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

by K. M. Peyton

  ‘Mind your own business,’ snapped Gem, but her hand paused in mid-pounce over the fourth piece.

  Thursday afternoon, Beth brought Vixen in from the field to show the sisters how to groom a horse properly.

  ‘You girls can be a big help before lessons,’ she said, ‘if you know how to groom and tack up the school horses.’ Faith clenched her teeth and hung back.

  ‘First, use the currycomb,’ said Beth. She rubbed deeply into Vixen’s coat, circling against the hair growth with a tooth-edged rubber disk. Dust surged to the surface.

  Faith found herself interested despite her nervousness. Beth showed them the various brushes, the different strokes to use to pull up dust and brush it away. Vixen stood quietly.

  Beth had them each work on the mare.

  ‘Don’t be afraid to really brush hard,’ she said. ‘It stimulates the oil glands. Makes a shiny coat.’

  Faith hated getting that close to Vixen. But she couldn’t brush hard standing stiffly away from the horse.

  ‘She won’t bite, Faith,’ said Beth a little impatiently. She took the brush from Faith and began to finish the job. ‘Vixen’s been good,’ she said. ‘You can get her a carrot.’

  Relieved to get away, Faith hurried to the cool, shadowy part of the tack room where a big sack of carrots was kept. She had seen students giving carrot treats to horses before. She picked out a good-sized carrot and took her time getting back. Beth was knocking dirt and hair from the brushes. ‘You can give it to Vixen,’ she told Faith. ‘Careful of your fingers. Hold your hand flat.’

  Timidly Faith waved the carrot near Vixen’s mouth. Vixen’s teeth snapped open and caught it. Faith shrieked and snatched her hand away as the carrot disappeared, Crunch, crunch. Gone.

  Could’ve been my fingers, thought Faith, rubbing them. They felt dangerously like carrots. Can’t even feed them right, she thought, sinking deeper into the hole.

  She stood back when Beth showed them how to tack up Vixen. First Beth hoisted the saddle on and buckled it up. Then she picked up the bridle and slipped the reins over Vixen’s neck.

  In spite of herself, Faith edged closer. She was fascinated and horrified at the task of putting the bit into the horse’s mouth. Beth stuck her thumb and fingers into the sides of the great rubbery lips. Vixen’s mouth opened. Wet bits of grain and carrot slid out. Beth pushed the bit in between the big teeth and pulled the crown-piece in place over Vixen’s ears.

  It had taken only a few swift movements, but Faith didn’t know how Beth made sense out of the noodle-tangle of leather straps she joined and buckled. Gem made a yuck-face when she tried putting her fingers into Vixen’s mouth. Faith backed away, her brain closing off on the image of the big, wet horse teeth.

  Beth sent her a long glance. Then, sighing, she suggested that Faith only be responsible for helping groom the horses and carry the tack. ‘You’re not quite tall enough to pull the bridle over even Vixen’s head,’ she said. Faith felt relieved and, at the same time, somehow cheated.

  The next day, Gem bridled Vixen without a wince. Then, showing off, she bridled Harold for Faith. Faith was surprised and envious.

  But in the days that followed, Faith did help with the grooming. Early every morning, before lessons, she worked hard, moving guardedly around the big animals with the currycomb, then the brushes.

  Gradually she relaxed a little, no longer arching away from their warm bodies. Brushing became easier. She found herself enjoying the closeness and the healthy odor. Her animal-listening ear perked up. She began to murmur to the animals as she brushed. ‘Good fellow’ she said to Harold. ‘Guh-uhd fellow.’ She forgot about being in a hole.

  When she put away the brushes, her arms would be sprinkled with horse hair, her hands darkened by dirt. She always felt pretty accomplished until Gem handed her Harold’s reins, saying with unctuous good will, ‘Have a good ride.’ Faith’s spirits would sag. To get past the morning, to lunchtime and the easy afternoon, she would have to go through another lesson.

  After lunch was the time that Faith enjoyed most. Things slowed down for her. Sometimes she visited the sheep, Wolfie panting at her heels.

  Despite their blunt, stupid pushiness, Faith felt no fear of the sheep. She learned to call them, ‘Baa-aa,’ from way back in her throat. She began to notice their individual shapes and markings. When new-weaned lambs pressed to the fence, bleating for their mothers, she ached with sorrow.

  At feeding time, she helped Beth carry pails of grain. She hoped Beth would notice how unafraid she was of the sheep. While Beth strode ahead of her, Faith chattered loudly about how she and the sheep were ‘pretty good friends’.

  Beth didn’t wait when Faith had to stop and set the heavy pails on the ground to shake out her cramped fingers. Still, Faith thought she detected the stirring of a special bond between them. She longed to suggest that they hitch up Shinyface to the buggy and let her hold the reins – as she had long, long, a hundred years ago. But whenever she had the words in her mind, Faith felt shy and told herself it wasn’t the right time.

  Some afternoons she helped Beth weed the vegetable garden. There were a lot of weeds but they came up easily from the dark, rich soil. ‘You’re a better worker than your sister,’ commented Beth once. Faith turned her head to hide the surprise of tears in her eyes.

  One day, Beth suggested Faith help Brady, too. He was a quiet, white-haired old man who Beth hired to clean stalls, saddles and bridles.

  Faith, pleased at being such a help to Beth, didn’t mind the hard, dirty work. Since some horses were brought in at night the stables needed daily cleaning. She swept out the aisles and tack room while Brady wordlessly shoveled out stalls and pushed wheelbarrows full of straw and manure outside.

  Faith asked Beth what would happen to the manure pile. Would it just keep getting bigger and bigger? Beth was amused. ‘Oh, we use that to fertilize the alfalfa fields – and the garden.’

  Faith thought of the dark, rich soil around the thriving tomato plants, the growing corn and creeping squash vines. And the abundance of happy weeds. Everything went round in circles: alfalfa to the horse to the manure pile back to the alfalfa. Nothing ever really ended.

  The lessons didn’t end either. The second week, her sister was moved into a class with more advanced students. Faith had to stay with children so small their feet couldn’t touch the stirrups.

  Beth now required that Faith bring Harold from the field herself. Fortunately, he was always standing by the gate waiting for the carrot Faith brought. She didn’t have to step in among a cluster of horses to get him. The carrot Faith warily thrust at Harold served to occupy his attention while she snapped a lead line on to his halter.

  Beth didn’t approve of giving carrots before the lessons.

  ‘That’s bribery,’ she said. ‘Save carrots for a reward after the lesson.’

  But Faith always sneaked Harold the bribe. To her mind, she was rewarding him early.

  Beth spent more time now urging Faith into a trot on Harold. Faith hated being with the babies who couldn’t trot at all. She hated the wobble of her body in the saddle. But most of all, she hated the curling, sick feeling in her stomach that accompanied each lesson.

  In the afternoons, she continued to escape to the sheep or the other animals. She spent some rainy afternoons in the hayloft with the cats, a book and a peanut butter sandwich. She went for walks with Wolfie.

  She talked with the orphaned baby raccoon who lived in the lambing shelter. His name was Rackity and, at first, he cowered in a corner of his cage. She sat on an old milking stool and watched him for a long time. Soon she was able to coax him up to her hand. Rackity would let her stroke him. He got so he would take raw vegetables from her long, gentle fingers. Beth joked, ‘You must be part raccoon – a red-haired raccoon.’

  But Faith’s pleasure in these other animals seemed somehow diminished. Her magic touch didn’t extend to the huge, beautiful animals with their great, wet nostrils and heavy necks. Occasionally she wan
dered off by herself down to their field. She stared into it, leaning against the fence.

  Beneath the peaceful appearance of distant horses grazing lay the powerful thunder of hooves, the uncontrollable strength of charging animals . . . lay violence and death. But here, too, Faith sensed, was some kind of an answer. She had about eight weeks to discover it – or avoid it. She wasn’t sure which she could do best.

  5

  IN EARLY EVENING, traffic on the dirt road past Holbein Farm virtually stopped. The quiet lengthened with the shadows. The sun eased down behind the woods. There was a comfortable munch from the feed troughs as most of the animals nudged noses to grain. It was the time Faith counted the days left of the summer.

  Usually she sat on the back porch, scratching mosquito bites and listening to her sister splash in the tub inside. Gem’s baths were as predictable each evening as the pizza. They were a kind of comfort to Faith. Wolfie always came and plopped down near her by the steps. That was also a comfort. Sometimes Beth came too, and sat quietly with them whilst the pizza baked. Then Faith felt as if she and Beth were connected somehow to the fields and hills, the animals, the softening sky. She forgot to count the remaining days.

  Though Beth had finally gotten her television fixed, the girls had gotten out of the TV habit. The few times they did turn it on, the screen images were no longer compelling. The color seemed dimmer. ‘It’s her set,’ said Gem. It’s the horses, thought Faith. Beth herself never stayed awake in front of the TV very long.

  Daytimes were a different story. Beth seemed to have endless energy. Activity was everywhere. Neighbors came to help build fences. Their voices and saws and poundings criss-crossed the air. Interesting strangers pulled up in cars to look over Beth’s horses. People came with mares to breed with the beautiful, frenetic Apollo.

  Faith observed the horse people with the detachment of an outsider. Serious young riders arrived with their fathers or mothers, wanting a well-bred horse to show at jumping events. Fox hunters from Midwest hunts and lean endurance-ride competitors came looking for horses with stamina. Sometimes they took a horse away, leaving Beth richer and sadder.

  But Beth was too busy to be sad for long. She even taught classes on the Fourth of July. Faith and Gem didn’t expect a celebration but Beth grilled hot dogs outside for supper. Afterward they lit sparklers and sat around watching them sizzle and die. Fireflies glowed here and there in the darkness. Faith wondered only briefly if her father had been fussing over his barbequed spareribs all afternoon.

  Then Faith noticed Beth had fallen asleep, head on her arms, right where she sat. Beth’s life doesn’t pause for the Fourth of July, she thought. She was touched that this busy woman had made the extra effort to celebrate the holiday. Faith decided right then to find more ways to help at Holbein Farm.

  *

  There were plenty of things to choose from. Besides the grooming and helping Brady, Faith took over clearing dishes and cleaning up after each meal. She began to enjoy keeping the kitchen picked up. She organized the books and catalogs and magazines into several crates she had found in the unused chicken house. She kept Beth’s mail piled neatly on her desk whether Beth opened it or not.

  Gem caught the cleaning fever and began to organize the old bathroom, removing the avocado plant and dirty laundry. She arranged the towels by color and put the toothbrushes in pretty glasses. She wasn’t feverish enough to actually do the laundry, but she sorted it and put it in baskets in the pantry.

  ‘Now I won’t be able to find things,’ said Beth, smiling.

  ‘But you pick up the stables,’ protested Gem. ‘We can easily find bridles and lead lines because they’re all put back in place.’

  Beth gave her thoughtful look again, faintly tinged with embarrassment. ‘Well,’ she said finally, ‘I’m only one person. Brady’s only here a few hours a day. There is work here for at least three, maybe four. I have to choose the most important things as I see them. The horses can’t clean up the stables or their bridles and saddles.’

  ‘You need a housekeeper,’ said Gem

  ‘You need a cook,’ said Faith, who was beginning to foresee the time when she would grow tired of pizza.

  Beth sighed.

  ‘You need a husband!’ exclaimed Gem.

  ‘Who can cook!’ added Faith.

  Beth began to laugh. ‘I see you two have it all figured out,’ she said, wiping her eyes.

  ‘What kind of guy,’ Faith’s father had snorted, ‘wants to move way out to a farm and be put to work by Beth, ye gods!’

  Or maybe to ride Harold, thought Faith, silently agreeing with her father.

  One day a young couple who had come looking for a carriage-driving horse hauled the high-stepping Shinyface away. They left behind a check for twelve thousand dollars. Gem was impressed. ‘No wonder Beth wouldn’t let any of us ride him,’ she commented. Faith was sad when the couple drove off. They’d never hitch Shiny to the buggy now, she and Beth, and rattle along a dirt road. She watched the bright chestnut tail sway gracefully from the back of the couple’s horse trailer as it disappeared down the drive.

  Beth didn’t see them leave. She had gone hastily into the house. When she came out later, her eyes were red and swollen. She didn’t say a word to Faith but strode out to the field with a lead line and brought back Thundercloud. Faith watched her from the porch. The black horse followed, light and eager, behind the walking woman. There was something relentless about Beth’s movements as she tacked up Cloud by the fence. She swung herself into the saddle from the ground.

  Gem came out on the porch, waving fresh-painted fingernails. Together the sisters watched Beth ride through the field, up over the hill, and disappear. ‘What’s wrong with Beth?’ asked Gem. ‘I thought I heard her crying in the sheep’s bathroom.’

  ‘I don’t know why she sold Shinyface if it makes her feel so bad,’ said Faith.

  ‘She needs the money, dumb-o,’ grumbled her sister. ‘Dad says she always falls in love with her best horses and won’t sell them and that she’s broke all the time. Once she almost lost the farm because she wouldn’t sell her favourite jumper to a famous rider for umpteen thousands of dollars.’

  ‘But she teaches,’ protested Faith, ‘and people pay her to board their horses here.’ And other things, thought Faith. Beth kept horses that were ready to foal and she helped in the birthing. Faith had never known anyone who worked so hard.

  ‘She sells wool – and lamb meat, mutton and stuff,’ she reminded Gem.

  Gem snorted. ‘Peanuts,’ she said. ‘Big money comes from selling her best horses. Dad says she has to shell out for fencing and roofing and haying and farm equipment. And taxes. And vet bills.’

  Faith watched the spot on the hill where Beth had ridden from view. She saw the woman in her mind’s eye . . . legs grown into the sides of the horse, a centaur, waist supple, hands easy. Why didn’t she sell that damn Cloud instead she thought.

  Strangely enough, Faith began to get used to Harold and his big bumble of a trot. The huge bay nuzzled her for a carrot and sniffed her hair while she snapped on the lead line. Other horses now recognized her as the carrot kid and edged closer for a treat too. Faith learned to throw pebbles at their legs to keep them away from the gate as she brought Harold through.

  Although Faith still did not put on his bridle, Beth now insisted she saddle Harold after grooming him. At first it made Faith uncomfortable. She was afraid of angering the horse in her clumsy effort to heft the heavy old saddle on to his back. But Harold quietly tolerated her struggle.

  She began to notice, brushing his round sides, that her listening ear seemed more alert. Not quite the way it was with dogs and sheep. But she saw with new eyes Harold’s smooth coat, his mane, the long muscles of his shoulder and thigh.

  It was with surprise and a flash of fresh terror that she learned one morning that she would not ride Harold.

  ‘He’s sore in the foreleg,’ explained Beth. ‘You can ride Cloud.’

  Faith’s
heart stopped. Thundercloud! Her knees went weak. ‘Go get him,’ instructed Beth. ‘Go on . . . and smile,’ she added, seeing Faith’s pale face.

  Cloud wasn’t standing near the gate. Holding a carrot stiffly in her fist, Faith walked slowly out into the field, a lead line over her shoulder. Her sensitive listening ear was filled with a low roaring. Cloud grazed off by himself, but Faith kept a nervous eye on the other horses, too. The big black animal looked at her curiously as she approached him.

  ‘Cloud?’ she said, her voice trembling. She stopped a distance away.

  ‘Hi, remember me? I don’t need any welcome today.’ Cloud dropped his head and looked at Faith out of the side of his eye. She took a deep breath and walked slowly up to him. He didn’t move. He eyed the carrot. She reached gingerly up to his halter and clipped on the lead line. He sniffed the carrot, then bit the end off daintily.

  Surprisingly, the big black horse came in easily, almost eagerly. His eagerness itself was frightening. All her former discomfort around a horse returned as she was grooming him. His neck arched. His nostrils blew in and out. Warily she placed the saddle pad on his dark back, half expecting him to bolt. But he stood quietly as she hoisted the saddle on. After she had buckled it up, he stood staring out the door, ears alert.

  When Beth came to put on the bridle, Faith was grateful. She still couldn’t bring herself to put her fingers into a horse’s mouth.

  Once astride Cloud she immediately missed Harold’s big, round sides. Cloud was leaner and there was a lightness about him – almost the opposite of Harold’s solid steadiness.

  ‘Hold on. Hold on a minute,’ Faith wanted to say. ‘Wait!’ But part of her grew alive and excited. She didn’t have to cluck to Cloud to get him to walk out along the rail. His walk was firm and easy. No lumbering here. His body coiled beneath her. And his trot, when Faith asked for it, was high and smooth as butter.

  ‘I can still see a lot of daylight between your knees and the saddle,’ observed Beth loudly from the center of the ring.

  ‘Hug that leather! Knees in! Heels down! Grip with your whole leg.’