Horse Show

by Bonnie Bryant

  The train ducked into a dark tunnel, passing under the Hudson River and carrying them into Manhattan, the heart of New York City. Stevie didn’t like to admit how excited she was, even to herself—but she knew that she was so excited that she’d even help Lisa carry her bags!

  In the end, she did help Lisa. So did Carole and so did Max. Lisa kept apologizing, but everybody understood. It was her mother who had packed. Stevie and Carole were content with a couple of pairs of jeans and a few shirts, a dress, just in case, and riding clothes. Lisa would have been, too, but not her mother.

  “I think I’ve got the one with the bricks in it.” Stevie gave an exaggerated moan as she hefted the suitcase up the ramp into Penn Station.

  “You got bricks, I got dumbbells,” Carole announced.

  “I’m sorry, you guys!” Lisa grimaced and grunted. “And I got the rock collection!”

  Fortunately, they didn’t have to carry anything far. Madison Square Garden, it turned out, was in a building that sort of sat on Penn Station. Max had them stow all their bags in lockers in the station so they could go straight upstairs to the horse show.

  Max showed the guard at the show their passes and got directions to find Dorothy.

  Madison Square Garden was not a garden at all. The only flowers Stevie saw were fake. But it was a big building and a busy one. Max led the way up escalators and along hallways. Stevie had been expecting masses of crowds, but it was early afternoon on the day before the show and, according to the program she’d gotten on the way in, it was a practice session. There were just small crowd noises coming down the ramps from the arena.

  “Max, can we look?” Carole asked, pointing toward the source of the noises.

  Max smiled. “Oh, sure.” He understood their curiosity about everything.

  Carole walked through the short hallway. Lisa and Stevie followed. At first, all Stevie could see were seats up above, and then the spotlights from the ceiling. Then, with one more upward step, there was Madison Square Garden and there was the American Horse Show!

  The Garden seemed enormous. It was an oval arena, perhaps half the size of a football field, with rows and rows of seats surrounding it. The arena was covered now with soft dirt, but Stevie knew she’d watched televised tennis and basketball and ice-hockey games from the same place, too. She was amazed to think what was involved in the transformation from a riding ring to a basketball court to a hockey rink.

  “Imagine this place with a basketball game in it,” she said to Carole.

  “Don’t be silly,” Carole said. “The ball would never bounce properly on the dirt.”

  That, Stevie thought to herself, was a good example of Carole being so focused on horses that she was flaky. She knew there was no point in saying anything to Carole. That’s just the way she was. Stevie smiled to herself and followed the group to the backstage area.

  They walked along twisty hallways, past doors that said things like Rangers Locker Room. No Entry. The Rangers was the hockey team that played there.

  Two more lefts, a right, and then another left, and the smell was unmistakable. They were backstage at the horse show.

  They had to climb over some trailers that had jumps stored on them. They walked around two tractors and circled a couple of pillars. Then they were there.

  The first thing they noticed was a small area where the concrete floor was covered with a foot or more of dirt. Three riders were cantering their horses in circles in a space little bigger than a junior-high-school classroom. It was obviously the warm-up area, but Carole thought it must be hard to warm up in such a confined space. Beyond the warm-up ring was a large area turned into temporary stables. Endless rows of metal fences had been set up to make four- by eight-foot stalls for the championship horses who were competing in the show. The owners who were bringing several horses had hung their stables’ colors on the fences to identify themselves. Tack hung outside the small stalls or was stowed in trunks for each horse.

  Carole couldn’t decide whether it was wonderful or awful. On the wonderful side, she’d never seen so many absolutely beautiful horses in one place at the same time. There were perhaps a hundred horses there. On the awful side, it seemed to her that there was nowhere near enough room in that place for a hundred horses! Each one of the animals deserved at least twice as much space. Horses without room to move about could become very restless.

  Max paused to check the floor plan so he’d know where Dorothy was. Carole took the opportunity to check out one of the champions.

  According to his nameplate, his name was Worcestershire—“Probably because he’s so saucy,” Stevie whispered. Carole giggled. He was a Thoroughbred gelding, a chestnut like the horse Stevie usually rode. His coat gleamed. His eyes were bright and his ears twitched at all the noises around him, but he did not seem nervous at all. In fact, he munched contentedly on some hay in his manger. Carole thought he looked as if he’d been through the entire routine before. He’d be ready when it was time to perform, but until then, he’d just stay cool.

  “This way,” Max announced, pointing down one of the aisles of stalls. The group began moving again, stepping carefully around trunks, over buckets, under tack and drying blankets, and through puddles.

  “Dorothy!” Max called out.

  Halfway down the aisle, Dorothy DeSoto was crouched in front of her horse, Topside, polishing his hooves. She set down her brush and hurried to greet her guests. Max gave her a big hug. So did Mrs. Reg. The Saddle Club girls were not sure what to do. Dorothy made it easy; she hugged them!

  “I’m so glad you came!” she said. “You put on such a great show for me when I was in Willow Creek that I just knew you had to come to this one!”

  “Oh, wow,” Carole said. Her friends had the feeling that at that instant Carole was so starstruck that she really was not capable of saying anything else.

  “Can I say hello to Topside?” Lisa asked.

  “Be my guest,” Dorothy said. The three girls all went over to the horse. Topside was a bay, meaning his coat was brown and his points—mane, tail, nose, and ankles—were black. It was a common color pattern, but didn’t make Topside any less special.

  The groom working on Topside’s coat stood up. “You still teach your students how to do work, Max, or are you mollycoddling them these days?” the groom asked.

  “Girls, meet my mother, Jean,” Dorothy said. The Saddle Club looked at the woman, a little stunned.

  “My students are as lazy as they always were. Never can get enough experienced help,” Max teased. “This trio, particularly, needs experience. You want them to finish grooming Topside?”

  Max had barely finished his sentence before Stevie, Lisa, and Carole were reaching for the grooming equipment. Stevie and Lisa worked on Topside’s coat. Carole picked up the brush to finish polishing his hooves.

  Max invited Dorothy and Mrs. DeSoto to join him and Mrs. Reg for coffee.

  “I’m riding at about two-thirty,” Dorothy told the girls. “It’s a practice session, and I’ve got the ring all to myself for ten minutes. You can watch if you’d like.”

  “We sure would,” Carole said enthusiastically, speaking for all of them. “And don’t worry. Topside will be shipshape before you go out in the ring, Dorothy.”

  “I know,” Dorothy said. “See, I know who trained you!” She gave Max’s arm a squeeze and the four adults left for the coffee shop.

  Topside glanced over his shoulder and regarded Stevie dubiously. She patted him to reassure him. He looked over his other shoulder at Lisa.

  “Checking out the new beauty-parlor crew?” Lisa asked him. “Don’t worry. We know what we’re doing.”

  She put the comb to his coat and drew it along his shiny flank. He seemed to accept her manner so he turned his attention to Carole.

  “Ah, now you want to meet the new manicurist?” Carole said with a smile, putting the finishing touches on the polish on his left rear hoof. She then turned her attention to his right front one, using a hoof-pick
to remove the accumulated dirt.

  Having approved the work crew, Topside relaxed and enjoyed all the attention. The girls had studied all aspects of grooming with Max and they really did know what they were doing. Topside sensed that. He whinnied contentedly.

  Stevie felt incredibly lucky to be grooming a horse as great as Topside. He was a true champion. Of course, much of the credit went to Dorothy, Stevie knew. But a good horse would make the difference between winning and losing, no matter how good the rider. As she polished his coat, she dreamed about what it would be like to ride him someday. She could imagine the powerful animal under her command, instantly following every signal she gave him. She looked at his strong legs and beautifully taut body and thought what it would feel like to jump over a fence on Topside. With strength like his, it would be smooth as glass, she imagined—like flying!

  “I said, are you finished or are you going to rub a bare spot on his flank with the towel?” Carole asked, interrupting Stevie’s daydream.

  “Oh, sorry,” Stevie said, a little embarrassed. “I just got to thinking about what a wonderful horse he is. He’s just beautiful. Can you imagine riding him?”

  Carole smiled knowingly. “Yes, I can. Listen, Dorothy’s turn in the ring is in an hour and a half. Let’s take a look around until she gets back with Max and Mrs. Reg.”

  The girls wandered throughout the stabling area and then watched the riders warm up their horses in the ring. They found that the little ring was near the main door to the arena. A big set of double doors by the warm-up ring opened onto the arena. Cautiously, the girls edged toward it. Nobody stopped them. The badges they wore seemed to work magic. They walked through the doors and into the arena. Workmen in coveralls were everywhere, attaching red-white-and-blue bunting around the edge, setting up jumps for the practice session, and moving seats. An electronic scoreboard flashed meaningless numbers to test the system. Above them, in a special booth, an announcer tried out the public-address system. He seemed to be practicing saying the names of all the riders and their horses so he would not make any mistakes when the show started the next day.

  Then, faster than the girls would have thought possible, the jumps were set up and the practice session began.

  It was helpful to horses and riders to have a time like that in the arena before the competition began. It gave the riders a chance to exercise their horses in an open space. It was an hour until Dorothy’s appearance so the girls settled into some of the red seats in Madison Square Garden and watched. They couldn’t get enough of it. It was so exciting to watch the work that went behind championship competition.

  The first rider out was a man on a very tall gray mare. He trotted his horse around the ring to familiarize her with it and then they cantered. The girls could almost feel the horse relaxing as she became comfortable with her surroundings. The rider then spent most of the rest of the time approaching the first jump and going over it.

  “The first jump will be someplace else in the actual competition,” Carole explained to her friends. “The jump course is always different. The idea, though, is that if he can calm her down and get her to concentrate on the first jump, she’ll be better at the rest of them.”

  Then the announcer told the rider that his ten minutes were up. The rider hurried the mare back to the stable area, and the next rider came out. This time, it was a woman, riding a bay gelding. The horse was very frisky, bucking and bouncing all over the place. It seemed like the horse was out of control.

  “Don’t pay any attention to the style here,” Carole said. “This particular event—the jumpers—is one of speed and accuracy. The horses have to get over all the jumps as fast as possible. It doesn’t matter what they look like when they do it. A frisky horse like this can really make time, too. Just wait and see.”

  Stevie grinned to herself. Having a friend like Carole was better than an encyclopedia sometimes! Carole went on to explain that there was another type of jumping called hunter jumping in which the things that mattered most were style and manners.

  Stevie watched the bay gelding. Fussy as he was, he negotiated the practice course much faster than the gray mare. Still, this was a practice session and there was no telling what would happen at the real thing.

  The girls watched a few more horses and then returned to Topside’s stall to help Dorothy tack up in time for her session. They found she’d already gotten all the tack on and was in the warm-up ring a half hour before her call.

  “Topside needs a long exercise period before he goes out into the ring,” Jean DeSoto explained to the girls. “Dorothy’s always found it works best for him, even when it’s just a practice session. See, at our farm on Long Island, he has the freedom of a stall and a small paddock to himself. It’s bad for him to be cooped up in that little stall, and the only way around it is to let him work out the kinks in this little warm-up ring.”

  The girls stood by and watched. They could see Topside ease up as Dorothy rode him in circles. He became more responsive to her signals and more supple as the time passed.

  “I think he’s ready,” Dorothy said.

  “He looks good,” Max told her.

  “Dorothy DeSoto!” the backstage speakers blared out. “Two minutes!”

  Dorothy cantered Topside around the ring two more times, then walked him to settle him. Then the doors opened, a horse and rider trotted in, and Dorothy and Topside walked out.

  The girls and Max slipped into ringside seats to watch.

  As with the other riders the girls had watched, Dorothy rode Topside around the arena until it was familiar to him, then she began the practice work.

  Carefully and methodically, Dorothy led Topside through a routine that was obviously familiar to them. They seemed relaxed, and worked together in perfect unison. Stevie held her breath as they sailed over the jumps. She could almost feel the wind brushing her own cheeks, the thrill of each effortless takeoff and landing. Stevie was sure they’d only begun their practice when she heard the announcer say, “Time, Ms. DeSoto.”

  Obediently, Dorothy returned backstage. The girls helped her untack Topside, gave him another grooming, a bit of water, and some fresh hay and straw for bedding.

  “The show begins tomorrow,” Dorothy said. “But my first event isn’t until the day after. That gives us the rest of today and all of tomorrow to give you girls a taste of the Big Apple.”

  Stevie could barely believe that there could be something more exciting coming up for them than what they’d already seen. Seeing things in New York would be okay, she thought, but probably not as good as being backstage at the American Horse Show!

  LISA TOOK THE last of her suitcases out of the trunk of the taxicab, which had stopped in front of Dorothy’s house. She gratefully accepted when Stevie and Max each offered to help carry the four bags inside. She carried two bags herself.

  “Next time, I’m doing my own packing!” she vowed.

  Max hefted one of her bags. His grimace told her he thought that was a very good idea.

  Dorothy’s house was a four-story private house. It reminded Lisa of the houses she’d seen in Washington’s Georgetown. It was red brick with white-trimmed windows. On either side, right next to it, were other identical houses. A lot of the other houses on the street were similar, but at the end of the block, there was a tall apartment building. It looked strange next to the little houses.

  “This neighborhood is called Greenwich Village,” Dorothy told the girls. “It’s an odd mix of old, historic houses, like this one, and new buildings. The streets are crooked and don’t make much sense, but you get used to them. Most of the streets probably follow old cow paths. See, this area used to be a summer place for city residents, back when the city was what we now call the Financial District, or Wall Street. Then, there was a typhoid epidemic. A lot of the healthy residents of the city fled to their summer homes to escape the disease. People who didn’t have houses here came anyway and built temporary homes as fast as they could. So much for city plann
ing. The temporary homes ended up defining permanent streets. So, we have things like the corner where Waverly Place crosses itself.”

  “I’m going to love this place,” Stevie said, grinning at her friends.

  “Yes, you are,” Dorothy assured her. “You girls are sharing a room on the third floor. Why don’t you take your bags up and unpack, though I doubt there’s enough closet space for all your duds, Lisa,” she teased. Lisa blushed, annoyed at her mother all over again. “Then come on down and I’ll give you a map so you can explore.”

  Dorothy didn’t have to say that twice. The girls grabbed their bags and hurried up the two flights to their room.

  The room was bright and sunny. The two windows looked onto a small yard with a red-brick fence around it. There was a fruit tree there and some flowers and bushes. It wasn’t the rolling hills of Virginia, but it was pretty in a citified way. Lisa rather liked it.

  Stevie and Carole joined her at the window. “Not much to mow, is there?” Carole remarked.

  “No, and no room for a swimming pool, either,” Stevie added.

  “But it’s nice, you know,” Lisa said. “It’s sort of like, in New York, a little garden like this is so precious that you have to make the best of it.”

  “And I thought everybody in the city lived in cramped apartments,” Carole said.

  “From what I heard,” Stevie said, “I thought everyone in the city lived out of the city!”

  “That’s what I thought, but I don’t think I’d mind it if I lived in a house like this,” Lisa said. She was surprised at herself. She had never thought about living in a city because she had always lived in the country. It made her very curious to learn more about the city and the neighborhood. “Let’s finish unpacking and get exploring!” she said.