Dream Horse

by Bonnie Bryant

  “It’s not so much the photograph as the subject matter, Daddy,” she said. “I spent a lot of time last weekend at Pine Hollow trying to find something worthwhile, but all I got was a girl falling off her horse. That’s hardly an example of skill, and that’s what the photograph is supposed to show. It all seems so silly to me. Do I really have to do this, Daddy?”

  Mr. diAngelo put down his spoon. “Yes, Veronica, you do,” he said. “In the first place, you said you’d like to have a trip to Rome—”

  “But you can afford to pay for it …,” Veronica protested.

  “Of course I can,” said Mr. diAngelo. “But that’s not the point. You need to learn what it’s like to earn something. I’ve given you all the help I can by buying you the camera. You have to do the rest. I’m certain you can do it, too.”

  “Well, I’m sure I can,” said Veronica. “After all, all the other kids who enter the contest are just going to be sending in pictures of their pets or their parents or their baby brothers and sisters. I’m sure the store will be only too happy to see what I send them, when I figure out what would truly be different. But everything I’ve thought of so far is pretty dull or else hasn’t worked.”

  The maid reappeared to remove the soup plates and then to serve the lamb chops, asparagus, and lyonnaise potatoes. None of the diAngelos spoke as dinner was served. They didn’t like to talk about personal matters in front of the servants. Veronica’s mother had explained to her at an early age that one never could tell what servants might gossip about. When the door shut silently behind the maid, the conversation picked up again.

  “I mean, you talk about how difficult and boring it was for you to have to fly all the way to Richmond today, but that sounds much more interesting than the day I had,” said Veronica.

  Mr. diAngelo took a taste of his lamb chop and made a slight face. “I told you, I like it pink, not overdone,” he said to Mrs. diAngelo.

  “I told the cook that four times,” Mrs. diAngelo said. “I guess I’ll just have to fire her.”

  “But Daddy,” asked Veronica, “wasn’t there anything interesting about your day?”

  “Well, the clouds outside the airplane were quite lovely. The storm cloud particularly. Of course, we were miles away from it, but you can see great distances when you’re in the sky. It’s quite spectacular sometimes.”

  “Wow! That’s it!” said Veronica.

  “What’s it?” her mother asked.

  “I should go up in the plane and take pictures from up there. It’s got to be more interesting than baby brothers and pets wearing baseball caps. It’s certainly more interesting than a rider falling off a horse!”

  “But the theme has to do with skill,” Mr. diAngelo reminded her. “What about riding in the plane relates to that?”

  “The skill of the pilot, of course,” Veronica replied.

  Mrs. diAngelo smiled with pride. “I’m sure that’s an excellent idea,” she said to her husband. “You can arrange that, can’t you?”

  “Well, the plane does belong to the bank,” Mr. diAngelo said.

  “But Daddy,” Veronica asked, “didn’t you tell me that the pilot needs to have more flying time to maintain his qualifications? What could be better than letting him have extra time in the air while he gets to do a favor for his boss by taking his boss’s daughter up for a ride? What could be better for him than that?”

  “Well, Hubert did mention something about wanting more flying hours, yes,” said Mr. diAngelo.

  Mrs. diAngelo rang the bell to have the maid clear the table. Before the maid came into the dining room, Mrs. diAngelo spoke rapidly to her husband.

  “Oh, darling, don’t be a stick-in-the-mud. This will be a perfect opportunity for the pilot—what’s his name? Herbert?”

  “Hubert.”

  “Whatever, Hubert. Veronica is right. And she’ll be able to take some photographs up there that will be far superior to whatever else gets sent into that contest. How could you deny your daughter this opportunity?”

  “Well, maybe you’re right,” Mr. diAngelo said.

  The kitchen door swung open and the maid came in. “Please clear the table and bring us our dessert,” said Mrs. diAngelo. “Oh, and when you go back into the kitchen, tell the cook she’s fired.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the maid.

  Once again, everything was peaceful in the diAngelo household.

  “HELLO, VERONICA,” LISA greeted her the next day at their riding class. “Wearing the same old jacket again?”

  “Yes,” Veronica said sweetly. She smiled at Lisa, then walked past her without another word.

  Clearly Veronica was not going to give Lisa the satisfaction of admitting that she knew Lisa had bested her with the flattery and the sign on her back the previous day. It was all right. Lisa knew and Carole knew and everybody else knew. That was quite enough. Even though Stevie was still in bed recovering from her concussion, Lisa could almost feel her spirit. Lisa could let Veronica try to pretend the sign on her back hadn’t happened, but she couldn’t let Veronica get away scot-free.

  “How’s your little photographic project coming along?” Lisa asked with as much condescension as she could muster.

  “Just fine,” said Veronica. “Wonderfully, in fact. Just yesterday I came up with an idea that is sure to win me first place.”

  “What’s that?” Lisa asked.

  “Skyscapes,” said Veronica.

  “How nice,” said Lisa, hoping she sounded as if she didn’t mean it.

  “Yes,” Veronica agreed. She wafted out of the locker area.

  Lisa looked over to where Carole was straightening her blouse and tucking it into her riding pants. “I think I’ll do better if I just don’t speak to her again, don’t you?”

  “I always feel that way,” Carole said. “But there is a person I do want to speak to, and that’s Stevie. Are we on for visiting her after class?”

  “Definitely,” said Lisa. “There’s so much to tell her, and it’ll be great to see her because by now she must be feeling better, don’t you think?”

  “And acting more normal, I hope,” Carole said.

  Two hours later, when class was over and they’d groomed Starlight and Prancer and looked after Belle, the girls tromped over to Stevie’s house.

  “How’s she doing?” Carole asked Stevie’s twin brother, Alex, when he opened the door for them.

  “The doctor was here,” he said. “He told Mom that Stevie’s making a wonderful recovery.”

  “Great,” said Carole.

  “But the problem is that he didn’t know Stevie before she got hit on the head.”

  “Still?”

  “See for yourself,” Alex said, inviting them to go upstairs.

  “The story about Veronica’s sign will do wonders for her,” Carole said to Lisa.

  “And wait until we tell her about Blindie—I mean, Blondie,” said Lisa.

  She crossed her fingers for luck as they went into Stevie’s room. Everything seemed normal. Stevie was clearly glad to have them there, and she greeted them warmly. She did want to hear about everything that had been going on. Lisa began with the story of the sign on Veronica’s back.

  “… and then I told her she had a loose thread on the back of her jacket,” said Lisa.

  “She played Veronica like a violin!” said Carole.

  “Well, Veronica’s easy to read,” Lisa said humbly. “Anyway, while I pulled the imaginary thread off her jacket, I put a sign across her back—just like in your dream.”

  “You should have seen her in class!” Carole said. “Everybody got it. They all laughed and pointed. It was hysterical!”

  Lisa giggled. “The look on Veronica’s face was priceless! Of course, she couldn’t admit that anything was going on. She just kept a straight face and went through the entire class with everyone laughing and pointing!”

  Stevie looked a little confused. “Sure everybody laughed and pointed. There was a sign on Veronica’s back that tol
d them to. Why wouldn’t they?”

  Carole gulped. This definitely was not the old Stevie. The old Stevie would have been laughing as hard as her friends. What had come over her? It was eerie and a little frightening. Carole could tell that nothing she and Lisa said about the event was going to make Stevie see any humor in it. She decided to change the subject.

  “And then after class, we went with Deborah to the horse farm in Rock Ridge.”

  “The guy wants to sell me this sweet horse. Her name is Blondie. And he let me ride—”

  “She’s blind,” said Stevie.

  “Right, exactly,” said Lisa. “Both Carole and I knew it the moment he had to keep talking to get her to come over—” Lisa’s jaw dropped when she registered what Stevie had said. “But I didn’t tell you that part yet.”

  “How did you know?” Carole asked, stunned.

  “I just did,” said Stevie. “It had to be.”

  “Did you talk to Deborah?” Lisa asked suspiciously.

  “No, did she call me?” Stevie asked.

  “That’s what I wanted to know,” said Lisa. This conversation was getting creepy!

  “Max must have told you then,” said Carole.

  “He’s coming over here, you know,” said Stevie.

  “He is?” Lisa asked. It was funny, but Max hadn’t said anything about that to her or Carole.

  The doorbell rang. A few seconds later, Max and Deborah came into Stevie’s room. Max was carrying a bouquet of daisies. Mrs. Lake brought a vase to put them in and set it on the windowsill in Stevie’s room.

  “We were just telling Stevie about Blondie,” said Carole. “I guess you told her about the blindness when you called, right?” she asked.

  “We didn’t call,” said Deborah. “I hope it’s okay that we just dropped in.”

  “Of course it is, Mom,” said Stevie.

  Both Lisa and Carole smiled. And then, startled, they each realized that they hadn’t mentioned anything to Stevie about the fun they’d had calling Deborah Mom and Mrs. Hale.

  “I see you girls have told Stevie about our beautiful mother-and-daughter bonding experience,” Deborah said, grinning at Lisa.

  “As a matter of fact, we hadn’t gotten around to that part of the story yet,” Lisa said.

  “But you told her about calling me Mom, right?” asked Deborah, the grin slowly fading off her face.

  “As a matter of fact,” said Carole, “we hadn’t.”

  Deborah and Max exchanged goggle-eyed looks.

  “Stevie, how did you kn—” Max started to say, but Deborah put a hand on his arm and he stopped talking.

  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing for sure about Blondie,” said Stevie, who didn’t seem to notice the sudden air of tension in the room.

  “What’s that?” Lisa asked.

  “The horse has vision,” said Stevie.

  “No, she’s blind. I know it,” said Carole. “I mean, I didn’t do any tests like waving my hand in front of her face, because that would have been too obvious, but she’s blind. Of that I’m sure.”

  “Me too,” Lisa said.

  “She has vision,” Stevie said solemnly. “There’s more than one kind of vision, you know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m getting a little tired and I think I need to take a nap. Do you mind?”

  “Oh, not at all,” Lisa said. “We definitely want you to get all the rest you need. We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay,” Stevie said sleepily, slipping down under her covers while her eyes closed. She was asleep before they were out of her room.

  Carole, Lisa, Max, and Deborah were silent until they reached the Lake kitchen. Mrs. Lake was there making dinner for the family.

  “What do you think?” Mrs. Lake asked. She looked hopefully at four of the people who knew Stevie best.

  “Strange,” Carole said.

  “Un-Stevian,” said Lisa.

  “But—uh—perceptive,” said Max.

  “Very,” said Deborah.

  “I’ve tried to explain it to the doctor,” said Mrs. Lake. “He just doesn’t seem to understand.”

  “Stevie’s not easy to explain,” Max said sympathetically.

  “Even when she’s healthy,” said Carole.

  And that seemed to sum it up for all of them.

  PHIL FELT A twinge of excitement in the pit of his stomach. “I can’t believe I’m actually going up in your glider,” he told Uncle Michael.

  “We’ve been talking about this for a long time, haven’t we?” Uncle Michael asked.

  “It seems like it’s been hundreds of years, but I suspect it’s just been more like three.”

  “Since that’s exactly how long I’ve owned my two-seater, I think you’re right,” Uncle Michael said. “We just had to wait until you got to be what your mother thought was ‘old enough.’ ”

  He turned the car off the main road, following signs to Dunstable Field. The area had a small collection of large, low buildings. A wind sock next to the main building showed a gentle, steady wind from the west. A dozen or so small planes were parked nearby. To the side a long strip of roadway served as the parking area for the gliders. Uncle Michael drove around the main building and off to the side road where his glider waited.

  “There’s always a lot of work to do before we take off,” said Uncle Michael, parking the car.

  “That’s one thing soaring has in common with horseback riding, then,” said Phil. “I think it’s usually about two hours’ worth of work in and around the stable for each hour in the saddle. I don’t mind, though. Anything to do with horses is fun.”

  “That’s the way I feel about gliders,” said Uncle Michael, smiling at Phil.

  The two walked over to the glider. Uncle Michael put out his hand to touch the plane as they neared it. The motion made Phil think of the affectionate touch he gave Teddy every time he was going for a ride. He tried it himself. The glider was made of a lightweight carbon fiber. It was sleek and shiny. Compared with the airplanes behind the main building, the part of the craft that held the pilots was very compact, but the wingspan was several times larger.

  Uncle Michael removed the protective canvas cover and then offered Phil a sponge and a bucket of water.

  “First, we wash,” he announced.

  “Well, there’s one difference between gliding and riding,” said Phil. “I usually give Teddy a quick grooming before we ride, but the really good grooming comes after.” He took the sponge and began wiping one of the glider’s elegant wings. The white surface was so shiny he could see his reflection in it.

  “We want to try to remove anything that would spoil the lift or create drag and slow down the craft while we’re in the air,” Uncle Michael explained, wiping the other wing. “Also, it’s an opportunity to check the airframe to be sure the whole thing is in good condition.”

  They wiped and they dried.

  Uncle Michael then went through a check routine on all of the equipment, including the batteries, radio, instruments, parachutes, controls, a canteen of water, granola bars, and first aid kit.

  “Boy, it’s like we’re going up for days instead of for a few hours,” said Phil.

  “And if you were just going for a five-minute ride, wouldn’t you want your horse to have all his tack, just as you’d want if you were going for a four-hour trail ride?”

  “Check,” Phil said.

  “Ah, you’re getting the language,” Uncle Michael said, smiling.

  “Roger that,” Phil informed him.

  “Now I need to check on the local weather outlook,” said Uncle Michael. He switched on the radio and called the tower. While the tower checked the weather, Uncle Michael told Phil why he needed to know the forecast.

  “Gliders go up and stay up chiefly because of one thing,” he said, “and that’s temperature. The slightest difference—a degree or two of warmth—will create what we call thermals, or patches of rising air. You remember that warm air rises?”

  Phil nodded. He’d lea
rned about that in science class.

  “What a glider pilot wants is to be in the middle of the warm air that’s rising. That gives us what we call lift. In general, what I want to do is to get the plane in an area of lift and take advantage of that by going up in circles in the area. Once I’ve gotten as high as I want—perhaps ten to fifteen thousand feet—then I can go forward. When luck and the weather are with me, I’ll meet up with lots more thermals that will keep me at that height, or, if I do lose some altitude, I’ll find more lift when I need to go higher.”

  “Boy, if the weather stays right, you can go on forever, then, can’t you?” Phil asked.

  “Not exactly,” said Uncle Michael. “For one thing, as the sun goes down, the thermals disappear. For another thing, while there are thermals that give lift, like most good things, there is an opposite. That’s known as sink. Sink will bring you down as fast as lift will raise you up. Wherever you go, whatever you do in a glider, you’ve always got to leave room for sink. This is especially true where we’ll be flying today, over these beautiful mountains. Here, we get lift from thermals, but we also get lift from the updrafts that occur when wind hits a mountainside and is deflected upward. That can be perilous, however, since the currents that pass over the top of the ridges tend to drop quite suddenly on the other side.”

  “Sink,” said Phil.

  “Big sink,” agreed Uncle Michael. “So we fly carefully when we have to be near the mountaintops. There are a number of precautions glider pilots take to avoid risks. One of them is that one glider passing another near a ridge never, never passes on the outside of the other. That might tend to force the other glider closer to the mountain, where the winds are unpredictable, dangerous, and—”

  “Phil? Is that Phil Marsten?”

  Phil turned to see who was interrupting his conversation with Uncle Michael.

  “Veronica?” he asked, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  Veronica smoothed her already impeccably smooth blouse and blinked sweetly.

  “Why, I was about to ask you the same question!” she cooed.