Chapter 20
Sunday, Part Three
It was Susan who brought the news: Jane, with no points deducted from her score, was now tied with Alyssa for first place. Ariel had refused once, at the entrance to the paddock, and Quixotic once, bringing their scores to forty, forty, and thirty-seven respectively. When Jane heard from Robin that Quixotic had balked at the jump down into the creek, she felt a pang of remembrance of the day they first jumped in the water, how Jessica had sung “The Star-Spangled Banner” after Quiz had bolted down the creek, how Jane had borrowed the song for her own courage. It seemed appropriate that Ben shared in the joke, and that he’d remembered. She used to be that person, Jane thought sadly, and now I have no idea who she is. But she found that her memories, bittersweet and complicated as they were, did not muddy the strong satisfaction she felt at having completed the only clean course of the group.
The yard was a confusion of horses being walked and people thronging around the refreshment tables. Jane kept Lancelot away from the crowd, but she had occasional well-wishers approach, including her parents and Lily, who stood back somewhat nervously from the big horse. Finally, Lily ventured a step forward and lay a tentative hand on Lancelot’s shoulder.
“I’ve never seen anything like it, Janoo,” she breathed to her sister. “The way he just catapulted over those jumps”—Lily had been standing by the biggest jump and the bounce—“it was like Seabiscuit, or National Velvet, or Meryl Streep, or … wow.”
“Meryl Streep?” Jane asked incredulously.
“I’m trying to think of the acting equivalent, and that’s the best I can come up with!” Lily insisted, and the senior Ryans joined their daughters’ laughter.
“He’s extraordinarily large,” her father pronounced, chewing the stem of his unlit pipe.
“And very … well, big,” her mother added.
Jane sighed. “If all non-horsey people would please step aside, I need to keep walking the extraordinarily large and big Best Actress,” she said, and they let her go with a measure of relief. Lancelot bent his head toward her and started vigorously rubbing his forehead on her upper arm. “How could anyone be scared of you?” she inquired of him fondly.
The full heat of the day bore down upon the festive, crowded scene, and the afternoon began to take on a glare of unreality to Jane. It was like Field Day at the end of school—a mixing of worlds that was unnerving, and on top of that a competition to worry about. The families were out of place, or the event was out of place. Should Jose really be passing plates of Benedictine sandwiches and slices of ham? Should Ben really have met Lily? Where was she, after all? Jane’s mouth was dry and cottony and her pulse seemed to be fluttering in fits and starts. One more thing to do, she whispered to Lancelot. Just one more. Her shoulder throbbed under its tight bandage as she turned him around and headed back down the drive toward the arena.
In a flurry of discarded paper plates, reapplications of suntan lotion, melting ice cubes in watery lemonade, and the bright lipsticked mouths of mothers calling encouragement to daughters, the spectators were herded to chairs around the ring. Jane checked Lancelot’s girth and tried to check her own nerves, willing herself to stay calm. She felt tired; she felt like she’d had twelve cups of coffee. She just wanted to go to the cabin and read in the cool dimness on her bunk. She wanted to jump everything in sight. Or perhaps gallop away from the farm altogether. She bounced three times and mounted stiffly.
Alyssa wasn’t smiling as she entered the ring. She and Ariel looked as focused as sharks homing in on food. Now Jane had to watch. And, as before, there was no doubt that Alyssa Taylor was an excellent rider. But somehow, this time, watching her competitor gracefully zigzag from jump to jump, her neat releases, her forward-looking eyes, her judicious application of the crop, Jane didn’t feel downhearted. Instead, a strange feeling of excitement suddenly gripped her. Yes, she’s good, she thought. And I’m tied with her for first. How about that?
No refusals. No falls. No faults. Alyssa’s score stayed at forty, and she got a standing ovation when she left the ring.
The best Jessica could hope for now was second place, but she rode as if she were still in the running for the championship ribbon. Jane thought that if they’d been on speaking terms, she’d tell Jessica how much she admired her ride, her cool deliberation, her quick recovery when Quixotic stumbled after the combination, and her final salute, jaunty as ever, to the judges and the applauding crowd as she left the ring. When Jessica rode past her, Jane almost opened her mouth to say something, and Jessica gave her a long, musing look before turning away to dismount. But Jane didn’t have time to ponder the silent exchange—she was being called into the ring.
After asking Lancelot for a canter, Jane took a gauge of his energy and stride, which seemed as fresh and lively as ever. Reassured, she looked to the first fence, an ascending oxer gaily striped red, white, and blue. “You like these,” she told Lancelot, and he apparently agreed. She looked right, shortening his stride into the turn, keeping her eyes fixed on the square oxer looming directly after the curve. Up and over and she counted out six strides to the vertical at a slight right diagonal. Then a turn to the left, past her starting line, and she was squared up for another ascending oxer, then picked up a bit of speed for the longer lead-in to the combination: a vertical, one stride to an oxer, two strides to another vertical, and … bonk. The sound of hoof hitting pole. No, no, please no, Jane begged the pole to stay in its cups as she recovered and pointed Lancelot left and to the next vertical. She knew she couldn’t stop, couldn’t look over her shoulder, couldn’t do anything but pray and ride and wait to hear from the audience or from the telltale clatter on the ground behind her. Nothing. Focus, she screamed silently to herself and counted six more strides to the next oxer, then took the following left curve wide to head for a high triple bar, sharp right turn to another triple bar, then finally six shorter strides to the last vertical and she was out, she was done, it was over, and she turned Lancelot immediately around to inspect the last rail of the combination … which winked innocently in the sunlight, snug in its cups. Jane blew out lungfuls of air and sagged onto Lancelot’s neck, patting him over and over again.
The crowd was on its feet, and she gave a weak wave to her family as she struggled to slow an excited Lancelot down, the pain in her shoulder rising in pitch from a dull mutter to a sharp wail. When she managed to get him from the ring, tossing his head and snorting loudly, taking skittish crab steps all the way, she realized she had no idea what happened next. Did they tie? Was it over? And sudden, confused disappointment came crashing over her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.
She reined Lancelot up next to Ariel, who still bore her rider, looking stubbornly at the judges and nowhere else.
“So, I guess we’re still tied,” Jane ventured.
“I guess so,” Alyssa said flatly.
Jane felt numb, dulled, and slightly stupid with the release of nerves and the feeling of anticlimax. Robin and Jane’s family would think it was wonderful. Ben would understand a little bit better, she realized, but still think she should be proud of what they’d accomplished. Susan would be pleased. None of it mattered. She probably should be pleased. Good lord, she thought bewilderedly, what’s wrong with me that tying for first place is such a catastrophe? She couldn’t bear sitting in this idiotic silence with Alyssa any longer, and she abruptly swung down from Lancelot’s back and threw his reins over his head. All of the families and the judges seemed to be staying where they were for now, and she could at least get Lancelot untacked in peace.
“What are you doing?” came Alyssa’s sharp voice above her.
“Well, I mean, I guess I’m going back to the barn,” Jane said.
“What about the jump-off?” Alyssa demanded.
“What—Ben didn’t say there was … a what?” Jane’s heart revved back up again.
Alyssa’s lips curled up in a smirk, and she gave an unamused chuckle. “Ben. Of course. Spying a
gain. Didn’t you hear Susan this morning? If there’s a tie, we have a jump-off. So you’d better get back on, because the judges obviously think you’re quitting.” Jane turned hastily to look toward the center of the ring, and sure enough, the three trainers were looking at her quizzically, and Susan was making unmistakable Get on your horse flapping gestures with her arms. Jane needed no further encouragement. She leaped back on as if the ground were electrified, and she and Alyssa trotted their horses back into the ring, Jane’s spirits lit on fire like the coat of the dancing horse beneath her.
Tom Cumbler explained the course and the rules as Jose disassembled the first jump of the combination, turning it into a double. The same rules applied, he told them, but there were fewer jumps and the course was altered. He pointed out their new route and they followed his hand with their eyes: The first jump was the same as before, then they would curve right, pass the second jump, and take the third vertical. Instead of turning left, they would head right, to jump number 8, another vertical, from the opposite direction, followed by a sharp right turn to 9, the triple bar, straight to 10, yet another vertical, then a left turn and the long stretch to the now-double combination, then a dash to the last vertical, jump 6, and the final hurdle: the square oxer, formerly jump 7. “Confusing?” He offered them a small smile. But Jane and Alyssa weren’t giving each other an inch, and they both looked stoically back at him.
“Basically, it’s all the most challenging jumps in a new order. And we’re raising the height a bit,” he finished, and Jane looked to see that Ricky and Gabriel had joined Jose in the ring and were indeed sliding the cups higher up the posts. She wondered for a moment what was so terrible about tying for first as she watched the poles inch up.
All of Jane’s nobler sentiments about having a worthy competitor had dried up, and she began actively and vigorously wishing disaster (if of the fallen-pole-and-refusal variety, and not the more serious kind) on Ariel and her rider. And then at jump 9 it happened: bonk. But this time the hollow thud was followed by the clatter of the top rail of the triple bar dropping to earth. Ariel finished the rest of the round cleanly, though Alyssa faltered with the course direction once, having to slow to a trot to regain her bearings. Her score was now thirty-seven, and Jane was in the lead.
Jane quickly scanned the course as she circled Lancelot before the starting line, trying to visualize Tom Cumbler’s hand pointing out the route. Lancelot was more than lively now. Instead of tiring, he seemed to be gathering fuel from each leg of the competition. As she shortened her reins, she wondered what memories the day’s events were stirring in her horse. His tremendous pull against her was making her shoulder nearly unbearable, but there was nothing for it but to start: Any more time aboard and she was going to lose the effectiveness of her arm.
Lancelot exploded forward and Jane struggled to keep his power in check. He was champing and worrying the bit, tucking and untucking his head in a battle for more rein. Jane held as firmly as she could, but she knew his interest was lit on the hurdles before him and not on her. They pounded over the first three jumps, but their corners were too sharp and Jane nearly lost balance as they swerved to the rail that had cost Alyssa her points. She righted herself and clung onto him as he sailed over it, anticipating the awful hollow sound, but, finally, thankfully, not hearing it. For a few exhilarating seconds, managing to control the tempest beneath her, she thought she’d won, that she’d made it, that all of the other jumps were surely easier … bonk. The last jump of the combination, the same one they’d grazed before. Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, Jane chanted … then the clatter and the thud, and even as they breezed over the final two fences, Jane knew they had to do it all over again.
Sweat was now pouring down her face and as her eyes sought out Alyssa’s, she saw that her rival was in a similar state, her face flushed and strands of blond hair sticking wetly to her neck. Jane didn’t bother leaving the ring; she just waited to hear the judges’ verdict. How much more of this were they going to have to do? Visions of an epic, all-day struggle swam before her eyes, and she wiped her face on her sleeve. Only Lancelot seemed cool and unconcerned beneath her, his fidgets momentarily quelled.
“Why not just call it a tie?” Jennifer’s father’s voice rang out somewhat irritably from the audience at the rails, reminding Jane of the existence of life outside the arena. She looked over at the small crowd, which appeared to have wilted in the blazing midday heat. Her mother was flapping her floppy straw hat in front of her face, and several grown-ups had wandered back over to the refreshment table. Jane realized she was desperately thirsty, and, seeing that the judges were still in conference, she walked Lancelot over near where her family was sitting. Lily immediately sprang up and handed her a water bottle, which Jane gulped from greedily, spilling water down her shirtfront. She didn’t care: It matched the sweat stains crawling down her spine. Her parents spoke reassuring words, but the sisters were silent. Jane drank confidence from Lily’s smiling, believing eyes, and handed back the bottle gratefully.
Finally the judges made their announcement. “In the interests of the riders and their horses, this next round of the jump-off will be the final one,” Susan called out. “The riders will follow the same course as before, and the rider with the fastest clean course will be the winner.”
Jane looked down at Lily, who put her hand to her neck. “Don’t forget your medallion,” she whispered.
Jane repeated her sister’s motion and felt the cool disk resting on her clavicle. “Well, hang on, Saint Christopher,” she said, and turned to leave the ring clear for Alyssa.
She paused when she heard Jill Grabel’s voice: “Don’t get carried away,” she called to both riders, but looking meaningfully at Lancelot. “If you go too fast, you might get sloppy and knock down rails. Aim for a clean round, not a speed record.”
This seemed to be Alyssa’s strategy exactly, and Jane, remembering all too well her own fast-and-loose ride, thought she was probably counting on Jane’s enormous horse getting out of hand and making mistakes. For Lancelot, if he stayed under control, had the advantage of his massive stride and the speed Jane had experienced over and over again with awe. There was little hope that the stalwart Ariel would refuse jumps she’d already handled with aplomb, but maybe, maybe they’d knock a rail down … . The hope dimmed down to nothing as Alyssa crossed the final jump, her horse’s hooves tucked neatly inches above the top bar. The judges called her time: 62.3 seconds.
Jane, having nothing to compare it against, had no idea if that was slow or fast—she just knew she had to beat it. Before she entered the ring, she bent her head briefly against Lancelot’s mane, stroking his neck. “Let’s show them, Red,” she whispered. “Let’s do this one last thing, and do it right.” His ears flickered back to her and he stood perfectly still until she was ready. And then she sat back, gathered her reins, and squared her shoulders.
She glanced at the crowd, hushed and still, as she entered the ring. The afternoon heat seemed to have turned to a silent weight, and the farm was unnaturally quiet. She looked for Ben but couldn’t find him.
“Ready, Jane?” Susan called.
“I’m just making sure Clay has all of his chair on the ground,” Jane called back, hoping to find Ben’s face among the others, but not seeing it. There was a wave of laughter, and Clay yelled, “I do! I do!” probably for Lily’s sake.
“Well, come on, then,” Susan said, and Jane, disappointed, turned Lancelot to the starting position. As the farm was eerily quiet, the big red horse seemed preternaturally still, his ears flickering back and forth between Jane and the jumps before him. Controlled speed, she thought. He’s fast, but can he be fast and careful?
“Ready,” Jane called.
It was the fastest game of strategy Jane had ever played, guessing where she could lose a stride, where she could shave the edge off a corner, how she could get from point to point square and centered but try to lose all the ground between. It felt like crazy math, pain
ful math as her shoulder began to tremble each time she reached up into two point. It felt like she was physically hurling them over the verticals, willing her horse to pick up his feet, willing him to take off at the proper distance from the jump. It was the quickest thinking she’d ever done, and she felt her whole body reacting to her prayerful riding, making herself hold light and tight and fierce and above all up and up to reach higher, jump higher, go faster, and match speed with care and care with height until finally she heard, was it yelling from the crowd? Why were people yelling? But yelling they were, the silence smashed to pieces as she raced to the last jump and saw Ben’s face between Lancelot’s ears before her and he was yelling and raising his fist and Jose was thumping Ben’s back and here was the last jump and when they were over Jane was not yelling, she was crying, and she knew that they’d won.
Epilogue
And Last … the Mystery Horse
Robin brought the bucket of water closer to Jane, who insisted on taking care of Lancelot herself, though her arm was back in a sling. But Lancelot, for once, seemed close to tired, and he was calm and patient as his limping, awkward rider tended to him.
“I think this is the first time I’ve really seen him sweat,” Jane remarked to the small group of people gathered around them, watching and, she thought proudly, admiring the mighty red horse.
“He is something else,” her father mused, and Jane took this as high praise, for her parents always found words for what they felt. When they couldn’t, it was noteworthy.
“After all this excitement, getting Lily to college is going to be a walk in the park,” her mother commented, and Lily laughed her agreement. But Jane’s tired elation sagged at the words, and she paused, sponge in hand, to look forlornly at her sister.
A Horse of Her Own Page 20
