They crossed Central Park South and entered the park at the southeast corner. Stevie heard a familiar clop, clop noise. Horses, she thought, smiling.
“I do love the fragile quality of early spring light,” Ms. Dodge said.
“Fragile is the word,” Stevie said.
Stevie heard the cawing of a crow. In Willow Creek crows were not particularly popular. There were too many of them, and they made a lot of noise. But here the crow’s cawing made Stevie long for the open fields of Willow Creek. One crow rose from a tree. It was joined by another crow. And then another. Cawing and squabbling, they flew north.
From far off, Stevie thought she could hear tinny carousel music She thought of the man with the backward hat who worked at the carousel. That was an okay job—running the carousel, making sure everyone was safe. She figured he was having a good time right now.
Stevie thought of the mounted policeman. He would be riding through the park finding lost children, telling tourists where to go for the best french fries. That was a really great job.
“I know you’ll do really well today, Stevie,” said Ms. Dodge. “You’re behind the rest of the class. You haven’t selected an object, but I know you’ll find something splendid.”
“You can count on me,” Stevie said, remembering her resolution to be good.
A horse-drawn carriage passed. In the back were a young man and woman holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. Stevie thought of Phil, her boyfriend. If he had been here, they’d have been having a good time. She sighed. She had been doing okay until her class entered the park, but now she could feel her goodness wearing thin.
The New-York Historical Society was an austere marble building on Central Park West. The class trooped up the outside marble steps. Inside were more marble steps. The guy who designed this building was certainly into steps, Stevie thought.
Mrs. Martin clapped her hands, a signal that the group should draw around her in a ring. “Today I want you to find objects that go with your special object,” she said. “You can buy postcards in the store on the main floor. You have two hours. Everyone will meet in the lobby at four.”
Stevie trudged up more marble stairs. When she got to the top floor, she looked around.
“There are so many wonderful things here,” Ms. Dodge said. “I know you’ll find a perfect object.” She gave Stevie an encouraging smile.
Stevie walked into the first room. It had chairs, silver teapots, and cups and saucers. “You could die of excitement,” she muttered to herself. She caught Ms. Dodge looking at her and smiled. “Great stuff,” she said. “Those cups and saucers are something else.”
Stevie walked into another room. Hey, more chairs. Over a chest of drawers was an oil painting of a horse. Stevie stepped closer to look at it. The horse was running, but in a very odd way. Both front legs were straight out, and both hind legs were straight back. A horse that ran like that would fall flat on its stomach.
But so what? The horse was running. (Or floating, to be more accurate.) His nose was up, his tail was out. Stevie could hear the thunder of hoofbeats. She could feel the wind in her hair. Suddenly she wanted to ride the carousel again.
Stevie looked at Ms. Dodge, who was gazing at a teapot with an expression of rapture. Then she looked at the door. It would be so easy to disappear. It wouldn’t be good, but it would be easy. She looked at Ms. Dodge again. She had moved on to a coffeepot.
Stevie slipped out the door. Softly she ran down the marble steps. On the main floor she paused. She shouldn’t do this, she knew. She should stay in the museum. She should find an object. On the other hand, outside the air was fresh, the crows were flying, and Ralph was waiting for a nice chat.
Stevie stepped out the door.
“TODAY’S OUR LUCKY day,” Lisa said miserably.
“Not,” Carole said gloomily.
They were in the tack room at the stable. They’d gotten there early in case there was anything Max wanted them to do before Veronica gave her lecture on bridle care.
Veronica walked in from the barn. There was a white paper bag in her pocket.
“Hey, you’re early,” Lisa said. She had never known Veronica to be early for anything.
“Have you got a problem with that?” Veronica said snootily. She looked Carole and Lisa up and down. “Why don’t you find Max?” she said. “He may want you for something.”
Lisa and Carole didn’t like being bossed by Veronica. On the other hand, looking for Max had the distinct advantage of getting them away from Veronica. They walked into the barn to find him.
Max was mucking out a stall.
“Is there anything we can do?” Carole said.
“You’ve already done a lot,” Max said. “You were great yesterday.”
“Anything for Pine Hollow,” Carole said with a grin.
“I appreciate it,” Max said. He raked the stall so that the earth was higher in the center than it was at the sides. “I hope everything goes more smoothly today,” he said. He hung the rake on a hook, and the three of them went off to join Veronica.
When they entered the tack room, Veronica was bent over the container of cleaning supplies. Lisa and Carole exchanged surprised looks. Was Veronica actually trying to learn about cleaning tack?
There was the sound of wheels in the mud outside.
“They’re here,” Veronica said cheerfully. “I know today is going to be wonderful.”
Melody came into the room with the cameraman. “We got a lot of good feedback about yesterday,” she said. “Who knew that cleaning a saddle could be so dramatic? I nearly fainted when you put that black polish on the saddle.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Veronica said stiffly.
Lisa realized that Veronica actually believed that the mixup with the polish had been Lisa and Carole’s fault. She figured that there were some people who just couldn’t admit when they were wrong, even to themselves. She decided the best thing to do was to stay away from Veronica, so she stepped to the side. A patch of white in the wastebasket caught her eye. Casually she leaned over and looked. It was the white bag that Veronica had been carrying. It said JERRY’S JOKE SHOP. Lisa felt a sense of dread.
“Okay, guys,” Melody said. “Let’s get started. And don’t worry about mistakes. Just plunge on ahead.”
Veronica pointed to the hook where her bridle was hanging.
“That’s some bridle,” Melody said, her voice filled with awe. The bridle had two reins on each side and two different bits. “Tell me about it.”
“It’s a double bridle. My father gave it to me, and, of course, it’s custom-made,” said Veronica. There was an uncomfortable pause when Veronica clearly couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“The bit with two pieces is a bridoon or snaffle,” Carole whispered.
“This is the bridoon,” said Veronica, pointing to the bit that was made of two pieces of metal hooked together. “It’s also called a snaffle.”
“What’s the other bit called?” asked Melody.
“It’s called a bit or curb,” whispered Carole.
“This is a bit,” said Veronica. The second bit was a single piece of metal with a curve in the center. “Note the two pairs of hand-sewn reins.”
“And when do you use this type of bridle?” Melody asked.
“This type of bridle is used for advanced training, particularly in dressage,” said Veronica. “And now,” she added with a smile, “Carole will clean the bridle, and Lisa will polish it.”
Carole removed the bits and curb chain and put them in a bucket of water. “I’m stripping it,” Carole whispered.
“Carole is stripping the bridle,” Veronica said.
Carole undid the lip strap, then she undid all the buckles and moved them to the lowest holes. She washed the leather with a wet sponge.
“Carole has washed the bridle. Lisa is going to dry it,” said Veronica.
Lisa picked up a chamois cloth. It was soft, the way it was supposed to be, but i
t also felt itchy. Her fingertips felt as if they were on fire. “Orrrf,” she said, dropping the cloth.
Carole dived for it. She stood up, looking relieved. An expression of surprise crossed her face. “Eccch,” she said.
Lisa couldn’t let this happen to Carole. She grabbed the cloth. Her whole hand itched now, and so did her arm.
“Lisa is supposed to be drying the bridle,” Veronica said. “But she seems to be having difficulty. I guess she’s suffering from nerves.”
Lisa wouldn’t let Pine Hollow down. She started to dry the bridle with the cloth. But the more she dried the bridle, the more her fingers itched. She thought of the white bag from the joke shop. Could Veronica have covered the chamois cloth with itching powder?
Carole could see that Lisa was having trouble. She wanted to help. “I’ll do it,” she said, reaching for the cloth.
Lisa couldn’t let her do that. “No,” she said.
“I insist,” Carole said, grabbing for the cloth.
“Now, girls,” Veronica said. “We mustn’t compete.”
“I’ll take it,” Lisa said a little more firmly.
“No, me,” said Carole, pulling at one side.
Carole and Lisa pulled at opposite ends of the cloth.
“A little bit of attention and they lose control,” Veronica said smugly.
Lisa lost her grip on the cloth. Carole lost hers at the same time. The chamois cloth fell into the bucket of water.
“I’ll get another,” Max said. He opened a drawer and pulled out a fresh cloth. When he handed it to Lisa, he gave her an odd look.
“Do you think you girls can cooperate now?” said Veronica.
Carole’s face was pink. Lisa could tell that she was so angry that she was on the verge of tears.
“Yes, we can, Veronica,” Lisa said. She dried the noseband and the reins. Then she gave the cloth to Carole.
“Very good,” said Veronica. “It’s nice to see you two getting along for a change.”
STEVIE CROSSED THE STREET into Central Park. She hadn’t given up on being good. She was just … taking a break.
Finding the carousel was not as easy as she’d thought. First she wound up at an ice-skating rink, and then at something called the Dairy. Finally she heard the lovely, tinny music of the carousel.
She came around the corner and saw that there was no line at all. That was great. She’d buy a ticket, hop on, hop off, and be back at the historical society before anyone missed her.
“One ticket,” she said to the fuzzy-haired man.
“Just one?” he said with a smile.
Stevie realized that his business must not be too good at the moment. She owed it to him to buy more than one ticket. “I’ll have two,” she said. “Well, actually, three.”
He counted out the tickets and said, “Enjoy.”
“I believe I will,” Stevie said with a grin.
When the carousel music had stopped playing and the gate was opened, Stevie went in. To her delight, she saw that there was no one on Ralph. She climbed on and leaned toward his head. “Did you miss me?” she said.
Ralph didn’t reply.
“I missed you,” she said.
The man with the backward baseball hat came to take her ticket. “You don’t have to buckle up today,” he said. “I realize you’re an experienced rider.”
For a second Stevie felt like telling him about Belle and how she missed her horse—and about the class trip and all the horrible antiques. But he was already on his way to take another ticket. She held on to the pole, waiting for the music to start. She looked up, waiting for the horse to rise with the music. On the other side of the carousel fence, she saw the mounted policeman. He was staring at her. Ralph started moving.
“Go, Ralph,” she said, leaning slightly forward, the way she did when she wanted Belle to go faster. “We’re in big trouble. We’d better get out of here.”
But Ralph just went around and around and around.
“Ralph,” she said, “you’re a great horse, but you have one shortcoming. You’re no good for escapes.”
Ralph sank lower and lower. Stevie thought of sliding off Ralph’s back and sneaking away, but she realized she couldn’t do that. The carousel was surrounded by a stout iron fence. “If you weren’t attached to this carousel, you could jump the fence and we could gallop away together,” she said.
Ralph started moving up.
The policeman had his hands on the pommel of his saddle. Stevie could tell that he was planning to wait until she got off the carousel.
For a second Stevie had visions of jail. She saw herself behind bars. Then she reminded herself that they don’t put kids in jail for playing hooky from a school trip. On the other hand, if she returned to the historical society in the custody of the police, she would be in big trouble.
As the carousel whirled around and around, Stevie’s mind also whirled. She was in a tough spot, one of the toughest of her life. She had to do something, but what?
The music slowed and the carousel wound to a stop. Ahead of her a mother lifted a child from a horse and put him on the ground. The two of them walked toward the exit.
Stevie had a brilliant idea. She’d hide among the mothers and children. As she walked toward the exit, she bent her knees. She wasn’t as short as the kids, but she was semishort.
She crept through the gate and past the ticket booth. She turned right, ready to straighten up and run for Central Park West. There was a shadow in her path. She looked up.
The policeman looked down at her. “Do you have trouble with your knees?” he asked.
“You won’t believe it,” said Stevie, straightening up. “Some people have one trick knee, but I have two.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” the policeman said. “Do you have some identification?”
Stevie thought fast. Her home address and phone number were in her wallet. If the policeman got her phone number, he’d call her parents and she’d be grounded for the rest of her life.
“My grandfather has it,” Stevie said. “He’s meeting me here.” She looked around. “He’s late again. But that’s him. Absentminded.”
“What’s your name?” the policeman said.
Stevie thought fast. “Jane Jones.” The name didn’t even sound real.
“Your grandfather should be more careful. You shouldn’t be wandering around alone. You might get lost,” the policeman said.
“What can I do?” Stevie said. “It’s my grandfather. He has all these strange notions.”
The policeman pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt. “I’m worried about you,” he said. “I’m going to call for a car to come and get you. I don’t want you wandering around Central Park by yourself.”
He said something in a low voice into the walkie-talkie.
Stevie figured that this was it. Her life was ending.
Over the top of the hill came a swarm of skaters wearing black helmets and knee pads. They were bent low, swinging their arms. The wheels of their skates made a faint whir as they raced along.
The policeman’s horse snorted and backed up. A skater stumbled and rocketed toward the horse. The horse whinnied with fear, and the skater screamed.
Stevie stepped away. The policeman was watching the skater, who was watching the policeman. Stevie looked over her shoulder. The park was green and welcoming and safe. She started running. She ran past a flower bed and a row of benches. A man lying on a bench looked up at her with surprise. She realized that she was drawing attention to herself by running and forced herself to walk. It was the hardest thing she had ever done. Her feet wanted to fly. Her arms wanted to pump.
Go slowly, she told herself. Look casual. Act cool.
There was a shout.
That’s it, she thought.
“Look out!” came a familiar voice.
Stevie saw a baseball zooming toward her. She put her hands up to protect herself, and the ball landed in her hands.
“Great catch,” said the vo
ice. Under the brim of a baseball hat was the friendly face of Skye Ransom. “Stevie!” he said. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. How come you didn’t call?”
“I’m kind of in trouble,” she said. “I can’t make phone calls.”
“Same old Stevie,” said Skye with a grin. “Always up to something.”
If he only knew, Stevie thought.
“I’m in a rush,” Stevie said, looking over her shoulder. “But I’m staying at the New Gotham Hotel with some kids from my class.”
“A lot of kids?” said Skye, looking worried.
“Only six and two teachers,” Stevie said.
“I can get hold of eight tickets,” Skye said. “Come to my show tonight. You’ll come backstage, and then I’ll take you guys out to dinner.”
“Great!” Stevie said.
“Want to join our team?” Skye said. “We can use your talent. That was some catch.”
“I wish,” Stevie said. Veronica would die if she heard that Stevie had played in the Broadway Show League. On the other hand, Stevie would probably die if she didn’t get back to the historical society. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to run!” she said.
“But—” Skye said.
“We’ll catch up later,” Stevie said.
“Wait!” Skye said.
A group of tourists with cameras was passing. “Are you Skye Ransom?” one of them said to him.
“That’s what they tell me,” he said with a grin.
As tourists surrounded Skye, Stevie blended into the group. She didn’t want to risk having the policeman spot her. When the tourists finished taking pictures, she walked with them toward Central Park West.
On Central Park West she figured she was far enough away from the policeman that she could hustle. She dog-trotted all the way to the historical society.
She ran up the marble steps and into the lobby of the society’s building with one minute to spare. Then she dashed into the store and looked at the postcards. She had to get a postcard of an object that was not a painting. If it was a painting, she would have to know all about the artist. She noticed one of a lamp with a glass shade. Lamps don’t have artists. They’re just lamps, she thought. She bought the postcard and went out to the lobby to wait for the rest of her group.
The Painted Horse Page 4
