Lisa

by Bonnie Bryant

  Eventually they went to see the nearest park, a lovely grassy area with gently sloping hills and neat flower beds. The Atwoods sat on a bench in the park and began discussing their options for lunch.

  When suddenly, what to Miss Atwood’s wondering ears did arise but the familiar clip-clip of hoofbeats. Miss Atwood, an avid rider in her native Virginia, was naturally eager to determine the source of this sound, and she looked around as the hoofbeats came closer with great rapidity.

  Soon she spotted a sleek bay Thoroughbred on a hilltop nearby. The horse was fully tacked up. His rider, however, was nowhere in sight.

  Miss Atwood knew just what to do. She had to find the rider and make sure he or she was okay. A rider could get badly hurt being thrown from a horse, and the park was big enough that it might be quite a while before anyone found the injured rider.

  The young American approached the horse, who stood patiently while Miss Atwood took his reins and followed obediently when she began to lead him. After checking to be sure the horse was calm enough, she mounted and rode back to tell her parents where she was going.

  Mrs. Atwood expressed her extreme doubts about the wisdom of her daughter’s action. Miss Atwood, however, knew what she had to do. She did her best to reassure her mother, then rode off, following the horse’s trail as best she could.

  After riding back down the trail a little while, Miss Atwood spotted the thrown rider. It was a girl, about Miss Atwood’s own age, dressed in elegant riding attire. The girl was standing at the edge of the bridle path, rubbing her elbow and looking annoyed.

  Miss Atwood pulled up beside the girl. “I think I found something that belongs to you,” she told her.

  The girl looked very relieved. “Thank you so much!” she exclaimed in a crisp British accent. “I was just wondering where this fellow went.” After Miss Atwood had politely introduced herself, the British girl did the same. “Lady Theresa,” she said, shaking Miss Atwood’s hand vigorously.

  Miss Atwood was rather at a loss. Despite her mother’s many lessons on proper manners, she had no idea how she was supposed to act toward a lady—especially one who was clearly no older than she was. She decided on a direct approach. “Lady Theresa? That’s what people call you?”

  Lady Theresa’s answering smile was warm and kind. “Not at all,” she replied. “My friends call me Tessa.”

  After that, the girls were fast friends. Lady Theresa climbed aboard the horse behind Miss Atwood, and the two of them rode toward the royal stables, which, to Miss Atwood’s shock, was where the horse they were riding belonged. That was when Lady Theresa explained that, because her mother was a distant cousin to Her Majesty, she was occasionally invited to ride the royal horses.

  Miss Atwood, rather awed by all this royal business, suddenly remembered that her parents must be wondering where she was. When she explained as much to Lady Theresa, the two of them agreed that they should ride back and tell them what was happening. They did so, and then returned to the royal stables, which were just as wonderful as any stable, anywhere.

  Miss Atwood had a simply marvelous time touring the stables with her new friend Tessa, who introduced her to everyone they met as “the American who rounded up my horse and saved my life.”

  Finally it was time for Miss Atwood to return to her parents, who were waiting for her at a local restaurant that Lady Theresa had specially recommended. The girls gave each other hugs, and then the visit, the magical time, was over.

  Except for one more thing. Miss Atwood was sitting in the restaurant with her parents, who clearly didn’t quite believe their daughter had really befriended a member of the royal family and toured the Queen’s stables. They thought she was playing make-believe.

  Then the door to the restaurant flew open. In walked a tall man in a spotless uniform. “Is there a Miss Lisa Atwood here?” he asked the room at large.

  Mr. and Mrs. Atwood looked alarmed. Miss Atwood raised her hand. “I’m here,” she said tentatively.

  “Oh, good,” the man said, approaching their table. “Her Majesty wanted to give you her personal thanks for rescuing her cousin Lady Theresa today. Her Majesty hopes you will accept this as a small token of her appreciation.”

  The man held out a box. Miss Atwood accepted it and opened it while everyone in the restaurant looked on. Inside was a small crystal horse, nearly a perfect replica of one of the Thoroughbreds from Her Majesty’s stables.

  It was the perfect ending to an exciting day for the American visitors.

  Dear Diary,

  Okay, that newspaper-reporter stuff was fun for a while. But it was a little hard to work in two important things I really wanted to say. The first thing is how wonderful it was to be in the saddle again after not riding for so many days—especially on that gorgeous, well-trained Thoroughbred. The second, which is even more important, is that Tessa really was incredibly nice. She’s the kind of person I felt was an instant friend—even though we only spent part of one day together, I know we’ll keep in touch. Sometimes things just happen like that. I only wish that Stevie and Carole could have met her, too. I know they’d like her just as much as I did. And she would absolutely love them, too. She’d probably think that Stevie’s sense of humor was simply “smashing,” and she would be terribly impressed with Carole’s horse sense as well as her sweet personality.

  Oh well. Maybe someday they’ll get to meet her. You never know …

  Dear Carole, Kate, and Stevie, and Eli and Jeannie, too,

  I’m getting to like traveling in Europe. In fact, it seems that the more I get to like it, the less my parents like it. That’s pretty strange. Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t wish I were with you guys. I do. I really do! Especially since you guys already know what you’re doing. I’m learning something new every day.

  I’m writing to you from Italy now. Today we drove through the area known as Tuscany. It’s just beautiful here. Very hilly (though nothing compared to the Rockies, but you know what I mean). There are little towns tucked in the hillsides with old, old houses that have orange tile roofs. It’s something.

  We stopped in a small town to get some lunch and fill up our tank with gas. It’s a good thing we don’t do that much—gas is over six dollars a gallon, if I’ve done my math correctly. Mom and Dad kept looking at the menu and couldn’t make any sense of it. Naturally, I had my phrase book handy. They told me what they wanted and I ordered it for them. They seemed pretty grateful. The waiter was really impressed. Honestly, so was I. I’m actually getting good at it—thumbing through the phrase book, I mean, not speaking Italian!

  That’s not what I really wanted to tell you about, though. The really fantastic thing happened later.

  After lunch Dad went and found a telephone. He wanted to call the hotel to make sure our reservation was okay. Mom went with him and took the phrase book. While they were away from the table, I got into a conversation with a woman at the table next to us. I was wearing my Saddle Club pin and she noticed it. She spoke a little English; I spoke a little Italian. We made out okay.

  What I realized as we started talking was that she was actually wearing riding clothes! It took two or three times around the vocabulary list for me to realize that she was asking me if my parents and I were attending the horse show in the next town. Can you believe it? There was actually a horse show going on and I didn’t know it until she told me.

  Well, of course, I just had to go. Mom had been talking about some ancient ruin, but what’s an ancient ruin compared to a horse show? I didn’t think I’d have too much trouble convincing Dad, because he’d had it up to here with ancient ruins. I was all ready to do my convincing talk when the looks on their faces told me there was trouble.

  It turned out that the hotel at which we had a reservation was totally booked because of the horse show. My parents had gone all through the phrase book, looking for a way to threaten to sue. The best they could do was to get a promise that, if we showed up, they’d see what they could do to find us a plac
e to stay.

  Since it was my idea to go to the horse show anyway, I thought that was fine. We paid our bill and drove on over to the hotel. My parents were very upset. I guess I can’t blame them, but I was pretty sure something would work out. It’s always seemed to me that when there are horses around, everything else works out. Know what I mean?

  So, while they went to try to sweet talk the hotel into finding a place for us to stay, I walked on over to the horse show. It was practically across the street.

  I bought a ticket, got a program that I hardly understood, and just walked around. Everything was outdoors. There were about four rings with events going on all at the same time. I watched a dressage exhibition in the main ring and watched a preliminary jumping event in a smaller ring. It was really fun. I missed you guys, though, because there wasn’t anybody for me to talk to. Even if my parents had been there (and they were still at the hotel then), they wouldn’t have understood what they were watching. Mom judges horses by their looks and their pedigrees, rather than by their performance, and Dad tends to want to know how much money they’re going to win and who is betting on them—that is, if he’s not preoccupied with where he’s going to eat his next meal.

  Anyway—this is the really interesting, nearly unbelievable, but absolutely true part. I wandered over to the area where the junior competitors were having their events. They were doing hunter jumping and they were pretty good. There was one boy who was far and away better than any of the rest of them. I was really impressed. He went through the first round with flying colors, and then when he brought his horse out for the conformation judging, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  Enrico. It was actually Enrico. Remember him? One of the four Italian boys we met when they visited Pine Hollow last year?

  I didn’t want to upset him during the judging, but as soon as he brought his horse over to the side of the ring, I started yelling and waving. I only made a slight idiot of myself before he saw me. He told me to wait right there—until the ribbons were handed out. Of course, he got a blue. Then he came over and gave me this most gigantic hug. He asked me what I was doing there and how you guys are and what was going on and everything. I couldn’t answer all his questions at once, but the minute I told him about the hotel, he got this wonderful look on his face.

  “But you and your parents—you will stay with us!”

  “You have room for all of us?” I asked. He told me that of course he did. Little did I know.

  Right then my parents showed up. They were as mad as could be and Dad was on the verge of saying all sorts of things about Italian innkeepers. I introduced them to Enrico and told them we had a place to stay.

  I won’t bore you with all the details now—I’ll have months and months to do that when I get home—but I will tell you that as I write this, I’m sitting at an antique Italian secretary (that’s a fancy word for a small desk) in Enrico’s family mansion. This isn’t just a house. Oh, it also turns out that the horse show isn’t being held in any funky old public park. It is being held on Enrico’s family estate. I mean estate. It goes on for acres and acres and it’s been in his family for generations. My parents and I are in our very own wing or something. I’m not sure exactly because the place is just too big for me to be completely oriented. I do know that when we want breakfast, we’re supposed to ring for a servant who will either bring it to us or show us the way to the dining room. I’m telling you, you’ve never seen anything like this.

  Now I think I’ll take a bath. The bathtub is about the size of a small swimming pool. Of course, the one in my parents’ bathroom is much larger …

  Just kidding. Still, it’s all pretty grand.

  It’s hard to believe this vacation is almost over. It’s been so interesting. When I think about it, before I left, I was scared to death about being in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar languages. I’ve realized that people are people, and if you try to be nice and try to speak to them in their own language, no matter how badly you mangle the phrases from the phrase book, they want to be helpful and welcoming. I’ve enjoyed the trip. I’m a little sorry it’s almost over, but I can’t wait to see you guys and hear everything about High Meadow. I get to read your diaries, right? Don’t leave anything out.

  Love,

  Lisa

  Dear Diary,

  Wow, I can’t believe my trip to Europe is over and we’re flying home already. Before we left home, four weeks seemed like forever. And a few times, like that night in Paris when we had to wait three hours for dinner, or the morning Mom insisted on pointing out every old rock in Windsor, or a few times when I was trapped in the car in Italy when Mom and Dad were arguing over directions, it really did feel like time was standing still!

  But a lot of the time, the hours just flew by. Like when I was in the Musée d’Orsay. Or the afternoon I spent getting to know Tessa. Or the couple of days we spent at Enrico’s home. Or the hour last night we spent on the phone with Peter.

  It was so great to talk to him, even though Mom hogged the phone. I only got about five or ten minutes—and I think I only got that much because Peter asked for me specifically, which made me feel really good—but we managed to catch up on a lot in that short time. I told him about our trip, and what Stevie and Carole were doing while I was in Europe, and he told me about the work he’s doing in Africa, which sounds pretty interesting. The only slightly awkward moment was when he mentioned his screenplay. I didn’t say too much, and I guess he thought that meant I’d liked it as much as I said in my letter. I feel kind of weird about that. I still don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I also don’t want to lie … Oh well. I’ll have to think about that more when I get home.

  Anyway, I think Mom and Dad were really glad to hear Peter’s voice. They seemed a lot more cheerful after they called. And their moods improved even more when they saw the restaurant where we were having dinner. Enrico’s parents had suggested it the day before when we’d left their place. They said it was their favorite restaurant in Florence, and I can believe it. It was wonderful. Our table was on a huge stone balcony overlooking a busy city square. People bustled around below us as we sipped wine (Mom and Dad) and mineral water (me) and ate pounds and pounds of delicious Italian food. We had a perfect view of the sun as it set over the ancient-looking buildings, and as it grew dark, a little orchestra set up in the square and started a concert, so we got to hear and see that as we ate, too. It was positively perfect. I think Mom and Dad thought so, too, and I’m glad about that. I’m not sure they had as good a time in Europe as I did, although I think there were moments they enjoyed a lot. Mom loved staying at Enrico’s mansion, and I think she really did like touring some of those dusty old ruins and fancy churches. Dad loved trying all the different food in the different countries—well, except maybe for that tongue sandwich back in Paris. But he now claims that gelato (that’s Italian ice cream) is his new favorite food. And he even seemed to like the steak and kidney pie he had in England, though I thought it was awful.

  So now here we are on another plane, heading back across the Atlantic. I’m sad to leave Europe behind—there’s so much more that I didn’t get to see. But even more, I’m happy to be going home. I miss my friends so much I can hardly stand it. I can’t wait to hear all about their adventures at High Meadow. I hope they kept good diaries! (At least Carole …) I want to know about every second of their trip.

  Because I’m definitely going to make them listen to me talk about every second of mine!

  Stevie’s High Meadow Diary

  Okay, I know I didn’t make any promises about this diary. In fact, I pretty much told you (Lisa, that is) not to count on me. But it’s the night before we leave for High Meadow, and I’m too excited to sleep, so I figured I’d jot down a few words. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be inspired to keep it up through the whole trip. Maybe I’ll even decide to start keeping a diary regularly, like forever! Wouldn’t that be something? It would be like going to High Meadow had changed my whole entire life! My parent
s would practically die of shock, and Miss Fenton would probably think I’d been kidnapped by aliens and undergone an entire personality transplant. Hmmm. Maybe I’ll tell her I’m keeping a diary, even if I decide not to. It might be worth it just to see the look on her face.

  But anyway, back to the trip. Lisa, I really wish you were coming with us. I know I should be tactful here and say stuff about how it probably won’t be any fun without you. And it’s true that it won’t be as much fun with you way over in Europe somewhere. But it’s still going to be fun! I just hope you’re having even more fun checking out the Eiffel Tower and everything, so Carole and I won’t have any reason to feel guilty.

  As I was saying, though, I think this trip will be really cool. Those little campers aren’t going to know what hit them. By the time Carole gets through with them, they’ll know everything there is to know about riding and then some. And by the time I get through with them—well, let’s just say I’m not going to let all the fun pranks and silly songs and stories I’ve picked up at camp over the years go to waste. They’re going to wonder how they had the good luck to end up with such a cool counselor! I can’t wait.

  I also can’t wait to see Kate, of course, and Eli and Jeannie, too. We’re all going to have such a blast! Now if only I could manage to fall asleep so morning would come sooner … Well, I guess I’d better go give it a try. I’ll write more when we get there.

  Carole’s High Meadow Diary

  Dear Diary (or really Lisa since that’s who’s going to read this eventually. I certainly don’t plan on looking at it again!),

  I can’t believe the day we just had! Both Stevie and Kate are sleeping soundly, but I have a lot on my mind and I can’t sleep.

  The day started off wrong and it just never got any better. First of all, we were so tired that when the bell rang to wake us up, we fell right back to sleep again. All that traveling yesterday was more tiring than any of us had realized. So when the breakfast bell rang, we did the same thing. Eventually Jeannie came and woke us up. She was more or less nice about it, but we’re here to help, not to cause trouble. We were causing trouble then because there was going to be a ride and nobody could go until we were ready.