“What’s up?” Mom said. “Waiting for something?”
“We’re trying to figure out where Frankie came from and we emailed the girl who rides for Vi, but she hasn’t written back.” I used “we” pretty liberally since Jane was clearly sick of Frankie and Hailey was barely talking to me. But I didn’t want Mom to think it was just me who was obsessed.
Mom took one hand off the wheel and massaged her own neck. “Do Susie and Tommy know you’re doing this?”
“Of course,” I said as I stared at my iPhone, wishing it would ‘bing’ with a new message. My phone had been disturbingly quiet these past few days, since Hailey still wasn’t texting or FaceTiming me.
It was Thursday, one of Hailey’s voice lesson days, and I found myself partly glad she wouldn’t be at the barn, although feeling like that also made me sad. Hailey was my best friend, after all.
Mom stayed to watch my lesson. Her hair had lost its shine and body, but it hadn’t started to fall out yet. It looked dull and she was skinnier, bordering on frail, even with the flowing shirts she wore to try to make herself look better. I told myself it was good that she looked bad—it meant the chemo was working and would be shrinking the tumors. I hadn’t been having such bad nights as I had at the hotel during Old Lyme, but I hadn’t been sleeping great. The dark was freaking me out more and more and I had to sleep with a light on. Even so, just the noise of the wind outside made me nervous.
As we rode, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Frankie, sneaking glances whenever I could. His neck looked more cresty and his hind end looked stronger, too. Susie had us jumping an in-and-out and while Frankie had gotten calmer about jumping single fences and even long lines, two jumps only a stride apart blew his mind a little. Jane quickly lost her patience with him as he tried to run through the in-and-out. There was something about Frankie that really drove Jane crazy. She usually tolerated all the problem ponies Tommy tossed her up on, but it was like Frankie was the last straw. I could see her face getting more and more flushed and when Susie asked her to pull him up she yanked him harder than she needed to and then gave him another sharp tug when Susie’s back was turned. It was only making Frankie more upset and frantic. I wished I could be on him. I would have all the patience he needed. I’d pat his neck and tell him he was going to be fine.
Mom watched me ride from the fence and then after we were done Susie came over to chat with her while we took the ponies for a walk around the outside of the rings.
“I hate this pony,” Jane said. “Did you hear back from Kelly Kenney?”
“Not yet.” I was itching to check my phone the moment we got back to the barn.
“I hope we find out he’s stolen so we can give him back.”
I’d thought Jane was interested in where he’d come from, but she just wanted to be rid of him. “Why do you hate him so much? I mean you’ve ridden lots of crazy ponies. Remember Fifi?”
Fifi liked to ram Jane’s legs into the side of the ring. Jane had to school him in awful rubber boots just to give her legs some protection and so she didn’t ruin another pair of good boots or half-chaps.
“That’s just it,” Jane said. “I’m so sick of reject ponies that I’m supposed to magically make better. You know how many times my legs were black and blue from Fifi?”
“A lot.”
“But in the end we got her going right and Dad sold her for a lot. I just feel like I deserve to either keep a pony I’ve made or to get one nice pony for a change. A green pony is fine—just not damaged goods.”
We passed the trail leading off into the woods. Tyler turned his head, almost like he wanted to take the path, and I had to pull him back.
“But just think of how amazing you are. How cool is it that you fix all these ponies!” I would have much rather been known for fixing ponies than for riding perfect ones.
“Well, I’m not fixing this one,” Jane said.
I said kind of quietly, “That’s not really fair to Frankie.”
“And it’s not fair to me that I do all the work, but do I get anything for it? No. I didn’t even get to show Ike at Devon. Did I tell you he’s leading the country in points?”
Even though I wished I had Jane’s problem, I could still understand what she was feeling. She did do so much of the work—she was like a twelve-year-old professional rider. “Have you ever tried explaining it to your dad?”
“He won’t listen.” She shook her head.
But it really wasn’t fair to Frankie. I began to hope, like Jane, that maybe we’d find he had owners who cared about him, who taught him tricks, but something had happened and they lost him and now they wanted him back. Although I didn’t want him to leave the barn, either.
Back at the barn, I gave Tyler to Martha and went into the tack room. I pulled a baseball hat on over my sweaty hair and grabbed my phone from my tack trunk. I had three new emails: one junk mail, one from another riding friend, and one from Kelly Kenney. A shiver of excitement tickled my spine as I opened it.
Hi!
Got your email. I remember the pony but I don’t know where Vi got him from. I wasn’t at the barn for a few weeks back in October and then when I came back there he was. I remember asking Vi about him and she insisted he was one of hers. I didn’t think he was but it’s no use arguing with her when she gets something in her mind. I guess I figured some crazy friend of hers dumped him on her. That’s all I know! Good luck!
Kelly
Jane came in carrying Frankie’s bridle. She hung it on the cleaning hook in the middle of the room and picked up the empty tack bucket.
“Listen to this—” I said as she moved to the sink to fill the bucket. I read her the email.
“Great, so we still know nothing.” Jane turned on the faucet and filled up the bucket.
“Well, we know he came to Vi’s in October.”
“What good does that do us?”
“It’s something.” I put my phone down and started in on my saddle. Martha cleaned the bridles, but it was up to me to take care of my saddles.
Jane had positioned the bucket between us and we both dunked our sponges in the warm water and wrung them out. I ran my sponge along the bar of saddle soap and inhaled deeply—there was nothing better than the fruity smell of glycerin.
Jane cleaned the rubber reins on Frankie’s schooling bridle with a vengeance, using the sponge, a toothbrush, and her fingernails to pry off the caked dirt.
I cleaned the flap on the side I was working on and then ran my sponge along the stirrup leathers. “Have you talked to Hailey today?”
Jane dunked her sponge in the water, which had turned a milky brown. “We texted.”
“Is she mad at me? Did she say anything to you?”
Jane washed the suds from the reins. She seemed a little calmer now, like she’d gotten some anger out on the rubber reins. “You mean about the show?”
I rolled up my stirrup and wiped a little Supple leather conditioner on my sponge. “Yeah, I feel terrible, but it’s not really my fault. I think she hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you. It’s just. . . . Sometimes it’s hard. I mean, I know what she’s feeling.”
“Great, so you both hate me.”
Jane was scrubbing the green crud off the bit now, but she wasn’t as furious in her scrubbing. “We don’t hate you. How could we hate you when we love you? Just give her another day or so.”
“I guess I’m at least glad you guys are being normal and getting mad at me. It feels like some people are just nice to me because of the mom-cancer thing.”
Jane looked thoughtful. “That must suck. Sometimes I can tell people are just being nice to me because of who my dad is and it’s so fake. I can always tell and I totally want to call them on it.”
“Yeah to me they’re all like, ‘how are you doing?’” I strung out the word ‘doing’ the way people always did.
Jane said, “And ‘oh, you rode so well. Your pony is so nice.’ Um, did you see her bolt through her change?”
>
Jane and I dissolved into laughter. I guess I hadn’t thought people kissed up to her because of her dad.
I rubbed the Supple on my saddle. The leather drank up the conditioner, turning a shade darker. “And you’re okay with me maybe kind of having a crush on Alex?”
Jane dunked the bit in the water and stuck out her tongue. “I can’t possibly understand it, but, yeah, if you like him, ugh, whatever. Like you said, nothing’s going to happen anyway.”
“Right, exactly.”
“Can you change the water?”
“Yup.” I took the bucket over to the sink and dumped it down the drain.
It felt like Jane and I had more in common than I realized. Maybe what we had in common was that we weren’t allowed to hold on to the things we desperately wanted to keep. “It stinks that you make up ponies and don’t get to keep them,” I told her.
She shrugged. “Like you don’t want your mom to have cancer?”
“Yeah,” I said.
I was refilling the bucket when Mom pushed open the tack room door. “There you are. Jane, Frankie’s going better.”
Jane put on her polite face and I wondered if she thought my mom was being fake. But, overall, Frankie really was going better. “Thanks.”
“Regan, you almost ready to go?”
I turned off the faucet and brought Jane the clean water. “Yup, I’ll be right out.”
Mom stood there, waiting for me. I wanted to say something else to Jane, just to make sure everything between the three of us was really going to be okay. I didn’t know how I could handle life if Hailey and Jane weren’t my best friends, especially if the chemo didn’t work. But Mom didn’t budge and I’m not sure I would have come up with something to say anyway. So I quickly finished my saddle and slid it back onto my rack.
I closed my tack trunk. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yup,” Jane said. “Bye.”
Mom and I were almost to the front of the barn when I said, “I forgot something. Meet you in the car.”
I jogged back inside to Frankie’s stall. He looked up at me. It was kind of dorky to make a promise to a horse, something TVMG would say, except I was saying it to the wrong pony. “I’ll find out about you,” I said. “I promise.”
He poked his nose out to me and I kissed him. I was surprised he let me, but it almost seemed like he wanted me to.
Chapter 28
* * *
Despite how much Jane didn’t like Frankie, he was going better. After a few more weeks, he could canter a course without bolting or leaving out strides. He still often looked quick and tense, but it was a major improvement.
We didn’t have a big show one weekend so Tommy took a few pony kids who needed more practice to a one-day show nearby, and Jane took Frankie. I wanted to go and watch Frankie, but Mom said she wanted to take me to get my hair cut and out to lunch and I knew it wasn’t optional. I moped nearly the whole time we spent together, barely talking to her, and then felt terrible about how I’d behaved afterwards. I mean, my mother could be dying and I was mad I didn’t get to go watch a one-day?
Jane said Frankie was actually really good at the show. She did the special ponies and the regulars and ended up champion in the specials and reserve champion in the regulars.
Hailey hadn’t ever said anything else about Montclair, but Jane had been right—after a few more days things did blow over and we were pretty much back to normal. If she didn’t end up champion or reserve at Fairlee, our next show, then Susie was going to take her to a smaller show in Massachusetts where she’d hopefully be able to qualify.
I hadn’t gotten any further with figuring out where Frankie had come from, but one night while I was watching TV I had a breakthrough idea. I had one of those forensic shows on and they were doing an autopsy, looking for clues to the murder that the body could provide. The lead CSI was lecturing an intern about how the dead can still speak through their bodies.
We didn’t have a dead body in our mystery, but I realized we did have a live one. Frankie had shown us some clues in his behavior, but so far we’d neglected to pay attention to what his body had to say about where he’d been.
The next day at the barn I explained my theory to Jane and Hailey.
“So what are we supposed to do? Look at him under a microscope or send his blood out for labs?” Jane said.
“No, but I thought maybe the next time Dr. Shailor’s here we could ask her some questions.”
“Wait, his feet,” Hailey said.
Jane rolled her eyes. “What about them?”
“We should talk to Joe. I remember in Pony Club we learned about how you can know things about a horse from their feet.”
“That’s a great idea,” I spoke up. “When’s Joe coming next?”
“I don’t see how this is going to tell us anything, but we can go check,” Jane said.
We headed off down the aisle. It felt good to be the three of us together again, after what had happened with Jane learning I liked Alex, and then me getting moved up over Hailey at Montclair.
The list of schedules—farrier, vet, acupuncturist, massage therapist—was posted outside the office. Joe was at the barn at least four days out of each month, since he shod all the horses and ponies in the barn. We were in luck because not only was he coming on Friday, but Frankie was due to be shod.
On Friday, I led Frankie down the aisle to where Joe was set up. Hailey walked on one side of Frankie and Jane on the other. Joe was glugging from a Gatorade bottle, sweat running down his face. Joe was probably in his late twenties or early thirties, and his father was a farrier, too.
“What’s with the posse?” Joe adjusted his Detroit Tigers baseball hat. I’d never seen him without it. It only came off for repositioning on his head.
“We just wanted to ask you something,” I said.
“Yes, when you’re seniors in high school I’ll take each and every one of you to the prom.” Joe grinned at us. He reached out to take Frankie’s lead rope but Frankie stiffened, planting his toes. His eyes were full of worry.
“Oh, yes, I forgot.” Joe pulled off his hat, revealing matted and sweaty hair. “Not many things I’ll take my hat off for . . . Stars and Stripes, sitting down for a meal, and a skittish horse.”
I put my hand on Frankie’s neck, trying to calm him. “He doesn’t like your hat?”
“Nope. Old Blue Eyes does not like hats. He made that perfectly clear the last time I did him.”
“But I’ve worn a baseball hat around him,” Jane pointed out. “We all have.”
“Well, he either hates the Tigers or he thinks it’s just not my best look.”
We were learning more about Frankie already and we hadn’t even gotten to asking Joe any questions.
With the hat off, Frankie lowered his head and let Joe put him on the cross-ties. Joe picked up his left front hoof and clipped off the nail heads. A few moments later, he was pulling off the shoe.
“So what’s up?” Joe asked.
“We want to pick your brain.” It was something I’d heard Mom say to people when she wanted to get information on something.
“Go ahead and pick away.”
“You can tell stuff from a horse’s feet, right?” Hailey said.
“What kind of stuff are you looking to find out?” Joe was holding Frankie’s hoof, which looked small in his large and callused hands. He set the hoof against the thick leather apron that covered his thighs, and started filing it with a wide heavy file. Slivers of gray hoof fell to the ground. “By looking at this hoof here I can tell that the Tigers are going to win the World Series in five games.”
“Joe!” Jane said. “Be serious!”
Joe set down Frankie’s hoof. “What do you want to know about this pony that you don’t already know?”
“We want to know where he came from and he’s the only clue we really have,” I said.
One of Susie’s dogs, a yellow lab-mix, Darcy, darted in and grabbed some of the clipped hoof. Before Joe
could scold him, he’d snuck back outside with his prize. No matter how many times hoof shavings made the dogs sick, they couldn’t keep themselves from gorging on it.
Joe rubbed his fingers, which were stained black, over the front of Frankie’s hoof. “See these ridges?”
We all moved closer.
“Yeah?” I just hoped this time Joe was being serious and a joke wasn’t about to follow.
“Horses get ridges when they’ve suffered some kind of stress.”
“Like what?” Jane said.
Joe stretched back up, bending backward to loosen his muscles. “Depends on the horse. Sometimes it’s just something like shipping them to Florida. It could be a big change in feed or weather. But it could also be something worse that happened to them. I don’t know what happened, but this pony has a lot of ridges.”
Darcy was back again. This time I caught him by the collar. “So he probably went through something really bad. I wish we knew what or, at least, when.”
“You can also tell a little bit about when the stress occurred.” Joe wiped his hands on his apron. “Hooves usually grow about a quarter of an inch every six to eight weeks. A little less in the winter. So if we measure back to the ridges—” Joe put his hand on Frankie’s hoof, approximating the measurement. “It was probably about a year ago.”
“Wow,” Hailey said. “That is so cool.”
Joe stretched upright again. He put his hands on his back, pressing on the muscles. “I guess you didn’t know just how cool being a farrier is. This is why we get paid the big bucks and work in such luxurious settings.”
As Joe moved onto Frankie’s other hoof, clipping, pulling off the shoe, we thanked him.
“No problem, girls.” Joe began filing the hoof. “That’s my job—solving mysteries one hoof at a time.”
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