I got a funny feeling about it. “What are you talking about?”
“I want you to ride Southwood tomorrow.”
“Me?”
“Is there another old girl standing here with me who would qualify to ride in the junior events?”
“On Southwood?”
“Yes.”
I’ve got to tell you that the first thing that entered my mind was utter joy. I was thrilled at the very idea of being able to ride this magnificent animal, especially in a competition. I knew he didn’t have much chance of doing well, what with a new rider in a new circumstance, but just the thought of it gave me the nicest chills.
“Of course!” And then it came to me. “But I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“You what?”
“Stevie—our pledge. Remember? I can’t ride until she’s better.”
“Maybe we could call her and see how she’s doing?”
I knew how she was doing. She still had a very sore sitting place. No way.
“If you asked her, she’d say yes.”
“Maybe, but maybe she’d say no and it wouldn’t be fair. We made a pledge to one another. We take it seriously. You should, too.”
“I do, I really do,” Dorothy said and I knew she meant it. Some grown-ups might have made fun of the promise The Saddle Club had made, but Dorothy knew that we meant the things we’d said and she genuinely respected it. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go to the house, have some breakfast, and see if we can solve this thing.”
I fastened the latches on Southwood’s stall and followed Dorothy to the kitchen. Dorothy made scrambled eggs with the same confident manner that she trained a horse. In just a few minutes bacon was sizzling in the microwave, eggs were cooking in a frying pan, and I was setting the table.
Nigel joined us just as I poured three glasses of orange juice.
“Why’s everyone so quiet?” he asked.
“We have a problem,” Dorothy said. Then she explained about Bea’s chicken pox.
“But, of course, Carole can fill in for her, can’t she?” Nigel asked.
“That’s the problem,” I said. And I explained to him about The Saddle Club pledge. Like Dorothy, he understood that it was a serious pledge.
We sat down to eat and there was no conversation for a while. Then Dorothy spoke.
“Carole, I’m going to ask you to break the pledge and I’m not doing it lightly. I’m not doing it for me. I’m not even doing it for Beatrice, and I don’t expect you would do it for either of us. I’m doing it for Southwood. He needs to be in the show. He’s entered there. He needs a junior rider. You’re a junior rider and you’re qualified for the show. I only need to ask the judges to accept you as a substitute for Beatrice. They’ll understand and accept, I’m sure. I can’t ride for Beatrice and neither can Nigel. I don’t have another student who could fill in. All my other riders are adults. That leaves you. If you say no, I’ll understand, but if you say yes, Southwood will be the one who benefits most.”
I’d like to tell you I had to think about it long and hard, but it wouldn’t be true. When Dorothy explained it in terms of how important it was for Southwood, I couldn’t say no. I had to do it and ignore the possible consequences. Well, not ignore them, exactly.
“You can’t tell anyone at Pine Hollow. Lisa and Stevie can never know.”
“They won’t hear it from me,” Dorothy pledged.
“Me, neither,” Nigel added.
“Don’t worry,” Dorothy said. “There won’t be anything to tell. It’s Southwood’s first show. He’s sure to blow it. You won’t win anything, but I will because I’ll learn a lot about Southwood from watching his public debut.”
Somehow it seemed okay that I was doing it for Southwood. Way back in the recesses of my mind was a secret little smile for the fact that Bea would know I’d been the one to ride her horse in his first show. That was the part of me that hoped I’d win a blue ribbon. The rest of me knew that a ribbon was the least of my worries.
“Thank you, Carole,” Dorothy said. “Now, what are we going to find to put on you to wear in the show?”
“I brought all my riding clothes,” I told her.
“Even though you knew you wouldn’t ride?”
“Some things are just automatic,” I confessed.
Dorothy laughed. “I do exactly the same thing with my horse clothes and then I always forget my toothbrush! Did you remember yours?”
“I sure did. I mean, I remembered the toothbrush Dad bought for me in New York, since of course I forgot my own at home.”
“Birds of a feather …” Nigel said, watching the two of us.
“You should talk!” Dorothy said. “Remember the time you didn’t bring any street shoes for a weekend in Chicago?”
“And I had three pairs of riding boots with me, didn’t I? Guilty as charged!”
We finished breakfast much more cheerfully than we’d begun it. Then while Dorothy and Nigel put the dishes in the dishwasher, I skipped up to my room and slipped into my riding clothes. It felt wonderful to be back in them.
SATURDAY MORNING, I was too busy with the things I had to do to be worried about the things I was going to do. My mind was a blur of dos and don’ts, didn’ts, wouldn’ts, and couldn’ts.
I’d spent three hours on Southwood on Friday—as much time as Dorothy thought he ought to be exercised, but I didn’t think it had been anywhere near enough for me. Once we put Southwood back in his stall, Dorothy and I just talked and talked about techniques and goals.
My main goal for the day was to be with Southwood and see how he reacted to everything at the show. Dorothy would see most of it, but, as a rider, there would be things I learned that she didn’t.
“He’s going to be nervous, but he’s a smart horse,” she said. “If you feel he knows what he’s doing, let him do it the way he wants to do it. It’s okay if he makes a couple of mistakes. I can learn from them and share my learning with Beatrice.”
So the most important thing I had to remember was to let Southwood be Southwood. It was as if Dorothy wanted to see him at his worst so she knew what to protect against the next time.
It quickly became apparent that Southwood didn’t have a “worst” side. He stepped onto the van like a pro. He stepped off it like an old hand. I led him to his temporary stall. He took a minute or two to see what other horses were around him and then he took a bite of hay. It was as if he were saying, “All right, so I’m here, so what’s the fuss?”
I wish I could have been as calm as he was. My own stomach wasn’t filled with hay, but butterflies! I haven’t had much show experience. Max is more concerned with us competing against ourselves, trying to be the best we can, than with having us compete against others. It doesn’t mean he’s against showing—not at all. It’s just that he feels that we each should have our own goals at a show and if we meet those goals, we’ve really earned a blue ribbon, no matter how well we’ve done compared to other riders.
I agree with that philosophy; I’ve learned a lot from it, too. Still, there’s another dimension to a show and that is that it gives riders a chance to see how they measure up to others by certain standards.
In other words, I wanted to win.
Southwood and I were entered in only one event and that was the hunter jumper class. Because of the peculiar circumstances of me filling in for Bea, I had to go through some formalities, such as meeting the judges and making a personal petition for the substitution. Mostly, they just wanted to know that I wasn’t some sort of hustler pretending to be an intermediate rider. Dorothy vouched for me on that score. I thought my own skill in the saddle would speak for me, too.
Once that was done, successfully, I had only a little over an hour to get Southwood ready. Dorothy and I groomed him to within an inch of perfection. Then I put on my own breeches and boots, added a blouse and jacket of Dorothy’s, and I was ready to meet the world, alone, except for Southwood and forty thousand butterflies in my stomach.
/> “You’re going to do splendidly,” Dorothy assured me. I loved it when she used words like “splendidly.” Nigel, of course, said things like “splendidly” a lot. Of course I’d heard him say “awesome,” too, so I suppose he was being Americanized at the same time Dorothy was being Anglicized!
I’d drawn the eighth starting place for the event. That was eighth out of fifteen. There are a lot of theories about order in a competition. Some people say you should be first and set the standard nobody else can meet. Others say, be last so you know what you have to beat. I was smack in the middle. I expected to disappear into the background and that was what Dorothy expected, too. Eighth start was just fine under the circumstances—“splendid,” in fact.
There was a wide range of talent among the junior riders in the class. Some of the kids (ten girls, five boys) had been riding a good long time. There were a couple I thought were really good.
“Look at the way that girl is taking the jumps!” I said to Dorothy as a girl named Emilie seemed to soar through the course.
“Not bad, but she’s rushing. If she learns patience, she’ll be a good rider. Someday.”
I watched more carefully, trying to learn.
Then there was a boy named Francis. He was quite young and it seemed to be his first show. He was fidgeting nervously with his hands.
“Boy, he’s going to blow it,” I remarked, feeling bad for him.
“Just watch,” said Dorothy.
The minute Francis and his horse began their performance, it became clear that the horse had all the experience Francis lacked. He went over each jump smoothly and evenly. By the third jump, Francis had stopped fidgeting and they ended up doing very well.
“That’s the thing about an experienced horse,” Dorothy explained. “The very best of them can make up for a lot of rider flaws. The judges will notice the fidgeting and mark him down, but it’s almost as if the horse gets extra credit for being so good!”
By then, there were just three riders until it was my turn on Southwood. I went to mount up and walk in circles for a few minutes until we were called. I wasn’t at all sure that walking in circles was going to calm Southwood or warm him up, but I hoped it would keep me from being fidgety like Francis.
The minute I settled into Southwood’s saddle, I felt at home. I’d been there for three hours the day before, and it seemed like we were old friends who’d never been separated at all.
I gave him the slightest signals with my legs and he responded obediently and gracefully. This horse had a style that’s hard to come by. He really wanted to please me and as far as I was concerned, he was doing a fine job of it.
I was totally prepared for him to balk. I expected him to shy at some of the strange horses. I expected him to fidget while we waited our turn. I expected him to stomp nervously, perhaps to bolt into the ring when I signaled him to start. I thought he might be turned around and confused by the audience or flustered by the unfamiliar surroundings. He let me down completely on every one of these expectations. He performed as if he’d been in a show ring from the moment of his birth. Nothing upset him in the least.
I’d studied the course of the jumps and had a good idea of how I wanted to approach them. I knew that style was all for this class. What I didn’t know was how much style Southwood had!
He fairly pranced into the ring and then as I got him set for the first jump, he seemed to collect himself so he could concentrate on the job at hand. He broke into an effortless, silky-smooth canter. I know that’s a funny way to describe the gait that most people compare to a rocking horse, but that’s the way it was with Southwood. As we approached each jump, I had enough time to decide exactly where I wanted to be when we took off and then when I gave him the signal, we did it. Some people describe a jump as soaring or flying. On Southwood, it was more like floating. Again, I was completely unaware of any work on his part; he just did it.
The course snaked back and forth, calling for a number of sharp turns at either end of the rectangular ring. Southwood brought his entire body into a turn just the way the very best dressage horses manage to do it. He never lost a step or a beat; he never slowed down or speeded up. He maintained the exact pace I’d set for him. He jumped like an angel.
I quickly remembered Francis on his horse who made him look good. I knew I was a better rider than Francis, but even at that, Southwood was making me look good.
At some point during the jump course, I completely ceased being aware of the audience, the judges, even Dorothy and Nigel. It was as if the whole world were simply Southwood and me and we were not two, but one and that was enough.
At Southwood’s landing over the last jump, the whole audience burst into applause. Since the audience primarily consisted of the parents and grandparents of the other kids in the competition, I knew we’d done something very special.
“Oh, Carole!” Dorothy greeted me. The grin on her face told me she was proud of me. She didn’t have to say the rest, but she did. “You were wonderful!”
“Not me. Southwood. I don’t know about Bea being a champion, but this fellow’s a champion through and through. He made his rider look good today and he’ll make his trainer look good for many years to come. You picked a winner, Dorothy. I just sat there and let him do it all.”
“And he did it, didn’t he?”
“He sure did!”
I stood up in the stirrups, swung my right leg back over the saddle, and let myself slide to the ground. Then I gave Southwood about one-sixteenth of the hug he deserved.
I didn’t pay too much attention to any of the rest of the riders. Some were better than others. Two of them were disqualified because their horses refused to jump. Another had a problem because she took the jumps in the wrong order. One of the girls’ horses bucked a few times and that’s not good form. Mostly I was thinking that I had done what I’d come for and I was ready to go home. In fact, I started to untack Southwood.
“Hold it, there, Carole,” Dorothy said, refastening the buckle I’d undone.
“Shouldn’t we go home now?” I asked.
“It’s generally considered a good idea to wait until the ribbons are announced,” Dorothy said.
I don’t know why, but I was surprised by that. I had wanted to win, but my goal really wasn’t to get a ribbon. I was only there because Southwood needed the experience and by riding in the show, Dorothy had learned that he was really good. What none of us had been prepared for was exactly how good he was.
This being a junior class, the judges like to give a lot of ribbons. Not everyone can win and all the competitors know that, but when Dorothy said they had eight ribbons to award, I realized I might get one. Still, I wasn’t prepared for receiving first prize. That was a blue ribbon and a very large round of applause. I gaped at Dorothy when they announced my number.
“Didn’t you know?” she said.
“Uh-uh.”
“Well, I did. So go get your prize, you goose,” she said, giving Southwood an encouraging pat on his rump.
He loved it. If he’d been happy about being in the ring for a performance, he positively preened when we returned to garner the rewards of our labors! All the other ribbon winners were waiting patiently. The judges greeted us warmly and then clipped the ribbon on Southwood’s bridle.
“Would you like to lead the victory gallop?” the judge asked me.
I’d forgotten about that. Southwood and I were only too happy to oblige. We circled the entire ring at a gallop and then were joined for a second go-round by all the other riders while all the proud parents and grandparents applauded like crazy. Nobody applauded louder than Dorothy, though. I was very happy for her.
I was happy for myself, too. Even though this wasn’t a big show, I’d had an opportunity to do well and it had worked out well. I’d had an almost magical ride on an exceptional horse and I’d gotten a blue ribbon that would make Beatrice Benner so jealous she wouldn’t be able to see straight.
That was the good news, of course.
I’d certainly one-upped Beatrice. She would probably say it was just because Southwood was an outstanding horse, but the ribbon was mine not hers, and somewhere in her mind, she would always have to wonder if she would have gotten the blue herself. I gloated on that one. I admit it.
In fact I was so busy gloating that for a while it distracted me from the bad news about Southwood’s being such a great show horse. The blue ribbon was mine to keep. But I couldn’t ever show it to the people who’d care the most—Stevie and Lisa. I’d broken my promise to my two best friends and my punishment was that I would have to keep this secret forever.
That’s a horrible punishment, particularly when it also meant I was going to have to lie to my friends. As much as I dreaded that, it was better than having Veronica diAngelo in The Saddle Club.
PART IV:
Reunion
THE FIRST THING Carole saw when she climbed out of her father’s station wagon at Pine Hollow was Stevie Lake in a saddle on Topside.
“Stevie!” she shrieked in joy, running over to her dear friend. “You’re better!” Her heart glowed with happiness.
Carole scrambled up the fence that circled the outdoor ring and when she could reach her, she gave Stevie a hug.
“Are you all better?” Carole asked.
“Let’s just say I’m better enough,” Stevie answered. “I’m going to avoid a sitting trot for a few weeks yet, though, but I’m back in the saddle—with my doctor’s approval. And I don’t have to lug that awful pillow around anymore.”
“How wonderful!” Carole’s happiness was totally sincere. It was both for Stevie and for her.
“That’s almost exactly what Lisa said when she arrived here five minutes ago.”
“You mean she’s already tacking up?”
“Sure. Don’t you want to go do that? I asked Max if we could take a trail ride and he said it would be okay. I think he knows that we have a lot to talk about and he figures if he says we have to stay and go to class this morning, we’re just going to talk all the way through it and drive him mad.”
A Summer Without Horses Page 11
