Horse Spy

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Right,” Ellen agreed. “Look at her now!” Ellen was seated in Blue’s saddle and had the horse facing away from the stable. Except that the horse’s head was turned almost completely around and she was gazing longingly at the stable door!

  “I think she’s trying to tell you something,” said Carole.

  “And her message is loud and clear,” said Ellen as she dismounted. The girls all laughed together and then agreed that perhaps Blue had a good idea. It was time for a rest, and The Saddle Club could help.

  Carole took Blue’s bridle and led her toward the stable. Before she got in the door, two cars pulled into Pine Hollow’s driveway. One was the big, shiny, dark-windowed SUV the girls had seen the day the horses arrived. It would be Mrs. Walker with her friend who lived nearby. The other was a rented sedan. Mrs. Hatfield stepped out of the driver’s seat and glared impolitely at Mrs. Walker, who was climbing out of the passenger seat of the SUV.

  “Ready to go, Lucy?” Mrs. Hatfield called out before Mrs. Walker had a chance to do the same.

  “Let’s leave!” said Mrs. Walker, cutting through the amenities.

  “In a minute, Mom,” Lucy answered.

  “Have to look after Blue,” said Ellen.

  The girls hurried into the sanctuary of the stable with their horses.

  “We can look after these guys,” said Carole.

  “No, it’s okay. We can help.”

  And they did. It didn’t take the five of them much time to look after the two horses. The odd thing, Carole thought, was how the whole mood had changed the minute the mothers had showed up.

  “Is it always like that?” Stevie asked.

  “They don’t like each other,” said Lucy.

  “But you two like each other, don’t you?” asked Lisa.

  “Well, we’ve been competing against each other for a long time,” Lucy said.

  “And who usually wins?” Stevie asked.

  “She does.”

  Both girls had answered at exactly the same time and pointed at each other. Stevie started to laugh because it was funny that each seemed to think the other was more successful, but then she realized maybe it wasn’t funny. The girls clearly did like one another, but there was an edge, a part of each of them that recognized the friend as a competitor, or perhaps the competitor as a friend. Their competitiveness didn’t have the same icy quality that was apparent between the mothers, but it seemed their friendship wasn’t as close as each of them would like to believe.

  “Come on, let’s get these horses cleaned up and give them the rest they’ve so clearly earned,” Carole said, breaking the moment of silence that Ellen and Lucy had produced.

  Ten minutes later, the horses were groomed and fed and Ellen and Lucy had gone with their mothers. The women had sat in their separate cars in air-conditioned isolation, not saying a word to each other or to Max. Nobody had suggested to either of them that they do anything different.

  When they’d gone, Lisa, Stevie, and Carole finished up the few chores that were left: They dusted off the saddles, straightening out the leathers so that there were no twists in them as they hung, and they brought a fresh flake of hay to each horse.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Lisa said as the three of them sat in the locker area when they were finished.

  “The girls really like one another,” Stevie said. “I’m sure of it.”

  “They’ve got so much in common,” said Carole.

  “Right, they both own expensive horses and they train at the same stable, and they’re serious riders, and they compete against each other …,” Lisa observed.

  “And their mothers hate each other,” Stevie added.

  “And each other’s daughter,” said Lisa.

  “And their horses!” Carole said. “How could anybody hate a horse?”

  She was still shaking her head in incomprehension when they went to report to Mrs. Reg that everything had been done.

  “Did you catch the mother act?” Stevie asked, referring to the bizarre behavior of the two adults while they were in the parking area.

  “You know,” said Mrs. Reg, without answering Stevie’s question, “I remember a little boy from a long time ago.”

  The girls exchanged glances. Mrs. Reg had a way of launching into an old tale at the oddest time and in the oddest way. They never knew what the story was going to be, and often, when it was done, they never knew why it had been told. But they always knew that when Mrs. Reg had a story to tell, it was probably worth listening to. The girls perched on the chairs and benches in her office and listened.

  “He had this pony he loved a lot. Sweet pony, he was. In fact, he was named Sweet William after the wildflower, but the boy called him Billy. Can’t remember the boy’s name. That pony had the sweetest, kindest disposition you ever knew—as long as that little boy was there. He’d do anything the boy asked. He never balked, never kicked, never bucked—as long as that little boy was there. But he was impossible when the boy wasn’t there. He could barely be led on a line. He’d kick anyone who tried to clean out his hoof, and he’d bite anyone who tried to put a saddle on him. Impossible. That’s what he was. But the boy never saw it. Can’t blame him, really. The pony always knew whenever the little boy was around and behaved perfectly. It was only when he wasn’t nearby so the little boy never witnessed, and never believed, what everybody else always told him—that Billy was a bad pony.

  “Then, one day, the little boy got too big for Billy. He just grew too large to ride the pony, and though they were devoted to one another, the boy had to sell him. It wasn’t easy for that little boy, but he did it. A nice family with a nice little girl, just the right size for Billy, came by. The little girl rode Billy and fell in love with Sweet William—she called him by his whole name. And sweet he was, until they got him home.

  “That was when the new owners saw what the little boy never had seen. Billy kicked, bit, and bucked. He chewed on his stall door, kicked his manger off the stall wall, and even butted the family dog.”

  Mrs. Reg stopped talking. That was the way her stories usually seemed to end—right in the middle. That was one of the other strange things about Mrs. Reg’s stories. Carole stood up, ready to leave and figure out exactly what Mrs. Reg thought she was saying. Lisa wasn’t ready to give up, though.

  “So what happened?” she asked.

  Mrs. Reg looked puzzled, as if she didn’t understand why anybody would be asking a question about what she’d said. She shrugged. “Well, the little girl wanted to retrain Billy, but her parents sued, of course,” she said. “And they won.”

  She picked up her phone book, checked a number in it, and then lifted the phone from its cradle to make a call. The story was definitely over now. It was time to leave.

  “ISN’T IT HEAVENLY to be able to sleep so late?” Stevie said, stretching and yawning.

  “It’s not late,” said Carole. “It’s seven-thirty.”

  “Yeah, but every day this week by this time, we’ve already been up for an hour and a half and at the stable for an hour,” Lisa reminded her.

  Carole stretched and yawned, too. “I feel soooooo lazy!” she declared.

  “That’s what Saturdays are for,” said Stevie.

  “Right—well, we’d better get moving or we’ll be late for Horse Wise,” Lisa said. Horse Wise was the name of their Pony Club, and it met every Saturday at Pine Hollow. Today was going to be an unmounted meeting; after that they usually had a riding class. Since Ellen and Lucy were at the stable that weekend, nobody was sure what was on the agenda, but the girls knew it would be something about horses, and that was good enough to get them up and out of bed.

  Forty-five minutes later, they were walking over to Pine Hollow, each carrying a brown bag with a sandwich, some cookies, and some fruit for lunch. One of the wonderful things about Saturdays was that it meant being at the stable and around horses almost all day.

  Today’s meeting turned out to be mostly about competitive riding. Lucy and Elle
n were there with Max to talk about their experiences. Lucy talked about the precision required to be successful in dressage competitions, and Ellen spoke about how much she and Blue loved to jump together.

  “I know this sounds weird, but when we’re really working right together,” Ellen said, “it’s hard for me to tell where I end and where my horse begins. People say that a horse and rider look like one when it’s going well, but I can tell you that it doesn’t just look that way, it feels that way, too.”

  Lucy nodded. “It may even be truer in dressage,” she said.

  “Maybe,” said Ellen. “But maybe it’s true for you in dressage and true for me in jumping.”

  “I guess,” Lucy said.

  Once again Stevie felt the ever so slight edge of competition between the girls and understood that perhaps it was one of the things that made each so good at her own specialty. And then Stevie’s eyes moved over to the mothers. Mrs. Walker and Mrs. Hatfield were standing near each other at the side of the schooling ring. Mrs. Hatfield was staring intently at her own daughter, her lips in a stern, straight line. Mrs. Walker was glaring at Lucy, barely able to hide her contempt. It was a stark contrast to the relatively friendly manner between the girls.

  It made Stevie, and everybody else who noticed, quite uncomfortable, and nobody was really disappointed when Max adjourned the meeting early. He also canceled their riding class, explaining that he had to work with Lucy and Ellen. Red would conduct a flat class for any beginner students who wanted to participate.

  Lisa, Stevie, and Carole had another idea. They’d had a lot of lessons that week, and they were good and ready for a nice trail ride. They’d bring their sandwiches and have a horseback picnic—something they didn’t have anywhere near enough opportunities to do. In fact, any one of them would have acknowledged that if they’d been able to do it every single day, it wouldn’t have seemed like enough opportunities.

  “Meet you by the good-luck horseshoe in ten minutes,” Stevie said. She didn’t have to explain.

  Carole was tightening Starlight’s girth when Frieda appeared. Carole was a little surprised to see her. She hadn’t realized Frieda was around, and with both Max and Red busy with teaching duties, Frieda wouldn’t be able to have a lesson.

  “Are you taking the class?” Frieda asked.

  “Uh, no,” Carole said. “It’s for beginners—not that I can’t always use work on my basics, I mean. But Lisa, Stevie, and I are going on a trail ride.”

  “Trails? You mean not just in a circle?” Frieda asked, a smile coming across her face.

  “In the woods,” Carole said.

  Frieda hesitated. “Um, it sounds so wonderful,” she began. “Would it be okay if I came along? I mean, would Max and Mrs. Reg let me?”

  It wasn’t what Carole had in mind, but Frieda seemed so excited by the idea that she hated to disappoint her. Also, the woman had taken so many lessons over the last week or so that she was surely ready for a bit more fun.

  “You can ask,” Carole said. “We’re taking sandwiches for a picnic, too.”

  “Great!” said Frieda. “I brought my lunch along. I even have extra brownies. Would you like some?”

  “Let’s go talk to Mrs. Reg,” Carole said.

  It didn’t take long. Mrs. Reg said she was sure Frieda was ready for a trail ride and assured Frieda that the trio of girls would look after her.

  “And teach me, too,” said Frieda.

  “Well, they’ll teach you some things,” said Mrs. Reg wryly. “But I’m not sure I want you to learn everything from them.…”

  “We’ll be good,” Carole promised.

  “Okay, then,” Mrs. Reg agreed. “I think Frieda should ride Patch.”

  “Just what I was going to suggest,” Carole said.

  It took more than the ten minutes Stevie had challenged them too, but Carole was sure her friends would be as flattered by Mrs. Reg’s confidence as she was and that they’d enjoy Frieda’s company. Patch was as familiar with the trails as their own horses were. Nothing could go wrong.

  It felt a little odd to all three of the girls to have an adult along on the ride—especially one who had so much to learn from them.

  “Make sure you keep your heels down,” Lisa said.

  “And in,” Stevie added.

  “If your toes are pointed to the ground, it messes up your balance and control,” Carole explained.

  Frieda followed their instructions.

  Carole also helped her adjust the reins so that they weren’t flapping around.

  “See, if you don’t have them tighter, then when you go to give the horse a signal, you’re going to end up yanking them back up to your shoulders. You should be able to give a signal by moving your fingers ever so slightly.”

  “Like this?”

  Carole looked. Frieda had the reins so short that poor Patch’s head was practically pinned to his neck.

  “No, looser,” Carole said. Frieda let the reins out until Carole told her to stop. “Good,” Carole said, wondering quickly how someone could have forgotten as much as Frieda apparently had since her last lesson. She’d looked good in the ring on Thursday. Carole was beginning to doubt Mrs. Reg’s judgment.

  But then Frieda seemed to have gotten the idea and didn’t need a lot more correcting. Pretty soon everybody relaxed and began talking. The girls told Frieda some of what they’d learned at the meeting that morning.

  “You wouldn’t believe all the equipment you have to take to a show!” Lisa said, and began enumerating.

  “It’s really a big deal,” Stevie agreed.

  “And all the beautiful tack!” said Carole.

  “And all the beautiful clothes!” said Lisa.

  “The field is open here—can we trot now?” asked Stevie.

  “Definitely,” Carole said. She signaled Starlight to trot and began posting to his smooth two-beated gait. Lisa and Stevie did the same. Frieda, Carole was pleased to see, followed right along. At least she remembered how to post!

  “Very good,” Carole said when they slowed down again.

  “It’s because you’re such good instructors,” said Frieda. Carole smiled.

  Stevie led the group through the woods, up the curvy trail that cut along the side of the gently sloping hill through an open meadow. It was a well-known route—the girls’ favorite. They knew where they were going, and Stevie found herself thinking about how nice it would be to share their favorite trail ride and picnic spot with Frieda. If Frieda was going to learn about trail riding from them, she might as well learn about the best kind of trail riding.

  There it was, up ahead on the right. Stevie barely had to give Belle a signal. Belle knew where they were going, too. She turned into the clearing and stopped automatically in the spot where the girls always secured their horses when they visited the creek.

  They all dismounted. Carole showed Frieda how to clip on a lead rope and secure Patch to a tree branch.

  “Unless it’s an emergency, you never use the reins to tie a horse,” Carole explained. “It’s bad for the leather and can make the bit very uncomfortable.”

  “She’s a natural teacher,” Frieda told Lisa and Stevie.

  “Just try to stop her!” Stevie teased. “Now, where’s the grub?”

  Lisa handed her the backpack with their lunches in it.

  The four of them headed for the rock the girls knew so well, shedding their boots and socks as they walked.

  By the time all four of them had their feet dangling in the water, Stevie had doled out the lunches, hefting Frieda’s brownie-filled one expectantly.

  “Are there a lot of paths around here?” Frieda asked.

  “You bet,” said Stevie. “They’re all over the place. This is just our favorite.”

  “There’s one through the piney woods,” said Lisa. “It smells wonderful on a summer day.”

  “And there’s the crooked trail,” said Carole. “It goes on the other side of the hill—we could have taken it at the split by th
e big rock, but it twists so much that it’s almost no fun.”

  “Are there others?”

  “Lots,” Stevie assured her. “Most of them eventually circle back to Pine Hollow.”

  “But not all, right?”

  “No, there’s the Rocky Trail. That ends up down by the highway. We never go on it, though, because you have to double back—and it’s dangerous, anyway. People get lost on it.”

  “But doesn’t everybody know the trails?”

  “Not everybody rides them as much as we do,” Carole explained.

  “And the dummies who don’t ride often sometimes forget to pick up a map.”

  “There are maps?”

  “In Mrs. Reg’s office,” Carole said.

  “Have you got a map?”

  “Not with us, but don’t worry,” said Stevie. “You’re with us and we know exactly where we are, how we got here, and how we’re going back.”

  “I know that,” said Frieda. “I was just curious.”

  “Well, ask Mrs. Reg for a map when we get back. She’s got stacks of them.”

  “I will,” said Frieda. “But I was thinking about that president’s daughter. Like, what if you got lost when you were riding out here with her?”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” said Carole. “We were talking about it last night, and none of us can think of a reason in the world to take anything but our favorite trail when we’re riding with Karya.”

  “And besides, with all those men in black following our every move, I think it would be impossible for us to get lost even on our least favorite trail. There will probably be bloodhounds sniffing all over the place,” Lisa joked.

  “Sounds complicated,” said Frieda.

  “It is for them,” Stevie agreed. “They have to plan all kinds of things to make sure we know where we are.”

  “And besides, they’ve checked everything out already,” Lisa said. “In fact, I think they were doing background checks on all the horses.”

  “Like they’re going to find out about Belle’s criminal record?”

  “Better hers than yours!” Lisa teased.