Blue Ribbons

by Kim Ablon Whitney

  “Look,” Mom said, pointing to the nameplate on Tyler’s door. I hadn’t noticed it yet. It read: WOODLAND’S TRIED AND TRUE, OWNED BY REGAN STERNLICHT.

  “How did you get that made up so fast?”

  Mom smiled. “You know I work quickly! The second I heard he was for sale I knew we would have this pony.”

  I looked away from the nameplate and Tyler, feeling sick to my stomach. The more Mom wanted me to want Tyler, the more I didn’t want him. Was she doing all this so fast because she knew she only had a few months to live?

  Hailey and her mom walked into the barn and thank god Hailey didn’t tell me how lucky I was. I don’t think I could have stood that. She had to hurry to get on because Susie was really strict about us being on time.

  Hailey’s mom stayed for a few minutes before she went off to her afternoon shift at the hospital, where she worked as a nurse in the maternity ward.

  “Full moon last night,” she said to Mom. “We had twelve delivering, including two sets of twins!”

  “Busy night,” Mom said.

  “That’s for sure.” Mrs. Mullins turned her eyes to Tyler. “So . . . this is the new pony?”

  “Woodland’s Tried and True,” Mom said, lighting up. “Isn’t he gorgeous!”

  Martha was tacking up Tyler. She had a spotless baby pad on his back and was about to put on one of my saddles. I listened to Mom and Mrs. Mullins, trying to hear any hints about Mom’s condition. Maybe Mom would say something revealing by accident. Like, you’d buy a pony like this for your daughter, too, if you knew you were dying.

  Mrs. Mullins patted Tyler on the neck. “Wow. He is pretty.”

  Martha slid my saddle on and tightened the girth. Martha had a bad burn on the side of her face that reached up onto her head and so most of the time she wore either a baseball hat or a bandana to cover up her patchy hair in that spot. Today she wore a pink bandana. Most people didn’t know how she had gotten the burn and were too afraid to ask, but Mom had asked her so we knew it was from getting too close to a wood-burning stove when she was really little. I guess in that way Martha was the complete opposite of lucky, too. I wondered what was worse—being burned as a child, or your mom having the really bad kind of cancer. I say really bad kind, because I’d learned there were many types. Cancer people liked to be all cancer-solidarity-rah-rah, but the fact of the matter was some people had the faint, curable kind and others, like Mom, had the nasty, Satan-inside-you kind.

  Martha put on Tyler’s bridle and led him to the mounting block outside the barn. I followed, leaving Mrs. Mullins and Mom to chat for a few more minutes.

  Hailey came out behind me with Donald and Jane was getting on Coco, another one of her family’s “project” ponies.

  Susie was already in the ring, helping Francie Martinez with a young mare that Susie had imported from Europe and was working with to sell. When Francie was a junior rider she used to train with Susie at the farm Susie worked at before she started her own stable. Francie had just finished her junior year at Skidmore College. In a few days, she was headed to Los Angeles for the summer to work for one of the biggest trainers on the West Coast. Susie had helped Francie get the job so she could see a different part of the country and be with her longtime boyfriend, Colby, who lived out there.

  “Once more,” Susie told Francie. “And this time don’t help her so much. If she wants to pull you down to the jumps, let her figure it out herself a little. She’s not always going to get such an accurate ride and she has to get used to that.”

  Francie picked up a canter and started the course. It was a straightforward hunter course with two jumps set on a line on both of the long sides of the ring, two jumps set on a line across one diagonal of the ring, and a single oxer across the other diagonal. The jumps were set at three-foot six-inches, higher than I’d ever jumped in my life, but not that high for someone as good as Francie. The mare was a bay with a big head. She was probably going to be an equitation horse or a jumper if she didn’t turn out to be calm enough for the equitation. Francie hardly ever made a mistake and it was amazing to watch her ride. I could only hope that someday I’d be as good as she was.

  “Great,” Susie said. “Perfect ride.”

  Francie brought the mare down to a walk. “Hi, girls,” she said to us. “Regan, what do you think of your new pony?”

  “He’s great,” I said.

  “Don’t let your head get too big, okay?” Francie loosened her reins, letting the mare stretch her neck. “Just because you’ve got a super fancy pony doesn’t mean you’re automatically going to win on him. You still have to ride.”

  “I know,” I said.

  I didn’t mind Francie talking to me like that. Sometimes it felt like even Susie could be too easy on me, like she was afraid if she ever yelled at me, it might make Mom mad and she’d risk losing us as a client. After all, we were her biggest client. Just because I was thirteen didn’t mean I didn’t know how much my ponies cost or what it meant to someone like Susie. Although I didn’t ask outright how much Tyler cost, I heard people mumbling that he was for sale for $350,000, which meant a $35,000 commission to Susie, not to mention all that we paid in boarding and training fees. Francie never seemed to think about how what she said would go over with Mom or me. I liked her even more for that and I wished she were working for Susie for the summer instead of going to L.A.

  When Jane came into the ring, Susie told us to pick up a trot. She worked us on the flat first. Her big thing, when it came to me and Tyler, was telling me not to overdo things. “He has a big trot but that doesn’t mean you have to post so high,” she said.

  As we were warming up, Francie came back into the ring on foot to help lower the jumps.

  We trotted a small cross-rail and then cantered a single vertical on a circle. Tyler felt just as easy as when I tried him. I kept waiting—almost wishing—he’d speed up or maybe spook at a jump, but he was perfect. It might be more fun if I had to work at it to figure him out—if it didn’t come so easily.

  Next, Susie came up with a course and we rode it one at a time. Hailey went first and overrode the first line. It was five strides and Hailey pushed Donald so much she almost left out a stride and did four.

  “Hailey, he has a huge stride,” Susie told her. “You always book down that first line. You don’t need to, okay?”

  “I know.” She shook her head at her mistake. “I don’t know why I always do that.”

  Susie continued, “You know your pony doesn’t do well in the hacks so if you want a shot at champion or reserve you have to do it from being consistent over fences. That’s just the bottom line.”

  Donald, whose show name was Imagine Dragon, was a big-hearted pony. He never stopped or spooked but he was plain looking, a downright bad mover, and a flat but good jumper.

  “Jane, you’re up,” Susie said.

  Jane picked up a canter on Coco, a chestnut pony with four white socks. All of Jane’s ponies had issues and Coco’s issue was her lead changes. She jumped everything great, but when she landed on the wrong lead after the jumps, she raced through her changes, practically bolting. Tommy thought that Coco’s previous owner had practiced too many changes on her so for the first few months they had Coco, Jane would trot through every lead change instead of doing a flying change. They had only recently started doing them again.

  “Remember not to make a big deal of the changes,” Susie warned Jane. “Just ease her over with a little inside leg and once you feel her in your outside rein, ask with a subtle outside leg.”

  Jane jumped the first line and Coco landed on the correct lead. She continued around the course and after the oxer down the diagonal, Coco landed on the wrong lead. Jane did just what Susie had told her and Coco changed leads flawlessly.

  “Perfect,” Susie said. “That’s her harder one, too, left to right. The next one will be even easier.”

  Susie was right—after the next line Coco swapped like an old pro. Jane brought her down to a walk and patted
her.

  “Awesome,” Susie said. “All that hard work and patience is paying off, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Jane said, still patting Coco.

  “You just need to remember to do the same thing at the show—easy-does-it or you’ll get her all worked up. Your dad’s going to be psyched when we tell him how good she was today.”

  Usually Tommy would be in the ring, but he was picking up the new pony.

  Susie turned to me. “All right, Regan, same course.”

  Chapter 8

  * * *

  Thanks to Hailey going first and serving as an example, I knew not to move up to make the five strides down the first line. I turned to the diagonal line and found the distances just right. I was maybe a touch deep to the oxer on the other diagonal, but I finished off well on the other outside line. I was still cantering my circle when Jane’s older brother, Alex, roared up on his motorbike. Most of the horses at the barn were used to Alex riding around, but Tyler wasn’t. He spooked and jumped away from the noise. It was the first thing he’d done wrong and I found myself almost happy about it. Maybe he wouldn’t turn out to be so easy after all.

  Susie yelled at Alex, “How many times have I told you not to come flying up to the ring like that?” Susie didn’t mind Alex riding around the farm—she said it was good for the horses to get used to everything so they wouldn’t spook at the shows, but he was always supposed to go slowly when he came up to the ring and barn.

  Alex cut the engine and took off his helmet. “Sorry.” Alex’s hair reached almost to his chin and got all tangled under his helmet. He was three years older than Jane and competed in motocross events like we competed in horse shows. He actually used to ride ponies, too—he was the family “pony jock” until Jane got old enough to take over. But Alex wasn’t into riding like Jane was. He did it because he had to. That was the thing about Jane and her family—riding wasn’t just for fun. It was their business.

  “It’s a good thing your dad’s not here,” Susie said to Alex.

  “And you’re not going to tell him, right?” Alex grinned and I got the feeling he had come up to the ring so fast because he knew his father wasn’t around. As I looked at him, I found myself smiling, too, and I only caught myself when Susie said, “Regan, pick up a canter and do the course once more with Alex standing there with his bike. Just to make sure Tyler’s okay with it.”

  The first time I cantered past Alex, Tyler still shied a little bit, but after that he was fine. I sighed as I brought Tyler down to a walk. That was all he was going to do and now he was going to be perfect again?

  “That’s good for today,” Susie said. “Actually, I think that’s enough for all of you. We’ll jump again on Friday, but otherwise I think you all look good. Why don’t you take them out for a walk around the back field.”

  We rode side-by-side on the path around the back pasture, passing trails that went off into the woods. There were supposed to be miles of awesome trails but we weren’t allowed to go on them. When you were riding a $350,000 pony, or even a $75,000 pony like Donald, you couldn’t chance it getting hurt from stepping on a rock or twisting its ankle in a groundhog hole. Hailey’s mom used to ride some growing up and she always talked about how she and her friends galloped wildly through the woods. Once on vacation in France, I rode bareback on the beach and it was amazing. When we passed the trails, I always looked down them, wondering where they led.

  “So what’s he feel like?” Jane asked as we walked. “Does he feel as nice as he looks?”

  I shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll ride him.” When I couldn’t make it out to the barn, a lot of times Jane rode my ponies. Susie was pretty small, too, so sometimes she even rode them. “You can ride him sometime, too, Hailey. He’s fun, I guess.”

  “You act like it’s no big deal,” Hailey said. “You just got the best pony in the country!”

  “Hailey,” Jane said.

  Hailey glanced at Jane. “What?”

  “Don’t be so—”

  I cut her off. “It’s okay.” I paused and then added, “I didn’t really ask for him. My mom just sort of went ahead with it.” I wanted to tell them that it was hard to be so excited when you knew your mom was buying you this pony because she was really sick again. But I didn’t want Hailey and Jane to know yet. I didn’t know enough of the details myself and it had been so nice this past year and a half not being the girl whose mom had cancer.

  “You mean you don’t want him?” Jane asked.

  “How can you not want a pony like Tyler?” Hailey said.

  I thought my friends were supposed to understand everything about me. I thought they were supposed to get it. But they couldn’t get this because I was clearly crazy.

  We turned back to the barn and I was relieved to see Tommy pulling in with the two-horse trailer.

  “Your new pony’s here,” I said to Jane.

  “You mean my new project,” she said.

  Chapter 9

  * * *

  We rode over to where Tommy had parked the trailer. As he hopped out of the truck, Jane asked, “Is he cute?”

  “In an underweight, wormy kind of way.” Tommy grinned at Jane.

  “Dad!”

  Hailey and I shared a look—poor Jane. This was going to be another extreme makeover, Tommy edition.

  “But he moves great and we’ll see how he jumps. I bet he—”

  Jane didn’t let Tommy finish his sentence. “We’ll see how he jumps? Really, Dad?”

  “Janie, have a little faith, okay?”

  Tommy let down the ramp of the trailer. He looked so young and was so physically active—so unlike my dad. Tommy was always lifting the trailer ramp, moving heavy jumps, and carrying hay bales. My dad specialized in reading, working, and drinking coffee. Sometimes my dad went for long walks through Central Park, but he never went to the gym or went jogging like my friends’ dads. Sometimes there would be another older dad at a school event or horse show and I’d meet eyes with the other dad’s daughter and it was like we immediately knew we shared something. When Dad and I went places together, people always looked hard at us, like they were trying to figure out how we fit together. Sometimes I just wanted to call out, “Yup, I know he looks too old, but he’s my dad.”

  Susie had come over to the trailer. She got the butt-bar and Tommy backed the pony out.

  “Where did you find this one?” Susie ran her hand over the pony’s dusty, white coat. The pony glanced back at Susie suspiciously. One of his eyes was blue, the other brown. I don’t think I’d ever seen a pony with one blue eye before. Susie said, “Needs a few groceries, huh? But I like the blue eye—that’s kind of cool.”

  You could see the pony’s ribs. Even its hipbones stuck out. I tried not to gasp.

  “Virginia Kroll bred him.”

  “This pony’s one of Vi’s?”

  Virginia Kroll had once bred some of the country’s best ponies. She had a famous sire that threw a lot of winners back in the eighties and nineties. But that stud died and Virginia was said to have gone more than a little batty in her old age, carelessly breeding too many ponies and not really taking care of them. I looked at the pony’s feet. His hooves were long and one was split.

  “Watch him trot,” Tommy said.

  He jogged the pony down the dirt driveway. He spooked at a shadow, skittering away and Tommy had to pull him back. But once he got him going again he did have a beautiful floating trot, almost as nice as Tyler.

  “Well, Janie?” Susie said. “You might win some hacks if we can get him not to spook.”

  “That’s good because apparently Dad’s never even seen him jump,” she said.

  “Janie,” Tommy said, leading the pony back. “Look at him. Look at those lines. He’s bred to jump. It’s just his brain we need to worry about.”

  Jane forced a smile. She slid off Coco and led her into the barn. Jane’s shoulders were a little rounded and I felt even worse, sitting there on glossy Tyler.

  The pony�
�s coat was inches thick from living in the fields all winter. Tommy said the best thing to do was to body clip him—no amount of currying would get him shed out quickly enough. Martha was the expert body clipper in the barn and she said she had time to clip him, but the pony had to have a bath first. “I’m not ruining my clippers on layers of grime,” she told Tommy.

  “Jane’ll get him nice and squeaky clean,” Tommy said. “Don’t worry.”

  Jane wasn’t exactly pumped to give the pigpen pony the bath of a lifetime or face Martha’s wrath, but Hailey and I said we’d help. I texted Mom to come a little later to pick me up, promising I’d get all my homework done.

  The pony’s name was Frankie. “I get it, like Old Blue Eyes,” Hailey said. “That’s kind of cute actually.”

  Jane and I gave her blank looks.

  “Old Blue Eyes? Frank Sinatra?” She looked exasperated.

  I shrugged. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Me neither,” Jane said.

  Hailey sighed like she didn’t know what to do with us. “Frank Sinatra was a famous singer from the fifties. Like the Jay-Z of today. People called him Old Blue Eyes because he had really blue eyes.”

  In the wash stall, we filled up two buckets of warm sudsy water and then we each took a sponge to a part of Frankie’s body. I started on his hind end. Especially because he was white, the dirt showed up even more, quickly turning the suds brown.

  “Oh my god is he gross.”

  “I know.” With her forearm Jane wiped suds off her cheek. She shook her head. “What a mess. Thanks, Dad.”

  I didn’t mind dealing with Frankie and Hailey didn’t seem to either. So without saying anything we worked extra hard, soaping and rinsing, and letting Jane slack off a little. Hailey sang a song called “New York, New York,” which Jane and I had actually heard before, and Hailey told us that Frank Sinatra had made it famous. Hailey’s voice was gorgeous—I loved listening to her sing. Each time we sprayed Frankie off the water ran brown. He was surprisingly good about being bathed and even let us soap up his face. He lowered his head so I could get his forelock.