Stray Horse

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Oh, this was the secret all along!” Lisa said, glad to see PJ so happy.

  “Most horses seem to enjoy some aspect of grooming more than any other. I guess we know now that PJ’s a bath guy!” Carole said, gently working the shampoo into his coat.

  When they were finished with the shampoo, they rinsed him with clean water and then helped Lisa put the antibiotic ointment that Judy had left for him on all his wounds. Stevie and Carole were concerned about the mean-looking bobcat scratches. Lisa assured them that they were already getting better after two ointment treatments. Stevie was glad she hadn’t seen the wound when it was more infected than it was now.

  When PJ’s coat was as shiny as it was going to get, Lisa gave him some more sandwich for a treat and promised she’d be back soon.

  “I have to go ride a horse,” she told her patient. “And when you get better, you can count on me riding you!”

  Stevie and Carole exchanged glances. “Unless an owner claims him first,” said Stevie.

  “Nobody’s called yet,” said Lisa. “And CARL has advertised and called several vets. Maybe his owner didn’t want him and never will claim him. I mean, what kind of sane person would let something like this happen to their horse?”

  It wasn’t a bad question. The girls took the bathing and grooming equipment back into the main building and picked up their book bags.

  “Any response to the ads?” Lisa asked Anita.

  “Not a word,” she said. “And these just came from the printer. Want to post some?” She held up a thick batch of small posters showing a photograph of PJ with information about his rescue. Anyone who knew anything about him was urged to call CARL.

  Stevie wasn’t surprised to see Lisa almost recoil from the stack of posters. She’d clearly fallen in love with this wounded horse, and the idea that anybody else had ever owned him or ever would was painful to her. Stevie was afraid that her friend was in for a big disappointment. Under all the dirt and scratches was a good and probably valuable horse. It was clear that something had happened and the horse had gotten separated from its owner. Maybe PJ’s owner hadn’t seen the ad yet; maybe he hadn’t heard from his vet yet. But he would. Stevie felt sure that this horse would be claimed, and Lisa would be hurt. She hoped she and Carole would be able to help her see that PJ belonged with his owner, but that was going to be hard.

  Finally Lisa took a couple of posters and the girls headed over to Pine Hollow.

  “PJ’s sick now, but he’s getting better, and when he’s all healed, if his owner hasn’t shown up yet, he’s going to need a place to stay,” Carole said.

  “Do you think?” Lisa asked, reading her mind.

  “Well, I don’t know. What do you think, Stevie?”

  “It won’t be easy,” Stevie said.

  They were all wondering the same thing: Would Max let PJ stay at Pine Hollow? That would make it easier for the girls to look after him. Although Max often worked with CARL, trying to help out when he had extra space in the stable for a temporary visitor, he usually asked for something in return, and that something was more work around the stable.

  “He’s going to expect us to clean every piece of tack in the tack room,” Stevie said.

  “And all the stuff he’s got stored in the loft,” Carole added.

  “And the manure pile,” Lisa said. “He’s going to want it moved.”

  “Ugh,” said Stevie.

  “But it’s for PJ!” Lisa reminded her.

  “Yes, but it’s our backs and hands,” Carole said.

  “To say nothing of our weekends,” Stevie added.

  “We’ll still be at Pine Hollow,” said Carole, looking on the bright side.

  “And PJ would be there,” said Lisa.

  “All right,” Carole consented.

  “Count me in,” said Stevie, suspecting that this would be more for Lisa than for PJ, but nonetheless willing.

  Lisa was grinning by the time they arrived at Pine Hollow. She confidently led her friends into Max’s office.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Max asked, glancing up from a pile of papers. He was looking wary already.

  “Why, Max!” Stevie said. “Don’t you trust us?”

  “Not with that look on your faces. The last time the three of you came in here looking like that, I ended up hosting a herd of goats for a week.”

  “Nice goats,” Stevie reminded him.

  Max stifled a snort. “If you say so, Stevie. Okay, so what’s up now?”

  Lisa told him about PJ.

  “Oh, right, the stray that Judy mentioned. Tangled with a bobcat, I guess. I hope his owner shows up soon,” Max said. “They can’t keep a horse at CARL for very long.”

  “Well, that’s just the thing,” Stevie said. “He’s going to need a place to stay.”

  “Yes, he is,” Max agreed.

  The girls didn’t say anything. They just looked at Max.

  He returned their stare.

  Finally he sighed. “This is the sort of favor I can only do for my most responsible students,” he said.

  Stevie sighed, too. She knew they were about to enter the critical stage of negotiation.

  “What’s it going to be then?” she asked. “Tack cleaning? The manure pile?”

  “Definitely tack,” he said. “And I’d forgotten that the manure pile needs some attention, so I guess that, too.”

  Stevie felt Carole’s glare and realized she’d blown it.

  “What else?” she asked finally, breaking the silence.

  “Well, we’re going to have some visitors,” he said.

  “Horses?” Carole asked excitedly.

  “And riders,” said Max.

  “Who?” Lisa asked.

  “The Wainwright Jump Team.”

  “Really?” Carole asked.

  “Here?” said Stevie.

  “Who?” asked Lisa.

  “They’re this great jumping team,” Carole said. “They work together at a lot of the team jumping events. They always win tons of medals. I’ve read all about them in Bits and Bridles. They’re really famous.”

  “And they don’t like to have their horses stay on the grounds of the events where they’re competing,” Max said. “They go to local stables, feeling that it keeps the horses calmer. They rely on the stables to look after their horses properly.”

  “You mean us?” Stevie asked, getting the drift of Max’s conversation.

  “Not exactly,” said Max. “They’re very fussy and particular.”

  “And you’re not?” said Stevie.

  “No, I mean they’re much fussier and more particular than I am. In fact, I wish they weren’t coming, but I’m doing this as a favor to Dorothy DeSoto, who trained them.” Dorothy was a former student of Max’s and a former championship rider herself. When a spinal injury made her give up riding for good, she turned to training horses and coaching riders at her stable on Long Island.

  “What I figure is that this foursome is going to turn the place upside down for three days the weekend after next, and I’m going to need all the help I can get doing everything I can for them. If you girls promise to make yourselves useful, I’ll take this horse in—at least temporarily. Deal?”

  The girls looked at one another. For them, helping out at Pine Hollow was as natural as breathing.

  “Deal!” said Stevie, who was echoed by her friends.

  That had been much easier than she’d thought. And she was sure they’d be far too busy with other things for Max to expect them to get to the manure pile!

  After an hour of hard work in the stable, Stevie and Carole were ready to go on a trail ride.

  “Race you to the creek,” Stevie challenged Lisa.

  “I don’t think so,” Lisa replied, picking up another bridle and beginning to apply saddle soap to it.

  “It’s been almost a week since you rode,” Carole reminded her.

  “I know, but we can’t risk leaving some job undone. Max will never take PJ in if he doesn’t
think we’re responsible.”

  Carole put her hands on her hips. “Max already thinks we’re responsible,” she said. “This is just his form of blackmail. We’ve been working hard. He’d think we were as deserving of a treat as we think we are.”

  “I don’t know.” Lisa wavered.

  “Look, when this jumping team actually gets here, we can work ourselves crazy. For now, we need a little bit of fun,” Stevie said.

  Reluctantly Lisa put down the tack, stowed her cleaning gear, and picked up Prancer’s very clean tack. “Okay,” she relented.

  As she walked out of the tack room ahead of her friends, Stevie and Carole shared a secret high five.

  IT WAS BEGINNING to get dark when Lisa reached her doorstep. Normally she would have walked home with Stevie, but Stevie had said she needed to be home by six, and Lisa thought she could get in another forty-five minutes of tack cleaning before she had to leave for home. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly seven. She patted her back pocket. She could feel the sheets of paper she’d used to make the list of all the things she wanted to be sure to tell her parents. They’d all been so busy lately, she hadn’t even had a chance to tell them much about PJ. Her mother could be wondering how the peanut butter was disappearing so fast from the jar! Lisa was sure it would make her mother laugh when she found out the answer to that. And her father, who had always taught Lisa that hard work was as important as compassion, would be pleased with everything she’d been doing for PJ. Her hard work wasn’t just helping the horse. It was helping CARL and Pine Hollow. And the compassion she felt—well, it was very real. That peanut butter–colored, peanut butter-loving horse had simply stolen her heart. She knew her parents would want to hear all about that.

  She shifted the weight of her heavy backpack onto her other shoulder and opened the kitchen door. The lights were on, and her mother was sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Finally!” her mother said.

  It wasn’t the welcome Lisa had expected. “Am I late?” she asked. Although it was seven o’clock, she often stayed at the stable that late. Surely her mother had known where she was.

  “Well, you left the house before we were up this morning!”

  “I left you a note,” Lisa said.

  “That’s not good enough,” said Mrs. Atwood. “Your father and I wanted to talk to you.”

  “And I wanted to talk with you, too,” Lisa said defensively. “There’s been a lot going on that I know you’re going to want to hear about.” She slid her backpack off her shoulder and lowered it to the kitchen floor. She reached for the papers in her pocket. “There’s so much that I even made notes so I wouldn’t forget. I wanted to talk to you last night, but you guys weren’t home then, either.”

  “That’s not the point,” her mother said, slamming a plate down on the kitchen table.

  Lisa didn’t think her mother was being very logical, but she had the good sense not to push her point. Her mother was really crabby. Lisa slid papers back into her pocket. “I’ll go change,” she said.

  She showered quickly and slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. She didn’t want to keep her parents waiting any longer than necessary, especially if her mother was in such a foul mood. As a final thought, she stuffed her notes into the small pocket on the back of her sweats.

  When Lisa got downstairs, she was surprised to see that there were just two plates set at the kitchen table, that her mother had forgotten place mats, and that the silverware had just been tossed by each plate. There were no napkins. Her mother was at the sink, staring out the window at something Lisa couldn’t see.

  Lisa straightened out the table setting quickly and efficiently and went over to the stove, where two hamburgers seemed to be overcooking. She put one on each plate, then added a spoonful of peas and some rice. She took the plates to the table, poured milk, and sat down.

  Her mother hadn’t moved since she’d returned to the kitchen. Lisa couldn’t imagine what she’d done to make her mother so angry. Whatever it was, she knew her mother would get over it, but not until Lisa apologized.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said.

  Her mother didn’t answer. She just hung her head.

  Lisa stood up. “Mom?” She walked over to her mother. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said. “It’s just that—”

  “It’s not you,” Mrs. Atwood said softly.

  “What is it?” Lisa asked, realizing that her mother was crying, hard. “What’s going on?”

  Her mother spoke without turning around. “Your father is leaving us,” she said.

  “He said something about a trip to California this month. Is that it?” Lisa asked. It always annoyed her mother when Mr. Atwood traveled on business.

  “No, I mean he’s leaving us,” her mother said. “You. Me. For good.” She turned back to the sink. Her face was streaked with tears, and her features were set in a grimace.

  Lisa’s father entered the kitchen. “We were hoping to talk with you this morning,” he said.

  “I left early,” Lisa said matter-of-factly.

  “I know,” he said.

  Lisa looked at him. He was holding his briefcase, almost clutching it, It made Lisa think of the way she used to hold her teddy bear.

  “We love you, you know that, don’t you, Lisa?” he asked.

  Of course she knew that. Everybody knew that. Parents loved their children.

  “We’ve been having a hard time lately, Lisa. You must have noticed.”

  Everybody’s parents argued. She remembered all the noise and arguing that went on at the Lake household.

  “We may be able to work things out, but for now, your mother and I have to separate. It’s the only way for us now. We love you. We both love you. Eleanor?”

  “Yes, sweetheart, we love you very much,” she parroted as if she’d been given a cue.

  The kitchen timer dinged. Lisa sat down, staring at the hamburger in front of her as if it were a foreign object.

  “I’m leaving now,” said her father. He leaned over and gave Lisa a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll call you.” It was just what he always said when he was going on a business trip. That must be it. An evening flight this time.

  Lisa didn’t move for a long time, and when she looked up, she was surprised to see her mother sitting at the table next to her. On the other side of the kitchen wall, they heard the familiar click, hum, and clank of the automatic garage door opening. There was a pause and then the sound began again, ending with a closing thud.

  Lisa began picking at the hamburger and peas with her fork. She wasn’t very hungry, but if she didn’t eat, her mother would probably get really annoyed with her. She ate as much as she could, only vaguely aware that her mother didn’t have any more appetite than she did.

  Math problems, French vocabulary, and I need to read ahead in that book we’re reading for English. Lisa made a mental to-do list. If she could get one or two chapters ahead, she’d be much better prepared for class the next day.

  As soon as she’d finished eating, she stood up and cleared the table, leaving her mother with half a glass of wine to finish.

  “Do you mind if I go do my homework?” Lisa asked. There wasn’t much cleaning to be done anyway.

  “Go ahead,” said her mother. Dutifully, Lisa gave her mother a kiss, then went upstairs to her room.

  She took the books she needed from her backpack and settled onto her bed. She started with Great Expectations. It was hard to concentrate, though. Something kept buzzing in her mind, something that wasn’t right, something that didn’t fit, something that needed to be fixed. She’d forgotten something, she knew. She’d made a mistake; she’d done something wrong.

  She scratched her head and shifted from one side to the other.

  “Ouch!” she said, feeling an uncomfortable lump under her bottom.

  She moved back to her left hip and felt her backside with her right hand. There was a lump in the pocket of her sweats. She reached in and retrie
ved it. It wasn’t really a lump. It was a sheaf of papers, crumpled and folded.

  It took Lisa a few seconds to focus on what she held in her hand, and until she recognized it, she merely stared.

  “Oh!” she said, startling the dog, who was lying at her feet. “I have to tell Mom and Dad about this stuff.”

  Then she really remembered. Her father was gone. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to know. He’d left them.

  Lisa tossed the papers across the room and returned to Great Expectations with grim concentration.

  LISA AWOKE WITH a start very early the next morning. Something was wrong. Something was different. It seemed vague and felt uncomfortable. She swallowed hard. PJ, she thought. I have to get to PJ. She sat up and then got out of bed.

  The light that came through her window was the gray of dawn, still too early for her to need to be up, but not too early for PJ to need her. If she left now, she could spend more time with him, check those wounds, put ointment on them. She and the horse could even have a little talk before anyone else got there, and then she could go to school.

  She was pretty sure the ointment was working. She thought the swelling was going down. But cat scratches were dangerous, particularly from a wildcat whose claws could have awful germs on them from other things it had scratched or animals it had attacked.

  Lisa got a chill just thinking about the infections that could be plaguing her horse. That beautiful light chestnut coat would become permanently scarred if she didn’t take really good care of him. Judy had seemed confident that PJ would get better, but what if she was wrong?

  And the swelling on PJ’s ankle: Was it getting better? Lisa realized she’d been paying so much attention to the scratches that she had almost forgotten about the ankle. If the ankle didn’t get better, nobody would ever be able to ride PJ.

  “That horse was born for riding,” Lisa whispered into her mirror. “I just know it.”

  She didn’t even have to close her eyes to let her imagination soar. She could practically feel the powerful animal flying across an open field, loving every minute of freedom and union with a rider. And not just any rider. It would be Lisa.