Dream Horse

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Hey, look!” Lorraine Olson said, pointing at Veronica. Then she started laughing, too.

  Carole looked over the top of Starlight’s stall. There was Veronica, standing next to Danny, ready to mount her Thoroughbred. She was dressed in shiny black leather boots, doeskin-colored riding pants, a simple but elegant shirt, and a perfectly tailored black broadcloth jacket. To complete the outfit, she had a white band of cotton across her back with black lettering that read Point and Laugh.

  Everybody at Pine Hollow seemed only too willing to accommodate the request.

  Veronica looked annoyed and upset.

  “Just what is so funny,” she asked, stamping a foot. “Can someone please let me in on the joke?”

  That only made everyone laugh harder. Finally a red-faced Veronica yanked on Danny’s reins and stalked out of the barn, with the horse walking behind her.

  Lisa and Carole exchanged high fives over the wall between their horses’ stalls.

  “Who says we can’t pull off a great practical joke when Stevie’s not here?” Lisa asked.

  Carole just grinned.

  CAROLE AND LISA were still beaming with pride at their accomplishment when Deborah told them it was time to leave for Rock Ridge.

  “What are you two grinning about?” Deborah asked them as she pulled out of Pine Hollow’s driveway.

  “Oh, just a minor victory in defense of a defenseless friend,” Lisa answered. She was trying to sound as innocent as possible.

  “Does this have anything to do with what Max was trying to tell me about in the tack room before we left?” Deborah asked.

  “Max? Why, what was he saying?” Carole asked.

  “He wasn’t saying much,” said Deborah. “He was trying to tell me something, but he was laughing too hard to explain what it was.”

  Carole and Lisa exchanged glances. Max hadn’t given the slightest indication that he’d even noticed the sign on Veronica’s back. He’d ignored it so completely that they’d thought perhaps he actually hadn’t seen it.

  “Maybe he did see it,” said Carole.

  “But probably not,” Lisa said. “It’s just that, well …” She and Carole looked at one another, and then they couldn’t keep from laughing, just one more time.

  “I know that laugh,” Deborah said with certainty. “It’s exactly the same laugh Max couldn’t hold in. I guess I’ll just have to ask him about it later, huh?”

  “Good idea,” Lisa said. “For now, maybe I should try practicing my part, Mom.”

  “That sounds even stranger to me than it must to you,” Deborah said.

  “It sure does, Mom,” Lisa said. It didn’t sound any better the second time. “Say, Mom, would you buy me a horse, please, please, please?”

  “Much better,” Deborah said. “Now you sound authentic.”

  Lisa thought it would be a good idea to call Deborah Mom all the way to Rock Ridge. At the same time, Carole practiced calling her Mrs. Hale. She’d never called her anything but Deborah before, but they’d all decided Mrs. Hale sounded more authentic.

  “Oh, look, Mrs. Hale,” said Carole, trying out her role, “isn’t that Dunstable Field? That’s where Phil Marsten’s uncle Michael keeps his glider.”

  “Oh, really? I guess it is a small world, because I happen to know that that’s where Veronica’s father keeps the bank’s airplane.”

  “The bank has an airplane?” Lisa said. Then, to be safe, she added, “Mom?”

  “Yes, it does. I learned that when I was doing some research on local companies and the perks that their top executives get. Mr. diAngelo claims that he keeps the plane for company business, and every time he has a business trip, he does use it. But he also uses it when he goes to play golf or if he and Mrs. diAngelo want to go to New York for the weekend. He’s very careful, though. When he goes to play golf, he goes with customers. When he and Mrs. diAngelo go to New York, he does business there. It’s not unethical, exactly.”

  “Funny that Veronica never mentioned it to us, Mrs. Hale,” Carole said. “She rarely misses an opportunity to boast about something.”

  “I guess she doesn’t get to ride in it much,” said Deborah.

  Carole realized that was true. She remembered the time Mr. and Mrs. diAngelo had gone for a long golfing trip over Thanksgiving and had left Veronica to celebrate the holiday with the servants. Perhaps Veronica didn’t talk about the plane because she resented the fact that she couldn’t take advantage of it.

  “Poor little rich girl,” Carole said.

  “Right, like my heart breaks for her,” Lisa added.

  “It’s time to stop thinking about Veronica,” said Deborah.

  “What’s more important than that?” Lisa teased.

  “Well, my little sweetie pie, we’re about to arrive at Mickey Denver’s farm.”

  “Oh, right, Mom,” said Lisa. “And I want a horse, any horse.”

  “And I’m here to help you buy a really pretty one,” said Carole. “Right, Mrs. Hale?”

  “Right, Carole,” said Deborah. She flipped on her turn signal and drove up a long driveway to a lovely horse farm. The farm was in a valley with mountains at the far end, including the famous outcropping of rocks known as Rock Ridge. The barn was near the neat farmhouse. It was surrounded by paddocks and schooling rings. In each paddock were horses, some grazing lazily, some playing and frolicking.

  “Perfect,” Carole said. “If I decide to have a horse farm, I want it to look exactly like this, Mrs. Hale.”

  “But let’s hope you have a better reputation as a horse trader than I suspect we’ll find Mr. Denver has earned.”

  “Oh, Mommy! Mommy! Look at the horsie!” Lisa said.

  “Too young,” said Deborah.

  “Wow, Mom! Look at all the horses!” Lisa tried a second time.

  “Much better,” said Deborah. She pulled the car to a stop at the barn and opened the door.

  A middle-aged man wearing jeans and riding boots was right by the entrance to the barn. He walked up to the car.

  “Ah, you must be Mrs. Hale!” he said, greeting Deborah warmly as they got out of the car.

  “I am,” said Deborah. “And this is my daughter, Lisa, and her friend, Carole. I should remind you that we’ve just started looking for a horse for Lisa, and we’re not likely to buy one today. It’s just that you were recommended to us—”

  “You don’t have to say another word,” said Mr. Denver. “I’m no hard-pitch salesman. My job is to match the horse to the rider, and if there’s any doubt in your mind, then I haven’t done my job right and you shouldn’t be buying from my stock anyway. Now, tell me, uh—Lizzie, is it?”

  “Lisa,” she said.

  “Right, Lisa,” he said. “Have you been riding long?”

  “Just a little while,” said Lisa. “And I really love it. I just want a pretty horse that’s all mine. Mom, I promise I’m going to love it to pieces! Have you got any white ones?”

  “White? Well, if that’s what you want, then that’s what you must have!” he said.

  “One with a silky mane,” said Carole. She nearly choked on the words as she uttered them, though. The problem was that she couldn’t think of anything less important about a horse than what color his coat was or if his mane was “silky.” Manes became silky when they were properly brushed and combed.

  “A silky mane, too?” Mr. Denver said. “Boy, you girls sure know exactly what you want, don’t you? You must have been doing a lot of studying!”

  “We sure have,” Lisa said.

  “Well, I think this is your lucky day,” said Mr. Denver. “Because I happen to have just exactly the horse you are describing. Mind you, this horse has been in my family for a long time. She was my daughter’s favorite horse when she was learning. She rode her in dozens of shows—do you ride in shows?” he asked Lisa.

  “Well, I’d really like to,” Lisa said. “Would I win ribbons with this horse?”

  “You’d have to buy a whole glass cabinet for your ribbo
ns, Liz—er, Lisa,” he said.

  “Blue ones?” Lisa asked.

  “Sure thing, sweetheart,” said Mr. Denver.

  “Oh, Mom, I want to see this horse!” said Lisa. Her voice was eager and breathless—just the way she wanted to sound.

  “Then you shall,” said Deborah. “Let’s meet him, Mr. Denver.”

  “Her,” Mr. Denver said, correcting Deborah’s assumption. “Blondie is a her,” he explained unnecessarily.

  “Oh, you mean, like a mare?” Carole asked.

  “Wow, you know that term?” Mr. Denver said.

  Carole swallowed her pride and nodded, smiling broadly at the man.

  Mr. Denver took the girls and Deborah through the barn and out to a paddock on the far side. And there was Blondie. Mr. Denver whistled. The horse’s ears pricked up. He whistled again.

  “Here, girl,” he said. “There are some nice young ladies to see you!” He kept talking and whistling while the horse came over to them.

  Carole and Lisa both studied everything they could about the mare while she approached them. The hard part was that they didn’t want to look as if they were studying the mare with practiced eyes. They wanted to look as if all they cared about was a white coat and a silky mane.

  “This way, girl,” Mr. Denver said. “See how pretty her coat is. Now, she’s been out in the field, so there’s some dirt on her, but you won’t see a prettier white than that coat, I promise you. And the mane? It’s like pure silk!”

  Blondie arrived and waited obediently while Mr. Denver gave her a little piece of carrot. Carole tried not to frown. Giving a horse a treat was okay as long as the horse had done something to deserve it. Walking over to her owner didn’t really qualify in Carole’s book. She covered her frown with a smile.

  “Oh, she’s beautiful!” said Carole.

  “Mom, I’ve just got to ride her!” said Lisa. “Can I, Mr. Denver?” she asked.

  “Well, I wouldn’t think of selling a horse to someone without letting her ride it first. Of course you can. You wait just a minute and I’ll put the tack on Blondie—you know what tack is, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Is that, like, the saddle and the rein thing?” Lisa asked.

  “Very bright girl you’ve got here, Mrs. Hale,” said Mr. Denver. “That’s right. Tack is the saddle and the rein thing. It’ll just take me a minute,” he said. With that, he took Blondie by her halter and led her into the barn.

  “The rein thing?” Carole whispered to Lisa.

  “So far, you’re perfect,” Deborah told the girls. “Both of you. I personally loved the ‘rein thing.’ Max is going to love it when I tell him, too.”

  Minutes later Mr. Denver arrived with a fully tacked Blondie. In fact, she had more than the usual amount of tack on. She had a lead rope snapped onto her bridle—now known as the rein thing.

  “Since you’re a beginner, I am going to hold on to the lead rope, but you get the reins and you can take her wherever you want to go, as long as I can go along, too.”

  “I never have a leash thing on when I ride in class!” Lisa protested. “I don’t want one now. I can do fine without it. Mom, tell him!” Lisa whined.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Deborah. “This horse seems like she’s got a lot of get-up-and-go. I’d hate to see her run away with you.”

  Carole looked at the tame, plodding old mare they were discussing and wondered how Deborah could say that with a straight face.

  “Your mother’s right,” said Mr. Denver. “Now, let me help you into the saddle.”

  This was a tricky part because climbing into a horse’s saddle was one of the first things all of Max’s students learned to do, and they learned to do it well. It would be a dead giveaway if Lisa did one of her usual snappy mounts. Carole held her breath. She needn’t have bothered.

  “Which side?” Lisa asked.

  “Uh, over here,” said Mr. Denver, smiling broadly. In a minute, he’d given Lisa a hand up into the saddle, helping her get her right leg over the old horse’s broad back.

  And then the ride began. He led Blondie over a well-worn path that circled her paddock. He walked around once, and then, at Lisa’s insistence, he let the mare trot. It was an effort, both for Blondie and for Mr. Denver. Lisa, however, was in her element.

  “Oh, Mom! Blondie is the perfect horse! I can’t believe we found her the first place we looked! Her walk is so gentle, and her trot! Well, I never felt a smooth trot like this before!”

  Carole had known Lisa was a good actress, but she’d never known she was this good. She even managed to post on the wrong diagonal! That was something Max’s riders learned never to do by their third lesson.

  The third time around the circle, Blondie was walking again, and seemed glad of it. That gave Lisa a chance to look around the farm a little more. The mountains were very dramatic, and Rock Ridge itself was stark and beautiful. Then something moved in the air by the mountain. Lisa squinted to see what it was. It was a glider—just like the one Phil would be in in two days. Suddenly Lisa was very glad she was sitting in the saddle of an earthbound horse. The glider seemed very small and fragile compared to the mountain behind it.

  “So, Mrs. Hale, is it time for us to make a deal?” Mr. Denver asked, drawing Blondie to a halt right in front of Deborah.

  “Well, if Lisa thinks this is the perfect horse for her, then I guess we should—um—once I’ve had a vet check her over.”

  Mr. Denver shook his head disapprovingly. “I thought you wanted to buy, not haggle,” he said.

  “Oh, we do,” Deborah assured him. “It’s just that I thought it would be a good idea if a vet—”

  “Mrs. Hale, you obviously don’t know much about horse trading, do you?”

  “Well, no,” Deborah said uncertainly.

  “The fact is that I have a vet out here to my ranch three times a week to look after one thing or another. I own somewhere between forty and fifty horses, so the vet spends a lot of time here. He’s never once had to give any treatment to Blondie.”

  “She’s that healthy?” Deborah said.

  “Not one problem,” said Mr. Denver. “And I’d stake my reputation on it.”

  He doesn’t know how right he is! thought Carole.

  “Look, I can’t tell you what to do or not do, but this here is a fine piece of horseflesh, and if young Lizzie here doesn’t buy her, somebody else will. It doesn’t really make any difference to me. I’ll get my price. But when I saw the smile on your little girl’s face—and what a pretty smile that is—I just knew it was a match, the kind of match I insist on when I sell a horse.”

  “But Mr. Denver—” said Deborah.

  “Mom,” said Lisa, coming in on cue. “This is the one. I just know it! I have to have her! I promise she’s perfect, and anybody can see she’s in great health! Please, Mom?”

  Deborah sighed. “Well, if you say so, darling,” she began. “But we did make a deal. Remember?”

  “I remember,” Lisa said, relenting. Then she turned to explain to Mr. Denver. “Mom and I promised Dad that we wouldn’t make any snap decisions. Even when I know I have exactly the perfect horse, I promised that I would wait for two days to be sure. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  Mr. Denver shrugged. “It’s up to you,” he said. “I know a good match when I see one, but if you need to wait a few days, you wait a few days. However, I’m telling you—if somebody else comes along with cash in hand before you do, well, I’m just going to have to sell her.”

  “Mom!” Lisa wailed.

  “It was our deal,” Deborah said firmly.

  Reluctantly, and poorly, Lisa dismounted. She made a display of hugging the horse and promising she’d be back. Mr. Denver smiled insincerely. Then he held the car door open for Deborah.

  “See you in a few days,” he said.

  “I suspect you will,” Deborah said. “I’ll call you first.”

  “Right,” he said.

  He closed the car door smartly and waved to t
he girls as they drove away.

  “Don’t say a thing until we are out the gate of this place,” Deborah said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know if he can read lips.”

  Lisa and Carole remained silent for a whole thirty seconds. As soon as they were off Mr. Denver’s property, they both began howling with laughter.

  “Boy, are you right! This man is a crook through and through!” Lisa said.

  “I thought so. It was a giveaway when he said he didn’t want me to have a vet check the horse. Right?”

  “Right for starters,” Lisa said. “No legitimate dealer would ever try to talk a client out of getting a horse vet-checked.”

  “But what would a vet find wrong with that sweet mare anyway?” Deborah asked.

  “Oh, not much,” said Carole. “Unless you count blindness.”

  MRS. DIANGELO LEANED FORWARD and reached for the little silver bell that rested on the mahogany dinner table in front of her. She picked it up and rang it gently. The maid appeared from the kitchen and began serving dinner to Veronica and her parents.

  “Did you have a good day, dear?” Mrs. diAngelo asked her husband.

  “It was difficult, as usual,” he said, sighing. “I had to fly to Richmond and meet with the state banking lobbyists. Then, on the way back, there was a storm system we had to let pass before we could take off. We were an hour late getting back to Dunstable.”

  “That was no worse than my day,” said Mrs. diAngelo. “I had a terrible row with a woman at the dry cleaner’s. They delivered my silk blouse with a note saying they couldn’t remove one of the stains. Imagine!”

  “Oh dear,” said Mr. diAngelo. He took a sip of his consommé. “And what about you, Veronica? How are you progressing with your photographic project?”

  “Not too well,” she admitted. “I’m having a lot of trouble finding a worthy subject.”

  “Veronica, you have a very expensive camera. I’m sure you can take a really good photograph with it.”

  Veronica swallowed a taste of her soup. She knew her father was right, in a way. He’d bought her the best camera available. Anything she took a picture of seemed to come out well. But it wasn’t just the technical quality of the photograph that counted.