead of time.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” Stevie said.

  Carole looked at her watch. “Because you’re early. This is … not you, Stevie.” For a second Carole wondered if Stevie had let all the talk about her maturity go to her head. But then from the gloomy way Stevie was pacing around the tack room, Carole guessed that it was something else.

  “I talked to Hollie’s mother, and she’s looking forward to seeing us,” Lisa said.

  “That’s great,” Stevie said miserably. “She’s probably looking forward to seeing us so that she can give us a piece of her mind. After all, if The Saddle Club had been a true friend to Hollie, we would have stopped her from riding.”

  “You’re in a gloomy mood,” Lisa said.

  “I should think you’d be happy,” Carole said. “When you think about it, you’re in luck.”