Horse Blues

by Bonnie Bryant

  The bale of hay Stevie had chosen was opposite Patch’s stall. The old pinto stuck his nose out to greet her. “Don’t bother me, boy,” Stevie said, her eyes on the page.

  Patch pricked up his ears.

  “I know,” Stevie muttered. “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done. Studying on my own initiative. I must be sick or something.”

  At the sound of Stevie’s voice, Patch’s neighbor poked his head out, too. Out of the corner of her eye, Stevie saw a pretty chestnut face with a long, broad blaze. Forgetting her français for a second, Stevie looked up. “Hey, boy. Wow, you are pretty. Mrs. Reg was right.” Stevie studied the gelding’s face. It was hard to believe the horse had been a gangly yearling colt with a head that looked too big for his body. Now he was an attractive, bright chestnut gelding, well on the way to maturity.

  “What did I tell you? Pretty, huh?”

  Stevie started. “Oh, it’s only you, Mrs. Reg,” she said, relieved, as the older woman came around the corner.

  “Only me?” said Mrs. Reg.

  “I mean, I’m glad it’s you,” Stevie corrected herself. “I don’t want anyone else to catch me studying. They’ll think I’ve become a nerd!”

  “Nerds are people, too,” Mrs. Reg chided her. “You know, Stevie, some of the best people I know started out as nerds.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Reg. I agree,” Stevie said, hoping to stop Max’s mother before she got going.

  Luckily Mrs. Reg seemed distracted. “Have you seen Veronica?” she asked.

  Stevie nodded. “I think she went riding with a friend.”

  “Well, if you see her, tell her I’m looking for her. I want to thank her.”

  “Thank her for what?” Stevie asked suspiciously.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Mrs. Reg said, leaning in confidentially, “but I think Veronica has turned over a new leaf for the new year. The tack room was a mess this morning, a real mess, and she—”

  “She cleaned it up?” Stevie gasped, her face white with anger.

  “Yes, how did you know?” Mrs. Reg asked.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you know, Mrs. Reg?” Stevie inquired, her voice shaking.

  “Veronica let it slip herself. But she’s being very modest about it. She doesn’t want anyone to know,” Mrs. Reg whispered. “So let’s keep it between us, okay?”

  Stevie nodded as Mrs. Reg disappeared down the aisle. She was so boiling mad she didn’t trust herself to speak. How could she have let down her guard around Veronica for one minute? It never failed! The minute Veronica did even one little thing that seemed halfway decent, like saying she would talk to her father about making a donation for Horse Wise, she went and did some huge, awful thing that reversed everything—like lying to Mrs. Reg about cleaning the tack room!

  Stevie was burning to tell Mrs. Reg the truth, but she hated tattletales almost as much as she hated Veronica. Anyway, it might just look as if she was sour at Veronica. Normally Stevie would have found a way to get back at the girl and make her fess up, but, thanks to her stupid resolution, her hands were tied.

  For a few minutes, Stevie tried to concentrate on her studying. Instead of French nouns and adjectives though, she kept seeing pictures of Veronica—pictures she felt like throwing darts at or ripping into a million pieces! If only Lisa and Carole would show up. They’d know what to do. The minute the thought ran through her head, she heard a familiar voice.

  “If only we could find Stevie, then—” Lisa was saying as she and Carole walked down the aisle.

  “Hey! Lisa. Carole. I was just wishing that you guys would show up,” Stevie exclaimed.

  “We both came right from school, so we got here fifteen minutes ago,” said Carole. “Hey, is that a textbook in your hand?”

  “Oh, this? Oh, um, not really. I just found it here. Simon Atherton must have been doing a little extra homework—” Stevie stopped when she saw the doubtful looks her friends were giving her. “Okay! Okay! You caught me. I’m failing French so I have to retake a test in a week.”

  Carole and Lisa burst out laughing. Other kids worried about not studying enough. Stevie worried about being “caught” studying at all. “Je t’aiderai,” Lisa said promptly.

  “Huh?” Stevie asked.

  “I’ll help you,” Lisa translated, grinning.

  “Oh, right—help—aider—I knew that,” Stevie said. “That would be good. That would be très, très bien! How about on the phone this evening?” Stevie asked, thinking of Veronica’s private tutor. Two could play that game, and Lisa was the best tutor Stevie had ever had.

  “Sure, anytime, Stevie,” Lisa replied. “But for now let’s hit the locker room.”

  Next to the locker room was a closet where Max stored show equipment over the winter. As the three of them headed there, Stevie filled Lisa and Carole in on Veronica’s latest. She tried to keep her voice down, but it was extremely difficult. What she wanted to do was scream until she was blue in the face: “Veronica diAngelo is a huge liar!”

  “The thing that gets me,” said Lisa, “is that Veronica probably thought she could get away with it. If Mrs. Reg hadn’t said anything to you, you never would have known that Veronica took the credit.”

  “I know. I’m ready to throttle her,” Stevie said angrily. She stole a quick glance at the other two. “I mean, not that I would actually do anything or—or even say anything for that matter,” she added hastily.

  Lisa and Carole rushed to reassure Stevie that they knew what she meant. Privately Lisa thought that Stevie deserved to say or do whatever she felt like to Veronica. But she couldn’t very well admit that. It would be like giving Stevie permission to break her resolution. How could Stevie be the loser of the bet if Lisa encouraged her to lose? For the second time that day, Lisa found herself not being able to say what she felt like saying to one of her best friends.

  “Boy, is this place a pit,” Carole observed. They had opened the closet and were looking in.

  “Yeah, it looks just like the tack room before Veronica cleaned it up,” Stevie said sarcastically.

  “Gosh, I can really understand what Max was talking about,” said Lisa. “Nobody’s been in here for months.” The closet was crammed full of Pony Club equipment: buckets, brushes, tools, spare tack, riding clothes, study manuals, hay nets, and more. Lisa took one more look. “Okay, let’s get to work.”

  In no time at all, Lisa had Stevie and Carole hauling out the stuff and organizing it into piles. Meanwhile Lisa cataloged each item, making a note as to what kind of condition the item was in. She formed three categories: excellent, acceptable, and “If we don’t get a new one, we’re going to fail every stable management test we take.”

  Unlike horse shows, Pony Club events tested competitors not only on riding skills but also on horsemanship. Judges walked around the teams’ stabling areas to inspect them for safety and efficiency. A bad stable management score could—and often did—mean the difference between winning and coming home from an event empty-handed.

  Under Max’s strict coaching, Horse Wise had always prided itself on near-perfect stable management scores. Looking at the growing list of “If we don’t get a new one …” items, Lisa had to wonder how Max had kept things together for so long. Buckets had rusty handles; hay nets were torn. There was a whole pile of laundry from the past season that had never been washed: It was impossible to tell if the grass and manure stains on the leg bandages would come out. But despite the huge amount of work that needed to be done (and the money that had to be raised), Lisa found that she was enjoying the effort. It was a relief to work alongside Stevie and Carole, as they usually did, instead of feeling that the three of them were in competition with one another. Sorting through the stuff made the girls remember old times, too.

  “Remember at our first rally when Stevie went to inspection with these on her feet?” Carole asked, with a grin. She held up a pair of protective boot rubbers.

  Stevie howled. “Yeah, I was standing there
ready to present Topside to the judge. We’d been up all night polishing tack until it was cleaner than the day we bought it, my boots were glowing in the dark, and I’d forgotten to take off the galoshes!”

  Lisa started to giggle. “I was signaling you like crazy and then the judge turned around and caught me!”

  “Luckily he gave us a couple of points for team effort, didn’t he?” Carole asked.

  “Yup. I talked him into it,” Stevie said. “I have no idea how, but I talked him into it.”

  The girls reminisced some more, and before they knew it the closet was completely neat and reorganized. Hearing Mrs. Reg whistling in the aisle outside, they called her in to see.

  “I come bearing gifts,” Mrs. Reg announced after she had oohed and aahed over the closet. She held up a plastic bowl and took off the lid. Inside was an assortment of freshly baked cookies. “These are a few recipes I’m trying for the bake sale. I need them taste-tested. Will you girls do the honors?”

  “And how!” Stevie cried, grabbing a handful.

  “We’d love to, Mrs. Reg,” Lisa said politely. She peered into the bowl and selected a coconut drop and a ginger snap.

  “Carole, how about you? Don’t be shy,” Mrs. Reg urged.

  Carole pursed her lips. The cookies looked utterly delicious. She was very hungry. She looked up at Mrs. Reg. “Are any of those health cookies, Mrs. Reg?” Carole asked.

  “No, but a little sugar won’t hurt you, Carole. Dig in,” said Mrs. Reg.

  “I can’t,” Carole said reluctantly.

  Stevie and Lisa exchanged guilty looks. They felt horrible watching Carole say no to Mrs. Reg’s home-baked cookies. But what could they do?

  Mrs. Reg looked hard at the three of them. “Is something going on here? Why can’t Carole have a cookie?”

  “It’s not them, Mrs. Reg,” Carole hastened to explain. “It’s me. It was my New Year’s resolution.”

  “What was?” Mrs. Reg asked. “Not to eat cookies?”

  “No. Not to eat junk food,” Carole said.

  “Junk food?” Mrs. Reg said. “My cookies aren’t junk! They’ve got oatmeal and sugar and butter and eggs and raisins and coconut in them! All natural ingredients! Junk food is potato chips! And packaged cheese curls! You’re not breaking your resolution if you eat one of my cookies. A cookie is just a nice, sweet treat for a nice, sweet girl. Now dig in,” Mrs. Reg commanded.

  “That’s right, dig in!” Stevie said.

  “Absolutely,” Lisa added. “Take a whole handful.”

  Carole didn’t need to be told again. She took the biggest cookie in the bowl, an oatmeal-raisin, and chomped down on it. If Mrs. Reg said it wasn’t junk food, and Lisa and Stevie gave the go-ahead, she wasn’t about to say no.

  “Now, what’s this about New Year’s resolutions?” Mrs. Reg asked when they were all chewing contentedly.

  “We all made them,” Lisa explained, “to make our New Year’s Eve more … fun.”

  “Hmm. So, Carole, yours is to stop eating junk food. What’s yours, Stevie?”

  Stevie smiled sheepishly. “Oh, mine is, um, to be nice to—um, well—just to be nice.”

  “I see,” Mrs. Reg said, with a look that showed that she knew exactly what Stevie wasn’t telling her. “Lisa?”

  “Mine is to learn embroidery,” Lisa mumbled, hoping Mrs. Reg wouldn’t ask her if she liked it.

  “That sounds like a good one,” Mrs. Reg commented. “I’ve always loved embroidering.”

  “You have?” Lisa said. “Do you think you could help me learn? I got the book out over the weekend and I couldn’t understand one word!”

  Now it was Carole and Stevie’s turn to exchange looks. That didn’t sound like Lisa at all! Usually Lisa mastered a task the minute she set her mind to it. Could it be that she was having trouble sticking to her resolution, too?

  “I’d love to help you, Lisa. I’ve got to start the feeding in an hour, but if you want to come in now, I can start you on a sampler right away,” Mrs. Reg said. Mrs. Reg’s house was on the Pine Hollow property, about a two-minute walk from the stables.

  “You will? That would be great! Oh, but wait,” Lisa said, remembering, “we’re supposed to make the signs for the bake sale.”

  “That’s okay, Lis’. We’re not going to put them up for a week, anyway,” Carole said. The girls had decided that it would be best to wait to poster until a couple of days before the sale. That way people would see them and decide to go on the spur of the moment.

  “Carole and I can take care of them,” Stevie agreed. “It’s the least we can do, since you’re embroidering a whole tablecloth and napkin set for the sale.”

  Lisa grimaced. Why did Stevie have to remind her of that rash promise? It was especially inconsiderate when she’d been so sympathetic to Stevie about Veronica. The new year was only a couple of days old, but never in their history could Lisa remember The Saddle Club having so many ups and downs in so short a period.

  “A tablecloth and napkin set?” said Mrs. Reg. “Gosh, we’ve got our work cut out for us, Lisa.”

  “We sure do,” Lisa said. And lately, she thought grimly, she had her work cut out for her staying on good terms with The Saddle Club.

  “WHAT DO YOU TAKE in your tea?” Mrs. Reg asked from the kitchen.

  “Milk and sugar,” Lisa called. A moment later Mrs. Reg appeared, carrying a tray with a teapot, cups, spoons, napkins, a small pitcher, and a bowl of sugar on it.

  “I always like a nice, hot cup of tea on a winter afternoon,” said the older woman. She set the tray down on the living room coffee table and sat down beside Lisa.

  Lisa gratefully accepted the cup Mrs. Reg handed her. The hot liquid was soothing, and right now Lisa definitely needed her nerves soothed.

  “So, let me get this straight: You volunteered to embroider a tablecloth for the bake sale?” Mrs. Reg inquired, stirring milk into her tea.

  Lisa nodded. “And napkins. And I know it’s going to be hard,” she added.

  “It is going to be hard. Impossible, in fact,” Mrs. Reg confirmed. “Why don’t you just do a nice sampler pattern and give it to your mother as a gift? Bake something for the sale if you want to help Horse Wise.”

  “I could, but I—I don’t want to look bad in front of Carole and Stevie,” Lisa blurted out. Something about Mrs. Reg’s motherly manner always seemed to make Lisa confess her fears.

  “Look bad? Oh, you mean the resolutions? But that’s silly, Lisa. Friends aren’t people you have to worry about looking bad in front of. Friends want what’s best for you,” Mrs. Reg said, her voice serious.

  Lisa frowned. Mrs. Reg had just struck a chord that reverberated in her private thoughts. “That’s what I think, too. That’s why I wanted to help Stevie and Carole! Carole said she eats too much junk food because her dad is always making snacks when they watch movies. So I told her she should give it up. And Stevie’s always getting upset because she has fights with Veronica. So I thought if she resolved to be nice to Veronica, they would stop having fights. But now Veronica is up to her usual tricks, and Carole’s always hungry, and I’ve got to embroider a tablecloth and napkins in less than two weeks!”

  Mrs. Reg took a long sip of tea. “You know, Lisa,” she said thoughtfully, “when Max was growing up, he told me he wanted to learn to play the piano. So I gave him lessons and made sure he practiced every day—scales, easy classical pieces, all the right things. At first he liked it, but then he started to skip lessons and fool around during his practice hour because he wanted to be in the barn with the horses. So I canceled the lessons, and he quit playing. But a few years later, I started to hear him tinkering on the piano in the evenings. Pretty soon he’d taken it up again. He taught himself all kinds of songs—not classical songs, but popular music, the kind of music he liked to listen to on the radio. That’s what he really wanted to play all along. And he got pretty good. He still plays sometimes, but if I’d made him stick with the classical lessons—wait a minute. What was
that about Veronica’s ‘usual tricks’?”

  Startled by the sudden change of subject, Lisa chewed her lip, wondering whether or not she should say something. Then she had an idea: She would try the indirect approach Mrs. Reg herself used. “Mrs. Reg, you know how someone can say something to someone about doing something that the someone didn’t really do? Well, you see, sometimes Veronica is that someone.”

  “I see,” Mrs. Reg said gravely. “I see, indeed. Humph.”

  Lisa waited to see what Mrs. Reg would do. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything at all, but it seemed so unfair to Stevie! Instead of making any comment about Veronica, Mrs. Reg leaned down and took out a bag. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

  “Sure, Mrs. Reg,” said Lisa, relieved.

  From the bag Mrs. Reg took out colored thread, needles, patterns, and fabric. The last item was a curious-looking, round, wooden contraption. “This is an embroidery hoop, dear, the same one my mother learned on and the same one she taught me on.”

  Lisa took the hoop gingerly in her hands. It gave her a strange thrill to hold it, knowing it was old and had been used by Mrs. Reg’s mother decades ago.

  “Now, let’s see … here we are. A simple sample pattern for you to start with.” Mrs. Reg held up a large, square piece of light-colored linen. The letters of the alphabet, encircled by a flower border, were drawn on the linen.

  Lisa watched intently as Mrs. Reg took a small needle and threaded it. “What kind of yarn is that?” she asked. With Mrs. Reg beside her, she felt confident again. How hard could this embroidery stuff be?

  “It’s not yarn, dear. It’s called embroidery floss. All right, now—”

  “Now we’ll start with some French knots, fishbone, and coral stitches, right? And after I’m warmed up can I start right in on the tablecloth?” Lisa inquired eagerly.