She cleared her throat and forced herself to finish: “I’m going to ride Lancelot in the show, at the end of camp, and I’m going to try to win.”
Robin frowned. “Well, yeah,” she said. “Of course you are … .” She stopped, confused.
“Not the Advanced II show,” Jane told her. Robin’s eyes widened in comprehension.
“You mean …”
“The Advanced I show.”
“But Jane,” Robin protested, “that’s in …”
“Less than three weeks. I know.” She looked again at the moon in the deceptively calm horse’s eyes and moved her hand to his neck. He startled, jerking his head away. They watched as he turned abruptly on his heels and bolted down the slope toward the pond, the moonlight flashing on his flying shoes.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Jane said.
Chapter 13
A Spy and a Special Delivery
Unlike Jane, Robin was excellent at making lists, schedules, and plans. She was also becoming a fairly accomplished spy. At one time, it now seemed a long time ago, Jane wouldn’t have hesitated to ask Jessica for Susan’s plans for the Advanced I competition, but now there was no one in that group she could approach, unless …
“Operation Kiss-Up, under way,” Robin whispered to Jane two nights later as they shared the bathroom sink, Jane examining the remnants of grayish-yellow streaking the inner corner of her eye and Robin vigorously brushing her long wheat-colored hair. She then called out, in a higher falsetto, “Hey, Jennifer? I’m totally out of toner, could I borrow some of yours? I’ll trade you for some Godiva my parents sent me … .” They guessed from the ensuing squeal that Jennifer was agreeable, and Robin gave Jane a conspiratorial wink as she left the bathroom to bond with her new “friend.” Jane tried to wink back but succeeded only in giving herself a headache. As she dampened a cotton ball with antiseptic for her forehead, she grinned as she heard Robin blurt an entirely unconvincing (at least to Jane) “Omigah! This is so much better than mine!”
But perhaps predictably, after two days of this Robin had had enough. As they led Lancelot and Bess to the ring for their morning lesson, Robin confessed ruefully that if she had to have one more conversation about boys from school she couldn’t stand, mixers she hadn’t gone to, and clothing labels she’d never heard of, she would scream.
“How is it possible to have nothing else to talk about?” She grimaced. “I mean, we don’t even talk about riding, unless Jennifer’s being patronizing about our class. I finally just asked her if Susan had told them anything about the event, and she said no. But Jane, I don’t think I can keep this up to find out when she finally does.”
She glanced at Jane apologetically, but Jane actually felt a bit relieved. She didn’t think she could take much more of Robin’s absence, either, or the gruesome, though remote, possibility that she would actually click with Jennifer and her group. She gladly let her friend off the hook, but still asked, “So you didn’t find out anything new last night?” Jennifer and Robin had joined Alyssa for a late-night visit to the kitchen to raid the fridge.
“Just that Emily’s having a great time at the beach and met some boy, or says she did. Alyssa’s convinced she’s making it up. God, they have the worst opinions of each other. It’s like they don’t even really like one another. And, well …” She hesitated.
“What?” Jane pressed her. She stopped Lancelot in the center of the ring. Robin checked over her shoulder, but Liz and Shannon were just emerging from the barn. “Well, um, they don’t like it that Jessica’s hanging out with Ben.”
Jane’s stomach gave an abbreviated heave. “What did they say?” Her knuckles blanched over Lancelot’s reins.
“I think it’s part of their whole weird jealousy, competitive thing … the way Alyssa was so snotty about Lancelot before he threw Emily, the way they talk about each other … .”
“Robin, tell me what they said!”
Robin blushed. “Alyssa said that Jessica was just … slumming.”
Jane gave the reins an involuntary jerk and Lancelot flattened his ears at her. “Sorry, Red,” she apologized, and rubbed the question mark on his forehead in a gentle circle till they both felt calmer. She lengthened her stirrup and mounted, her lips pressed together in a grim line, and added another reason to her mental list of why in just over two weeks she wanted to beat all three of them.
Lancelot was improving every day, but Jane worried that they weren’t doing the kind of work that would prepare them for the Advanced I event. She was supposed to be schooling Lancelot on her own, as she needed to, during Advanced I’s lesson, and during her and Robin’s lesson, Jessica, Alyssa, and Jennifer were practicing parts of dressage routines that she knew would be her biggest challenge. Sitting under their tree, devouring ham and pimento sandwiches from Maria, Robin suggested that they bite the bullet and ask Susan directly.
“She’ll just say no,” Jane said flatly. “Especially if she thinks we’re asking because I’m doing, well, what I’m doing.”
“What if I just ask her, like, out of curiosity?” Robin suggested. Jane was doubtful, and sure enough, when Robin cornered their trainer in the tack room later that day, Susan merely chuckled and said, “Oh, you’ll see.”
“She probably thinks I’ll tell them, as if!” Robin protested to Jane in frustration. It was now two weeks before the end of camp.
She sighed, pulling off her boot-stained socks and flopping onto Jane’s bunk. “We’re just thinking about this the wrong way. Susan’s probably not going to tell them what the courses are until the day before they do them.”
“Or maybe even the day of,” Jane said gloomily. “But it won’t matter to them, because they’ll have practiced—” She was cut off by the noisy entry of Alyssa and Jennifer, their arms laden with plastic-draped bundles.
“You got blue? How sweet!” Alyssa crowed to her friend. “Of course, in real eventing you couldn’t wear blue, but … so cute! Really cute.”
Jennifer stared at her, flushing with anger. “Well, what did you get?”
“Black,” Alyssa announced, and with a flourish, tore the protective bag from a long, elegant riding jacket, splendidly new, beautifully cut, suspended from a silken padded hanger. Jane glanced over at Jennifer’s smaller, slightly less dramatically cut jacket, a dark midnight blue. She thought they were both beautiful, but as Alyssa slipped into the formfitting, inky black coat and turned to admire herself in the mirror on the back of the door, Jane had to admit that the effect was good. Alyssa’s silky, layered bob just grazed her collar, and her highlights were thrown into relief by the matte black below. Alyssa frowned at herself in the mirror. “I still wish we’d had time to custom-order one from that tailor in London that Emily uses. But this’ll do for now.”
Jane rolled her eyes at Robin.
“What are those for?” Liz asked, coming in to see what the fuss was about.
“For the event,” Jennifer said. “Robin, you want to try my jacket on? We’re the same size.”
“Uh, no thanks, I don’t want to mess it up, but it’s a really pretty color, Jennifer,” Robin the retired spy said kindly, and Jane was amused to see Jennifer stick her tongue out in a very unsophisticated way at Alyssa’s elegant back.
“What event?” Shannon asked over Liz’s shoulder, her mouth an O of admiration and unapologetic envy.
“Um, like the one at the end of camp? That one?” Alyssa said sharply. Jane was relieved that Shannon was asking her questions for her. She wouldn’t have braved Alyssa’s tongue, she knew, and felt a surge of annoyance with herself. Now that she didn’t have Jessica to occasionally laugh at her jokes or take her side, she rarely entered into a general conversation. At least, she told herself, she was no longer smiling sycophantically, pretending to be with it.
“You mean Susan made you get those?” Shannon blundered on.
Alyssa sighed in exasperation. “I’m sure it won’t be necessary for your show, Shannon, but our competition is going to be
like a real event.”
“But there’s only three of you,” Shannon protested. “How is that a real event?”
This time Jennifer answered, her pride evidently pricked. “It’s quality, not quantity,” she snapped.
Alyssa threw her an appreciative glance and slapped her five. “I like that,” she said merrily, “quality, not quantity. That should be, like, our slogan. We’ll have to tell Jess.”
This time it was Liz who rolled her eyes, jammed in her earphones, and sheepdogged Shannon out of the room. Jane wondered suddenly if the two girls would continue riding … . Maybe they’d stay on another year or two, but they were growing more and more distracted in the ring, and both were spending a lot of time on their cell phones with other friends away from Sunny Acres. The split in the group had created a divide, she realized, and it burned her again that she was stuck with the less ambitious riders (Except for Robin, she added mentally, with a twinge of guilt). She watched Alyssa’s face in the mirror, eyes narrowed and lips curled in a half-smile. To Jane, she was clearly imagining a multicolored ribbon fluttering from Ariel’s bridle. Suddenly Jane wondered, though really it was the least of her worries, what in the world she was going to wear.
Jane was in the kitchen mopping up the last of her pancakes, thinking about what she would do with Lancelot that morning, when she looked up and was startled to see Mrs. Jeffrys approaching her table.
“Special delivery, Jane,” Mrs. Jeffrys said with a bemused smile. “This must be very important indeed, to bring the express delivery truck all the way out here,” and she handed Jane a heavy package stamped OVERNIGHT in several places. Jane thanked her and stared bewilderedly at the large, rather battered lump.
“What on earth?” Robin said, leaning over for a better look, as did Liz, Shannon, and Jennifer.
“Did you order something, Jane?” Shannon asked.
Jane couldn’t help laughing. She’d never ordered anything in her life. “It must be my custom-made jacket from England.” Somehow the words popped out, aloud, into the kitchen, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.
Then Liz and Robin started laughing, and Jane continued recklessly, “I’m so glad Emily’s tailor could fit me in. Of course, the queen told him that I’d inherited Emily’s charming horse, and I’m sure he wanted to see me killed in style.” She glanced over at the adjoining table, and even Alyssa was smiling reluctantly.
“Come, Robin,” Jane said in British, the first time she’d done so in front of the clique, “let us admire my finery in private.”
“But of course,” Robin chortled, and they bussed their trays and made a dash for their tree, Robin shrieking, “I can’t believe you said that!” as they ran.
Neither can I, Jane thought.
They tore open the package to reveal—books. A stack of faded, worse-for-wear books, with a note written on the back of a bookmark in Lily’s elaborate cursive: I don’t know if these are right, but maybe some of them will be helpful. Good luck! Love, Lily. “What in the world?” Jane wondered, slipping the rubber band off the pile. “Techniques of Western Showmanship?” She stared at the battered ex-library book in wonderment. “Saddleseat for Beginners?” She started laughing as she reached Expert Calf Roping. “Oh, Lily, you wonderful weirdo! She must have thought these would help with the event!”
“And she was right!” Robin said excitedly. “Jane, look! Here’s The Art of Dressage!”
Encouraged, Jane reached for the last volume and was thrilled to discover Listening to Your Horse, a book Jane had asked for for her birthday (her confused parents had instead given her Chicken Soup for the Horse Lover’s Soul, which she had hastily donated to her school library). As she surveyed the motley collection, Jane felt a rush of appreciation for her marvel of a sister. She recognized the bookmark from the used bookstore where Lily’s friend Harold worked and pictured them scouring the badly organized shelves and tottering piles of paperbacks for horsey material.
Robin was already deep into The Art of Dressage. “There are practice courses, Jane! Just look!” But Jane’s mind, for the moment, was in the dusty bookstore with her sister, who was turning the pages of a book saying, “Well, I don’t really remember there being cows at the barn, or Jane using a rope, but maybe that’s what they work up to … .” She grinned and took the book that Robin was shoving in her lap.
Armed with The Art of Dressage, Jane and Robin headed down to the large oval ring near the lake an hour later. “I wonder how much Lancelot was able to do before … I mean, when he was showing,” Jane said as she glanced up at the towering horse beside her. He seemed in a good mood this morning, despite the temperature that was crawling steadily upward past ninety degrees. Robin had taken the precaution of putting Rocky in the house, and Lancelot had seemed inordinately pleased by the big dog’s whimpers as Rocky scratched plaintively at the porch door behind them.
“Well, let’s think about what you know instead,” Robin said sensibly.
“Right,” Jane sighed. “Well, I’ve done basic flat work with Beau. Collected trot, medium trot … except he could never really manage that … he usually just sped up … and a collected and medium canter … ditto … . Let’s see, ah, half-halts, and backing up, and bending. He was really good at all that. But it’s weird, I mean, I know how Beau does all these things, but I haven’t figured all this stuff out with Red. It’s not the gaits, it’s the actual dressage part I’m worried about—”
“‘The harmonious development of the physique and ability of the horse’? ‘Achieving perfect understanding with his rider’?” Robin quoted from the book. “You mean that?”
“Yeah,” Jane sighed, “I mean that.”
“Well, think of it this way, then. We don’t know what Lancelot knows. But we’re not training a green horse. This isn’t new to him, or new to you, right?”
This time Jane quoted: “‘We’ve got to remind this horse what he’s capable of.’”
“Exactly.” Robin nodded.
“I just hope I don’t screw him up,” Jane muttered.
Twenty minutes later, she feared she was doing just that. Lancelot was bounding around the ring in a very unharmonious and misunderstanding way. “Hey, Robin,” Jane called out through gritted teeth as she gamely held on to her plunging horse, “can we maybe not start with flying lead changes?” But just as the words left her mouth, Lancelot, as if to make a point, changed leads with a cheerful swish of his tail. “Oh, brother,” Jane said as Robin crowed with delight. Jane gave Lancelot a pat and slowed him to a working walk. She felt foolish for pushing him so fast, yet humbled by his ability, sporadically though he chose to show it. It was clear that while Lancelot could morph in the jumping arena, a more gradual approach was needed on the flat. And if she couldn’t control him in the dressage ring, how could she hope to in the fields of the cross-country course?
“I’m just going to try some leg work—walking,” Jane called over, and eased Lancelot to a halt. He wasn’t on the bit, didn’t seem to be listening to her at all. Instead, his eyes were focused on the rolling hills that framed the farm, and his ears were pricked straight forward, at attention to something far beyond his rider. When she asked him to move ahead, he picked up a fast, bobbing walk, head high. She gently played with the tension in her reins and one of his ears flickered back to her. Maintaining steady pressure at the girth, Jane tried to keep his forward momentum while bringing his head down, and after a few sweltering rounds she had him on the bit and listening.
“That looks great!” Robin stage-whispered as Jane rode past her.
“Why are you whispering?” Jane whispered back, but she had already moved out of earshot of whatever Robin murmured back. She asked Lancelot to trot, mentally crossing her fingers that his concentration wouldn’t break. She tried to be as quiet and connected with him as she could, and without really thinking about it, slid her feet from her stirrups and let her legs reach even longer down his sides, absorbing his trot deep in her seat. Lancelot surged forward gracefully, with
a stride so long and smooth that it took Jane’s breath away. But not her horse’s: Lancelot snorted noisily once, twice, then a final blast that made Jane snort herself, with laughter.
“Classy,” Robin giggled in her normal tone of voice.
An hour later, Jane slid wearily out of the saddle, her legs shaking with exhaustion. They had practiced serpentines, circles, halt to trot, trot to halt, and everything in between, but no cantering. Jane was drained, mentally and physically, and even Lancelot showed signs of tiredness. But she was elated, and slightly stunned, by their progress. She rubbed the question mark on his forehead over and over, praising him while he stood quietly, his head near hers. She stroked his neck and loosened his girth.
Robin’s eyes were sparkling and she looked ready to throw her arms around both of them.
“Jane, what have you done to that horse?” Susan yelled at her hours later, during their afternoon lesson. Jane was incorporating some dressage techniques while they were hacking, sneaking in as much practice as possible. “And why don’t you have your feet in your stirrups?”
“Ah, I don’t know. It just feels better?” Jane panted, concentrating hard on supporting Lancelot’s hindquarters as she encouraged him to bend into the tight circles they were drawing at the near end of the ring.
“Well, he looks great, even if he is noisy,” Susan barked.
Lancelot snorted loudly in reply.
Chapter 14
A Horse of Her Own Page 13
