Pony Stories (3 Book Bind-Up) (Red Fox Summer Reading Collections)

by K. M. Peyton

  ‘I don’t want to ride today,’ announced Faith while the three of them were eating breakfast. ‘Mom said take it easy at first.’

  Beth pushed her French toast around the plate after the syrup. Gem tried to look cool.

  ‘We won’t do much,’ said Beth calmly. ‘Besides, Harold wouldn’t hurt a fly . . . even a horsefly.’ She smiled at her own joke. ‘You’ll see.’ There was something unbending as iron in her pleasant manner.

  Beth got up and balanced her sticky plate in the sink. ‘Put on your jeans and sneakers and I’ll see you down below.’ Her voice was cheery but Faith sensed beneath it was no room for argument. Without waiting for a reply, Beth left them at the table and headed for the barn.

  Their suitcases were still in the kitchen, except for Gem’s makeup case, which had displaced everything else on the counter of the old bathroom. They pulled out their jeans, clean socks and shirts and shoved their suitcases back underneath the kitchen table.

  ‘I don’t want to do this,’ muttered Faith as she dressed by the refrigerator. Her mother never insisted Faith do something against her nature and always seemed to know when not to push.

  No matter how she lagged, Faith was finally clothed. Down below meant the stable in the lower part of the barn. The girls took their time getting there. Faith noted that the stable looked freshly swept. The smells that yesterday had filled Faith’s nose comfortably, wood and manure and hay, now had a dangerous heat in them.

  Beth was standing just inside the big stable doors with two saddled horses. One was the dainty brown mare with the shaggy mane and the other a big, strong-looking horse whose name, Beth said, was Harold.

  ‘Harold is a bay. Bays are brown with black manes and tails and black legs.’ Faith noticed with alarm the great size of Harold’s sturdy black legs, the huge, rock-solid hooves. ‘Harold used to be a hunt horse,’ Beth continued. ‘He really loved the chase.’

  ‘He’s big,’ said Gem in her fussy voice which meant she was worried.

  ‘He’s old,’ said Beth. ‘And smart and beautiful.’ She leaned into Harold, her cheek against his shoulder.

  Faith’s body was growing formless with dread. Beth, who had seemed a new ally yesterday, was now a stone stranger.

  ‘He’s big,’ repeated Gem.

  ‘But,’ said Beth stepping away from Harold, suddenly all business, ‘Gem will ride Vixen. Faith will ride Harold.’

  Faith’s stomach did a slow, horrible flopping. She would have to get on that monster. Beth handed her the big bay’s reins and instructed Faith to follow her out to the ring. I was right, thought Faith, that is where riders practise. But no trace of her earlier excitement was there to comfort her. Harold was huge beside her, warm. She could feel him breathing.

  ‘Don’t let him step on you,’ called out Beth crisply. She walked out the door, followed by Gem leading Vixen. Faith leaned away from the big horse, reins loose in her trembling hand. She sidestepped out the barn door and banged her shoulder painfully. Harold’s feet seemed enormous, his body tanklike as he plodded beside her.

  In the ring, Gem was standing on a small platform next to Vixen. A black riding cap sat snugly over her heavy hair. ‘. . . left foot in the stirrup. Swing your right leg over the saddle,’ Beth was saying. Her voice came to Faith as if through a fog. ‘Hold the reins with your thumbs on top.’ Gem looked as if she’d done it all before. Faith wondered where her sister’s fear had gone. She watched in surprise as Gem walked Vixen on out around the ring.

  ‘Pick a hat that fits,’ instructed Beth, pointing to a bin full of worn riding caps. ‘For your protection.’ Faith was not reassured. Protection? With trembling hands she settled a hard, velvet-covered shell over her head. It didn’t feel right – but nothing felt right.

  ‘Lead Harold to the mounting block,’ Beth urged a bewildered Faith. ‘To the right of the steps – to the right.’ Then she added strongly, ‘Always – always mount a horse from his left side. Is that clear?’

  ‘Why?’ asked Faith, stalling for time. But Beth didn’t answer her question. She took Harold’s reins from Faith and led him to the right of the mounting block. ‘Get on the block,’ she ordered. ‘Come on, don’t waste time, Faith.’

  Faith, stung into action by Beth’s sharp tone, mounted the steps. Harold didn’t seem so big from this new height. It wasn’t difficult to place her left foot in the stirrup and swing her other leg over the saddle. But once perched on the horse, she felt disconnected from herself, helpless. A warm, dusty odor rose from the powerful body. She could feel Harold’s breathing, the readiness of his muscles. She herself had no muscles to speak of.

  The big horse bent his head down and she felt as if she would pitch down his long neck to the ground. She clutched the front of the saddle. I’m not an athlete, she wanted to tell Beth, who was making quick adjustments in the stirrup leathers so they would fit Faith’s ten-year-old legs. Everything was moving forward with Faith caught in the motion, her speech trapped in her throat.

  Beth’s firm voice came to her as if from a distance. ‘Now, just walk Harold around the ring after Gem.’ She clucked at Harold and gave him a quick slap on his rump. The muscles beneath Faith jerked and the huge animal walked.

  Gem was proudly strutting about on Vixen. Sweat broke out on Faith’s forehead and in the palms of her hands. The steady rolling heave of the horse made her feel sick to her stomach. All of her natural instincts, the parts of her that could exchange signals with animals, were smothered in a blanket of fear.

  ‘You mount from the left because it’s traditional,’ Beth’s faraway voice continued. ‘The cavalry wore swords at their left side and couldn’t swing that leg over the horse.’

  Ordinarily this information would have interested Faith, but she couldn’t use it to eliminate the veil of fear she moved through. And Beth didn’t seem to notice her fright. She just kept up a patter of facts about the cavalry and how they started the English style of riding and Faith no longer heard at all.

  The hour lesson was torture. Faith felt shapeless astride the huge horse. First Beth had them go clockwise around the ring. ‘Keep out to the rail!’ Then they had to turn their horses and go the other way. Faith watched her sister learn how to post up and down as Vixen first walked, then trotted around the ring. Why standing up in the stirrups and sitting back down over and over enabled you to ride was a mystery Faith didn’t even question. ‘Grip with your legs, Gem. Clamp those legs in and push up out of the saddle,’ Beth called out. ‘Up . . . down . . . up . . . down.’ Faith watched from the back of a slowly plodding Harold, hoping to be ignored. Now added to her fear was a rush of thick envy. I’ll never catch up, she thought miserably.

  Gem’s face was serious with concentration. Up . . . down. Around the ring she posted, bobbing and bouncing unevenly to Vixen’s quick trot.

  ‘That’s the idea,’ said Beth. ‘When you’re posting correctly, the horse’s trot won’t bounce you all over the saddle. Feel that, Gem?’

  Posting felt impossible to Faith when it was her turn. Even when she tried it at a walk, her legs chafed against the saddle. She couldn’t rise up into the post without her upper body collapsing. Bored, Harold kept stopping.

  ‘Keep him walking!’ shouted Beth. ‘Cluck to him.’ The hair at the back of Faith’s neck and around her forehead was wet from the effort and anxiety.

  Finally, with a sigh, Beth turned her attention back to Gem, whose athletic body responded easily to her direction. Faith sat rigidly on Harold and watched as her sister now posted evenly around the ring at a trot, her bright hair lifting and falling. Gem had the elating look she sometimes wore when running. Faith sat hoping Beth would soon call it a day. Walking Harold was awful enough. She didn’t want him trotting.

  But after Beth showed Gem how to halt Vixen, she turned to Faith. ‘Let’s try posting at a trot, Faith,’ she said with brisk cheeriness. ‘It’s often easier than at a walk.’

  As if he understood the words, Harold moved into a trot. Fear swept over
Faith. The quick, lurching movement shot her all over the saddle like a drunken puppet. The bouncing hurt her crotch. She hunched over the saddle, clutching the ridge in front of her. The reins dangled uselessly.

  ‘Pick up the reins. Let go of the pommel!’ called Beth. Faith barely heard. Whimpering, she bounced around the ring atop the huge animal. Her hands were glued to the front of the saddle. She couldn’t obey Beth’s shouted commands of ‘Look up! Look up!’ Finally Beth told her, ‘Okay, Faith, let’s walk for a while.’

  But now Harold didn’t want to slow up and Faith couldn’t make him obey.

  ‘Pull back with the reins! Back with the reins!’ Beth shouted. But Faith’s brain was frozen. She could only clutch the pommel and whimper ‘Whoa . . . whoa’ in a weak little voice. Her feet had been shaken from the stirrups. Her long, thin legs slapped against the horse’s sides. Harold came to a halt in front of Beth.

  Faith expected Beth to help her out of the saddle, but Beth just said matter-of-factly, ‘Why don’t you walk him around a little? I’ll work Gem and Vixen some more.’

  Harold plodded dutifully out along the rail. Faith watched her sister on Vixen. Gem had that greedy eagerness on her face that came over her when she was excited about something.

  She’s forgotten all about boys for an entire morning, Faith thought miserably.

  At the lesson’s end, Faith inched her way fearfully from the broad back, sliding down Harold’s side, toes searching for the ground. Her legs ached. Her crotch was sore. But worse, she was shrunken with despair over her failure at riding. She led Harold back to the barn easily, though. Leading him was now less frightening than being on top of him.

  ‘Cheer up,’ said Beth, seeing Faith’s forlorn face. She unbuckled the girth and hauled the heavy old saddle from Harold’s back. ‘Tomorrow you’ll do better in a regular class.’

  Faith lay awake in bed that night next to her soundly sleeping sister. Gem had been too tired to do her nightly exercises or even chatter about ‘guys’. Faith missed her mother, who would never have made her get on a horse. She felt somehow betrayed. Here it was, only the next to last Sunday in June. She had two months plus two weeks to go before she would be back home where someone understood her. Gem’s phrase, ‘Some animal lover,’ burned like a brand in her mind. Faith staunchly resisted the urge to suck her thumb.

  4

  THE NEXT MORNING Faith woke at half light. It was too early to get up but she couldn’t get back to sleep. Aside from the birds chirping sleepily, the farm was quiet. She lay there for what seemed like ages worrying about the day ahead. Then the sun began to slip through the curtains and she heard Beth running water in the kitchen. Monday the real world begins, she thought.

  Without enthusiasm, she pulled on yesterday’s jeans over the same underwear. She didn’t bother to change her socks. Before going downstairs she poked Gem.

  ‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,’ she said loudly at her sister’s blinking face. ‘Time to clean out stalls.’

  She thumped down the stairs with Gem yelling after her, ‘You little rat!’

  There was no French toast this morning. Beth was on her way out the kitchen door with a great bag of cat food in her arms and a cup full of coffee hooked by one thumb. She pointed with her elbow to the cereal boxes on a shelf. ‘Juice and milk in the refrigerator. Jam and butter, too.’

  She let the screen door slam, calling over her shoulder as she went, ‘Come down to the stable when you’re finished.’

  Faith ate slowly, trying to hold the day still until she found her balance. She considered doing the dishes before she left the homey comfort of the kitchen. It would be a legitimate delay. She wasn’t ready to be thrown on a horse again.

  Gem bounced into the kitchen, jogged by the table and grabbed the piece of toast Faith had just loaded with strawberry jam. She banged out the door hollering, ‘Touché!’

  Faith scrambled after her, forgetting the dirty dishes. She was furious at Gem. It made her feel suddenly brave and full of purpose.

  But her purpose was deflated by the surprise of lively activity outside. Cars were pulling into the driveway, discharging kids of various ages in riding clothes or jeans and sneakers. Students for the regular classes, thought Faith. There were a few boys but mostly the students seemed to be girls. Faith remembered Beth saying that riding was one of the few sports where women could compete on the same level as men.

  At the stable, Gem was finishing Faith’s toast and sizing up a group of teenage girls in well-fitting breeches and long black riding boots.

  ‘They’re in the advanced class,’ she whispered as Faith came up. ‘We’re only in the beginners.’

  Any of the remaining anger Faith felt toward her sister dissolved in a wave of panic. Before she could plan a quick disappearance, Beth handed her Harold’s reins – attached to Harold.

  ‘Beginners first,’ Beth said and added jokingly, ‘You can warm him up for the advanced riders.’ Faith, numb with worry, didn’t even smile.

  As she led the giant Harold down to the ring, her stomach churned. Mothers were sitting in their cars on the hill above the ring and more mothers were down leaning on the fence. Riders for the next class were chatting in groups. Someone’s father stood with his foot on a rail, watching.

  The warm face of Faith’s own mother slipped into her mind. Tears began to collect behind her eyes. But Beth was now directing beginners to the mounting block, adjusting stirrups and clucking horses and riders out into the ring. There was no time for sorrowing.

  Once Faith climbed on to Harold’s broad back, her legs felt slack and useless. Added to the feeling of helplessness was embarrassment at being out there in front of all those parents. She felt naked and foolish on the giant horse plodding slowly around the ring.

  Fortunately, there were seven other students besides Faith and Gem. Beth spent the entire first part of the lesson just getting some of them used to walking around while trying to post up and down. They all seem to catch on so quickly, thought Faith as she struggled in the saddle, following behind the only boy in the class.

  ‘Posting smooths out the bumps when you’re riding at a trot,’ Beth called out. ‘You don’t tire as easily. You can cover long distances in comfort.’

  ‘Cover long distances?’ Faith asked herself, imagining a prairie, a desert, endless hills. Around the ring was too long a distance for her.

  But before the end of the lesson, four students, including the boy, were trotting and posting with Gem. Beth spent most of her attention on these riders. Faith and the other three were instructed to walk their horses around at the rail while standing up in the stirrups.

  Faith’s crumpled stance in the stirrups felt unnatural and foolish. ‘If it doesn’t get worse than this, I’ll live,’ she said to herself. ‘But who wants to?’

  Toward the middle of that first week at Holbein Farm, Gem stopped describing to Faith the merits of all the boys she knew back home and began to talk about horses.

  She doesn’t even like animals, Faith thought dismally. Animals are my specialty.

  Gem’s conversation was now full of terms like ‘noseband,’ ‘throatlatch’ and ‘diagonals.’

  Diagonals became one of Faith’s nightmares. She could barely lift herself into a posting position at a walk. At a trot, she jiggled all over the saddle and her brain went cold. Now Beth was asking that she recognize diagonals.

  ‘At a trot, horses’ legs move in diagonal pairs,’ shouted Beth from the center of the ring. ‘Right foreleg with left back leg. And vice versa.’

  Faith’s legs ached from the effort of trying to post.

  ‘Notice when the horse’s outside leg moves forward,’ instructed Beth. ‘Post up in rhythm with his outside leg.’

  The other riders seemed to be getting the idea. Of course the horse had only two forelegs – there was only fifty percent chance of being wrong. But Faith always seemed to be on wrong diagonal.

  ‘Sit a bounce, Faith,’ cried Beth from the center of the ring. ‘
Come up on the correct diagonal.’

  There was no time to think. It happened too fast. Faith couldn’t distinguish one bounce from another. Desperately she tried to open her animal-listening ear, tried to feel Harold’s legs. But she had lost connection with her own legs except for their twin throbbing.

  ‘Slow down, Faith. Let him walk. You need to strengthen those legs,’ called Beth at one point.

  With a sigh of relief, Faith pulled Harold down to a walk. That, at least, she could now do. She checked Beth’s face as she and Harold walked past. Was she angry? Disappointed? The tanned face was quiet.

  ‘Drop your stirrups and practice lifting yourself into posting position without them,’ said Beth reasonably. ‘Use the inside of your thighs and your knees. Twice around the ring. Cluck to him! Make him move out!’

  Faith urged Harold into a faster walk. She strained and struggled to lift up without the stirrups to brace against.

  ‘That’s right, Faith, keep it up,’ said Beth. It didn’t feel right but Faith felt she should get a Brownie point for fooling Beth. She couldn’t raise up more than half an inch from the saddle. Still, she forced herself to keep at it. Twice around the ring seemed like forever. The insides of her knees felt raw.

  When she dismounted to lead Harold back to the stall, her thighs shook uncontrollably and she felt close to tears.

  Back in the ring she could hear Beth’s crisp instructions as the riders went around one more time.

  It seemed to Faith as though she were slipping into a dark and bottomless hole. Far up, at the edge of the hole, in sunlight, posted Gem on the right diagonal.

  At suppertime, Faith was surprised at how Gem gobbled her pizza. She was usually finicky about food. She didn’t want to gain weight. But that night Gem put away three pieces before Faith had finished her first.

  ‘I think you’re getting fatter,’ said Faith spitefully. ‘You’d better take it easy on the pizza.’