by Susan Juby
“This is awesome,” I said to Fergus.
“Hmmm, yes,” he said. “Slightly underused but awesome, as you so charmingly put it.”
We put Tandava in a small paddock near the barn to let her calm down and have a look at her new surroundings, and then Fergus gave us a tour. I could see what he meant by underused. There was an eight-stall barn, an indoor arena, a regulation-size outdoor dressage ring, and fully fenced fields as far as I could see. And hardly any horses.
Fergus led us toward one of them, an older horse with a swayback and a big belly. “This is Honoré. She’s a retired broodmare.”
Phillipa put out her hand, and Honoré gently sniffed at it.
“She’s sweet,” said Phil as Honoré snuffled at her hair.
“Honoré is trained to Grand Prix. She’s produced five foals, four of which have earned top honors at European sport horse competitions. This gentle lady has earned her retirement,” said Fergus.
He led us to the next pasture, where a big bay horse grazed at a distance. Fergus didn’t say anything; he just stood there and all of a sudden the horse lifted its head, sniffed, then came tearing toward us at a full gallop. It slid to a halt, and poked its head over the fence. Fergus reached out and gave it a scratch.
“This is Ranier. He’s an Oldenburg stallion.”
I saw Phillipa’s eyes widen as she took in the horse’s height and his massive chest.
“He’s huge,” she said.
“Ah yes, that he is. He’s a lovely horse. Very talented. Ranier was Ivan’s last competition horse. He is also trained to Grand Prix, but like his owners and stablemates, he’s retired.”
Fergus turned and walked down to the field nearest the lake. A white horse was waiting for us when we arrived at the fence.
“And this is Princess. She’s an Andalusian/Dutch Warmblood cross.”
“Is she trained all the way, too?” Phil asked.
“Nearly,” he said. “She has some work to do on her reading comprehension, but other than that she’s quite accomplished.”
Princess, with her big, soft, black curious eyes, did look just about smart enough to read.
“Are you saying you have three Grand Prix–level horses here?” Phil said.
“Two retired Grand Prix horses. Princess is a retired Prix St. Georges schoolmaster.”
“I thought there were only five horses trained to Grand Prix on the whole island,” said Phil.
“You’ve got this huge place for three retired horses?” I said. “Why?”
“Perhaps you think we should move our retired horses into a nice condominium? We’ve only recently moved here. Who knows what will come our way? Perhaps there will be more surprises like you two.”
Phillipa shook her head. “It’s just Cleo. I have to leave my horse at school.”
“That’s a shame, dear. But think of it this way—eventually Ivan will get over his pique and give Cleo a lesson. Then she’ll be sorry she’s not still at school with you.”
I looked at Phil. That’s exactly what I was afraid of.
SEPTEMBER 9
4
Alex
ALEX TOLD HIS trainer on the way to the tack store. Afterward he felt naked.
“Come again?” Meredith asked.
“Dressage. I’m thinking of switching to dressage.”
“Is this some twisted way of punishing me for going to Texas?”
“No, that’s not it. I’m just interested, I guess. I’ve always been sort of interested.”
“And you’re just telling me now? We could have done more English. You could have shown hunter under saddle. I just didn’t think you were interested.” Meredith cast him a sideways glance. “You know, if you switch to dressage your dad’s going to freak.”
“It has nothing to do with him,” Alex said, even though he knew she was right. But if he was ever going to switch, now was the time. In a few days Meredith was leaving the local barn she managed to take over a big quarter-horse breeding and training operation in Texas.
“Well, they say dressage is the basis for everything,” Meredith said, as she pulled the truck into the parking lot. “Maybe I can explain that to your dad. Tell him even the real old-time cowboys use dressage techniques.”
Alex stared gratefully after his trainer as he followed her into the tack store.
Lately she’d been asking after his friends at school and he knew she was probably trying to establish that he had some. School, for Alex, was just the place he went between rides. He had exactly two acquaintances there. Chris was a quiet, blond boy who carried a black sketchpad everywhere. He wore sweater vests and old cardigans and had to be asked to remove his headphones if you wanted to say anything to him. Sofia was a round-faced Chinese Canadian girl who hid her sardonic sense of humor behind long silences and her lush good looks behind unfashionable eyeglasses and shapeless T-shirts with dorky logos. The three of them hung around together but they didn’t talk much.
When Meredith asked about his friends, Alex told her about how he and Chris and Sofia went out to eat and to movies on the weekends. His stories were total fabrications, but he could tell she liked hearing them. Sometimes lying was the best thing you could do for someone you cared about.
Kind of like how people seemed to appreciate hearing that he had a girlfriend. The girlfriend was a lie, too, but over time she’d become nearly real to him. He used her when other guys were making jokes about sex and girls and he felt like he had to say something. He’d never come out and told Chris and Sofia about his imaginary girlfriend directly, but he’d dropped a few big hints, alluding to a “certain someone” he’d met at a horse show out of town and whom he was “pretty into.” It probably wasn’t necessary since neither of them ever said anything about their own romances. Sofia didn’t seem to want anyone to notice that she was a girl, and Chris seemed worried that someone would ask him to turn down his music and have an actual conversation. The three of us are very strange, thought Alex, with a certain degree of satisfaction.
“So I guess we should be finding you some dressage gear,” said Meredith as she perused the shelves full of supplements and ointments. “I mean, since you’re making the big switch.”
Alex nodded, even though he had already collected much of what he’d need to begin his dressage training. While some boys hoarded pornography, Alex had a stash of dressage paraphernalia that he’d collected over the years hidden in his sock drawer. Included were the video of the dressage competition in the last Olympics, a pair of tan breeches, and some English riding boots that he’d purchased for half price on a trip out of town, as well as a copy of The Complete Training of Horse and Rider in the Principles of Classical Horsemanship by Alois Podhajsky. Today he hadn’t planned on buying anything except a new pair of gloves.
“Well, if you’re going to start riding dressage you’re going to need a lot more than just new gloves.” Meredith reached down for a long dressage whip and handed it to Alex. “You’re definitely going to need this. Your poor old Turnip’s going to have to pick it up a few notches.”
Alex inspected the whip and was suddenly gripped by an intense desire to have it. He became aware of another customer, a short bald man with clear blue eyes, who seemed to be smiling to himself.
“Oh, come on. Just buy the damn thing,” said Meredith. “It’s on sale and it’s already the cheapest one in the store. That and your gloves and you’re on your way to a major shopping binge. When that’s done, you can start saving for dressage lessons. From what I hear, those don’t come cheap.”
Alex groaned.
He loved the feel of the dressage whip in his hands. He felt like brandishing it around the store, like fencing with it or dancing with it. Alex was reminded of the freedom he used to feel passaging around the living room on his imaginary dressage horse. Between the gloves and the whip and the confession, he was as happy as he’d been in weeks as he walked up to the register.
Moments later his elation was gone as the clerk informed him t
hat his family account was overdue. Badly overdue. Face burning, Alex stared at the counter. It was crowded with horse treats and horse-themed jewelry. He was uncomfortably aware that the bald man he’d seen earlier was behind him in line. In the close confines of the tack shop the man would be able to hear every word the clerk spoke.
“I’m sorry,” the clerk said. “Just ask your father to come in and bring your account up to date. We can hold these things for you.”
Alex couldn’t seem to move, so Meredith gently took his arm and pulled him out of the store.
The two of them got into Meredith’s old diesel truck with the STARFLEET ACADEMY and I QUARTER HORSES bumper stickers in the rear window. They sat in silence for a moment.
Finally Alex spoke. “I guess my dad must’ve forgot to pay.”
Meredith bit her lip. “I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your dad’s a little behind in his bills.”
“You mean he hasn’t paid you either?”
Meredith shrugged and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sure he’s good for it,” she said.
Alex frowned.
“Look, Alex, you have talent. Real talent. Look at how well you’ve done on Turnip. A good part of the credit goes to you. Doesn’t matter what kind of riding you do—English, Western—you’ve got good hands and a really nice feel for horses. That’s a rare thing.”
Alex couldn’t believe his ears. Meredith wasn’t one to throw compliments around.
“Are you serious?” he asked.
“Don’t push your luck, or I’ll take it back. Now about this money thing,” she said. “Horses are expensive. Unless you’re a silver-spoon type, you’re going to struggle sometimes. But think of it this way: At least you’ve got talent. A lot of these big-money types, they’ve got cash all right, but you can’t buy a seat and hands like yours.”
The knock on the window made both of them jump. Alex turned to see the man who’d been in line behind him and he quickly rolled down his window.
“I couldn’t help but hear that you’re looking to find instruction in the fine art of dressage.”
The man pronounced the word dressage in two parts: “dray-sage.” With his shiny bald head and clothes in muted and tasteful shades of green and brown, he looked like the sort of person who should have a pair of trained Border collies trotting at his heel as he strode through a field full of sheep.
The man handed a piece of paper through the window.
“Give us a call, ducks. We might be able to help you.”
Alex, surprised, took the piece of paper.
“And, lad? Here’s a little something to encourage the old man to pay the bills.” The man passed a dressage whip through the window. Alex noticed right away that it wasn’t the modestly priced version he’d brought up to the counter. It was the best whip in the store.
The man turned, walked over to a low-slung green Jaguar, and drove away.
“Well,” Meredith demanded. “What does it say?”
Alex unfolded the piece of paper.
“Limestone Farm. There’s a phone number.”
SEPTEMBER 12
5
Alex
THREE DAYS LATER Alex rode down a long driveway shaded by towering fir trees and lined with sword ferns and waxy salal bushes. The forest opened out onto a field and the sky reappeared over the winding gravel road, which wound down to meet a lake.
Turnip walked briskly, and his head swung from side to side as he took in the unfamiliar sights. He had an old gelding’s well-honed sense of self-preservation and was not one to get excited unnecessarily. When a big bay horse galloped up to the fence and snorted a challenge, Turnip gave it a sidelong glance of cautious disapproval and moved on. As always, Alex felt proud of his horse’s steadiness and solid common sense. He gave the old paint a pat on his neck.
Alex was still in shock at the warm, friendly greeting the man had given him when he finally gathered the courage to call the number on the card. The man, who said his name was Fergus, had promptly invited him to come for a lesson.
“I, uh, don’t have a horse trailer,” said Alex, feeling like the whole thing was too good to be true.
“And where do you live, lad?”
Alex explained and Fergus laughed. “I think you’re in luck. We’re not too far from you.” He gave Alex the name of the road and Alex realized it was only about a fifteen-minute ride from his place.
“Think you can make it that far?” asked Fergus.
“Oh, yes. Definitely.”
Now that he was on his way to his first dressage lesson he could hardly believe it. It’s like heaven here, Alex thought, eyeing the house and outbuildings and the lake beyond. Motion in an outdoor ring caught his eye.
It was a horse and rider at the end of a lunge line. The bald man from the store stood in the middle of the circle holding the line, which was clipped to the horse’s bridle, and a long whip that he wiggled to tell the horse to go forward.
Alex was familiar with lunging. Meredith had kept him on the end of a lunge line when he was learning how to ride. Alex remembered that riding in a circle on the end of a lunge line while someone else controlled the horse made it easier to focus on his seat and position. He’d lunged Meredith’s horses, riderless, to exercise them and warm them up. But he’d never seen an experienced rider on the end of a lunge line and the girl in the ring obviously knew how to ride. She wasn’t using reins or stirrups and was basically maintaining her position. That couldn’t be easy—Alex could see that every stride the horse took was basically jet-propelled.
“Relax your hips,” said the man.
As she got closer, Alex could see air between the girl’s seat and her saddle. A whisper of nerves prickled across his neck. What if he was terrible at dressage? If this girl, who obviously had all the advantages money could buy, was having trouble with her riding, what would happen to him? He’d hardly even been in an English saddle before. What if Meredith was wrong? What if he had no talent? He wished Meredith had been able to come with him for his first lesson, but she was busy packing.
“Walk,” said Fergus. The girl began to tip forward.
“Sit back! Shoulders open.”
“Shit!” said the girl, and Alex suppressed a gasp. Meredith would have killed him if he swore during a lesson.
When the big mare finally slowed to walk, the girl slumped over in her saddle.
“God,” she said. “I totally need a chiropractor.”
“What you are going to need is an attitude adjustment before Ivan gets his hands on you,” said the man. Then he noticed Alex and Turnip.
“Hello, dear boy!” he called.
Dear boy. The man had called him dear boy! Alex felt his smile widen.
“So you’ve found yourself some English tack.”
Alex nodded. Meredith had lent him an old close-contact saddle and helped him cobble together an English bridle from bits and pieces she had lying around. The new mismatched English gear didn’t suit Turnip particularly well. In fact, Alex found himself very aware of the stark contrast between Turnip and the horse in the ring. It wasn’t just a matter of height—the two horses could have been different species entirely. Alex mentally apologized to Turnip for his disloyal moment.
“Wonderful. We’re going to have a lot of fun. Isn’t that right, Cleo, love?” said Fergus.
Cleo slumped over on her horse, lolling her head theatrically. “I guess that depends on how you define fun.” In that moment, Alex recognized her as the dressage rider, the girl he’d seen at the fall fling.
“Okay, you can get off now. I think you’ve had enough for one day.”
“Thank God,” said the girl, displaying all the energy and grace of a wet dishrag as she slid off the tall mare.
“Another beautiful dismount, Miss Cleo,” said Fergus, still not showing any sign of actual irritation. “Now remember, when you fini
sh untacking Tandava and cooling her out, you’re to clean all her tack and then you’ve got her stall to clean.”
The girl, who was petite and had delicate, almost sharp features under her black riding helmet, rolled her eyes.
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” she said. “I’m paying full board. What’s with all the work?”
“Your parents are paying, darling. Big difference. Students at Limestone work. It’s part of the dressage lifestyle.”
“No wonder I’m your only student,” grumbled the girl.
“It’s only been a few days, my dear. We’ve barely gotten started with you. And this young man here may be our second student. I don’t want you scaring him off.”
Alex wasn’t scared. He was intimidated, but so excited he would have whipped off his shirt and started scouring the barn floor with it if asked.
“Good luck,” said the girl to Alex as she drooped her way out of the ring. He could tell she didn’t recognize him from the horse show and he was relieved.
“Come on in,” said Fergus. Alex jumped off Turnip and led him in.
“So who is this fine gentleman?” asked Fergus, walking around Alex’s horse.
Alex felt a twinge of embarrassment. “His name is, uh, Turnip, Colonel Turnipseed.”
He pushed away his desire to make excuses for his horse. Turnip might not be the fanciest horse around, but he was definitely the smartest and bravest. And the most patient.
“Let’s have a look at you ride, shall we?”
