When she had pulled the cinch snug, Emma untied Camaro and walked around her, slapping the saddle and shaking the stirrup leathers to convince the mare that there was nothing to be afraid of. Then she tugged gently on the lead rope and led the mare into the center of the pen. She moved stiffly beneath the unfamiliar weight, but there was no sign of the explosion that Miss Dellfene had produced at this point. Emma talked softly, patting her neck and telling her “good girl” each time she did something correctly. Emma hadn’t realized she was tense until she felt her shoulders began to relax. Her father gazed into the distance where the cows were eating their morning hay on the hillside, an unconcerned look on his face.
“Okay, Emma, you’ve got this under control,” he said. “I’m going out and count calves. Just keep on with what you’re doing. All that time you’ve spent with her in the past is paying dividends now.” He strode toward his truck without a backward glance.
For the next half hour, Emma led Camaro around the pen, stopping to shake the saddle occasionally and checking to be sure the cinch was still tight. More experienced horses held their breath when the cinch was pulled tight and let it out later leaving the saddle loose, but Camaro hadn’t learned that trick yet. She changed directions often but nothing worried the mare, and she knew that it was best to quit when things were going well. Young horses, like young children, didn’t have a very long attention span. Before she pulled the saddle off, she put her left foot in the stirrup and applied a little weight to the side of the saddle. Camaro took a step to the right, but didn’t seem especially upset. It would have been so easy to swing into the saddle, but she knew her father wanted to be present the first time she got on.
“Good girl,” Emma said again, patting her fondly on the neck and scratching under her chin. She tied Camaro to the fence and loosened the cinch. The mare sighed with relief. After the saddle was off, Emma brushed along her back and behind her front legs, and combed her mane until all the tangles were out and the strange white top layer lay in feathery relief over the black. This was the way starting a young horse under saddle was supposed to work. She remembered watching her dad work through these steps over and over with two-year olds. Camaro might still pitch a little when she lunged her with the saddle on. It was natural for young horses to try to shake the saddle off. But after that they mostly accepted the inevitable. Why, she wondered, had it been so different with Miss Dellfene?
* * *
Kyle arrived right after lunch and had to wait while Emma and her mom cleared the table and washed the dishes, but shortly after 1:00 p.m. they were on their way to watch Miss Dellfene’s workout. John Brown had moved her to his training barn, a few miles down the road from Gary’s place. When they pulled into the lane, he was riding a paint horse in the arena with several Spanish goats. The paint, a gaudy overo, knew what he was supposed to do and performed with lazy confidence. John rode him very slowly among the goats until he had worked one away from the others. The goat trotted out to the middle of the arena, but the paint horse stopped just a few feet beyond the herd of goats. The goat in the middle looked around and realized he was all by himself. He turned and started to rush back to join the others. That’s when the action started. The paint horse lowered his head until it was eye level with the goat. He sat back on his haunches and, just as the goat started to rush past him, he whirled and leapt in front of it, blocking its way back to the others. When the goat turned to go the other way, the paint spun and blocked its path again. They went back and forth across the arena, the goat in a hesitant trot and the paint horse turning beside it just in time to block its return to the herd. Finally, the goat gave up in frustration and, turning away from the horse, trotted back to the center of the arena.
John touched the horse’s neck with his hand just in front of the saddle, and the paint immediately relaxed. He rode over to Emma’s parents and dismounted.
“He looks like he knows what he’s doing,” Emma’s dad commented. “Are you showing him this year?”
“Maybe,” John replied. “He still has some wrinkles to iron out. Let me tie him up somewhere and I’ll get your mare so you can watch her work.”
He led the paint horse out of the arena, and disappeared around the corner of the barn. The goats hurried over to the fence to see if Emma and her parents had any handouts.
When John returned with Miss Dellfene, she pricked her ears at the goats as though she was excited to see them.
“I’ll have to warm her up a little,” John told them, as he took her through the arena gate and stepped on.
Inside the arena, he walked and trotted her in small circles, then loped some figure eights. She had been practicing spins on her hind legs and was now so accomplished at it that she made the loose ends of the reins fly in the air as she whirled. The goats formed a huddle at the far end of the arena. When the mare was loosened up, John started her toward the group of goats in a slow walk. She tried to speed up, but he reined her in and made her stand still in the middle of the herd of goats for several minutes as they milled around her. At last, he reined her toward a red and white goat and walked the mare behind it until she got it away from the herd. As soon as the goat noticed that it was alone, it turned and tried to dive back into the herd, but Miss Dellfene turned in front of it and blocked it easily. The goat ran from one side of the arena to the other, and the mare seemed to dance in front of it. Her ears flipped back and forth constantly. Her movements were so graceful that Emma could not take her gaze off the horse. Miss Dellfene seemed to float across the ground; but what amazed Emma was that she appeared to love doing it. She could read the joy in every line of the mare’s supple body. The goat soon tired and stopped in the middle of the arena. Miss Dellfene stood in front of it, waiting anxiously for its next move. Her ears flipped back and forth impatiently. Suddenly, she began to tap her front feet on the ground, as though she were dancing in place. “Move, goat!” her feet seemed to say, and the goat, unsettled by the dancing feet, jumped to the left. She turned to block its escape easily. Then the outmatched goat gave up, turned around and ran to the back of the arena, bleating. John touched Miss Dellfene on the neck, the signal to “quit”. She stopped, but reluctantly, reminding Emma of a football player who has been ordered out of the game.
“I’m still giving her cues with my legs and the reins, but she’s catching on fast,” he told them. “Before long, I’ll need to have her practice with cattle. So far she’s making very good progress. If I can get her to do that little foot-tapping dance at the Futurity, the judges will love it. Are you willing to keep on with her training? You’ll have to pay the NCHA nomination fee soon.”
“I guess so,” Emma’s dad said, “although sometimes I question my own sanity. I haven’t watched enough cutting horses to have an expert opinion, but she sure looks good to me. She doesn’t seem like the same hard-headed horse we brought home from that sale a few months ago.”
“She still has her moments, but you’re right, she is good. To win the NCHA Futurity, though, she’s going to have to be great!”
The last few weeks of school dragged by as they usually do. In the bleachers one morning before school, Emma handed Katie some wadded up bills from her pocket.
“Will you do me a favor?” she asked. “My mom won’t let me wear make-up yet. I think I’m the only girl in high school who doesn’t own any make-up. That’s probably why Candi Haynes thinks I’m such a hillbilly. When you go to the store with your mom, would you get some for me? Please? I never get to go to a store without my mom along, and she’d throw a fit if I asked her to buy me make-up. I’d have to listen to a long lecture about painted women.”
“Candi Haynes isn’t messing with you because you don’t wear make-up,” Hannah said.
“I know,” Emma admitted. “But I am sort of a hillbilly. I just want to try some.”
“What kind of make-up do you want?” Katie asked.
“What kind do you wear?”
A little mascara and some blush,” Katie sai
d.
“Get some foundation, too,” Hannah suggested. “It covers up zits and stuff.”
Emma was so busy studying for semester tests that there was no time for riding or thinking much about the Futurity. Her mom took over some of her after-school chores so she had more time to study.
Candi Haynes increased her efforts to bug Emma, taking a detour in the cafeteria to pass by her table daily as if she was trying to get in some extra points before summer vacation when she would be deprived of her victim. Emma tried to get involved in conversation with Hannah and Katie when she saw her coming, but when Candi bumped against her back and called out, “Howdy Hayseed!” Emma turned around and glared fiercely at her. Their eyes met, and this time Emma refused to look away. Candi held her gaze for a few moments, walking backward so she could keep staring at Emma.
In one smooth, furtive movement, a large, male foot extended into the aisle between the tables. Candi tripped over it, stumbling against a row of boys. The foot disappeared under the table just as quickly as it had appeared. One of the boys caught Candi’s arm and kept her from falling on her butt, but as soon as she had recovered her balance, he turned around and picked up his fork again. Emma thought she heard a titter of light laughter, as Candi straightened up and sauntered out of the cafeteria. Emma watched her go. Maybe it was her imagination, but something seemed different about Candi. Her clothes weren’t perfectly ironed anymore, and today she wore her hair pinned back with a simple clip. It even looked a little stringy.
“You should tell the counselor she’s still messing with you,” Katie said angrily. “Somebody needs to pluck some of her feathers.”
“I know,” Emma said, “but it’s so close to the end of school. I keep hoping I can get through the rest of this year without making too big a fuss over it. At least she’s stopped writing on the bathroom walls and sticking horse butts on my locker.”
“Wow, that’s really nice of her,” Katie said sarcastically.
Mrs. Killen had never mentioned the locker incidents again, but Emma still had the wrinkled yellow pass stuck in one of the pockets of her backpack. Knowing it was there gave her courage.
Chapter Nine
Katie came through with the make-up one morning in the gym before school.
“How are you going to put it on if your mom won’t let you wear it?” she asked.
“Wait until you get to school and put it on in the bathroom,” Hannah suggested.
Emma hugged Katie and stuffed the bag of make-up in her purse. On the way to lunch she waited until the kids cleared out of the bathroom and then unscrewed the mascara brush. She liked the way it darkened her lashes and stroked on several layers. Before she knew it her eyelashes were stuck together in clumps and she had gotten some in her eye. When she tried to wipe it off, black smears appeared under her eyes. Even after several attempts to remove it with a wet paper towel she still looked a little like a raccoon.
“Great!” she muttered to her reflection in the mirror. “Now Candi Haynes will have another reason to laugh at you.”
After school, she hurried down to the pens to ride with Kyle.
“Have you taken up boxing?” Kyle asked, taking a long look at her as she reached for a halter.
“No. Why?” Emma asked.
“Your eyes are black.”
“Oh!” Emma gasped, covering her eyes. She had forgotten all about her new raccoon look. “It’s mascara,” she admitted. “I guess I need some lessons in putting it on.”
“You look fine without it, Samantha,” Kyle said. “You don’t need to paint yourself up. It might be a good idea if you went up to the house and washed it off before your mom gets home.”
* * *
Semester tests were scheduled for the first three days of the last week of school. Emma noticed during the testing that Candi Haynes was conspicuously absent. Even Hannah and Katie commented on the peaceful atmosphere that prevailed without Candi around. Her friends at the snobby table in the cafeteria were unusually quiet; without their leader they seemed unable to generate any rude remarks.
On the last day of school Hannah grabbed Emma’s arm in the hall between classes and dragged her into the restroom.
“You won’t believe this,” she whispered, bending down to look under the stalls to see if anyone was close enough to hear. “Barbara said that Candi Haynes’ father has been arrested and charged with child abuse. His picture was in the newspaper this morning. That’s why Candi hasn’t been here for the last few days.”
“Oh, my God,” Emma said. “What did he do?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah said. “Barbara didn’t know, either. I guess he abused a child, but Barbara didn’t know what child. I can’t wait to get home and read the paper.”
Emma was relieved that she wouldn’t have to worry about being teased anymore, but she had a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach when she tried to imagine what was going on at the Haynes’ house. The story made her wonder about Candi’s caked-on makeup and wrinkled clothes.
The rest of the day dragged on as each class passed back exams and played games or watched movies. Emma was happy with her test scores, although she was two points below an A in Algebra. Relieved that tests were over, she was anxious to have this school year behind her. Next year she wouldn’t be a lowly freshman anymore. She remembered that when she started high school, the upperclassmen seemed mature and worldly. She sure didn’t feel very mature and worldly yet.
The day ended amid shouts of joy and tears of farewell. Emma hurried to the bus, dodging the flying notebooks and papers in the schoolyard. The kids on the bus were having a raucous celebration and the trip home seemed to take forever. She was one of the last students to be dropped off since she lived near the end of the bus route.
Emma’s mom had made it home from work before the bus arrived and was starting to put together the evening meal. Her Elvis Presley album was playing softly on the stereo, a daily event since Elvis had been found dead in his bathroom.
“How does it feel to be free at last?” she asked.
“Great,” Emma said.
“Why aren’t you dancing for joy then? Did one of your tests give you trouble?”
“No, it’s not that. I found out today why Candi Haynes missed the last few days of school.”
“She came down with a chronic case of meanness?” her mom guessed.
“Her dad got arrested. For child abuse. It’s in the paper.”
“Good Lord,” Emma’s mom said, putting down the potato peeler. “Let’s get the paper and have a look.”
The story was in the local news section. Local Businessman Arrested for Child Abuse the headline read. Above the article was a picture of a well-dressed man with vacant eyes. The story was short and offered few details. It said that William T. Haynes had been indicted by the grand jury for assault on his wife and abuse of his fifteen and ten year-old daughters. He would appear before a judge the next day and bail would be set.
Emma’s spine prickled. Darla, the girl Emma and her father had found in the woods, must really be Candi Haynes little sister. The red sock flashed through her mind again and the angry purple bruises on Darla’s face.
“Candi must not know that Dad and I found her sister in the woods. She sure hasn’t ever said a word to me about it.”
“She wouldn’t have had a way of knowing,” Emma’s mother said. “Your dad asked that your name be kept out of the paper and news reports when it happened. He thought it was best that reporters not approach you for interviews. They can be so intrusive. And I agreed with him. Besides, there were some strange aspects of that case that puzzled your father. The doctors thought that the bruises on Darla’s face might have happened before she ran away. We just didn’t want you involved.”
“That’s unbelievable,” Emma’s father said when he got home from work. “Bill Haynes owns a car dealership and makes lots of money. But I guess money doesn’t have much to do with that sort of thing.”
“No,” Emma’s mom ag
reed, “but it might explain why Candi picks on other kids.”
“Man, I wanted bad things to happen to Candi, but I wouldn’t have wished this on her,” Emma said.
* * *
The arrival of summer vacation provided time in the early mornings for Emma to work with Camaro before the heat of a Texas summer day settled in. Most mornings she saddled the big buckskin and took her into the arena where there was more room to get the kinks out. The first time Emma started her trotting in a large circle with the saddle on Camaro tossed her head playfully and tried a couple of experimental crow-hops. Emma clucked to her and kept her moving. Her father had helped her rig up a flag on the end of a flexible pole, which has actually an old fly-fishing rod. Without the line and reel and with a small triangular plastic flag attached to the end, it was easier to keep the mare, which was intrinsically lazy, moving out. She flicked it in the direction of the mare’s haunches when she began to run out of steam and it worked perfectly without resorting to punishment.
Emma practiced voice commands until Camaro understood “whoa” completely. The success of the first few rides, when Camaro would feel the unfamiliar pull of the bit in her mouth, would depend on this ingrained knowledge. She walked, trotted and cantered on the lunge line going in both directions, but Emma could soon tell that her favorite command was “whoa.” Camaro’s body type was completely different from Miss Dellfene’s. Her square shape and heavier frame didn’t allow quite the same grace as Miss Dellfene’s fluid movements, and Emma wondered if Camaro’s trot would be rough to ride. She ached to find out and was sorely tempted to swing aboard, but her promise to her father forbade it. While her parents were at work and she was home alone during summer days, Emma was forbidden to ride, but groundwork was allowed.
Emma and the Cutting Horse Page 7
