Stagestruck

by Shelley Peterson

  Abby’s hands shot to her mouth. Her eyes widened.

  Hilary James looked directly at Liam. “Who made the complaint?”

  “Three guesses.”

  16

  MOUSIE RIDES AGAIN

  PETE PIERSON WENT STRAIGHT to the judges’ booth. It was crammed with irate people. Two women and a man, all in their fifties, sat behind a table. Laid out in front of them was Dancer’s application form. Behind them stood a smiling Samuel Owens, leaning on his cane. The judges were trying unsuccessfully to stem the flood of complaints about Abby’s elimination.

  Pete elbowed to the head of the line and stood tall. He had a dignified air under normal circumstances, but now he appeared imposing. He had their attention.

  “You accepted her application,” he projected over the din, pointing at the form. “Her age was honestly acknowledged. It’s right there in front of you. If you were going to disqualify her, you should have done so before.”

  The judges knew he had a point. They looked at each other. After a moment, one of the women spoke. “Of course you’re right. It was an oversight.”

  Owens quickly spoke up.“Everyone knows the rules, Pierson. A person under eighteen years of age can’t ride a stallion on any showgrounds in Canada. It was Abby Malone’s responsibility in this case to adhere to the rules. She disregarded them at her peril.” His grin had an ominous look to it.

  “This exhibition has its own set of rules,”said Pete.“And you all know it. Horses are invited at your whim, and many regulations are waived. Plus, there was no rule book sent out.” Pete glared directly at Owens as he spoke. The noisy people in the booth went silent. He shifted his glare to the judges and continued. “You invited Dancer, you accepted him with Abby as the designated rider, and she won fair and square. End of story.” Applause and murmurs of assent filled the tiny room.

  The judges huddled.

  The male judge rose to his feet. “The judges need to confer. We will announce our decision within the hour. Would everyone please leave the booth. Our decision will be final.”

  Pete nodded. “I’ve said my piece. I trust you were listening.” The tall old man with ramrod posture turned to leave the booth. “I’ll await your decision outside.” Once out of the booth, Pete stood within sight of the judges right outside the door. He wasn’t moving.

  People quietly left the booth, unsure of the outcome. Until now, Pete had been too intent on getting his point across to notice who the people were. They were the other riders, here to support the girl who they knew had won.

  Pete nodded his approval. “You’re good competitors, all of you,” he said so all could hear. “And good sports. Thank you.”

  Ian Millar spoke. “Abby Malone won the class. You’re right about the rules. We all know that.”

  Kim Kirton nodded in agreement. “That’s why I’m here. Sandstorm hasn’t competed in four years, and he was invited. He wouldn’t qualify for an A-circuit show right now.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by yelling in the booth.

  “I’m bloody well not leaving this room until I’m sure that Dancer is disqualified!” Samuel Owens barked.

  “Sir,” said the man. “Everyone must leave the booth!”

  “I am the past president of the Canadian Equestrian Federation. You can’t make me leave. And I contribute tens of thousands of dollars yearly to the Olympic Equestrian team.”

  Pete walked in. “Samuel Owens, smarten up or they’ll call security.”

  The judges whispered to each other.

  “Excuse us,” said one woman. “Of course you can stay, Mr. Owens.” She looked at Pete. “Now, if you’ll kindly let us make our decision?”

  One half hour later, the announcement was made over the loud speakers. A woman’s voice was heard throughout the park.

  “After extensive review of the situation, the judges have decided to proceed with the jump-off. Dancer and Abby Malone have been eliminated.”

  There was a great disturbance in the crowd, and much discussion. No one seemed happy with this result.

  Pete, who hadn’t left his post outside the booth, walked in. The judges cringed.

  Owens beamed. “The decision is final, Pierson, you know that. Go away or they’ll call security.”

  “I have one question,” said Pete calmly. “May I?”

  The man said, “If it’s a quick one. We must get going or we’ll lose the crowd.”

  “Don’t worry about that, you’ve already lost them,” said Pete with a glance at Owens.“This is my question. Who’s disqualified, Dancer or Abby Malone?”

  “Actually, that’s a valid question,” said one of the women.

  The other woman spoke. “Abby Malone is disqualified because she’s underage to ride a stallion. Dancer was invited to compete and has broken no rules.” She looked at her fellow judges for approval. They both nodded.

  “Then Dancer can compete in the jump-off?”

  “Ridiculous!” sputtered Owens. “I never heard such nonsense!”

  The judges, weary of the whole situation, looked at each other in dismay. “Is there a rider?” asked a woman judge. “Of proper age?”

  “Yes.” Pete was going out on a limb.

  “Name and age?”

  “Hilary James, age twenty-two.”

  Samuel Owens turned purple. Veins throbbed at his temples and he gasped for air as the judges whispered among themselves.

  “Dancer can compete in the jump-off with a rider over the age of eighteen,” the man said as he sank down in his chair.“Now, everybody out. I’ve got a terrible headache. I hope everyone is happy.”

  “I’m not happy! And I’m not leaving!” yelled Owens in a croaking voice. “This whole thing is preposterous!”

  “Call security,” said the male judge.

  The jumps were set up. The course designer chose four of the most confusing and challenging of his creations and placed them where the skill of the horse and rider would be tested to the maximum. He introduced two surprises as well. These were permanent fixtures in the paddock, but not generally used for jumpers. The horse with the fewest faults and the fastest time would be the winner.

  Four competitors walked the course. They’d drawn their places. Mario Deslaurier was going first, Kim Kirton was second, Hilary James was third, and Beth Underhill would be showing last.

  While Hilary was in the ring planning strategy, Abby held Dancer’s reins in the warm-up area. An hour and a half had passed since his trip around the jumps. He’d been rubbed and wrapped and walked and rested. The fire had returned to his eyes. He’d had a big drink of water and a flake of hay.

  “You’ll be great, Dancer,” Abby whispered. “There are only four jumps, a drop, and a bridge. They’re tricky, so be careful. This is all about brains, and you’ve got lots.”

  Dancer rubbed his head on her shirt. The moment the announcement was made, Hilary and Abby had exchanged clothes. Hilary now wore the somewhat sweaty riding habit, and Abby was wearing Hilary’s outfit, down to her shoes, which were a bit loose.

  “You’ll have to look after Hilary, Dancer, like you looked after me. She hasn’t ridden in ages.”

  Minutes later, Hilary was up on Dancer, watching Mario DesLaurier navigate Nightingale around the course. He had no trouble with the fan jump or the triple combination. He headed to the picturesque wooden bridge that stood before the four-foot drop. Show jumpers rarely see such things, and Nightingale was no exception. His ears were pinned as they approached it, and his tail swished. He didn’t want anything to do with either the bridge or the drop. He stopped. Mario urged him with his legs, then his spurs. Finally, he smacked him sharply with his crop. Nightingale leapt forward in surprise, which got him halfway over the bridge, but then he skidded to a halt at the drop. No way was he taking another step. He was whistled out. Hilary shook her head in sympathy. “Dancer, don’t watch.”

  She wondered again what she’d gotten herself into. This wasn’t just crazy. This was lunatic. She prayed t
hat her leg muscles would hold out for as long as she needed, and that her body would remember to follow Dancer’s motion over the jumps, neither anticipating nor being left behind. It had been a long time since she’d schooled over high jumps. Her brain would be fine, but her muscle memory was rusty. Hilary patted Dancer’s neck and murmured, “It’s a long shot, boy, but we’re in it now.”

  She nodded hello to Mario as he grimly left the ring and watched Kim Kirton ride in on Sandstorm.

  Kim was determined and brave. Sandstorm looked fit and ready. They cantered fast through the gate and took the fan jump head-on, clearing it by a foot. Sandstorm took on speed around the corner and scrambled toward the triple combination. Kim gathered him up in time and they made a perfect job of it. The crowd was breathless. The bridge was no trouble, and the drop was a breeze. It looked like Kim and Sandstorm were the ones to beat. Tearing around the tight turn, Sandstorm scrambled again. He lifted in time and cleared the wall, but on their descent his back hoof kicked out and knocked off a brick. The crowd groaned in sympathy. The strange-looking yellow jump had been placed in front of the water, and Kim and Sandstorm rode at it with confidence, landing a good foot clear. They left the ring with four faults and an unbeatable time.

  They don’t call her the Queen of Speed for nothing, thought Hilary.

  She felt a hand grab her leg. She looked down into Abby’s intense face.

  “Good luck, Hilary, and don’t forget to breathe!” She patted Dancer’s neck. “Get ’em, boy!”Abby stepped away to let them pass.

  Dancer pranced on the spot, muscular neck arched and haunches coiled. His smooth chestnut coat gleamed in the sun. Abby’s appreciative eyes followed him into the ring as she stepped over to the fence to watch.

  Hilary cantered him through the starting gate at a good pace. Abby knew they were going faster than they looked, because Dancer’s stride was extra long. Dancer powerfully soared up and over the optical illusion and tightly turned the corner toward the triple combination. Hilary hung on as tightly as she could, correcting her balance after the turn. Dancer’s sinewy muscles flexed with each stride, and his coat shimmered with good health. His intelligent eyes were fierce with determination as he figured out his distances.

  Hilary was doing incredibly well, Abby thought. Her legs looked slightly wobbly, but her position was correct. She was smiling, Abby noticed. But what was this? Tears were coming from Hilary’s eyes! Abby understood, and wiped a tear from her own eye. I sure hope emotion doesn’t overpower her, Abby thought.

  Dancer lifted and flew over the first of the jumps in the combination. Hilary grabbed his mane and flopped onto his back. Land, one. The second jump. She lost a stirrup. Land, one. The third. Well done! Hilary pushed her hat back into place and adjusted her feet and reins as they made their way to the arched wooden bridge and then the drop.

  Abby felt a cold nose in the palm of her hand. “Cody! What are you doing here?” she asked her pet. He must have hidden himself in the horse-trailer. He wasn’t in the truck, she’d checked. He merely stared into her eyes with a panicked look and whined. Abby was alarmed. Cody never allowed himself to be seen unless there was a very good reason.

  Abby looked up to see Dancer canter over the bridge as though he did it every day. He sprang with a huge leap down the drop, closing the distance to the wall.

  Cody whined again. He urgently pulled her hand with his mouth. Something must be very wrong. Abby let herself be led by Cody. He was taking her, as fast as she could go, behind the call-board.

  At a run, she turned her head to see that Dancer was cleanly over the wall. He was turning toward the yellow jump and moving well. He was sitting back on his haunches, preparing to jump when Abby bumped hard into someone and knocked him over. It was Samuel Owens. The crowd was cheering madly and Cody was nowhere to be seen.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Owens! I wasn’t looking where I was going!”

  “You idiot! You see what you’ve done?” Owens was shaking with rage. Abby tried to help him up, but he violently shooed her away. “Get away from me you imbecile! You assaulted me, and that’s something I’ll not forget!” He was standing up as he spoke, holding his cane in one hand and dusting himself off with the other.

  “I’m sorry,” said Abby fearfully. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “Yes, you can.” Owens seemed suddenly pleasant. Then his face darkened, and he screamed, “You can remove yourself from my sight! Permanently!” He lifted his cane to hit her, then thought better of it and, shaking with rage, carefully lowered it to the ground.

  Something in his manner struck Abby as suspicious. Owens was guarding his cane. He glanced at it, nervously, then glanced back at Abby.

  Abby took a good look at the metal cane. With horrifying clarity, Abby sensed that Samuel Owens’ cane was something more than a cane. The elaborate detail might hide a small trigger under the handle, and it looked like there were two view-finders down the shaft. His cane could very well be a cleverly adapted gun.

  Why was Owens hiding behind the call-board?

  Abby’s mind raced. She backed away from the angry man, not wanting to risk being shot. She glanced over her shoulder.

  Hilary and Dancer were trotting out of the ring. Abby knew by Dancer’s posture and Hilary’s relieved smile that they’d done well. There was only one more contestant.

  Pete Pierson would know what to do. And he was standing with Hilary James and Dancer in the warm-up ring. With a last glance at the furious Owens, Abby turned tail and fled.

  “Mr. Pierson!” she shouted.

  The wonderful old man looked at her. “Abby!” His hand dropped from patting Dancer’s neck. He strode toward her, limping from his arthritic hip. “What’s wrong?”

  Abby was panting, her chest constricted with fear. “Samuel Owens is behind the call-board with a cane that’s probably a rifle. Cody brought me over there while Hilary was riding, and I bumped into him by mistake and knocked him over. He’s furious, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Pete stared into Abby’s eyes, trying to make sense of all she said. He knew Samuel Owens too well. He trusted Abby. He’d seen Cody in action. He had no doubts that what she said was true. They had no time to lose.

  Pete spoke sharply to Hilary. “Take Dancer away from here. Keep lots of people around you. Don’t ask questions.” Hilary’s smile dropped.

  Taking Abby by the arm and leaving Hilary astounded, Pete walked quickly toward the public telephone beside the registration office. Pete hurried into the office and told the woman, “Get security! There’s been a disturbance behind the call-board in the warm-up ring. An older man with a weapon.”

  Reaching the phone, he dialed 9-1-1. He called for the police to come, with a special request for the chief, Mack Jones. Abby saw five security men run toward the call-board.

  Call completed, Pete and Abby watched as Samuel Owens was taken by force to the security building. Even from a distance, they could see that he was livid.

  “It’ll buy us some time until the police get here,” said Pete. “Go tell Hilary that she can come back to the warm-up ring. They’ll be awarding prizes within minutes. I’ll head over to security to keep an eye on things.”

  Abby ran, looking for Dancer. She raced through the stalls, but he wasn’t there. She tore around the practice field and didn’t see him. Finally she spotted Hilary holding the tall, elegant stallion’s reins behind the row of women’s lavatories.

  “Good thinking!” Abby called. “He’ll never look here.”

  Hilary’s face wore a shocked expression. “Who’ll never look here? What’s going on, Abby?”

  “It’s all right now. Bring him back to the warm-up ring. Security has Owens with them, so it’s safe to come out of hiding. It looks like he might have tried to shoot Dancer with his cane.”

  “With his what?”

  Abby snorted. “I’m not sure, but I think his cane is really a gun.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Hilary.

  “No, b
ut with Owens I don’t want to assume innocence.”

  Hilary shuddered. “You’re right.”

  They got to the warm-up ring just as the competitors were being called in. Abby gave Hilary a leg up. Hilary looked down at Abby and said, “This puts it all in perspective, doesn’t it?”

  Abby knew what she meant. She stood and watched the four horses with their riders walk away. Whether Dancer won the trophy wasn’t important any more. He was alive.

  The horses lined up. The judges walked out into the middle of the show ring. One woman carried colourful ribbons. The other had a wool cooler over her arm. The man carried a large silver trophy that flashed and shone in the sunlight.

  The male judge held a microphone. Shifting the trophy to his left hip, he announced, “Thank you for coming out today. As you know, all proceeds go to support the Canadian Olympic effort. Now, I have the honour of presenting the results.”

  “The sixth-place ribbon belongs to Lisa Carlsen riding Thatcher.” Lisa calmly rode up to the judges and graciously smiled to the crowd as they applauded. “Fifth place goes to Ainsley Vince on Colour Blind.” Ainsley’s mare kicked out at Thatcher as she passed,but didn’t connect.“Fourth place goes to Mario DesLaurier on Nightingale.” The crowd continued clapping as Mario rode up. The woman judge clipped the yellow ribbon on his bridle and he walked back to the line, nodding and waving to the crowd.

  “Third place goes to Beth Underhill on Monopoly.” Horse and rider trotted to the judge with the ribbons. The judge attempted to clip it on, but Monopoly shied away. Laughing, Beth reached out and accepted the white ribbon in her hand. The applause continued.

  “Second place goes to Kim Kirton on Sandstorm.” The applause got stronger as Kim and her fiery mount collected their blue second-place ribbon.

  “The winners of the Grand Invitational are Hilary James and Dancer!” The crowd rose to their feet. The entire audience stood in thunderous applause.

  Dancer, the ultimate showman, walked on his hind legs, bellowing his victorious return. He landed lightly, then wedged his muzzle into the middle of the trophy. He lifted the silver vase high in the air, and proceeded to parade around the ring, trophy firmly encasing his upturned nose.