She pointed to the front left. I ran my fingers up and down his leg looking for lumps or bumps, heat or swelling. By now a small crowd had formed around the dun pony and the crying girl.
“Step back and give us some room,” I said.
They all took one or two paces back, their faces as pale and worried as Faith’s. It was everyone’s worst nightmare, that their horse would suddenly go lame before a big show. Only I couldn’t feel anything in Macaroni’s leg. No heat. No swelling. Nothing.
“Are you sure he was lame?” I asked her.
“He couldn’t walk at all,” she said.
“Okay then.” I stood up and brushed some dirt off my hands. “Walk him down the aisle and let’s see.”
The girls all backed against the stalls, clearing a space so that Faith could walk Macaroni out for me only the pony wouldn’t move. She pulled on his lead rope and clicked her tongue. The girls all started clapping their hands together, trying to encourage him on but the pony was having none of it. I wasn’t sure if he was really being stubborn or if he was actually in pain.
“Let me,” I said, taking the lead rope from Faith.
But despite my best efforts, the pony wouldn’t move for me either. I tugged on his rope and slapped the end of it against his rump but he just stood there looking at me like I was an idiot.
“Go and get a bucket of grain,” I told Faith.
She ran off and came back a few moments later with the bucket.
“Stand there and shake it,” I told her, pointing to a few feet in front of the pony.
She shook the grain and it rustled about. Macaroni picked his head up, suddenly all interested and a couple of the horses in the nearby stalls whinnied excitedly, thinking that it was feeding time. The pony took a few steps forward and I could see immediately that Faith was right. He could hardly put any weight on his foot.
“Oh Macaroni,” Faith sobbed, letting him stuff his head into the bucket as she started to cry again.
I reached down to feel his hoof and it was hot but the right one wasn’t. I breathed an inward sigh of relief that it wasn’t anything more serious.
“It is broken, isn’t it,” Faith said. “Well don’t you worry Macaroni,” she told the pony. “You can go to the vet hospital and get the best care and make the best recovery that all the cutting edge technology can provide and even if you’re lame forever, I’ll still love you and I’ll never get another pony.”
“Faith.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Chill. His leg isn’t broken. I think it’s an abscess. Get him back to his stall and I’ll have my dad come and look at him. He’ll probably need to see the farrier but usually these things work themselves out.”
“An abscess?” She blinked her teary eyes. “Not a broken bone?”
“No,” I said. “But just as painful for him. Abscesses suck.”
“What’s an abscess?” one of the other girls asked.
So I took the opportunity to teach them all about the wonders of pus and how it forms beneath the hoof capsule and has a hard time getting out. Half the girls seemed really interested and the others looked grossed out but I guess when you’re talking about pus, that’s just the way it goes. After all, not everyone is on board with that kind of stuff.
Dad came by and confirmed what I had suspected. Macaroni had an abscess and he wouldn’t be going to the show but Faith just seemed relieved that nothing was broken and after the way she had been wailing, so was I.
So I fetched a bucket of warm water which we tipped Epsom salts into. Then we tried to encourage Macaroni to stand there with his hoof in it, which was easier said than done. He splashed and fussed and kept picking his foot up until we had most of the water covering us.
“And to think,” Faith said, “I was all worried about him and now he’s just being a brat.”
I laughed as she scolded the pony and helped her pack his hoof and then wrap it with duct tape and a baby’s diaper.
“It’s a good job we already had these in the house,” I said.
We stood back and looked at the pony that had an even more unimpressed look on his face now that a diaper had been taped to his foot.
“I guess I won’t get to go to the Winter Wonderland show after all.” Faith sighed as we slid the door shut on Macaroni’s stall.
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “That’s just the way it goes sometimes.”
And I left her standing there moping to go and check on Socks and Bluebird because now I was nervous too.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Bluebird was fine. He was standing out in his paddock looking lonely and bored. I couldn’t even get him all bathed and ready for the show because he didn’t have a stall. At least at Sand Hill, Esther had let me put him in the barn before and after the shows. Here he was stuck in his paddock with nowhere else to go.
“I’ll check on you later,” I told him as I found a sticky mint in my pocket and gave it to him. “Try not to get into any trouble. Okay?”
I threw him an extra pile of hay to keep him occupied while I went to check on Socks. He had a stall so there wasn’t really much he could get into but Macaroni had been in his stall too. That didn’t stop horses from getting abscesses or other horrible things. But Socks was fine. I sat down outside his stall, heart beating madly in my chest.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Mickey came down the aisle with a bunch of clean horse laundry.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Don’t lie.” She sat down next to me. “Here, eat one of these, you look terrible.”
She handed me a cookie that was shaped like Santa and covered in colored sprinkles. I bit his head off.
“This is good,” I said.
“You should see my house. Mom is baking cookies and cakes and enough food to feed an army. She’s not even sure how many people are coming for Christmas dinner but I bet it’s a lot.”
“At least you’re having one,” I said. “We don’t even know if Missy will be home or not and if she’s still stuck in the hospital that means it will be him and me and whatever gross frozen meal we decide to stick in the microwave.”
“You could always order pizza,” she said. “Or go out for Chinese. Isn’t that what people are supposed to do if they don’t cook on Christmas?”
“Thanks a lot.”
“I’m kidding.” She looked at my downtrodden face and laughed. “Come to my house. You know you are always welcome.”
“And leave my dad home alone on Christmas day? Even though I’m still kind of mad at him, I’m not that mean.”
“If you come to mine then that means he is free to go and visit Missy without feeling guilty.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said.
“You know I am. Anyway, you shouldn’t even be thinking that far ahead. We have to get you through tomorrow first.”
“Really?” I said. “Because it seems like I have to get everyone else through it. No one seems to care that I’m riding too.”
“I do,” Mickey said. “And I’m here to get you through it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
To escape my babysitting duties I decided to ride both my horses. I hacked them on the flat, first Bluebird and then Socks. They both felt good beneath me, supple and eager to please. I almost would have preferred that they’d been a little naughty because in theatre they say that if you have a bad rehearsal then you’ll have a good show but then again maybe they just tell themselves that to feel better. And I knew that I would have felt a lot worse if my mounts had acted out because then I would have been extra nervous.
They both got baths and Mickey helped, which was a relief because getting two horses ready for a show felt like much more than twice the work. When they were all squeaky clean Socks got to go and stand in his stall while I took Bluebird out into the sunshine. I wasn’t going to risk turning him back out until every last hair on his body was dry because I knew the first thing he would do as soon as I let him loose would be to drop and roll.
> We wandered away from the barn and the noise and bustle of the people who were going to the show and those who weren’t but still had lessons or were just there to ride their horse. We found a quiet spot by some trees and I sat in the dying grass while Bluebird grazed. It was amazing that there was still green grass at all in December but it had been a mild winter so far and we’d had more than our fair share of rain. I wondered if Bluebird would even need his heavy blanket at all and then my mind drifted to thoughts of my mother. There had been snow in Wisconsin already. Had they been shoveling their driveway? Making a snowman together? I’d been friends with Cat on Facebook before they left but now she’d unfriended me so I couldn’t see if she’d posted any family pictures. Pictures that would show how she’d weaseled her way into the relationship I once had with my mom and shoved me out of the way.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed Mom’s number. I had to hear her voice. I had to know she was okay. Derek was a ticking time bomb. Without me there to pick on he’d no doubt find someone else to vent his aggressions on and that was going to be either Cat or my mother. I thought about how terrified I’d been the whole time that he lived with us and I didn’t want that for her. Why couldn’t she just have left him?
The phone rung and then someone answered. The line crackled and the voice sounded far away and under water. I couldn’t tell if it was my mother or not.
“Mom?” I said and then the line went dead.
I tried to call back but it clicked through to her voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. I wasn’t going to beg her to talk to me. Either she wanted to or she didn’t.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
That night I couldn’t sleep and when I did, I had nightmares that it was the morning of the show and it was raining. I kept getting up in the dark to look out my window just in case, even though the weather forecast had said that the day was supposed to be another sunny, hot one. I was dreaming that I was actually at the show and had forgotten to bring all my tack when my alarm went off. For a moment I couldn’t breathe, then I realized it wasn't sheer panic, it was just the fact that Meatball was sleeping on my chest. Since coming to Fox Run, the fat orange cat had mostly decided that he wasn’t a barn cat after all. He much preferred the luxury of a nice warm bed and food out of a can instead of a pile of hay and whatever rodents he could catch.
“What would Esther say if she saw you now?” I said as I pushed him off.
He landed with a plop on the floor and gave me a hurt look before walking off to the kitchen with his tail up to no doubt sit by his dish and yowl until I fed him.
Dad was already up, which was the beauty of living in a house with other horse people. He’d left out some toast and jam and a note that told me to remember to pack some lunch. Most people ate whatever greasy fast food was being served out of a food truck but we were operating on somewhat of a budget. Dad should have known that I’d always packed my own lunch because money had always been tight. At least he would have if he’d been around.
After all the nightmares, I went through my checklist twice but still forgot to pack my hair brush and a spare pair of breeches.
“I’ll get them,” Mickey said.
Just as she’d promised, her mom had dropped her off early to help. So while I made sure that all of dad’s students had all their stuff together, she made sure that I had mine.
“Thanks,” I said. “And can you make sure I put down food for Meatball. I can’t remember.”
She went off to our cottage shaking her head while I pulled Bluebird out of his paddock. I’d made him wear a fly sheet with a neck cover to try and keep him clean but it hadn’t worked. It looked as though he’d found just the right dirty spot to sleep in and since it was foggy and damp, the sand had stuck to the sheet and worked its way through the tiny holes and into his hair. I pulled it off and looked at him in disgust.
“I don’t have time to bathe you again,” I said. “What am I going to do?”
“He’s fine,” Dad said as he walked past. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll probably have time to bathe him again when we get there.”
But I looked over at Hashtag all gleaming in his stall and Socks, who had managed to stay clean as well and I was worried because I wanted to win the class on my pony and right now he looked like an embarrassment.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
We loaded up all the horses into the big Fox Run trailer, well the grooms did. I just stood back and watched the whole thing which was totally surreal. I kind of missed loading everything into Esther’s battered old trailer and wondering if we were going to get there in one piece. Stuffing all our belongings into her truck because the tack room in the trailer had a hole in the floor that was patched by pieces of plywood and we were never willing to risk having our saddles fall out on the road on the way to the show. It was pretty dangerous and I’d never felt safe until we got there but as I watched the horses walk into the giant rig with shipping boots and sheepskin halters protecting them, I knew that things like tack falling out the bottom of the trailer wasn’t something you would ever have to worry about at Fox Run.
“Got everything?” Dad said one last time.
“I hope so,” I said.
“Well whatever you forget, you can just do without,” he said.
“That was kind of mean,” Mickey said as he walked away.
“He’s worried about Missy,” I told her. “He had a phone call last night that she wasn’t doing very well. Her blood pressure shot up and they couldn’t get it down. He almost went to the hospital but she made him promise he wouldn't. She knows we have this big show today.”
“Do you think she is going to be okay?” Mickey said.
“I hope so.”
“But I mean, what if something happened to her? What would you and your dad do then?”
“Don’t even think it,” I said but it was too late.
The words were out there. The thought that if the absolute worst thing in the world happened, then Dad and I would be left to raise a baby on our own. We weren’t equipped to deal with something like that and I didn’t even want to have anything to do with raising a baby unless it was a baby horse.
“Sorry,” Mickey said. “I was just saying.”
“Well don’t say,” I snapped. “Don’t say anything unless it is to do with horses or the show and only then if it is something nice and helpful.”
“Alright,” she said. “I said I was sorry.”
But I had enough to worry about dealing with my dad, who was already going out of his mind with worry, and the show. I needed to win that spot in the Young Rider clinic. Time was slipping away. I was already fourteen. I needed to make my mark in the horse world and I needed to do it soon before other up and coming kids like Faith took my place.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
With my dad driving, I was actually able to sleep in the truck. I didn’t have to worry about things like Esther swerving off the road because the truck got a flat tire. Mickey nudged me awake when we got to the show and I opened my eyes to an actual winter wonderland. The organizers of the show had gone all out when it came to the Christmas spirit and the fact that there wasn't snow in Florida and it was going to be another eighty degree day hadn’t stopped them from spreading fake snow everywhere.
“The horses are going to freak out.” Dad shook his head. “Look at this mess.”
There were fluffy snow drifts by the ring and layers of snow stapled to the jump poles. Huge inflatable snowmen were standing by the jump standards, wavering about in the breeze and there was a life size mechanical Santa who was actually waving his arms.
“I don’t think Bluebird will care,” I said, feeling relieved. “What about Socks?”
“Hard to say,” Dad said. “Missy’s exposed him to a lot but this is enough to send any sane horse crazy.”
“I think it’s cool,” Mickey said.
“That’s because you’re not riding,” I told her.
“True.” She nodded. "Hampton wou
ldn't like it at all."
"Like it?" I said. "He'd go into orbit."
"I know," she said. "I was just trying to make you feel better like you told me to."
“That’s not helping either,” I said.
The Fox Run horses were always accompanied to the shows they went to by a groom and because this was a big show and there were a lot of students riding, Dad had brought two grooms. They hung onto the horses with gritted teeth as they came out of the trailer with bug eyes, taking in the Christmas nightmare they had been brought to.
“You’d better not do anything stupid,” I told Bluebird as I untied him. “If you promise to be good then I promise to get you a lifetime supply of carrots.”
But the horses were all feeding off each other and even if Bluebird wouldn’t have been scared on his own, he thought it was his horsey given right to act up because the other horses were. He snorted at a snow drift and tried to spin away when a golf cart covered in jingle bells zoomed by.
“Knock it off,” I told him.
“Just get him to his stall,” Dad said. “You can worry about showing him everything later.”
“I am trying to get him to his stall,” I said through gritted teeth.
We’d finally got all the horses safely unloaded and into their show stalls when Jess arrived.
“She’s going to freak out,” I said.
“Maybe she’ll decide to scratch,” Mickey said hopefully.
But I knew it would take more than some Christmas decorations to put Jess out of the running for the spot in the Young Rider clinic and her dad would never let her scratch anyway, not after she’d retired from the ring and messed Hashtag up. And I was right. I could hear them talking about it as they walked down the row of stalls, Mr. Eastford wearing a tweed jacket even though it was sweltering hot.
“You pull up in the middle of a class today and you’ll never ride again, you hear me?” he said.
Winter Wonderland (Show Jumping Dreams ~ Book 13) Page 10
