“You know what I can see?” Stevie asked. Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “Three boys. All of them trying to impress a bunch of cheerleaders at a certain birthday party, when all of a sudden, somebody starts to tell embarrassing secrets about them in a really loud voice …”
THE FIRST STOP in Philadelphia was Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell. Stevie’s brothers had either been convinced by her threat in the car or were distracted by the sights. In any case, they stopped teasing long enough to act like tourists.
“Do you know why it’s called Independence Hall?” Chad asked, when the group had assembled outside the building. “Because this is where the U.S. proclaimed itself free from England, in the Declaration of Independence. I just finished a school project on the American Revolution.”
“Do you know what year the Declaration was, Chad?” Uncle Chester asked as they all started up the stairs.
“That’s easy. 1776,” Chad replied.
“Correct you are. Say, since you’ve just finished studying it, how about you tell us some more about that period, in honor of Presidents’ Day,” Uncle Chester suggested.
“Good idea, Chester. Chad can be our tour guide,” Mr. Lake agreed.
Stevie grimaced as Chad drew himself up proudly. Somehow she knew she was in for a long, boring lecture that would show off Chad’s knowledge of colonial history.
“Sure,” Chad said eagerly. “Let’s see … well, the Declaration was written by Thomas Jefferson. And John Hancock was the first to sign it—his signature is the biggest and showiest. The colonists thought that everyone was entitled to ‘Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness,’ or, at least, that’s how Jefferson put it. When they proclaimed the Declaration, they rang the Liberty Bell, which we’re about to see.”
In a few minutes the Lake group had surrounded the famous bell. “The bell was hidden during the British occupation of Philadelphia,” Chad explained. “You can see it’s been cracked twice, but that happened later, in the nineteenth century.”
Beside him, Stevie was seething with jealousy. She almost wished her brothers would start teasing her again. At least then she wouldn’t have to put up with Chad’s giving a history lesson. Her parents and Uncle Chester looked so impressed it made Stevie feel ill. After all, anyone could learn a little history. What was the big deal?
“The King of England at the time—”
“Yes, yes, we know, Chad,” Stevie heard herself say, surprised that her mouth had opened by itself.
“No, no—go on, I’m interested,” Uncle Chester protested.
“We’re all interested,” said Stevie’s mother, with a warning look at Stevie.
Stevie couldn’t help it. Her ultracompetitive spirit had kicked in. She was sure she could play tour guide as well as Chad.
“The King of England was—” Chad began again.
“George the Second,” Stevie jumped in. She waited for everyone to look as pleased with her information as they seemed to be with Chad’s.
“I don’t think so,” said Mrs. Lake.
“Good try, Stevie,” Chad said, grinning. “But you mean George the Third.”
“Second? Third? What’s the difference?” Stevie said, in a feeble attempt at a joke. “In any case, everyone drank tea in Boston to celebrate the Revolution.”
The whole family looked at her blankly. “Actually, Stevie, the Boston Tea Party wasn’t a party at all. The colonists didn’t drink the tea: They dumped it—into Boston Harbor, to protest George the Third’s high taxes,” Chad informed her.
“You sure know your history, Chad,” Uncle Chester commented. “I think that’s great.”
“Excuse me, I need some air,” Stevie gasped. She pushed by the group and into the next room and collapsed on the nearest bench. Behind her, she could hear Chad droning on. A few words floated out to her: “Concord,” “Lexington.” Then, all of a sudden, she heard, “Paul Revere.”
“Aha!” Stevie said, jumping up. She tore past a few bewildered tourists and back into the room. “On April 18, 1775, Paul Revere, a well-known silversmith, rode from Boston to Lexington to warn Massachusetts that the British were coming. His ride was immortalized in a poem written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow which begins, ‘Listen, my children, and you shall hear/Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.’ How do you like that, Chad, huh? Pretty good, eh? Gotcha! Gotcha!”
Mrs. Lake put a hand on Stevie’s forehead. “Do you feel all right, dear? Did you catch cold out on that ride this morning?” she asked.
“Mom, I feel fine! And I’m right, aren’t I, Chad?” Stevie demanded.
“Yes, you are right,” said Chad, eyeing her suspiciously. “I was just getting to that part. Let’s see …”
“Oh, I get it!” Alex exclaimed suddenly. “It’s Paul Revere’s ride. It’s part of history with a horse in it. That’s why Stevie remembered it!”
Everyone sighed with relief. “That explains it,” Chad responded. “Now, where was I?”
Stevie opened her mouth to protest but then stopped. The truth was the only other fact she could seem to remember from her U.S. history unit was the name of Ulysses S. Grant’s horse. It was Traveler. Resolving to have Lisa brush her up on the rest of the stuff, she trailed grumpily after the group.
AFTER INDEPENDENCE HALL, the Lakes wandered around Society Hill for a couple of hours and then went downtown to Center City. Since Mr. and Mrs. Lake were busy lawyers in Washington, D.C., they didn’t have much time for shopping. They were looking forward to the prospect of some leisurely browsing. They also planned to get a birthday present for Angie.
“Sorry, Stevie, no tack shop here,” Alex announced as they entered Wannamaker’s, a department store on one end of the shopping mall. “You’ll have to go to normal stores with the rest of us.”
“But there is a bookstore—in case you want to buy a textbook on American history,” Chad joked. He, Alex, and Michael cracked up.
“That’s funny,” Stevie responded, “I was going to suggest that you head for the bookstore, Chad, and pick up a few self-help books. There should be one on learning not to show off. And then the three of you could get an etiquette book—after all, it’s never too late to try to learn good manners.”
Mrs. Lake spun around, her hands on her hips. “All right, enough—all of you. I’m getting pretty tired of your bickering. We’ll split up and meet back here in an hour and a half. And I don’t expect to hear any arguing after that. Got it?”
“I can hardly wait,” Stevie said.
“Me either,” Chad agreed.
The minute their parents and Uncle Chester had departed, Chad turned to Stevie. “So, what do you want to do?”
Stevie shrugged. “I don’t know—you?”
It never failed: As soon as they were told to split up or were sent to their rooms as punishment for fighting, Stevie and her brothers would immediately make up and hang out together.
“Can we go to the toy store? I want to look at the G.I. Joes,” said Michael.
“Sounds good to me,” said Alex, as the four of them trooped off together.
THE GROUP REGATHERED at the appointed time by the huge eagle statue near the Wannamaker’s entrance. Mr. and Mrs. Lake had bought Angie a bath oil-perfume set, and Mrs. Lake had gotten herself a new lipstick for the party. Stevie, Chad, and Alex had hung out in the toy store with Michael, and they’d all chipped in for a deck of cards to use on the train ride home Monday. Since it was too cold to wander around anymore and everybody was hungry, the seven of them went back to the van and then drove to Bookbinders, a famous old Philadelphia seafood restaurant.
The food at Bookbinders was delicious—or so Stevie gathered. By the time her stuffed shrimp arrived, she could barely eat them. She felt stuffed herself after polishing off most of the rolls in the bread basket and gulping down two Shirley Temples waiting for dinner. Still, she insisted on ordering dessert and managed to cram in a few bites of mud pie. That was the problem with nice restaurants, Stevie decided. Th
ere was so much good food you couldn’t appreciate it all.
After dinner, Uncle Chester drove the van across town so they could see the Philadelphia Art Museum and Boathouse Row by night. The river that cut through that part of the city was called the Schuylkill, pronounced “Skool-kill,” according to Chad. Along the dark strip of water, the small buildings where the city’s rowing clubs stored their shells and oars were draped with twinkling white lights that were mirrored by the river. It was a beautiful sight—especially when a gentle snow began to fall. Soon the few flakes turned to a picturesque flurry. In Virginia it hardly ever snowed; when it did, the snow was usually patchy and didn’t stick, so this northern flurry was a treat. Watching the ground whiten, Stevie could even forgive Chad for announcing that “Schuylkill” meant “hidden river” in Dutch.
As they sped along, Stevie pressed her face against the van window and peered out at the city lights. If only Carole and Lisa had been there to enjoy the sights with her … they could have had so much fun traipsing around together. Even when they weren’t around horses, the girls seemed to get into adventures. All things considered, Stevie did have to admit that Chad, Alex, and Michael hadn’t been that bad. But she dreaded the next day, when she would have to deal with them around a bunch of cheerleaders. That was when Stevie would really miss her friends. She wasn’t entirely sure that she could survive the sweet sixteen party-of-the-century without them.
“KNOCK, KNOCK! Pizza delivery!” a voice called from outside.
“Pizza delivery? When did you call to order?” Lisa asked Carole. After Pine Hollow, the two girls had adjourned to Carole’s house, where Lisa was spending the night.
Carole grinned. “I didn’t, but when Dad has to work late, he makes up for it by getting pizza. Or if he’s really late, it’s Chinese takeout,” she explained. She went to let her father in. “Is this the Hanson special I asked for?” she inquired through the door.
Joining Carole at the door, Lisa raised her eyebrows in curiosity. She and Stevie had spent many a night at the Hansons’ and they were used to the special rapport between Carole and her father, but Lisa had never heard of the “Hanson special.”
“As long as the Hanson special is still a large, half plain, half mushroom-and-pepperoni,” Colonel Hanson replied, chuckling.
Carole swung open the door. “Excellent memory, sir. You may come in.”
With a kiss for his daughter and a warm hello for Lisa, Colonel Hanson handed the pizza to them. Then he went to wash up in the bathroom while the girls set the table. Soon the three of them were seated around the kitchen table, attacking the hot slices.
“I apologize for being so late,” Colonel Hanson said between bites. As a high-ranking officer in the Marines, Carole’s father was responsible for a number of projects at the nearby Quantico military base. One of his main duties was supervising the hundreds of men below him.
“What happened, Dad?” Carole asked. “You don’t usually get stuck on the weekends.”
“No, I don’t. I can’t tell you the details because it’s classified, but, basically, an eager young officer bit off more than he could chew. He took on a big project that was above his head, and he ended up causing more problems than he solved. He wanted to help, but he just didn’t have the experience. That’s why I was so late: I spent the whole day fixing somebody else’s mistakes.”
“That’s got to be frustrating,” said Lisa.
“It sure is,” Colonel Hanson agreed. For a moment he was quiet, lost in thought.
To take his mind off his long day, Carole and Lisa began to tell him about theirs. Colonel Hanson knew all about Samson, although Carole hadn’t gotten a chance to tell him about the stirrup problem. She summed it up briefly.
“Hmm … so he’s not getting any better at all?” Colonel Hanson asked when Carole had finished.
Knowing it was still a touchy subject, Lisa decided to let Carole answer the question. “Not yet,” Carole replied. The two girls’ attempt at Stevie-like brainstorming had completely failed. All they had been able to think of were jokes that Stevie might have told, and even those hadn’t been up to her caliber.
“You think so, too, Lisa?” Colonel Hanson inquired.
Lisa nodded. “It’s becoming a habit, his misbehaving when we put the saddle on. He seems to think it’s his designated playtime. And the whole point of training him with natural horsemanship is that the horse and the trainer are supposed to work together, not be on opposite sides. But when he starts acting up and fooling around, we can’t just ignore it.”
“That certainly sounds true,” Colonel Hanson agreed. “You know, I can’t offer much practical advice, but I do empathize with you. It seems like you’re stuck for the time being. Maybe it would be better to forget the stirrups and move on to something else.”
“But that’s just it, Dad: We can’t,” said Carole. She explained Max’s plan to send Samson away for further training, unless they could conquer the problem right away.
Expecting her father to be sympathetic, Carole was surprised when, after a thoughtful pause, he responded, “I hate to say this, honey, because I know how attached you girls are to that colt, but maybe Max’s idea isn’t such a bad one. Sometimes you need to call in reinforcements to get the job done.”
After a minute, Lisa hesitantly agreed. “I—I think so, too,” she said.
Carole shot her friend a shocked look. She couldn’t believe Lisa was ready to give up! She’d thought the whole Saddle Club was committed to training Samson. Period. “How can you both say that? I mean—” Abruptly, Carole stopped. She could feel her face getting flushed and knew she was in danger of losing her temper in front of Lisa. The very thought of Samson’s leaving made her miserable. She looked down at the slice of pizza on her plate, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. “It just seems wrong at this point, after we’ve worked so hard getting him to trust us,” she said. Everyone was quiet for a minute.
Colonel Hanson cut short the awkward pause by changing the subject and asking about Stevie’s trip. For the rest of the meal, they all talked about other things. It wasn’t until after dinner, when the girls were getting ready for bed, that Carole asked Lisa to explain her change of heart.
“It’s simple,” Lisa said, choosing her words carefully. “I think Max and your father may be right—maybe Samson does need someone more experienced than The Saddle Club to help him through the next stages of his training. It’s not as if any of us has actually trained a young horse all the way. If we mess up now we could ruin Samson for his career as a pleasure horse. It’s like what happened to your father, only somebody would have to spend years undoing our mistakes instead of one day.”
“But our situation is completely different,” Carole said, her voice urgent. “We’re not like that Marine because we do know what we’re doing. Maybe we haven’t trained hundreds of horses, but do you honestly think we’re going to ruin Samson?”
“Right now, no,” Lisa admitted. “He’s just having a good time being silly with us. But we’re not exactly getting anywhere with him, either,” she added gently.
“If only we had more time,” Carole said.
“But how much time would we need? Carole, you’ve said in the past that training doesn’t go by a timetable. You can never tell how long you’ll have to work with a particular horse to teach him a particular skill.”
Carole shrugged, her jaw set.
Lisa argued a little more, but then let the matter drop. The truth was Lisa privately thought that Samson might even have regressed in his training. Today he had been finicky about the way they put the bridle on, as if he seemed to know that he could play without anything happening to him. But she couldn’t just come right out and tell Carole. She knew that Carole feared “losing” Samson because of the way she had lost Cobalt. That was why Carole couldn’t be objective and rational about this situation. Lisa herself wasn’t eager to see the colt leave Pine Hollow, even temporarily. But Colonel Hanson was right: They were stuck.
Carole brightened visibly. “Okay. You have the number she gave you, right?”
Lisa had written the New Jersey Lakes’ phone number in her address book. She pulled the book out of her overnight bag, dialed, and held the receiver between her and Carole’s ears.
STEVIE WAS SITTING in the window seat of her cousin’s living room, staring out the window at the snow drifting down. She was trying to think of a way she could escape from the room so that she wouldn’t have to listen to the never-ending party discussion going on around her when the phone rang.
Let’s see, she mused. Is it the caterer again? Or maybe the florist? Or could it be one of the ten million zillion invited guests? She cocked an ear to hear what her aunt was saying and to her surprise heard her own name called.
“Stevie! It’s two friends of yours on the telephone. Why don’t you take it in here?” Aunt Lila suggested.
Stevie didn’t need to be told twice. She raced for the kitchen and lunged for the receiver. It was Carole and Lisa! “Gosh, I feel like I haven’t spoken to you guys in two years!” Stevie said. “What’s up? Tell me everything.”
Carole and Lisa didn’t waste words since it was a longdistance call. They immediately filled Stevie in on the Samson situation.
“You’re kidding!” Stevie exclaimed, horrified, when they had finished their breathless account. “Max is really going to send Samson away?” She agreed wholeheartedly with The Saddle Club’s counterplan to prove to Max that Pine Hollow was the best place for the colt’s training.
Stevie had realized there were some problems, but it wasn’t as if they were serious. And if Lisa’s and Carole’s one extra day at Pine Hollow hadn’t helped, a few more certainly would. “There’s no way he should go to Mr. Grover’s! We’re the ones who know him and love him,” Stevie said firmly.
On the other end of the phone, Lisa found herself getting caught up in Stevie’s enthusiasm. The way Stevie put it, letting a professional take over was an easy way out that Max would naturally want to take. But it didn’t take into consideration the fact that The Saddle Club was more dedicated and sensitive than a professional who had several horses to train at a time. Carole didn’t need to be convinced.
Pleasure Horse Page 4
