by Jessie Haas
She was sitting very straight, fingers twined in Archie’s mane, eyes large and shining. Joni stopped herself from saying anything. She just walked Archie quietly and steadily across the field and up to the barn. Olivia glanced out the window of the cheese house as they passed. Her eyes widened, and she gave Joni a thumbs-up. Chess didn’t seem to notice that or anything else but Archie.
Joni stopped him beside the barn door. Chess looked down at her, still wordless. Joni hated to break the spell, but here they were. “Lean forward on his neck, swing your right leg across his back, and slide down,” she said.
Still in a daze, Chess obeyed. She did it pretty well. Joni thought she’d probably done gymnastics, but this wasn’t the time to ask.
On the ground, Chess put her arms around Archie’s neck. He tossed his head, as he almost always did. Chess stepped back. “He doesn’t like to be hugged?”
“Not really. I do it anyway.” Joni met Chess’s eyes. “I figure he can deal,” she said, and Chess laughed.
TWENTY-SIX
“The Kid Who Saved Those Minis”
Saturday, the sun rose on a week of Archie. First, there was the drama of loading him into the borrowed horse trailer. Would he go on? Archie stretched the suspense to half an hour before suddenly pricking his ears and striding up the ramp. They picked up Danae and Pumpkin and were on their way to riding camp.
The equestrian center was a group of low brown stables among fields, with a brook winding through it. The Colts and Fillies were quartered on the brook side of C Barn this year. That was the best side, shady and cool even in the middle of the day. They set up their group tack stall, got the horses ready, and hurried off to their first classes.
Mrs. Abernathy’s rule—look where you want the horse to go—got Joni a surprised, admiring smile from Carleen and placement in the Intermediate class. She almost felt bad about that. Danae was still in Beginners, and Joni was the youngest in Western Intermediate.
But the older kids remembered her from last year, and word had spread. “Are you the kid who saved those minis?” people kept asking. She had stature.
Her riding got respect, too. For the first couple of days, when something like figure eights at the lope seemed too hard, the teenagers in her class kept saying, “You can do it, Joni!” That helped, but it helped even more to pretend she was Mrs. Abernathy. After a couple of days, nobody needed to encourage her anymore.
On Wednesday, Danae moved up to Intermediate, too. They were no longer the little kids. By the end of the summer, they would be teenagers, and at last they knew enough to actually do what the instructors were telling them. Finesse was possible. It happened every day.
Stable inspections were also better this year. Joni had passed on Mrs. Abernathy’s secret, and none of their tack had even a speck of buckle gunk. Only Archie messed up their scores, with his habit of bringing mouthfuls of hay to the stall door and dribbling into the aisle while he ate.
“You could put up a stall guard to prevent that,” the inspector suggested on the first day.
“But he wouldn’t be able to look out,” Joni said. “Archie lives by himself, so he likes to see other horses.”
“I can only score you for Stable Keeping,” the inspector said. “But as far as the welfare of the horse goes, I agree.” Joni swept the aisle continually, and the others helped, too, but they couldn’t catch every stray wisp of hay.
Late afternoons, back at the campground, the Colts and Fillies swam and helped cook supper over a real fire. Afterward, they lay on the camper bunks talking until they fell asleep. Even Tod talked. As the only Colt, he had a pup tent next to the camper. Willow started calling him “Pup,” and from the moment he got a nickname, it seemed like he never shut up. And he was funny! Who knew? He would be in ninth grade next year, and Joni and Danae would be in seventh. They wouldn’t have classes together, but maybe they’d see him in the hallways and say, “Hey, Pup!”
On Thursday night, Mom was campground parent. She brought lasagna made with sheep’s milk cheese, and fresh farm eggs for breakfast, and they popped popcorn over the campfire. Joni learned that Chess had been to see the kittens every day.
Chess? Kittens? That all seemed like a long time ago.
But not totally. Sometimes Joni would look at a horse and the Chess question would pop into her head. “Does he like doing that?” The chestnut pony that kept refusing jumps. Nervous horses that fussed and champed at their bits, and pranced when they could have been walking. The lazy ones with riders who thumped their sides. She didn’t think all of them liked what they were doing. Neither did all of the riders—but, of course, the riders got to choose, didn’t they?
Probably—though Joni saw some of their parents in action, and she wasn’t sure.
But Archie was certainly having fun. He loved being with other horses, and he nickered joyously every morning when Joni came into sight. He was still Archie, with his own ways of doing things, like stopping to splash in the brook every time they crossed it, and trotting much faster than the poky Western jog the instructor wanted from them. Joni didn’t mind that. When she got on, she wanted to go somewhere, not mince around a show ring to collect a blue ribbon. “Well, you’re a happy camper!” the instructor said. It wasn’t meant as a compliment, but Joni didn’t care. She was a happy camper. That was one of the things she wasn’t going to grow out of.
Then, in a snap of the fingers, it was Saturday. Mom came back for the end-of-camp horse show. She brought a whole cheering section—Dad, Olivia, Alyssa, Grandma DeeDee, even Rosita and Tobin. So many people, but Joni wanted more. “Did you guys ask Chess to come?” she asked as Olivia straightened her string tie for her.
Olivia nodded. “She couldn’t face it.”
Joni understood. The story of the minis had spread quickly. How did you walk into a place full of people who knew all about your biggest-ever mistake? And Joni wouldn’t have been able to help her. Today, she had a horse show to ride in.
Last year, everyone said consoling things after the show and told Joni how proud they were that she’d gotten through a week of camp with a horse like Archie. This year, she didn’t need consoling. Archie was game for everything and good at a lot of it, including jumping and barrel racing. He won several ribbons, and Joni got a mention at the closing ceremony for being especially improved.
All because of Mrs. Abernathy. Joni looked out at the crowd, wishing she could say that. And there was Mrs. Abernathy herself, straw hat and all!
But, really? She came all the way up for this? Not with Mom and Dad, either. She was far away from them, talking with one of the 4-H leaders, and she didn’t catch Joni’s eye, but she did look proud and satisfied.
Later, as Joni was packing her tack trunk, Mrs. Abernathy came walking along the row of stalls. She wasn’t using her cane, and she wasn’t limping much. Maybe she felt better. Or maybe she was too proud to limp around a bunch of horse people.
“That was excellent work.” She caught hold of one end of Archie’s saddle blanket to help Joni fold it. “You’ve made a lot of progress this week.”
“Thank you,” Joni said. “For coming, I mean.”
“It’s fun to reconnect with people,” Mrs. Abernathy said. “And fun to see my pupil do so well. Do you want more lessons this summer? I’m happy to do it in exchange for eggs, or maybe a wedge of cheese once in a while.”
Joni nodded, distracted. Pup had just said something funny. Everyone was laughing and Joni wanted to join in, to keep the camp feeling going.
But camp was o-o-o-o-ver, just like sixth grade. Home was real again all of a sudden, and there was something she needed to do.
“My friend Chess—” she began. Mrs. Abernathy’s face stiffened.
“She didn’t know,” Joni said. “She didn’t understand that grass could be bad for them. She’s really sorry.”
“I’d rather not discuss it,” Mrs. Abernathy said.
“No, but—”
“It’s the combination of ignorance and a
rrogance that I find so infuriating,” Mrs. Abernathy said. “These people know absolutely nothing about animals, but they presume to tell those of us who do—”
“Chess knows a lot more already,” Joni said. “And she’s my friend.”
Mrs. Abernathy started to answer. Then she stopped herself, looking sharply at Joni. “Are you saying if I don’t forgive her, we can’t be friends?”
That wasn’t what Joni meant at all. She started to say that. Then she decided not to. She lifted her chin and looked straight at Mrs. Abernathy. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
After a moment, Mrs. Abernathy said, “But I’m the grownup. As you gently remind me.” She tucked the saddle blanket into the space left for it at the corner of the tack trunk. Then she straightened.
“All right. Tell her to bake me another cake. I tasted a crumb of the first one, if the truth be told. It was good! Then she and I will duke it out and come to an understanding. Because we have to be friends, Joni. I insist on that.”
“Me, too,” Joni said.
But—duke it out? How much fun was that going to be?
Oh, well. She was “the kid who saved those minis,” so she could probably deal.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Cake
Oh, groan! Joni thought, waking up on Sunday morning. Camp was over. What would she do all day? Who would she talk and laugh with?
Then she remembered. She was going to Chess’s house to help bake the second cake and take it to Mrs. Abernathy. “I can’t do it by myself,” Chess had said, and Joni had decided not to mention Mrs. Abernathy’s plan to “duke it out.”
So that was who she’d talk with today. Laughing? Maybe not so much.
She checked on Archie. At home, he had his pasture and didn’t need to be fed, but he seemed unusually glad to see her this morning. Did he miss camp, too? “You need a friend,” Joni told him. Not that she needed another horse to ride, but Archie had been so happy hanging out over his stall door. It wasn’t fair to make him live alone.
And so many horses needed homes. Maybe she could adopt somebody from Kalysta’s. Like Patrick? He and Archie would look cute together, like salt and pepper shakers.
But Hooper needed a home more. He might never be rideable. Someone would have to take care of him … and did Joni want to be a horse’s caretaker for years and years? She felt bad even thinking that. Maybe Mom and Dad wouldn’t let her adopt a horse. No point in getting all agonized about which one to choose before she even knew that.
Back in the house, Rosita was making French toast while Mom sat peacefully with her coffee and notebook. Dad came in from the barn, leaving Tobin and Olivia to do cleanup. “Hey, Joni Macaroni! I missed you!”
“I didn’t miss you,” Joni said. “But I love you!” she added, as his eyebrows popped up. “I was just having so much fun.”
“I get it,” Dad said, sounding a bit regretful. Joni gave him a hug.
They were eating by the time Olivia came in from the barn with Tobin. They kicked off their boots, and Joni saw them kiss quickly before coming to the table and sitting far apart from each other as if nothing had changed. She met Rosita’s eyes. They both tried not to laugh, and Olivia said, “What?” Tobin blushed. Cute! Joni wondered if there was a way to make Pup blush.
Mountains of French toast vanished, and the platter of bacon had to be guarded from the kittens. They were big enough now to climb people’s legs and old enough to be driven to a frenzy by new, great-smelling foods. Finally, Joni corralled them in her room. Their pathetic mews reached all the way to the breakfast table. “Cruel!” Mom commented, and Joni thought of Chess. And Mrs. Abernathy. She reached for a fourth slice of French toast. She would need her strength today.
After breakfast, she went out and saddled Archie. He turned to look at her as she tightened the girth, as if to say, Really? “I know,” Joni said. “This will be easy, though.”
She felt guilty as she climbed onto the big rock to mount. She had sore muscles, so Archie probably did, too. He really should have today off. But he lined himself up to let her get on, which he didn’t always do even when perfectly rested. “Thank you,” Joni said, and gave him a vigorous neck scratch before setting off.
She rode at a walk across the field. At a walk along the shady brook trail. At a hollowly thudding walk across the wooden bridge and onto North Valley Road.
Chess waited beside the roadside paddock. She’d mowed it with a lawnmower and raked out the grass clippings as Joni had instructed, so it was safe for Archie. Joni unsaddled him and turned him loose. He put his head down, took a nip of the very short grass, and ripped out a disgusted sigh.
Chess chuckled. “‘Where’s the stinkin’ grass?’ Right? Is that what he was saying?”
“Yup.” Joni checked Archie’s water pail—full, and tied to a post with baling twine. Chess was learning fast.
“Wow! I understood him!” Chess said. “I know what the kittens are saying sometimes, too.”
“This morning, they were saying ‘Ba-a-a-a-con! Give us ba-a-a-a-con!’”
Chess looked alarmed. “Do I have to feed them bacon?”
“What do you mean, ‘them’?”
“Didn’t your mom tell you? We’re taking two,” Chess said.
“What happened to ‘no captive animals’?” Joni asked.
Chess said, “I’ve decided it’s not wrong. At least, I don’t think so. Not if you take good care of them. That’s why we’re taking two. Cats like to have another cat around, even if they don’t seem to be friends. That’s what I read, anyway.”
Chess would take better care of those kittens than anyone in the history of cats! Joni was sure of that. “What about your grandmother?”
“We’re talking about it,” Chess said. “She still doesn’t think it’s right, but she loves animals, so maybe she’ll change her mind when she meets them.”
Chess’s grandmother didn’t sound like the kind of person who ever changed her mind—but Joni had thought that about Chess. “So, this cake,” she asked, as they crossed the road. “Is it the one you brought to graduation?”
Chess nodded. “She ate a piece? Off the ground?” Joni shrugged. It was possible. Mrs. Abernathy was a surprising lady. “It’s vegan,” Chess said. “Should we tell her?”
“No!” Joni said. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t ask for the recipe! By the way—you know cats aren’t vegetarians, right?”
“They’re obligate carnivores,” Chess said. “That means they have to eat meat.” She met Joni’s eyes. “I’m never eating an animal, Joni. That’s not going to change just because I have cats!”
“Okay,” Joni said. No point asking about eggs or cheese. She had a feeling they might never be able to trade sandwiches at lunchtime—but so what!
In the kitchen, she read the list of dry ingredients from the cake recipe while Chess measured them into a bowl. The house was quiet. “Where is everybody?” Joni asked.
“Mom’s in the garden. Dad and Noah went to church.”
That’s right, it was Sunday. The 4-Hers who hadn’t gone to camp were taking their turn at Kalysta’s. “I wonder how Hooper and Patrick are,” Joni said.
“Who are they, boys at camp?”
“No, horses at the rescue. Hooper has founder and Patrick was starved. Hooper started some new medicine last week. I wonder if it’s helping.”
“Is there a website?” Chess asked. “Maybe she posted something.”
“Oh! I think she has one. I’ve never looked.”
Chess dusted flour off her hands and went to the front window where a slender laptop computer rested on an elegant stand. “You guys won’t be able to leave that there when you have kittens,” Joni said. The Venturas had a lot to learn!
Chess’s fingers danced over the keys. “Here it—oh, no!”
Joni wasn’t surprised to see a picture of Patrick filling the screen. His ribs pushed against his dull coat. Vertebrae knuckled up at his withers. Joni looked away quickly, concentratin
g on what Kalysta had written under the picture.
In spite of everything, Patrick retains his trust in human beings. One of my volunteers called him “a grown-up,” and he is. A grown-up, and a gentleman.
Patrick needs a forever home. Once he’s regained his strength, he will be able to be ridden and enjoyed. In the meantime, we are looking for someone who can offer this wonderful horse a foster home for a few months. He needs supervised grazing and lots of sunshine. Patrick has a whole year’s worth of attention and love to make up for.
I could give him that! Joni thought. I could. I’ll ask Mom and—
“Who can be a foster home?” Chess asked in a strangled voice.
Joni felt her scalp tingle. She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Kalysta checks people out. She asks for references and makes sure they know about horses.”
“I don’t know anything. And I stole …” Chess swallowed. “Could I at least take him some grass?”
“You mean, pick him some?” Joni had picked grass for horses. It was crazy! What seemed like a huge handful disappeared down the horse’s throat in seconds, and then it wanted more. “Come meet him,” she said. “Talk to Kalysta!”
Kalysta would ask the same question. Pick him grass? How much grass do you have? Joni looked out at the broad fields across the road.
How much grass? Plenty. Plenty to carefully fatten a very thin horse, plenty left to make into hay and store in the barn for winter. Plenty to help start a hay bank, even …
Archie whinnied. He stood with his head high, staring up North Valley Road. Joni heard a muffled rattle and squeak.
A moment later, the minis trotted into view, brisk and bouncy. Their tiny ears swiveled, and their manes floated on the breeze they made. Over their front hooves, they wore bright slip-on boots. Kubota’s were orange, JD’s green and yellow.
Behind them, Mrs. Abernathy sat large and upright in the cart. She wore a straw hat with a wild turkey feather sticking up jauntily from the band. As she passed, she looked toward the kitchen window and lifted her whip to touch the brim of her hat. Then she turned her face toward the bridge. The wheels spun her around the corner out of sight.
