The Boy Who Loves Horses (Pegasus Equestrian Center Series)

by Diana Vincent

  Trailing after the horses came Tess, Crystal, and Gloria. Tess carried a handful of dressage score sheets and with a grim expression on her face. Crystal wore an expression of extreme satisfaction while Gloria looked as if she wanted to cry.

  “I’m first in preliminary,” Crystal announced. “Dean won in training. He beat you.” She looked at River expectantly, hoping for some sign of humiliation.

  “Dean won?” Sierra said, the disappointment thick in her tone. The image of Dean’s face with the smugness of having placed ahead of River was like vinegar seeping into her veins, leaving a very bitter taste. She had thought that even with time penalties, River would still have won.

  “What happened?” Tess asked River as she passed out the score sheets.

  River didn’t answer until he had looked over his score sheet, and then looked at Tess in confusion. “What do you mean? Cory has a great dressage score.”

  “I’m not talking about his dressage score. What happened cross country that slowed you down?” Sierra thought Tess’s obvious disappointment that River had not won equaled Crystal’s pleasure that he hadn’t.

  “He did great cross country,” River defended his horse, with irritation rising. He didn’t feel like he needed to justify Cory’s performance to Tess, nevertheless, he told her how he had spooked at the railroad crossing jump and he had given him a chance to calm down by circling.

  “You should have ridden him straight on and used a whip,” Tess retorted angrily. “How many times have I told you to carry a whip? That circle cost you first place!”

  “Right, and do you think he would trust me next time? If I had used a whip, it would have confirmed in his mind that the jump was dangerous,” River replied with equal anger. “I am more proud of how he did today than at the last show where we won.” He pivoted away from her to step back to Cory, picking up a brush, the act of grooming helping to calm his ire.

  Tess huffed out in frustration, and Sierra noted her clenching and unclenching her fists. “You have twenty minutes before the victory round,” she stated before she stormed away.

  In the final placings, Crystal took first and Katrina took fourth at preliminary level. Dean took first in training and River second; his time penalties causing him to drop in spite of a better dressage score than Dean. Sierra took fourth on Silver, and Gloria, with one refusal cross country, came in eighth.

  At the end of the day as they were getting the horses ready to load into the trailer, Katrina continuously reiterated her disappointment that River had not won, saying over and over how sorry, and how unfair, until River finally stopped what he was doing to face her and state, “Katrina, stop it. Cory showed me his courage today; his willingness to face something that terrorized him when I asked him to. What makes you think we didn’t win?”

  “Oh,” she answered, abashed. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

  She doesn’t understand River, Sierra thought to herself, not that I do, but I know him much better than she does. Whatever significance that might have, it pleased Sierra.

  Later, on the way back to Pegasus, Katrina whispered to Sierra, “Gloria wants to quit riding. She was crying in the restroom and Crystal was rubbing her back and telling her she can’t quit.”

  “Why does Crystal care if Gloria rides or not?” Sierra asked.

  “Who knows? I mean she was saying that they were best friends and she wanted her best friend to share with her, stuff like that. Poor Gloria; I don’t think she has ever really liked riding; she’s just always done it to please Crystal.”

  “It makes no sense,” Sierra whispered back. She retreated into her own thoughts, not understanding so many things. First of all, she could not imagine anyone not loving to ride but she understood how everyone was attracted to and turned on by different things. But secondly, she could not imagine doing something you didn’t like just to please your friend; and what kind of friend would insist on it? She could not imagine Allison insisting she take ballet lessons or her insisting that Allison take up riding.

  On Monday, Sierra brought the subject up while Allison, Katrina and she were eating lunch.

  “I don’t know,” Katrina said, “but I’ve been going to school with those two since kindergarten. I remember in first grade how most of us girls talked about nothing but horses and how we longed for a horse of our own. I had never heard Crystal talk about liking horses when we were in kindergarten and she really didn’t seem all that interested when the rest of us were dreaming about owning a horse. But the next thing I know, her daddy bought her a pony and she’s taking lessons. And of course the rest of us are very envious. I didn’t get to start taking lessons until I was ten. Then in second grade Crystal has a new pony, Muffin, and she’s showing in hunter/jumper shows and coming to school with blue ribbons for show-and-tell.”

  “Muffin was her pony?” Sierra asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, he was already a champion when Crystal got him. That was about the time that her father formed the partnership with Tess, so that Crystal would have the best place for her pony and the best instruction. When she outgrew Muffin, he stayed at Pegasus as a lesson horse.”

  “Interesting,” Sierra mused.

  “When she got her first horse after Muffin, that’s when she pushed Gloria to start taking lessons. It’s interesting that she never pushed me, even though I moaned all the time about wanting to learn to ride. Well, Gloria started taking lessons in third grade and by the end of the year her parents had bought her a pony. I had been saving my money and begging my parents but it wasn’t until fifth grade that they finally consented and I got to start lessons. I didn’t get Calliope until seventh grade.”

  “Hmm, I can sort of understand how with so many girls envious of her that it would motivate her to ride,” Allison said thoughtfully. “But why she has to force poor Gloria to also ride, and then see her not doing well…interesting. Perhaps it has something to do with the power she holds over other people; taking pleasure from making them do things they don’t want to. She didn’t push you because it was obviously something you wanted…I don’t know.”

  “Oh no,” Katrina groaned, dropping her head over her tray of food. “Look who’s coming over.”

  Sierra, sitting opposite Katrina, turned her head to meet the eyes of Dean walking toward her. He smiled at her, the smile that dimpled the corner of his mouth; the smile she used to think so adorable. “Sierra,” he said, not even looking once at Allison or Katrina. “How’s wonder boy, huh?” His beautiful smile twisted into an ugly sneer. He moved in so that his face was close enough for Sierra to feel his breath as he hissed, “I’m going to smash him at the championship.” Then he turned and walked back to his friends.

  Staring at his back in disbelief, Sierra watched him strut back to his table of friends, where Crystal sat looking very satisfied.

  *****

  The following weekend, River showed Pendragon in dressage, taking first in his fourth level test and also competing in a third level musical kur and taking first as well. Sierra rode Fiel at first level, test three, and this time added second level, test one. She took a second in her first level test and third in her second level test, and happy with both scores.

  The last weekend of May, River rode Moose at intermediate level, as well as Felicity at beginner novice at her first rated show; and placed first on both horses.

  The first weekend in June, the Pegasus team competed again, and this time River came in first on Corazón, winning with a wide point margin above Dean in second place. Sierra came away again in fourth place, and this time Gloria actually placed in the ribbons, in sixth place. Crystal won at preliminary and Katrina took third.

  Why didn’t Dean ride preliminary? Sierra wondered, for he had certainly qualified after the last show. The only reason she could think of was that he wanted to stay at training level so he could compete against River.

  *****

  29 Father and Son

  The one best precept(;) the golden rule in dealing w
ith a horse is never to approach him angrily. Anger is so devoid of forethought that it will often drive a man to do things which in a calmer mood he will regret. - Xenophon

  *****

  “He is truly amazing,” Tess stated in a respectful tone as she watched River massaging liniment onto Cory’s legs. Tess held her keys in hand, ready to leave the stable; but noting River still here after the long day at the show, she had deviated her course.

  River glanced up and flashed a rare smile at Tess. “He did well,” he stated proudly.

  “I’ve never seen a horse as bold or eager as this one. He seems to love a challenge; so…” Tess said hesitantly, “Next time out?”

  River stood up and stroked Cory’s neck and shoulder before he turned to Tess. “He could do preliminary, but what’s wrong with letting him stay at training level? Why rush him?”

  With a sigh of resignation, Tess wisely decided not to push it. One more year wouldn’t make that much difference. River would turn eighteen next year and he would be able to compete on Moose at advanced level. Perhaps on Moose they might qualify for an Olympic trial in the next year or so. But if he didn’t qualify with Moose, she was positive he could on Corazón. And unlike her past attempt with Gunsmoke, she was sure River would make the Olympic team. It would assure the success of Pegasus Equestrian Center…would assure her own future.

  “Good riding today,” Tess complimented as she turned away.

  “Thanks,” River replied automatically, his attention already back to Cory. He bent down again to resume massaging the black’s legs as the sound of Tess’s car faded into the distance. He added standing wraps for the night, and then finished with one last brushing, focusing on the spots Cory loved to have brushed and scratched. Finally, he put on Cory’s stable blanket before leading him to his stall and his waiting hay.

  He stood at the stall door, watching Cory thrust his muzzle into his hay, and his heart filled with contentment at the sight of his horse enjoying his feed. He thought back to the frightened and aggressive animal he had been, and marveled at all the positive change that had come from patience and good care. No, he would not rush him. He did not want to take any chances of destroying his horse’s current enthusiasm for jumping. He smiled to himself, recalling how Cory had exploded like a bomb from the starting box, and eagerly galloped on in anticipation of the first jump, as much as to say, ‘what have we here today for me to conquer?’ River had been able to sense how Cory calculated and adjusted his strides for each distance and height, clearing each with inches to spare, yet not over-jumping; sensible in not expending energy where he didn’t have to.

  As River’s stomach growled and Storm pushed against his legs, he whispered goodnight, and then made a quick tour down both aisles to make sure all horses were contentedly eating and looking well. Then he turned out the lights and locked the doors.

  On the way home, Storm frolicked about, sensing River’s happy mood, and laughing, he play wrestled with her and then tossed sticks for her to chase as they walked along.

  Only one thing could dampen River’s euphoria, and the sight of his father’s truck parked in the yard brought his high mood crashing back down to reality. The last time Cray had been home, River had managed to avoid him completely. That might have been a mistake, for he heard from Aunt Hazel that Cray had been furious. With only one more week of school, he had no more excuses for not going to work for his father this summer.

  He can’t make me go, he told himself but with doubts pushing at the edges of his determination. He filled Storm’s dish with kibble and then her water bowl; and waited for her to finish eating, stalling for time. “Stay here,” he told his dog after they went up to his room and he changed from his riding clothes to jeans and a sweatshirt. Might as well get this settled between us. With reluctant steps, he climbed down from his loft and went into the kitchen.

  His father sat hunched over a bottle at the kitchen table; unshaven, red-eyed, and stains on his shirt. Not good…

  River had learned to recognize the two levels of drinking for Cray; a mellow drunk and a despondent drunk. When mellow, he showed no outward signs of intoxication except for a whiff of his breath if he came too close. His appearance would be immaculate and his eyes bright, even if red-tinged. When River had first come to live with his father, he had enjoyed being with him when in his mellow state. Cray would hug him spontaneously, ruffle his hair, and tell him what a great kid he was. Often he told stories about horses he was training at the track and about owners, jockeys, and other trainers. Or he would talk nostalgically about the ranch the Blackthorn family had owned before it went bankrupt. He could tell a story so that the listener felt like he was there seeing the events as they unfolded. In those early days, River almost understood how his mother and Tess had succumbed to Cray’s charms, and in those days, the mellow drunk was his usual state.

  But over the years, as his success at the track waned, his father more often drank himself into a state of despondency and a tendency to volatile anger. River had learned to stay out of his way, but too many times, he could not avoid a confrontation that ended in his father lashing out at him with fists and kicking him with heavy boots, and peace only came when his father passed out.

  River was about to make a quick exit when his father looked up and slurred out, “River.” Ignoring him, he pushed through the back door even as he heard the scuffle of Cray’s chair and the stream of swearing as he stumbled after him. “I’m talking to you,” Cray yelled.

  River sprinted for the barn and up to his loft, hoping his father was too drunk to negotiate the steps. From his loft window he watched him stagger across the yard, swearing as he weaved, and then suddenly, halfway to the barn he paused, looking around as if he had forgotten something, and then lurched for his truck. It took him several attempts to pull open the driver’s side door and crawl up onto the seat.

  I should stop him, River thought guiltily, but made no move to do so as the truck’s engine burst to life and with a spray of dirt and gravel, his father negotiated a wayward track out to the road. River threw himself onto his mattress in relief, and waited for his pounding heart to slow to normal, taking in deep breaths. Storm nosed her way onto his chest with a comforting whine, and he hugged her tightly until his inner trembling subsided.

  Later, he returned to the house for a quick shower, and to scrounge a peanut butter sandwich and half a bag of pretzels, and then returned to his room to study for his finals next week; trying to keep up with the study habits he had learned from Laila. But after his long day, his eyelids drooped and he fell asleep hunched over a book.

  The sound of tires coming too fast into the yard woke him. He sat bolt upright and froze, listening as the truck door opened with a screech of un-oiled hinges and the sound of boots scuffing…then silence. River held his breath, hoping to hear the sounds of the back door opening, indicating his father had forgotten him and gone into the house.

  “River,” Cray roared at the top of his voice from the middle of the yard. “Get y’bagshs packed and get y’ass down here…now!”

  His heart accelerating, River remained still, as if any movement would bring Cray immediately in front of him, and with each breath, wishing, go inside, go inside.

  “Y’hear me, boy? Git’sh down here!” Silence for a few moments. “Don’t make me drag you down here!” Footsteps moved toward the barn.

  Closing his eyes tight with one last hopeful prayer, River forced himself to get up. “Stay here,” he said to Storm who sat as tensely alert as River felt. He left his room, descended the stairs and went outside to meet his father. He wanted to get this settled once and for all.

  Outside, Cray stood in the middle of the yard, wavering on his feet, staring up at River’s window. As River stepped out of the barn, Cray turned to face him, almost falling backwards.

  “Cray, I’m staying here,” River said, trying to keep his voice from shaking and hoping his father could not see how petrified he felt.

  “Boy…” Cray
spat out in fury, and then staggered forward and swung with surprising coordination and strength for his inebriated state. River managed to duck and sidestep away and the punch only grazed his shoulder. Enraged, Cray turned again, tripping over his own feet and falling flat.

  River watched him struggle and then went over to help him to his feet. He can’t hurt me tonight, he thought in relief. “Come inside,” he said, trying to propel his father toward the house. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  “Talk, ‘bout now,” Cray slurred, resisting River’s efforts to pull him along. River gave up, and let go of him, stepping back and away.

  “Cray, forget it. I am not going with you,” he said again, and then turned away, wondering if he should go back to his room, or run off into the woods and hide until his father passed out. With relief, he heard his father moving away, crunching gravel back towards the house. Maybe it was safe to go to his room. He would be gone to the stable long before Cray ever woke up tomorrow. River started for the barn.

  He heard the creak of the truck’s door. Is he going to try to drive off again? River turned to look, and saw his father with one hand holding onto the truck’s door for balance as he reached for something inside the cab. When his father pulled back out and turned to face him again, River froze in horror, looking into the muzzle of a handgun waving at him in his father’s hand.

  “I mean what I shay,” Cray growled thickly, and cocked the gun.

  Shaking his head in disbelief, River said, “Don’t do it.” He wanted to turn and run but he forced himself to stand still. “Cray, put the gun down.”

  His father wavered with the gun swaying in front of him in a small arc, all aimed at a part of River. He frowned, staring, and suddenly dropped the hand holding the gun to his side.