Crown Prince

by Linda Snow McLoon

  When Sarah stopped by Gray Fox’s stall and placed the saddle on a collapsible saddle rack pulled out from the wall, Spin jumped up on her leg, asking to be petted. She nudged him aside. “No time right now, Spin.” Not giving up easily, both dogs persisted in jumping up, fully expecting their usual playtime with Sarah. “No!” She spoke sharply, and then was sorry to see the terriers turn and start back down the aisle, Taco with his head low, dejected, and Spin almost slinking away. But it couldn’t be helped. She’d make it up to them later.

  Sarah rummaged through the wooden box of grooming tools by the door to pick out a hoof pick, curry comb, mane comb, and a stiff brush before sliding the stall door partly open and easing inside. Gray Fox was standing on the far side of his stall near the window with his eyes half closed, his tail lazily swishing off the occasional fly. He turned his almost white head to gaze at her nonchalantly.

  “Come on, boy. No more dreaming. Time to go to work.” She offered the horse a carrot before attaching a stall tie to his halter. She quickly picked the packed bedding and manure out of his hooves before currying and brushing his flea-bitten gray coat. Not much dust and dirt appeared as she brushed him—thank goodness he hadn’t rolled in his paddock that morning! She hastily ran a comb through his mane and went over his face with a soft brush.

  Gray Fox stood quietly for grooming, seeming to enjoy it. When Sarah had finished, she lifted the saddle and pad onto his back, and ran the girth through the martingale loop before tightening it. He obligingly opened his mouth to accept the bit when Sarah put on his bridle. So far the old gelding was being cooperative; a good sign.

  Sarah put on her helmet, picked up the crop, and was about to lead Gray Fox out of his stall when she remembered her spurs. She quickly strapped them to her boots, but on this warm afternoon, she left her riding gloves in the tote bag. Gray Fox’s hoofs rang on the cement floor as she led him down the aisle toward the side exit. Cutting across the courtyard would be the quickest route to the indoor arena.

  Once outside, Sarah began jogging, not easy in her tall boots, and she was relieved when Gray Fox willingly trotted beside her. The arena’s large entrance door was open, with only the wooden swing gate closing off the opening. She looked in to see if the coast was clear. Taking a deep breath, she called out, “Gate!” to the riders inside and led her horse into the arena.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Lesson

  THE AIRY INDOOR RIDING ARENA was brightly lit from the afternoon sun filtering in through the skylights when Sarah led Gray Fox inside. She was relieved there was no sign yet of Jack O’Brien. The other four riders in her class were mounted and warming up their horses, all wearing helmets, riding breeches, and tall black boots.

  These four teens were experienced riders, the best of the young equestrians at Brookmeade, and they took their riding seriously. They hoped to do well in competition and knew Jack O’Brien would help them achieve that goal. Sarah had felt honored when she was invited to join the class, even though she had to ride a school horse while they all owned their own mounts. Jack said she deserved to be challenged along with his top riders and shouldn’t be held back. “To be sure, there’s much good that comes from riding many different horses,” he’d added.

  Paige Vargas was riding Quarry near the ingate and came closer when Sarah entered. Quarry, an eye-catching dappled gray Thoroughbred, turned his head to Gray Fox, who pinned his ears. Fox wasn’t friendly with most horses; the barn crew was careful to turn him out with only the few he tolerated.

  “You’re late,” Paige said. “What’s up?” A few strands of blonde hair escaped from under her riding helmet as the girl with the perfect complexion and violet eyes halted her horse.

  “My mother’s appointment ran late, that’s all,” Sarah said. “I’m glad Quarry is okay now.”

  “We think he was just footsore after being shod last week. You know how brittle his feet are. He had a few days off and now he’s fine.”

  Paige glanced at Sarah’s mount as she asked Quarry to move off. “I’m glad it’s your turn to ride Gray Fox,” she called over her shoulder as Quarry broke into trot. “Be prepared to work hard!”

  As Sarah walked Gray Fox to the center of the arena to mount, she saw Kayla trotting Fanny in a circle at the far end. She caught Kayla’s eye and gave her a thumbs up—Kayla and Fanny looked great. Sarah knew Kayla was a little nervous about jumping Fanny today, as things hadn’t gone well in their last lesson. Fanny had stopped in front of a triple bar jump, something she’d never done before.

  “It was my fault, not Fanny’s,” Kayla admitted later. “Jack said Fanny needed more impulsion. If I’d ridden her stronger to the jump, she wouldn’t have refused.”

  On the far side, Paige’s boyfriend, Tim Dixon, was doing walk-canter-walk transitions. His horse, Rhodes Scholar, was mostly Thoroughbred except for a Cleveland Bay grandfather, which accounted for his large frame and generous bone. A rich blood bay, his only marking was a white stocking on his left hind leg. Tim sat tall in the saddle, a good-looking guy on a striking horse. When Rhodes took a few trotting steps before cantering, Tim brought him back to walk and asked again. After a few tries, Rhodes seemed better in tune with what Tim wanted, and finally went directly into canter.

  As Sarah prepared to mount Gray Fox, Rita Snyder trotted briskly by on her elegant Dutch Warmblood, Chancellor. She was spotlessly neat, wearing full seat breeches, a polo shirt mono-grammed with her Pyramid Farm logo, and highly polished custom boots. “You’re late!” Rita called out as she passed, without slowing to hear a response.

  Chancellor was a splendid horse, standing well over sixteen hands with a gleaming jet-black coat. His head was large, like the rest of him, as were his long somewhat heavy ears. A white ring in his left eye contrasted sharply with his dark coat, and an irregular star on his forehead trailed down to a snip on his muzzle. For a big horse, he was light on his feet, and with each stride he pushed off with elegance and power, his luxurious black tail swinging from side to side. Although Chancellor could be irritable at times, Rita never complained. Instead she took every opportunity to brag about her horse.

  Gray Fox raised his head to look at the spectators on the bleachers near the door. In winter the heated observation room was usually the preferred place to watch lessons, but it put viewers behind a plexiglass window. This time of year they liked the bleachers, where they could get a closer look and hear Jack’s comments. After halting Gray Fox in the middle of the arena, Sarah quickly tightened the girth and adjusted the length of the stirrups before easily mounting the medium-sized gelding. Unlike some of the taller horses at Brookmeade, mounting Gray Fox didn’t require a mounting block, but his stocky frame enabled him to carry riders of all sizes. Sarah took up the reins, switched her crop to her right hand, and turned the gray gelding to join the others.

  Just then, Jack O’Brien, wearing a tweed cap and buff riding breeches with his black boots, strode into the arena. A cleanshaven man in his forties with legs somewhat bowed from years in the saddle, Jack’s square jaw and snapping dark eyes set him apart even before he spoke. His black hair was liberally sprinkled with gray, and he admitted being a little long in the tooth. His competition days were over, and now he was content to teach riders and train young horses. Occasionally a problem horse was brought to Brookmeade for retraining, and Jack was also in demand to instruct at clinics organized by other stables. But he seldom took time to travel. “I’ll not be doing justice to the horses and riders at Brookmeade Farm if I’m running all around the countryside helping other folks,” he’d once said.

  Most of Jack’s students had heard the story of how he and Kathleen came to Brookmeade Farm. Chandler DeWitt was determined to have a high-caliber director head up his riding program, and he found the man he was looking for in Ireland. DeWitt had heard about a talented Irish horseman who was looking for a position, and he made a special trip to meet Jack and Kathleen O’Brien. DeWitt proposed they move to the States to take over the Brookmeade Farm
riding and training program.

  At one time, Jack was a member of the Irish eventing team, riding his horse, Donegal Lad. Lad had been somewhat high-strung, so dressage was not his strong suit, but he compensated by being an incredibly athletic and bold jumper. In his prime he had never been known to stop at a cross-country obstacle, and in stadium jumping he tucked his knees high into his chest to clear huge fences. The big liver chestnut could be counted on to go fast and clear, but an unlucky fall at a water complex while competing in the Olympic Games cost them a competitive placing. Jack dislocated his shoulder in the accident, but he insisted on remounting his horse and finishing the course.

  As a condition to accepting the job at Brookmeade, Jack asked to bring Donegal Lad to America to retire on the farm. DeWitt agreed to pay for the horse’s transportation, and he had a stall built for him in the corner of the former carriage shed next to the O’Briens’ bungalow. Lad quickly settled into his new home with his own pasture, where he was close to Jack and the broodmares. Although the horse was getting along in years, sometimes Jack could still be seen riding Lad through the old orchard high on the ridge in the early morning mist.

  Lindsay and Kathleen taught the less experienced riders, but most of the students hoped their riding would improve so they could eventually ride with Jack. He could be tough, expecting riders to work hard and take their riding seriously. “This is not a class for fair-weather pleasure riders,” he frequently announced. “I’m here to teach serious riders who are determined to ride as well as they can and have their horses perform as well as they can.” Some who preferred an easier approach didn’t like his challenging lessons. A few who bristled at his demands had gone elsewhere, but those who stayed were quick to admit that Jack’s instruction made them better riders.

  “And ‘tis hello to everyone,” Jack began in his usual booming voice with more than a trace of Irish brogue. On this day he needed to speak loudly to be heard over the drone of the nearby conveyer belt taking hay to the loft. “You’ll be forming a line behind Quarry one horse’s length distance apart. Then knot your reins in preparation for doing your stretching exercises.”

  As usual when a class was starting, Jack carefully eyed the horses for any signs of lameness. He had worked with most of the riders in this group since he had taken the job at Brookmeade eighteen months earlier. He expected them to understand the importance of a slow warm-up and make time for it prior to starting a lesson or schooling session. Sarah was relieved when Jack didn’t find Gray Fox a bit stiff. The horses continued walking as the riders bent down to touch their toes on alternate sides.

  After finishing the regular exercise routine, Jack asked the class to take up their reins once again and prepare to trot. Sarah applied enough leg to let Gray Fox know what was coming, and when asked, he reluctantly moved forward into the faster gait. The spurs definitely helped. Not many months before, Jack had said Sarah was riding with a steady lower leg and should learn to use a small blunt spur as the other riders did—with the exception of Paige. Quarry didn’t need to be more forward! Sarah mentioned it to her mother, and a pair of Prince of Wales spurs made a perfect birthday gift a few weeks later.

  Sarah checked to be sure she was posting on the correct diagonal, and as they trotted down the long side of the arena, she looked at Gray Fox’s reflection in the mirror that ran the length of the wall. His gray coat made him stand out, although with Quarry back in action, there were two grays in today’s class. She concentrated on her riding—heels down, hands steady, head up with her eyes looking ahead—as she put Gray Fox on the bit and asked him to move forward energetically.

  The riders followed Jack’s directives, sometimes circling and sometimes changing direction across the diagonal of the arena. Frequently he spoke to individuals. “Paige, sit taller in the saddle without leaning to the inside. Breathe deeply and open your shoulders.” Paige’s forehead furrowed in concentration as Quarry circled at one end of the arena, trotting with a steady rhythm. The girl who loved to joke and goof around with her friends was dead serious and determined when it came to riding. “Make sure you support your horse with your inside leg pushing him forward into a steady outside rein,” Jack continued.

  “Tim, Rhodes is traveling too fast and too strong,” Jack called. “Try circling at the other end of the arena and use half-halts to slow the pace. Slow your posting to encourage him to slow his trot, and try to relax.”

  Several times he addressed Sarah, telling her Gray Fox needed more impulsion. When it was time for individual work at the canter, Sarah was reminded how much effort riding Gray Fox required. She held the reins taut while communicating with her legs and seat to prepare for the faster gait. But when she gave the signal to canter with her outside leg, Gray Fox only trotted forward. “Bring him back to walk, and don’t be afraid to use your spurs and your crop behind your leg if it’s needed. You must get his attention. Now insist he goes forward,” Jack said.

  On the next try, Sarah asked for canter with a strong and deliberate motion. Grey Fox must have felt the spur, because he responded by jerking his head down and trying to buck. Sarah instinctively sat back so she wouldn’t be thrown out of the saddle, and used the reins to bring his head back up.

  “I guess old Fox isn’t used to being ridden with spurs,” Jack called. “Try that again, and remember to use just enough spur so he understands what you’re asking, but not so much he overreacts.” On the next attempt, Gray Fox seemed to have learned his lesson. With a swish of his silver tail to show his irritation, he responded to a more subtle leg action by smoothly springing forward into the three-beat gait. Sarah was happy when Jack commented, “Excellent! Much better.”

  As usual, Chancellor needed little correction from Rita, who got only praise from Jack when her horse immediately broke into a well-balanced canter. It was obvious the horse had received years of excellent training long before Rita’s father purchased him. “Brilliant!” Jack called out as Chancellor cantered past.

  When their flatwork was finished, and they were allowed to let their horses walk on a long rein, Gray Fox gratefully stretched his head and neck down. It had been a long canter session for him, and Sarah leaned down to stroke his neck as a reward for his hard work. But her throat tightened when Jack announced, “‘Tis a grand afternoon. We’ll use the outside hunt course for our work over fences.” Sarah was afraid Gray Fox might be emboldened to try more of his usual tricks out in the open.

  One by one the riders followed Jack from the arena into the bright sunlight, heading to the grassy, unfenced hunt course dotted with a number of brightly painted jumps. Near the entrance to the indoor arena a crew continued to toss hay bales onto the loudly whirring conveyor belt. Quarry and Fanny sidestepped nervously past the machine, not liking the noisy contraption, but Chancellor and Rhodes were more interested in the hunt course beyond. Gray Fox snorted as he passed, looking warily at the moving belt.

  Before Jack let the class focus on the hunt course, he led them to a cross-rail followed two strides later by a low post-and-rail vertical fence. “We’ll do a short warm-up over these fences,” he said. “Beginning with Rita, spread out at least four horse’s lengths between you to form a large circle. When I signal to pick up trot, you’ll follow Rita through the low combination. Continue cantering on the circle until you’ve all jumped it three times.” The simple exercise provided a good warm-up before jumping higher fences, posing little challenge to the horses and riders in the group, and soon they were back at walk, gathering in a spot near Jack just off the hunt course.

  Many of the striped poles, standards, and the gray roll top on the hunt course had recently been painted. The brush box had also gotten a coat of white paint and was filled with fresh evergreen boughs. The course looked tidy and inviting, the grass a bright green from the rain of the day before. After Jack had adjusted the height of the poles on some of the jumps, he explained the short course they’d be jumping.

  “You’ll first balance your horse by cantering a circl
e at this end. Since we’ve been working on it, let’s make the transition to canter from walk. Start with the brush box. Then it’s five strides to the in-and-out, six to the roll-top, and finally four strides to the red striped oxer.” Jack turned to study the combination. When his gaze shifted back to them, he said, “The in-and-out is a long one stride, so it’s good impulsion your horses will be needing on the approach. And remember that the striding will work only if you ride a straight line with a steady pace into each fence.” He paused to survey the riders. “You’re up first, Tim.”

  Tim was rewarded for his earlier work practicing canter transitions, as after walking Rhodes Scholar away from the class, the horse neatly sprang into the gait directly from walk. Circling once, Tim guided the bay to a straight path to the brush box. Rhodes got into it perfectly, soared over, and continued to jump well until he approached the final fence. Tim overshot the direct line to the oxer, and when he attempted to straighten Rhodes, he pulled too hard on the reins. Now his horse had to jump the oxer at an angle, and Rhodes seemed unsure how to compensate.

  The other riders gasped when at the last second Rhodes left out a stride and launched into a giant leap over the jump. Out of sync with his horse, Tim was thrown back and yanked the reins sharply in the air. The pain Rhodes felt when the bit pulled hard against his mouth caused him to throw his head high in the air upon landing and bolt forward. It took Tim several strides to bring his horse back under control.

  “You can all see how important ’tis to ride a straight line to the fence,” Jack said. “The last thing we want to do when jumping is to get left behind and grab our horses in the mouth. But except for the last fence, your ride was nicely done, to be sure. You didn’t turn quickly enough after the roll top, so you didn’t have enough room for a good approach to the oxer. I’d like you to do the course again.”