The three girls exchanged glances. Mrs. Reg was famous for her enigmatic stories—most of which had a lesson buried in them.
“So he was a great rider, and …,” Carole prompted.
“Even though he was a really terrific rider,” continued Mrs. Reg, “with lots of talent and a promising horse, the prospect of his first national horse show almost paralyzed him with fright. Oh, he had competed a little bit around the local circuit—little country shows, nothing much. Always took the blue ribbon. But on the day of his first show, he wouldn’t get out of bed.”
“Did he oversleep? Did his alarm clock somehow break?” Stevie asked sympathetically. Stevie’s alarm clock sometimes mysteriously refused to go off, and as a result she frequently overslept. She always claimed that she had set the alarm the night before but it had somehow turned itself off before the morning.
“Well, he said he was sick,” said Mrs. Reg. “But I knew better. He was scared. He was going from being a big fish in a little pond to a little fish in a big pond. And he was so frightened that he did look sick that morning—white as a ghost, shaking.”
“Did he miss the show?” asked Lisa.
“No, no,” said Mrs. Reg, smiling. “I managed to persuade him to go and talk to his horse before the show. I told him that his horse deserved an explanation as to why they weren’t going. He thought I was crazy, but he went and did it—he was used to my crazy suggestions. And he changed his mind and went to the show.”
Again, Carole, Lisa, and Stevie exchanged glances. Mrs. Reg’s stories, besides being instructive, could also be obscure and difficult to understand. “I talk to Starlight all the time,” said Carole at last, “but I don’t think he’s ever talked back—at least, not in words.”
“Exactly,” said Mrs. Reg. “When this young man went and talked to his horse, he had to explain to him that he was too frightened to ride in the horse show. And then he looked at his horse, who had just gone through weeks of training and grooming for the show and had done it all in grand style. His horse looked the picture of health—lively, alert, and ready to go! And he realized that all their hard work—both his work and his horse’s—would be wasted if he let his fear get the better of him. So for the love of his horse, he went ahead and competed.”
“How did he do?” Stevie asked anxiously. She, along with Carole and Lisa, had become completely absorbed in the story.
“He won the blue ribbon,” Mrs. Reg said gently. “He rode better than he ever had before. And he went on to win lots of blue ribbons and cups. In fact, when he didn’t have that sick feeling in his stomach, he sometimes did worse in a show than when he did have the feeling. Sometimes fear helps a rider reach new levels. As long as you don’t let it keep you from doing something at all, fear can be turned into success.”
The Saddle Club thought about the story for a few minutes. Max appeared to be concentrating on the road, and Mrs. Reg lapsed into silence. But out of the corner of her eye, Carole saw Max turn his head ever so slightly and wink at his mother. Light suddenly dawned. “Max, you were that rider in the story, weren’t you?” Carole asked.
“Will you look at the time!” Max said, pretending not to hear her question. “We’ve polished off another hundred miles. We’ll be there in no—”
The van jerked. From the back, the group could hear a distressed neigh from Samson. Max frowned, braked gently, and drove very slowly in the right lane. “I think we’ve got a flat,” he said tersely. “I’ve got to take this exit—maybe we can find a gas station where I can change the tire with someone’s help.”
Once the van eased down the exit ramp, a gas station appeared right away. Heaving a sigh of relief, Max pulled into the station and parked the van and trailer. He turned to face the girls. “We’ve got to unload the horses,” he said. “It’ll be easier to jack up the van without a full load—and anyway, the motion of the jack would only make them nervous.”
The three girls promptly got out of the van and went around to the back. First they unloaded Danny and then Starlight. At the gas pumps, other drivers who were filling up their cars smiled at the sight of the horses appearing from the back of the van. Three children popped their heads out of a nearby station wagon and started squealing and pointing at the horses. “Look, Mommy, horsies!” Carole heard one of them say. “Can we play with them? Can we go for a ride?”
Stevie hurried over to the station wagon. “Shhh,” she said gently to the kids, putting a finger to her lips. “I know it’s exciting to see horses, but these horses have been traveling for a long time and are getting tired and cranky. Don’t you get that way sometimes when your parents take you for a long drive?” The three children nodded solemnly and quieted down. Then Stevie invited the kids to come over and pat Starlight, who had the gentlest disposition of the three horses. The children were thrilled and gently stroked Starlight’s neck. When Stevie returned the children to their parents, who were waiting by the car, the family thanked her and drove off.
Both Danny and Starlight were old pros at traveling and appeared undisturbed by the strange environment, the cars, the drivers, and the shrieking children. Samson, however, snorted and pulled at the lead shank as he backed off the ramp. While the group waited for Max to change the tire, Samson fidgeted nervously and refused to be calmed down. After Max was finished, it took half an hour of gentle coaxing and a few treats to persuade Samson to step back into his stall. Then the girls reloaded Starlight and Danny and closed the trailer. Mrs. Reg distributed bottles of soda that she had bought at the gas station, which everyone drank thirstily after the nerve-racking work of unloading and reloading the horses.
“Samson is pretty jumpy from the long ride,” Lisa said to Max worriedly, “and we still have a few hours to go. What does this mean for tomorrow? Will this affect his performance?”
Max drove out of the gas station and headed toward the highway. “The way that horse jumps, I don’t think anything could affect his performance,” he said confidently. “Samson’s a natural jumper—his talent will shine through tomorrow. And besides,” he added, “I remember this one time when I was going to a show …”
“Here we go,” Stevie whispered to Carole and Lisa. Max, like his mother, was also fond of telling instructive tales.
“We didn’t have these fancy setups like we do today,” said Max. “Just an old pickup truck and a trailer.”
“Didn’t you have to travel by chariot?” Stevie teased him.
“Ahem,” Max said, then continued pointedly, “We had an old truck and a trailer. So we were riding along, and suddenly the truck broke down when we were still twenty miles away from the horse show grounds. And there were no gas stations nearby, and the truck’s engine was just completely shot. Couldn’t be repaired. But I just had to get to the horse show. So I unloaded the horse I was riding in the show, Duke, and I rode him the rest of the way. Made it in time for our first event.”
“Wow,” said Lisa, impressed.
“And then we took a first … No, was it a second?… No, I’m sure it was the blue … in the pleasure horse class, beating out my rival, Whitney Sorensen, by a nose. And let me tell you, girls, the only reason I won is because of the hours and hours of preparation Duke and I put into the show. Practice and hard work—that’s what counts. That’s what makes you focus: hard work and concentration. How many times have I told riders that good riding is ninety-nine percent hard work and one percent talent? Why, I remember a time when?…”
Stevie nudged Carole and Lisa. “Wake me when it’s over,” she whispered. But Carole and Lisa were already asleep.
A FEW HOURS later, the Pine Hollow van pulled up to the show grounds of the Macrae Valley Open.
The group had expected to arrive at the show at least two hours earlier, but the flat tire and unexpected traffic on the highway had made them late. Everyone was stiff and tired from riding in the van, and all the work of unloading the horses, the tack trunks, and the grain still lay ahead of them.
At the sight of the sho
w grounds, however, the group perked up considerably. The scene was incredible: four show rings, gleaming fences, and a huge stabling area off to the side. Spectators were strolling around. Lisa noticed that her mother had been right about the attire at the Macrae. The men were wearing suits and white shirts, some with ties, and the women were wearing pastel suits and dresses, some with hats and gloves. White tents with gaily striped canopies were set up around the perimeter of the area. Some tents sold food, Mrs. Reg explained, and others were used for viewing horses that were up for sale.
“Gosh, what a crowd!” exclaimed Stevie, rubbing her eyes. “We must really be late—it looks as if things have been going on for hours!”
“The show has been going on all week,” said Max. “But the main events—the junior jumping division, a Grand Prix event, the hunt course final—are scheduled for this weekend. We could have come earlier in the week to watch, but I didn’t want to spend that much time away from the stable, and I thought you could use the extra practice time.”
Consulting the registration materials he had received before the show, Max found the Pine Hollow stalls on the map and drove over to unload the horses. After he parked the van, Stevie unloaded Danny, and then Carole quickly and smoothly unloaded Starlight.
When Samson’s turn came, he refused at first to back down the trailer ramp. Finally, using her most soothing, cajoling voice, Lisa persuaded him to take a few paces down the ramp with the help of a carrot. And an apple. And three sugar lumps. As she eased him down, she saw three girls passing by out of the corner of her eye. They were wearing breeches, boots, and hard hats. Although her attention was occupied by Samson, she couldn’t help noticing how beautifully put together the girls were. Their boots were gleaming, their shirts were snow white, and not a single hair was out of place. Lisa suddenly became aware of how rumpled she looked from the long ride, with her hair falling out of its ponytail and crumbs on her T-shirt from the sandwiches they had eaten on the way.
Halfway down the ramp, Samson jerked his head and snorted. Lisa managed to lead him down the rest of the way, but the minute his feet touched the ground, he began neighing loudly and tried to break away from her, dragging her a few paces and almost running over the three girls. Clearly, Samson was sick and tired of standing still in the trailer and wanted some exercise.
Carole and Stevie ran to help, and some other riders who were passing by immediately offered their assistance. Soon Samson calmed down. Meanwhile, the three well-groomed girls had moved off to the side and were making an ostentatious show of brushing off imaginary dirt, even though they hadn’t been harmed in the least.
“What’s this? The Wild West Show?” asked one of them scornfully. She had red hair and a turned-up nose and wore the most expensive-looking outfit of the group. As if she had said something wildly funny, her two companions laughed loudly at her remark. Then the redheaded girl went on. “I mean, it’s like: Get control of your horse before you bring it to a show!” she said disdainfully. Then she turned to leave, motioning to her two friends—who seemed to be attached to her by an invisible string—to follow.
Lisa felt a hot wave of embarrassment at the way Samson had acted, even though she knew deep down inside that he was just tired and completely unused to long trailer rides. She also felt angry at the three girls. Weren’t horse people supposed to stick together? Unfortunately, the more experience she got competing in horse shows, the more she realized that some riders weren’t nearly as nice as most of the people at Pine Hollow. The nature of competition seemed to make a lot of junior riders act as if they hated one another.
“It’s like: Only idiots stand in front of a ramp when people are unloading!” Stevie said, throwing her remark at the backs of the three girls, who were continuing on their way. They gave no sign that they had heard, but Lisa thought she saw the redheaded girl give a little flounce. That made her feel a bit better.
There was too much work to do to allow three bratty girls to distract them, so The Saddle Club got down to work. They walked the horses, unwrapped their bandages, and gave them some water. Then Max appeared. “How about saddling the horses and taking a quick ride to work the kinks out?” he suggested. The group quickly agreed—Carole, Lisa, and Stevie all felt as if they had some kinks to work out, too.
“Just stick close to the grounds and walk the horses, nothing else,” Max cautioned. “I want the horses to get used to all the activity here—the people, the other horses. Don’t take them on the main pathways, but don’t get too far from the grounds, either. Just circle the perimeter. But who’s going to ride Danny?”
“I will, of course,” Stevie answered immediately. “Carole’s got Starlight, and Lisa’s on Samson.”
Max shot her a glance. Stevie had a sweet smile on her face and looked eager and willing to exercise Danny. From experience, Max knew that when Stevie smiled like that, trouble often followed.
“Just make sure you bring him back,” he said warningly, shaking a finger at her.
Stevie looked hurt and shocked. “Why, Max,” she said, “I would never, ever—not in a million years!—allow my feelings for Danny’s owner to affect my treatment and handling of an innocent horse. Even for the sake of our friendly little competition here.”
Max sighed. “Yeah, right,” he said. “And I can just somehow see you ‘accidentally’ loading Danny into a van that’s heading straight back to Virginia!”
At this last remark, Stevie’s eyes lit up. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?”
Max grimaced.
Before Stevie could think about it any more, Carole nudged her. “C’mon,” she said, “we should try to get in some riding now. The show grounds will close down for the night in a few hours.”
The girls tacked up the horses, mounted, and headed off. Carole, who had attended the Macrae as a spectator a few years before, showed Lisa and Stevie some of the things she remembered from her previous visit. “That’s where the judges sit,” she said, pointing with her crop. “And over there is where the food tents are.”
“Let’s get a hot dog,” Stevie suggested immediately.
“You’re probably more likely to get a bowl of pasta salad,” said Carole, laughing. “Or a pesto chicken salad sandwich. This show is attended by people who are pretty picky about what they eat. But don’t worry,” she teased, seeing Stevie’s disappointed frown, “gourmet food at horse shows is pretty tasty, too.”
As they continued their ride, Lisa felt some of her anxieties about the show return. The crowd of people milling around seemed better dressed and less friendly than any horse show crowd she had ever seen. The horses all looked incredible, well muscled with glossy flanks and proud heads.
With pride of her own, Lisa noticed that Samson, now that he was released from the van, seemed to be taking the entire scene—the crowds, the strange horses, the new environment—in stride. He was a little skittish, but he was curiously surveying the scene, swinging his head from side to side.
If only I could be that calm, Lisa thought. She became quieter and quieter until Carole suddenly said with authority, “Lisa, you have one of the best horses here.”
“Really?” Lisa asked, in almost a whisper.
Carole nodded. “I haven’t seen any horses that look as impressive as Samson,” she said. Except my Starlight, she thought with affection—but she didn’t say that out loud. She could sense how intimidated Lisa felt.
“Hey, you two,” Stevie said excitedly. She had been riding a little ahead of them on Danny. She reined him in and waited for the others to catch up. Then she pointed at a group of people walking together. “Aren’t those the number one, two, and three riders from the USET?”
Carole and Lisa looked, and sure enough, the three top members of the United States Equestrian Team were not more than twenty feet away from them, walking toward the stables. The Saddle Club had watched these three on television, riding in national and international competitions, but they’d never been this close to such famous riders. For the thr
ee girls, it was almost like meeting movie stars.
“There they are, in real life,” Carole said dreamily. “I don’t care if I embarrass myself by asking—I have to get their autographs.”
“Just think,” said Stevie. “They were probably junior riders like us once, wishing that they could get autographs of famous riders they had watched on television. I’m sure they won’t mind. I don’t care, anyway,” she added determinedly. “I want their autographs too badly. I’d do anything for them, wash their horses, wash their van …”
Lisa said nothing at first. Although she was excited by the sight of the three USET members, she also noticed that they were wearing red—that is, pink—jackets, just like the one her mother had bought for her two days before. Then she remembered that neither Carole nor Stevie had seen her purchase. “Nice jackets,” she murmured, tentatively looking at Carole and Stevie. “Don’t you think?”
Carole put on what Lisa and Stevie described as her lecturing face, the expression she wore when she was about to dispense some piece of knowledge about horses or riding. “They are gorgeous, yes, but do you know why they’re wearing them?” she said. “Red jackets are usually described as pink. The only riders who wear them regularly are those with at least four or five seasons of experience in the hunt field. And, of course, members of USET who compete in hunt events or are members of an official hunt club will traditionally wear that color. You’ll also see hunting pinks on the British Equestrian Team, because so many more riders over there learn how to ride the open hunt course. I’m sure the three of them competed in the open hunt event—where they ride a course with obstacles like a brush jump or a ditch. Look, you can see the special patches they wear on the jacket to show the country of their team.”
“Okay, knock it off, Professor,” said Stevie, laughing. “Everyone knows red jackets are called pink, and everyone also knows who gets to wear them.” Carole stopped lecturing and smiled sheepishly. She knew she had a tendency to get carried away.
Show Jumper Page 5
