“What about Angie’s friend, the blond girl we met that time at Christmas?” Alex asked.
“Who? Oh, you mean the one who does ballet?” Chad asked.
“Yeah.”
“No problem. She liked me that time we visited them before.”
“I don’t know … I thought she liked me.”
“You guys? How does ‘I’ve Been Working on the Railroad’ go again?” Michael interrupted.
“Why would she like you?” Chad asked. “I’m older.”
“So? What does age have to do with it?”
“You guys! Will you tell me the tune?” Michael demanded. “I can’t remember it. I just know, ‘Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah,’ and then I get all messed up.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Stevie sat up in her seat. She opened her eyes and glared until she had her brothers’ attention. “Did it ever occur to the three of you that I just might be trying to sleep?” she asked, her voice saccharine.
Chad, Alex, and Michael paused for a millisecond. “No,” Alex said. They all burst out laughing.
With a supreme effort, Stevie managed to restrain herself from attacking them with her train pillow. “Ha-ha, aren’t you funny, Alex,” she said. “I wish I could be that amusing.”
“Maybe you could be if you didn’t spend eight days a week up to your elbows in horse manure,” Alex retorted.
Pretending not to hear, Stevie clamped the pillow over her ears and pressed her head back against the seat. She glanced at her watch: two long hours to go. What could she do to distract herself for two hours?
I know, Stevie thought suddenly, I’ll think—really think—about what to do about Samson. That could take days, it was such a challenging case. If she thought of anything, maybe she could call Carole and Lisa from her cousin’s. Or better yet, maybe Angie would even have a suggestion on how to solve the problem. For it had become a problem. Even though The Saddle Club had been working patiently, the colt was no closer to accepting the strange swinging objects than he had been the first time. It was if something snapped in his brain whenever the stirrups came out of the tack room.
Every lesson had gone about the same. First they would walk Samson to relax him. Then they would put the saddle on, hoping for the best. But as soon as the colt was tacked up, whether they had walked him for five minutes beforehand or for almost an hour, he would start to act up. It had gotten to the point where he started dancing around the minute he saw the saddle. The worst thing, Stevie knew, was that she and Lisa and Carole weren’t sure how to react. It was hard to know how to discipline a horse from the ground. They were used to riding horses that played around, but that didn’t seem to be helping.
Still, Stevie hadn’t said anything to her friends, mainly because after a bad session with Samson, Carole always looked so dismayed that Stevie didn’t have the heart to rub it in. She knew how much it meant to Carole to be the one to train Cobalt’s son, and she didn’t want to be pessimistic. Besides, there was no doubt in her mind that the three of them could do the job. It just might take a little time.
Brooding about Samson, Stevie didn’t notice the miles rushing by. Before she knew it, her parents were on their feet telling her and the boys to collect their luggage and prepare to get off the train because it was pulling into Union Station in Philadelphia. Stevie’s aunt and uncle lived just over the Pennsylvania border in New Jersey.
“Do we have time to run to the snack car one more time?” Alex asked.
“Absolutely not,” said Mrs. Lake. “You’ve eaten enough junk between D.C. and here to pollute a small swamp. Now, shake a leg—the train is fifteen minutes behind schedule, and Uncle Chester and Aunt Lila will be waiting.”
“Hold on! Wait for me—I can’t carry all my stuff!” Michael exclaimed.
“What on earth did you pack?” Mr. Lake demanded, grabbing his youngest son’s two huge suitcases.
“Just a few things to make me feel at home. My Nintendo Game Boys, my two soldier collections, my stuffed dog …”
Stevie smiled. Family vacations were so predictable that, once in a while, it was almost comforting.
The Lakes had barely set foot inside Union Station when they heard their names being called. Uncle Chester, Aunt Lila, and their daughter Angie descended upon them, arms outstretched. Uncle Chester and Stevie’s father were brothers. They looked a lot alike except for the fact that Uncle Chester was a little older and had a handlebar mustache. The two men clapped each other on the back while the kids and the mothers greeted one another.
“Angie!”
“Stevie!” The two girls hugged enthusiastically. Then Angie turned to say hi to the boys. Suddenly Stevie noticed that her cousin looked different. Instead of the tomboy Stevie remembered, Angie was stylishly dressed in a short wool skirt and V-neck sweater. She was wearing lipstick, pearl earrings, and a gold headband to hold back her long blond hair.
“Stevie, great to have you here!” Stevie’s uncle enveloped her in a bear hug.
Talking a million miles an hour, the two families headed to the lot where the New Jersey Lakes’ van was parked. Angie and Stevie fell into step together.
“How’s Sparkles?” Stevie asked right away. Sparkles was the nickname of Angie’s horse, a well-built palomino whose show name was Spark of Genius. He was talented over fences, and Angie had done well with him in junior jumper classes.
“He’s fine—same as always,” Angie answered briefly. Then she smiled. “I’m so glad you could make it down for the weekend, Stevie. My party is going to be incredible. Did you know we’re having it catered? The food is going to be great—hors d’oeuvres, a buffet supper, and a super-fancy cake for dessert. And we’re getting the most gorgeous flowers—not just plain bouquets but special arrangements. The best florist in Philadelphia is doing them.”
Stevie nodded absently. Of course the party would be fun, but she could hardly wait to get out to the barn and see the horses. She was planning on taking at least one ride a day with Angie. “So how many horses do you have now? Bones and Birdie are still around, right?” Stevie asked, referring to the Lakes’ two hunters. Bones was older and had been semiretired for a few years.
“Oh, sure,” Angie said offhandedly. “We’ll never get rid of those two.”
Stevie was about to ask where Angie wanted to ride first when her cousin gave a little cry of excitement. “I almost forgot! You know what else?” Angie asked.
Stevie shook her head.
Angie beamed. “There’s going to be a really cool band from my school. It’s a bunch of guys I know. They played at one of my friends’ sweet sixteen parties, and they were amazing.”
Overhearing, Chad turned to the girls. “Yeah? What kind of music do they play?”
“Everything!” Angie replied. She and Chad began to compare notes on the music and bands they liked. Only half listening, Stevie found her mind straying from the conversation.
“So, isn’t that going to be great?” Angie said finally.
It took Stevie a minute to realize that her cousin was addressing her. “Yeah, it sounds fun,” she answered, hoping that she sounded more enthusiastic than she felt. Somehow Stevie wasn’t all that impressed by the party details. But Angie seemed so excited that the only thing Stevie could do was to try to act excited, too.
It was strange, though. In the past, the girls had spent hours riding and fussing over Sparkles, Bones, and Birdie. Now Angie seemed too preoccupied with the party even to talk about the horses.
Stevie decided to have another try. A couple of years ago, the thing Angie had wanted most of all was to compete successfully on the “A” circuit, the highest level of horse showing. Her parents had bought Sparkles, an experienced show horse, to help her accomplish that goal. Stevie vividly remembered Angie vowing to be one of the top junior jumper riders on the east coast by the time she was sixteen. And that was only two days away. “Angie,” Stevie began tentatively, “how did you and Sparkles do last season on the show circuit?”
/> Angie looked surprised by the question. “I haven’t been showing him all that much,” she replied.
“Really?” Stevie repeated. “But I thought you were planning to—”
Angie interrupted with a loud laugh. “Planning to go all the way to the American Horse Show, right? I remember. Boy, that seems like a long time ago.” With that, Angie once again abruptly changed the subject back to her party. She started to tell Stevie about her choice of dresses: green velvet or black silk.
When the two families reached the van, they all piled in, and Uncle Chester headed for the bridge to New Jersey. Squeezed between Angie and her mother, Stevie resigned herself to listening to more party clothing details. Every few minutes she murmured “Really?” or “Wow” to be polite, although it was hard to feign interest about which shoes would match which dress.
Stevie was surprised that Angie wasn’t showing. Sparkles was such a good jumper that he belonged in the show ring. Using him as a pleasure horse was a waste of his talent. Stevie decided to ask Angie about it when they went riding. For now, she could hardly get a word in edgewise.
When they got to the house, Angie showed Stevie to the room she would be staying in. It was a guest room on the second floor, right next to Angie’s. “Oh, good—this means I can sneak into your room so we can talk till all hours,” Stevie said.
Angie nodded, but she didn’t seem thrilled by the prospect. “We can’t stay up too late, Stevie. I don’t want to look all tired for the party, you know.”
If her cousin’s face had not been so serious, Stevie would have burst out laughing. That was a new one: Angie Lake needing her beauty rest.
“This is really a big-deal party, huh?” Stevie asked.
Angie’s face lit up. “It really is. Mom and I have been planning for months.”
Stevie dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, and sprawled on one of the beds. Angie perched carefully on the other one, smoothing her skirt down over her legs. “How’s school, Stevie?” Angie inquired.
“Boring, dull, boring, and dull,” Stevie replied cheerfully. “How about for you?” One thing she and Angie had always agreed on was that school took way too much time away from riding.
“It’s great,” Angie said. “All my friends and I have so much fun, you wouldn’t believe it.” With that, the older girl stood up and walked over to check her hair in the bedroom mirror.
Stevie sighed. No, I probably wouldn’t, she thought.
“MEET YOU IN the tack room?” Lisa asked.
Carole nodded. “Right. I want to oil those bridles we cleaned yesterday,” she said. The two girls had just finished another frustrating training session with Samson. But even though she was dejected, Carole was determined to maintain a positive attitude. One way to do that was to help out at Pine Hollow the way she always did. Right now she felt like crawling home and collapsing on her bed. Instead, she would oil some tack and try to work herself out of her funk.
Samson was cross tied in the main aisle, and Carole gave him a pat on the neck before leading him back to his stall. By patting him and praising him, Carole made sure that she wasn’t holding a grudge against Samson just because things weren’t going well. “I know it’s not your fault, Samson,” Carole murmured, inside the stall. “But can’t you just tell me why you don’t like stirrups? They’re not that bad, you know. Just a couple of pieces of iron. If you don’t get used to them, how are you going to become a nice pleasure horse like your mother?”
Samson arched his neck prettily and blew through his nostrils. “All the good looks in the world aren’t going to get you anywhere if nobody can ride you,” Carole informed him. Reluctantly, she gave the colt a final pat and closed and bolted his stall door.
“I’d say today went a little better,” Lisa said as Carole joined her in the tack room.
“You really think so?” Carole asked anxiously.
“Yes. He seemed more under control.”
Carole smiled. “Spoken like a true friend, Lisa.”
“No, I mean it. He was wilder yesterday.”
Carole sat down beside Lisa and picked up a pair of reins to oil. In one sense, Lisa was right. Samson had been calmer today. But Carole thought that that was just a fluke. Maybe he had run around more in the pasture and had less energy. The fact was the colt wasn’t responding to their training. Every time they put the saddle on him, he acted as if the whole thing was a big game. A couple of times he had practically run right over whoever was leading him.
“What do you think our next step should be?” Carole asked.
“I was thinking about that. Obviously we can’t go on the way we have been … unless we want him to learn some very bad habits.” Lisa paused to see how Carole would react to what she was saying.
“I agree,” Carole said, her face serious.
“Okay, then,” Lisa continued, “we have to do what we always do when something isn’t working: change tactics. I thought maybe we could put one stirrup on the saddle, and someone could walk alongside him holding the stirrup in place so it wouldn’t bang against his side. Then slowly we could stop holding it and see what he does.”
“Okay, and then next week when Stevie’s back, we could try both stirrups,” Carole said.
As they worked oil into sets of reins, nosebands, and cheek straps, the girls brainstormed on other ways to get past Samson’s problem with the stirrups. Both of them were optimistic that something would work soon. “But even if it takes a while, it doesn’t matter. We have as much time as we need. We could even put the stirrups aside for a few weeks and see if Samson forgets about not liking them,” Lisa pointed out.
Carole nodded. “I keep forgetting that, but you’re right. We don’t need to rush him at all.”
The tack room door swung open and Max stepped inside. “I thought I heard voices, and I’m glad to see that the voices belong to tack cleaners,” Max said approvingly. “But wait … where’s the third musketeer?”
Like everyone else at Pine Hollow, Max was so accustomed to seeing The Saddle Club together that he always noticed when one of the girls was missing.
“She’s visiting relatives in New Jersey,” Carole explained.
“I see. So the two of you are doing the work of three, hmm?” Max inquired.
“Naturally,” said Lisa, without missing a beat. “We both rode, we took Belle out for a walk, we worked with Samson, and now we’re oiling one and a half times our normal number of bridles.”
Max grinned. “Just what I wanted to hear. I’m taking a few of the adult students to a dressage show this weekend, and I’m not sure they understand the meaning of the word ‘preparation.’ I haven’t seen any of them cleaning tack yet.”
The girls laughed. They were glad to help Max out in a pinch.
“Oh, and I’m glad you mentioned Samson,” Max continued. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’ve decided to send him to Mr. Grover’s to finish his training. Since I don’t have the time to train him myself, I think he’ll do nicely there.”
Carole and Lisa both stopped polishing in midstroke. They looked at each other as if to make sure they had heard right. Unaware of the bombshell he had just dropped, Max began checking over the tack he needed for the weekend, whistling as he worked.
Carole cleared her throat nervously. “So, is this decision definite?” she asked.
“Why, yes, it is,” Max replied. He gave Carole and Lisa a sharp look. “Why the long faces? Scott Grover’s an excellent trainer—one of the best.”
“I know, but—” Carole began, but stopped herself. She knew better than to argue with Max, but she was shocked that he would take the colt from his home and from the people who knew and loved him and put him in an unfamiliar barn to be trained by a total stranger.
“So it doesn’t matter that Mr. Grover doesn’t know Samson?” Lisa asked. Carole was glad to find that Lisa’s thoughts mirrored her own.
“Not really, no. That’s what it means to be a professional: You can train any horse. Of cour
se, in an ideal world, the trainer would know the horse from the very beginning—say, from birth even, but it’s not necessary.”
Lisa and Carole exchanged glances again. They had known Samson from birth. Didn’t that count for anything?
“We sure have watched Samson grow up,” Carole said pointedly, hoping Max would get the hint.
“Yeah, I’ll never forget the day he was born,” Lisa chimed in. “We were all there.”
“It was an exciting day. You girls were with him from the beginning,” Max agreed. He paused and his eyes rested on Lisa and Carole. “You know how much I appreciate all the work you’ve done with the colt, don’t you?”
“Ye-es,” Carole said tentatively. She wasn’t sure what Max was getting at. If he appreciated it so much, why wasn’t he going to let them continue? Did he know about the problems they’d been having lately?
“Good,” Max said briskly. “Because you’ve been a great help—all three of you.”
Finally Carole couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “But then—”
“Look,” Max cut her off. “I think I know what’s coming, but you have to understand that there comes a time when a horse needs to be professionally trained. Samson has reached the point where he needs the hand of an expert guiding him. Think about it: That stirrup problem isn’t just going to go away on its own. Okay?” With that, Max turned on his heel and left the room.
Carole stared after him in shock. So Max had known! But then why hadn’t he said something instead of springing this on them?
“He obviously doesn’t think we’re up to the job,” Carole said grimly, when Max was safely out of earshot. “So he’s decided to take Samson away.”
“Gosh, I guess you’re right,” Lisa conceded. It seemed odd that Max had reacted so fast to their difficulties without informing them of his plan.
“So much for forgetting about the stirrups for a few weeks. We’ve got to straighten things out this weekend or else,” Carole said.
Pleasure Horse Page 2
