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

by K. M. Peyton

  Faith was so pleased, she blushed.

  ‘Looks like you been working hard.’ He nodded toward her dirty, straw-covered jeans. Faith blushed again and hid her hands behind her back. She knew her hands were grimy from grooming horses and her nails were black. Suddenly she realized she was going to have lunch and she hadn’t remembered to wash her hands. That was a rule back home – clean hands or no meal. Beth, too, reminded them before eating.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she whispered and fled from the line to search out the washroom.

  Later, after she’d eaten her sloppy joe underneath a tree, she saw the cowboy leaning against the stairs by the judges’ booth. She wandered over to him, drawn by his big worn hat and the easy way he stood. He was still chewing a toothpick. She wondered what he was doing at an English hunt-seat show. Cowboys didn’t ride the same as English-trained riders. Even their saddles were different.

  She leaned against the white rail of the ring, sighing as she looked at the preparations for the next class.

  ‘You scare real easy, miss,’ remarked the cowboy. Faith’s heart went cold. Who had told him she was a coward? But the cowboy added, ‘What did I say t’make you run off?’

  Faith was so relieved she giggled. ‘Just went to wash up before lunch.’

  ‘You ride?’ asked the cowboy, shifting his weight against the railing.

  ‘I used to,’ replied Faith. That was at least half true. ‘But horses aren’t my favorite thing.’ She waited for him to ask about her favorite thing. She would tell him about Blackie Whiteface or Rackity or the rabbits in her backyard at home.

  But he drawled, ‘What’re you doing here?’ Faith looked up at him, hesitating. He smiled. ‘This is a heck of a place for somebody who’s not into horses.’ His eyes were tan colored and warm. Like his skin and beard and his smooth, taffy-colored boots. She liked the soft way he spoke.

  ‘I’m visiting,’ said Faith. ‘And I help with the horses.’ She nodded. ‘There’s work for two or three at Beth’s farm.’

  ‘Is that Beth?’ asked the cowboy. He fanned his chin toward the line of horses and riders waiting outside the ring.

  It was Beth, giving last-minute words to her riders, dark-honey hair straggling down out of her ponytail. She had her stall mucker boots on, which made her feet look like Beetle Bailey’s in the comics. Her face was sweaty.

  Faith realized he had been watching Beth for some time, not Gem, beautiful in her blue velvet hunt cap.

  ‘That’s Beth,’ she answered. ‘She’s talking to my sister.’ Faith watched the cowboy’s face. ‘My sister is a pretty good rider even though she just learned this summer. She still has to look down to check her leads, but Beth says she has a good chance to place. Beth says judges are biased.’

  The cowboy looked at her with interest. Encouraged, Faith went on. ‘Some judges don’t like boy riders – or fat girls – or Appaloosa horses . . . no matter how good they are. Beth says most judges love thin, blonde girls on big grays or blacks.’

  ‘Is that a fact,’ said the tan man. He switched his toothpick. ‘Probably so.’

  ‘The class my sister rides in won’t be the real big jumps,’ she continued to inform him. ‘They change the course and raise the fences later for the real good riders.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he agreed.

  Faith didn’t usually talk at such a rate to strangers. But there was something about the cowboy, a kind of warm excitement that seethed from his skin and clothing. And he liked her, she could tell.

  He smiled around the toothpick, showing nice, strong, even teeth.

  ‘Where do you live?’ asked Faith.

  ‘Oh, anywhere,’ he said, his eyes turned back towards Beth. She was still talking to Gem, stroking Rambler’s neck. ‘Everywhere.’

  Nowhere, I bet, thought Faith. A wandering cowboy. She edged nearer along the rail, drawn by his pleasantness, and looked up at his face.

  ‘What do you do?’ she asked.

  He looked down at her, amused. ‘Are you nosy?’ he teased, ‘or just careful? How many questions you gonna ask before I get to tell you my name, my age – and how much money I make?’

  ‘How much money do you make?’ asked Faith, delighted with her new sauciness. She saw herself flirting like Gem.

  The cowboy spit out the toothpick, threw back his head and laughed.

  ‘You’re quite an ol’ gal, Red.’ Faith smiled. The cowboy had a wonderful laugh. She noticed that his hands were fine, with very clean nails. Perhaps he was a movie cowboy. Most people who rode horses had tougher-looking hands. Who cared? A warm excitement fluttered in her throat.

  She glanced hastily over at Beth, talking now to Cora, who sat on Cloud. Beth’s hands were gentle on the neck of the big, black horse, stroking. Faith knew that Beth’s nails were chipped and dirty, the palms calloused. She tried to look at Beth through the cowboy’s eyes and, for a brief instant, Beth came into focus as Faith had never seen her. Her serious face, intent upon her student, blooming rich with color. There was a vast quiet beneath her hands against the dark horse. Her strong arms were smooth and tanned. Why, she’s beautiful, thought Faith.

  A flash of jealousy shriveled her briefly. Then she pushed it away, thinking, he’s not going to wait till I grow up. But I could give him to Beth. Like a carrot. Maybe she’d be grateful. Maybe he’d visit a lot.

  Then the loudspeaker interrupted her dreaming. They were calling riders up for the next class. There was excitement along with dust rising in the air as horses and riders approached the ring.

  ‘Gotta go,’ the cowboy said. He turned and mounted the ladder into the judges’ booth. ‘See ya later, Red.’

  Surprised, she watched him enter the booth. Then, afraid of losing him, she called up, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Ben,’ he called back, ‘Ben Warren from Pennsylvania. Your Beth has heard my name before, I betcha.’

  Pennsylvania? Faith was disappointed. She had hoped for Montana or Wyoming.

  But the real surprise came when she began to realize that Ben Warren was in the judges’ booth because he was one of the judges.

  Over the loudspeaker came the announcer’s voice. ‘Afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Most of you are already pretty familiar with our judge for the Equitation over Fences events. Mr Ben Warren comes to us from Green Valley, Pennsylvania . . .’

  From below, Faith let this new knowledge sink in. The cowboy was a lot more than a cowboy. Then embarrassment came. What had she said to him – about judges being biased? And about her sister looking down for the right lead? Oh no! She had even explained to a judge about the raising of the fences.

  In a hot glow of shame, she fixed her eyes on the activity ring. She was barely able to enjoy how well the first rider fenced. She couldn’t appreciate the tremor in the spectators when Cora, the star rider, went off course, forgetting the correct order of jumps. Cloud still pranced and snorted eagerly under the tearful girl as she left the ring, disqualified.

  The next horse refused a fence, sending the rider catapulting through the air to land on the far side of the jump. Faith was too preoccupied to even gasp.

  Then the announcer called Gem’s name and number, and Faith was finally able to focus on the ring. Her sister rode beautifully, turning corners with confidence, eyes up over the fences, hands forward and light. Faith couldn’t tell if she looked down for her lead as she rounded her turns. Rambler flew over each obstacle and Gem settled him back nicely for the next fence. There was a round of applause when the pretty girl trotted off, her back proud and straight.

  When the winners were announced, Gem had earned a first-place ribbon for the event. Faith stopped hating herself for bad-mouthing judges to an actual judge. She wondered, briefly, about Mr Ben Warren’s choice. Her sister had certainly ridden as if she had years of experience under her narrow belt.

  When the cowboy climbed down from the judges’ booth, she accosted him. ‘Is my sister really that good?’

  Ben Warren chuckled. ‘I must admit, Red, I’m a
little partial to black or gray horses and lean riders. Don’t have to be pretty, but they have got to move in harmony and the rider must not make mistakes.’

  ‘Can’t fat riders ever win?’ asked Faith, a little spite lifting her voice.

  ‘If they don’t make mistakes, sure,’ answered Ben Warren. ‘And if their weight doesn’t hinder the horse.’ His eyes crinkled when he smiled at her. Faith dropped her head, embarrassed before his niceness.

  ‘First-place ribbon probably would’ve gone to Cora What’s-’er-name if she hadn’t gone off course. But, who knows. Your sister rode well. I caught her checking for her leads once or twice but she was the best in the Novice Ridden class. She earned her ribbon.’

  Faith looked back up into the cowboy’s smile. He was the nicest man outside her father she had ever known.

  ‘Can you cook?’ she asked.

  9

  ‘I INVITED SOMEONE to dinner tomorrow,’ said Faith to Beth on the long drive home. ‘Okay?’

  It was growing dark and Beth’s face was in shadow.

  ‘Hope your friend likes pizza,’ said Beth tiredly. ‘I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. We shot the entire day today.’

  ‘He’s bringing the whole dinner!’ announced Faith triumphantly. ‘He can cook. He said just to set the table, have the wine glasses chilled and fill the water glasses two thirds full.’

  There was a long silence while Beth digested this news. Faith could feel the truck slow up almost imperceptibly. Then Beth asked tersely from the shadows, ‘Wine glasses? Whom did you ask, young lady?’

  ‘The judge,’ said Faith slowly, savoring the interest she could feel coming from both Beth and her half-dozing sister. Next to her, Gem stirred and sat up.

  ‘Mr Ben Warren, the judge. The judge of the Novice Ridden Hunter class – and the Baby Green over Fences and . . .’ She frowned in the effort to remember. ‘All the Novice Hunter division. I don’t remember them all – but the whole last half of the show was judged by Mr Ben Warren, the one in the cowboy hat.’

  The silence that grew in the cab of the truck was finally broken by Gem. ‘You’ve got to be kidding! He’s gorgeous! I can’t believe it.’ But she knew Faith wasn’t kidding. ‘The fox in the cowboy hat?’ Gem’s voice grew shrill with excitement. ‘He looks like a country-and-western star!’

  ‘How very interesting,’ commented Beth. But she no longer sounded so tired. Faith couldn’t tell if she was pleased, but Gem certainly was. Her sister began to plan out loud what had to be done to prepare for Mr Ben Warren.

  ‘We’ve got to vacuum. Faith, you vacuum. I’ll dust.’ She rambled on and on. Did Beth have a tablecloth, a real one – and napkins? They simply couldn’t use paper napkins when they were having wine. And couldn’t they have just a little – Gem and Faith? Faith’s could be mostly water – but just for the show of it? They’d have to launder the towels. ‘And oh!’ Gem squeaked. ‘The bathrooms!’

  Faith smiled to herself in the growing darkness of the cab. Squeezed in between Gem and Beth, she remembered the cowboy’s slow grin when she’d asked him if he cooked. He had offered to prove it. Then, made bold by his delight with her, Faith had brazenly suggested he come over the next day and fix Sunday dinner.

  ‘How many?’ he had asked. ‘How many eatin’?’

  ‘Just me and my sister. We don’t eat much. And Beth. She eats a lot.’

  He had laughed then and asked for the address. Faith could only remember the phone number of the farm. He pulled out a little gold pencil and a tiny notebook and wrote it down.

  ‘Maybe he won’t come,’ she said interrupting Gem’s excited planning. ‘He only has the phone number.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see,’ said Beth calmly. ‘It’s either a grand feast for four or pizza for three.’

  Both Faith and Gem groaned. The time had come at last for a change.

  The next day, Faith was wakened by an insistent Gem, who was ignoring her beauty sleep for once.

  ‘If we’re going to get this place presentable, we’d better get started.’ Her voice was excited and driving. ‘Get up so we can make the bed.’

  Grumbling, Faith eased Blackie Whiteface to the floor. She would have to do her secret jogging later. She helped Gem shake the sheets up and make the bed.

  ‘I want my breakfast,’ said Faith stoutly, more to resist Gem’s bossiness than because she was hungry. Grudgingly she had to admire her sister’s energy but Gem was taking over the idea – her gift. It was a bigger and better gift than being a blue-ribbon or a good weeder.

  ‘How can you be hungry?’ asked Gem. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘He’s not coming to see you,’ hissed Faith. ‘He doesn’t even know you exist! I invited him. He’s my friend. And he’s coming to see Beth more than anyone.’ When she said this, it stung a little. She thought wistfully of the cowboy’s smile and his fine hands.

  Gem paused, looking hurt. Then she said, ‘He gave me a blue ribbon so he must know I exist.’

  ‘Well, all you had to do to get a blue ribbon was to be blonde and ride a gray horse, that’s all,’ Faith lashed cruelly. ‘He saw you looking down!’

  But her sister had recovered her composure. She said reasonably, ‘Come on. We’ve got to straighten up the bathroom and the kitchen – and find the wine glasses and real napkins.’ Faith sourly acquiesced. Gem’s plans were wonderful embellishments on her own daring idea.

  ‘Animals first,’ Beth reminded them. ‘It’ll go faster if we all help.’ She aimed the last remark at Gem but looked surprised when Faith groaned along with Gem.

  ‘Even in emergencies?’ Faith asked. She wanted Beth to understand that she wasn’t shirking.

  ‘Animals are the emergency,’ said Beth firmly.

  So they spent the next hour feeding horses, the donkey, sheep, dogs and cats. It took another hour to medicate a kick wound on Hobo’s shoulder and knock a leaning fence post back in.

  Faith itched with impatience. Gem looked as if she would explode.

  Finally, farm chores finished, the girls attacked the kitchen. It had served as a catchall during the preparations for the show. Beth seemed amused at their furious activity, but she quietly picked up the living room and began to run the vacuum.

  ‘She’s pretty laid back for a prospective lover,’ whispered Gem to Faith. But later on, after Gem had discovered linen napkins neatly tucked in the back of the cupboard, Beth appeared with a sturdy carton containing some beautiful crystal glasses that had been her grandmother’s. There were seven wine glasses and six water goblets.

  ‘I’ve never used these,’ she mused, taking them out of the straw they were packed in. She held one up to the window. The light leapt and shimmered like a shattered rainbow trapped inside the glass.

  Oh, I hope he comes, thought Faith and, as if she had signaled Ben Warren, the phone rang. When Beth answered, it was the cowboy asking for directions

  After that, Beth disappeared upstairs to change her clothes. Faith and Gem stuffed the remaining clutter into the hall closet – sacks of cat food and kitty litter, looping reins of broken tack and a bag of unsorted laundry. The door would barely close and it took the two of them, throwing themselves against it, to finally latch it shut.

  ‘If anyone knocks the doorknob, it’ll explode,’ giggled Gem, which sent them both into a storm of laughter.

  Then it was left to Faith to set the table with the mismatched silver and old flowered plates. She polished each plate as she set it down. She worried a little about Beth falling asleep right after dinner as she often did, sometimes nodding in her chair right at the table.

  Gem disappeared, first into the bathroom to rim her eyes with blue mascara. Then she scurried upstairs to put on her faded, skin-tight cutoffs, rearrange the stuffing in her bra and pull on a beautiful silk sweater. ‘The contrast will be smashing!’ she had informed Faith.

  Faith did not believe the contrast would be so smashing. But, she thought grudgingly, Gem will probably look beautiful anyway. For a moment she
considered asking to borrow a blouse from her sister. But she was comfortable in her white T-shirt and her jeans were clean. She hoped Gem wouldn’t outshine Beth – or the crystal glasses, either.

  She ran outside to the garden to pick marigolds and daisies and a pretty blue-flower weed.

  She was standing with an armload of flowers when the yellow van pulled into the long drive. She could see it slow down at the bridge and lurch up past the sheep field, a foreigner feeling his way in a new place.

  It was a big van. She noticed that it was very clean, not like Beth’s old truck or her dust-coated Horizon with its ‘I Brake for Animals’ bumper sticker. He really can live anywhere, thought Faith. Delight at his coming flooded her.

  The screen door banged but she barely noticed Gem come out, or Blackie Whiteface curling around her legs. Wolfie bounded barking to meet the visitor. Beth peered briefly from an upstairs window.

  Faith waited, holding the flowers, feeling like a queen welcoming royalty from another country. The big yellow van pulled smoothly to a stop by the back porch.

  ‘Hi, Red,’ said Ben Warren, sliding out of the driver’s seat. He walked up and smiled down into her face. He wasn’t wearing the toothpick. The wrinkles deepened warmly around his tan eyes. ‘You look like a bride with those flowers,’ he said, and smoothed his hand over the sheen of her red hair. ‘Might pretty.’

  Faith was so flushed with delight that she didn’t even mind Gem posing on the back porch with her lion hair flung back. But then Beth came out of the door, and it wasn’t any Beth she knew.

  Faith had never seen Beth in a dress and hadn’t known she even owned a pair of high heels. She looked uncomfortable and unsteady. The dress she wore was a faded yellow with drooping shoulders, cut simply, but somehow belonging to a half generation earlier. It had creases running across the skirt as if it had been folded a long time. The short sleeves were too tight around Beth’s round arms. Her ponytail, now pulled to one side, gave an unnaturally jaunty look.

  After a frozen minute, Beth wobbled over to the porch steps. Her welcoming smile was drowned by the worry on her face.