All the King's Horses

by Laura C Stevenson

  ‘Of course it is! Who else would do it?’

  ‘Us,’ I said, and started inside.

  He grabbed my arm. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Ease off, will you?’

  ‘Ease off what?’

  ‘Mom and Mr Crewes.’

  I stared at him. ‘I thought you hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘You think I’m blind? He takes her to the movies “to get her out of the house”. He comes over in the evenings with some excuse about an assignment for me. It’s pathetic.’

  ‘It sure is!’ I pulled away. ‘And if you don’t care if Mom makes a fool of herself—’

  ‘– Cut it out! Think. He could be old, or nasty, or stupid … or have kids.’

  ‘Geeeeeeeez.’

  ‘Right. So maybe you should try – just try, mind you; I know what a strain these things are for you – to be polite to him. It would make things a lot easier; they wouldn’t have to lie.’

  I gulped. ‘They’re lying because of me?’

  ‘Sure they are. You don’t see me snarling whenever he comes up – or over.’

  I wanted to run up to my room, but the 4:15 was out of the way, and the cars were almost at the driveway. When they pulled up, Mr Crewes jumped out of his car and helped Grandpa out of the far side of Mom’s. ‘Come on, Angus,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We’re home now.’

  Grandpa nodded and started towards the side door, looking old and sick, and shuffling a little, the way he’d begun to lately. I followed him, walking very close to Mom. ‘How was he?’

  ‘He was … well, it was better than last time,’ she said. ‘But the doctor says he has bronchitis. We got some medicine for it, but we’ll have to be very careful to keep him warm and dry.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Colin. He hurried ahead of us and slipped his hand into Grandpa’s. ‘Come on, Grandpa,’ he said. ‘We didn’t have time for soda bread, but we’ll make you pancakes.’

  So we all went in, and Colin and I made our very best pancakes. Mr Crewes was impressed, and he joked around about Colin’s having a great future in chemistry. That made Mom and Grandpa laugh, and it was almost fun; but when we gave Grandpa his pancakes, he only took one bite, then wandered away upstairs. After that, nobody felt like talking much.

  *

  Two cops came and talked to us about Tiffany. We told them the truth, of course, which was that we hadn’t seen Tiffany since the 2:45 went by on Tuesday. But we didn’t tell them about Jenny, because we didn’t want to get the warehouse people in trouble – and besides, what could we have said? I think they suspected we were leaving something out, because they talked to Mom after she sent us upstairs, but she said she’d backed us up, and that everything was fine.

  It wasn’t fine; there were still the kids at school to deal with. They were all excited because Tiffany’s picture was in the paper and even on TV, and of course, everybody asked us about her. That meant we had to tell our half-truth story over and over, which we hated – plus, it made us angry because none of the kids had paid any attention to Tiffany before.

  Then there were the Gordons. We were free to go to the barn every day, because Grandpa was really sick, and Mom didn’t feel she could leave us alone with him. It seemed to cheer the Gordons up to have us there, and brushing and feeding and mucking out cheered us up, the way it always does. But after about a week, Mrs Gordon told us to ask Mom to call her. Mom did, and after they were through, she came down to the kitchen.

  ‘Judy and Tom want to know if you’d like to exercise Dandy,’ she said. ‘They called a couple of days ago, asking how experienced you were, and of course I told them about the young horses you worked with Dad. Now they’ve gotten in touch with the girl who owns him – they phoned all the way to England, can you imagine? – and she said it would be fine if you worked him.’

  We looked at each other over the dishes we were washing; neither of us said anything.

  ‘Of course, it would just be until they find Tiffany,’ Mom went on. ‘But I told Judy you’d understand that, and since I’ve heard nothing but horses, horses, horses, since you left Pennsylvania, I said I thought you’d be thrilled. I was right, wasn’t I? Sarah?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, watching a soap bubble pop in the dishpan.

  I felt her look at me. ‘You don’t seem thrilled.’

  ‘I am. It’s wonderful. It’s just …’

  ‘I understand,’ she said, patting my shoulder. ‘All right, I’ll tell them you’ll do it.’

  We listened to her climb the back stairs.

  ‘Geez,’ said Colin. ‘I feel like a criminal.’

  ‘Me, too – except criminals can confess, and we can’t.’

  He dried the frying pan fiercely. ‘There’s nothing to confess. It’s not like we planned it.’

  I nodded, but I couldn’t say anything, because Mom was coming back down.

  ‘All set,’ she said. ‘Tom will work him tomorrow and Saturday, to get the kinks out of him, and you can start Sunday.’ She picked up a pencil to write it on the calendar, then smiled for the first time all day. ‘That’s the first of May. Just think – you can celebrate Beltane by going riding.’

  ‘Great!’ I said. And I really tried to smile back.

  It was sort of rainy on Friday, but the Gordons’ ring had really good drainage, like the ones in Pennsylvania, so Mr Gordon could longe Dandy anyway. Dandy bucked a lot at first, but he never pulled on the line, and pretty soon he settled down. Saturday afternoon, Mr Gordon rode him, and we hung on the fence and watched through the fog and drizzle, and he was so beautiful that I stopped feeling guilty, except about not feeling guilty, if you see what I mean. We were both really excited, even though it started to pour when we were riding our bikes home; and as soon as I’d changed, I went into Grandpa’s office. There was a horse magazine on his lap, but he wasn’t looking at it; he was watching the drops slide down the windowpane.

  ‘Hi, Grandpa,’ I said, sitting next to him. ‘We’re going to ride a horse tomorrow.’

  ‘Horse?’ he said, looking at me eagerly.

  I heard Mom and Colin stop in the hall outside the door, and I knew why; Grandpa hadn’t said anything for days. ‘That’s right,’ I said, smiling at them as they came into the room. ‘Horse. Colin and I have a horse to work. Isn’t that great?’

  Grandpa smiled. ‘Horse,’ he said again. ‘Work horse. Great!’

  ‘I’ll say,’ said Colin. ‘Hey! Mom, do you suppose Grandpa could come watch us?’

  ‘Dr Greenstone said not to take him out, but …’ She looked at Grandpa’s lit-up face. ‘Well, tomorrow is supposed to be sunny and warm. If it is, I’ll bring him over for a little while – would you like to see the kids ride, Dad?’

  ‘Great! Great!’ said Grandpa, smiling all over, and we all left him with his magazine, feeling good because he was so alert.

  ‘Maybe he’s getting better,’ said Colin as he poured milk into a pan for cocoa – then he stopped and looked up. ‘Was that the front door?’

  It had been, which probably meant Mr Crewes had come. This time, I went with Colin to say hello, making myself smile. But Mr Crewes wasn’t there. Just Mom, looking frantic.

  ‘In his shirt-sleeves!’ she said, pulling on a sweater. ‘And he’s been so sick!’

  ‘You mean, Grandpa went out?’ I gasped. ‘In this?’

  She nodded and ran out on the porch, looking down the road. It was raining so hard that the warehouses looked like ghosts. ‘Where could he have gone?’

  To the Ring, said Colin’s pale face; but for once I shook my head. ‘We were talking about horses, and he sort of knows the way to the Gordons’ by now. I bet—’

  ‘For Pete’s sake! Of course!’ Colin tossed me my poncho and slipped his own over his head. Mom grabbed Grandpa’s as well as her own, so we beat her to the tracks, but she caught up with us as we stopped to see if he’d gone one way or another on them. There was no sign of him, so we all started to jog towards the Gordons’. The edge of the road was ankle deep in water, but it was either t
hat or the shoulder, which was all mud and broken bottles, so we stayed on the pavement. Every time a car passed us, we got splashed up to our ears, and lots of the drivers honked because there wasn’t room for them and us too. Finally, we got to the supermarket, which was closed, of course, because it was after five, and I was thinking the traffic would be less scary, now – when Colin yelled: ‘There he is!’

  I shook the rain out of my eyes and saw Grandpa in the middle of all the empty parking spaces, shuffling between the yellow lines, stopping, turning, and shuffling up to the next set.

  Mom stopped dead. ‘Dear God!’ she whispered. ‘He’s pacing out a course.’

  For a moment, all three of us just stood there, watching. Then Mom reached a hand out to each of us, which she hadn’t done since we were really little, but neither of us fussed about it. Slowly, we sloshed through the parking lot and stopped in front of Grandpa.

  ‘Dad,’ said Mom. ‘Let’s finish the jumps tomorrow. It’s raining now.’

  He shoved his dripping hair out of his face and looked up. ‘Wet.’

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘So the footing is terrible. Let’s wait, huh?’

  Grandpa coughed a terrible, deep cough. Mom let go of my hand and slipped Grandpa’s poncho off her shoulder. He smiled and let her help him put it on, and I guess that made him forget the jumps, because when she took his good hand and began to lead him home, he went with her just fine. After we’d crossed the tracks, he started shuffling more and more slowly, and he shivered so hard Colin and I could see him shaking. As soon as we got home, we put him to bed and we covered him with all the extra blankets, but it was a long time before he slept.

  We took Mom some dry clothes and a pot of tea and left her sitting there, watching him, while we changed (the second time) and went down to finish making the cocoa. We didn’t enjoy drinking it, though; we just sat there, pushing the marshmallows around in the mugs, not looking at each other. Because the house felt the way it had when Mrs Gordon had come to see if we knew where Tiffany was. As if it were waiting for something.

  The next morning, Grandpa was so sick he could hardly sit up, and he wouldn’t even drink the tea we brought him. I looked at Mom. ‘Maybe Colin and I should stay home.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, trying to smile. ‘It’s a beautiful day – just perfect for a ride – and there’s nothing you can do here besides worry.’

  She was right, of course, so we went, and at first, we sort of forgot about Grandpa, because Dandy nickered when we came in, and we both hugged him and told him what a wonderful horse he was. But after we started riding, it was different. I got to ride first, and Mr Gordon stood in the centre of the ring, giving me pointers … but every time I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Grandpa. There was no time to think about it then; Dandy wasn’t like the horses in Faerie – you had to ride him every second. But when it was Colin’s turn, there he was in the ring with a man in breeches and boots, just the way he’d always been, even though he was taller now. I listened to Mr Gordon’s voice giving instructions, and I watched Dandy’s head come down and his strides get longer, and I was sure – absolutely sure – I heard Grandpa saying, ‘Good, good. A little more leg, now …’

  I heard footsteps behind me; it was Mrs Gordon, holding out a kleenex. ‘Want this?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. We walked away from the fence, so Colin wouldn’t get distracted. ‘I’m sorry,’ I snuffled. ‘It’s just … I want Grandpa back.’

  ‘We all do,’ she said. ‘But listen, Sarah, because your grandfather was who he was, he’s always in the ring, with everybody who trains horses right. That means you’ll never really lose him.’ She put her arm around me. ‘And I’ll tell you another thing. Your grandfather wasn’t just a great trainer; he was a great teacher. I always knew, of course, but today … well, watching you kids ride is poetry.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I whispered.

  She hugged me, and it sort of helped, because I pulled myself together enough to take the saddle so Colin could hose Dandy off. ‘I’ll walk him, if you want,’ I said.

  ‘That’s OK,’ he said, but his voice sounded funny, so I walked around the ring with him.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘No. I miss Grandpa. Not the one at home – our real Grandpa.’

  ‘Me too.’

  We walked around the ring again. Just before we got to the gate, Colin halted Dandy. ‘Um … do you think it would be worth it to … ask Them if we could go … find him?’

  I played with Dandy’s mane, thinking and thinking. Finally I said, ‘No, I don’t.’

  Colin stared at me. ‘You want to chicken out? On Grandpa?’

  ‘It’s not chickening out. It’s that every time we muck around with what the faeries are doing, we mess up – like getting on that crazy bus after we told Mr Crewes, or getting sent to that beach, or getting Tiffany into Faerie. And I think there’s stuff going on that we just don’t understand, like that guy with the giraffes. So instead of pushing ahead with the wrong theory, like he did, we should …’

  ‘Should what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Wait, I guess. Until we have a theory that really works.’

  He opened the gate and led Dandy back to the barn. I thought he was sore – if there’s anything Colin hates, it’s waiting – so I put away the saddle and cleaning things instead of going back to Dandy’s stall, and I didn’t turn around when he came in with the bridle. But he stood behind me like he had something to say, so finally I looked at him.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ he said. ‘And tell Grandpa all about Dandy.’

  ‘Great,’ I said. And I meant it.

  THE WAY TO the Gordons’ looked flat once you passed the tracks, but on the way home, you noticed it was a little bit uphill all the time. Usually, it was no problem; but this time we were in boots and breeches, which are made for horses, not bikes, and our horse-riding muscles were sore from not being used for so long. Between that and the cars filled with dressed-up people who’d been able to go to mass because their grandfathers were OK, we didn’t get to our crossing until the 12:15 Sunday express did, though we’d told Mom we’d be home at noon.

  ‘Boy!’ puffed Colin, waving to the engineer. ‘You know those English bikes – the ones with gears for hills?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Don’t I wish!’

  The last car zipped by, and we bumped our bikes across the tracks in the diesel-smelling silence. I was sort of hoping Colin would walk up the hill, but he didn’t, so I stepped on the top pedal to give myself a start, which was a good thing, because I just barely passed him.

  ‘Let’s leave them here,’ I gasped, dropping my bike by the side door. ‘We can always—’

  ‘– Not me,’ he said. ‘I’m not a slob … Hey! Where’s the car?’

  I stared at the empty space, and the first thing I thought was oh, no! The faeries have taken it! But then I thought again.

  ‘Let’s go in,’ I said, trying not to sound scared. ‘There’s probably a note on the table.’

  We did, and there was. Sarah and Colin – Grandpa having a lot of trouble breathing. Am taking him to the hospital. Phone plugged in. Will call as soon as I can. Love, Mom.

  Colin took a deep, shuddery breath. ‘What do you think we should do?’

  Before I could think of what to say – let alone of what to do – the phone rang. We dashed into the hall, and I answered it, squinting in the red, blue and gold sunlight that poured in through the stained-glass window, and holding the receiver so Colin could hear, too. ‘Mom?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Mom,’ she said, and her voice was so tense I hardly recognized it. ‘The emergency room says it’s pneumonia, and it’s pretty serious, and he has to stay the night. I have to stay here, at least for a while, because he’s upset and confused. Will you two be OK?’

  I was about to say we’d be fine, but Colin grabbed my arm and turned the mouthpiece towards himself. ‘How OK can we be if Grandpa’s in the hospital?�
�� he said, choking.

  ‘Now, now,’ said Mom, in a fake cheerful voice. ‘It’s the right place for him; they know just what to do. There’s plenty of bread for lunch and leftover chicken in case I don’t get home for dinner. But I’ll call if I’m going to be late. Take care now.’ And she hung up.

  I put the receiver down slowly and stood staring at the phone. Colin sat down on the bottom step and rested his chin on his hands. Nothing moved but the dust motes that drifted through the coloured shafts of sunlight and disappeared into the shadows.

  Finally, Colin drew a shaking breath. ‘And you said we should wait,’ he said bitterly.

  ‘Wait for what?’

  ‘Beats me. Inspiration or something. A theory that explained what was really wrong with Grandpa.’

  ‘I just meant there was so much we don’t understand—’

  ‘– We don’t have time to understand! Grandpa’s really sick! He might—’

  ‘– But don’t you see? He’s in the hospital, with doctors! That’s what’s going to save him, not a theory we know is a bit off!’

  ‘So our theory’s a bit off!’ he said, starting to cry. ‘Have any of the doctors he’s seen had a theory that brought him back to us?’

  ‘That’s not the point! He’s got pneumonia, and—’

  Colin jumped up. ‘It is too the point!’ he shouted. ‘Because if our theory is even a little bit right, the Grandpa that’s in the hospital may not be the real Grandpa!’

  ‘Don’t be a moron! You know that’s too darned simple!’

  Colin whirled around and stomped up the stairs. I thought he was going to his room, but he stopped when he got to the landing. Facing the window, he lifted his arms in a kind of Y, and he tilted his head back so far that I could see the tears on his face. ‘You stupid faeries—’

  ‘– Colin! Don’t!’

  ‘– Send us to where he—’

  I tackled him, and the two of us rolled down the stairs, landing in a heap in the hall. We scrambled to our feet with our fists in a position that would have made Grandpa proud.