The Trail Home

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Only Callie would find a silver lining in that particular cloud,” Lisa said. “And how’s everybody else—Max, Red, Ben, like that?”

  “Fine,” said Carole.

  “Ahem,” said Stevie.

  “Mostly fine,” Carole said.

  “A-hem!” Stevie said more pointedly.

  “Well, there is this little problem,” Carole said, and she told Lisa what had happened. “I feel really stupid,” she concluded.

  “Stevie’s right,” Lisa told her. “You have to ignore it. You don’t have another choice.”

  Somehow, when Lisa said it, it made more sense than when Stevie had said it. Perhaps hearing it from someone coolly logical rather than infamously illogical made the idea more palatable and sensible.

  “Thanks, Lis’,” Carole said. “I’ll try.”

  “Um, I’ve got to go give Evelyn a hand with dinner now,” Lisa said.

  “We didn’t even get to ask you about your dad, Evelyn, and Lily,” said Stevie.

  “They’re all fine. Lily is crawling, nearly walking. She’s a little devil, and she’s cute as can be. Dad and Evelyn are doing great, especially now that Lily is sleeping through the night. They send love.”

  “Us, too,” said Carole.

  “We’ll talk again soon,” said Stevie.

  “Definitely,” said Lisa. “Bye.” And she hung up.

  Stevie and Carole hung up as well. A few seconds later Alex appeared to retrieve his phone. Carole handed it to him, thanking him for the loan.

  “She sounds great,” Stevie said brightly.

  “Do you think she’s having too much fun?” Alex asked.

  “Give yourself a break,” Carole advised. “She’s having a good summer, and that’s good news. Would you rather that she were miserable?”

  Alex chewed that thought for a few seconds and then shook his head. “No, I guess not.”

  “How many times have I told you that Lisa and Skye are just good friends?” said Stevie.

  “About a million,” he said.

  “So, make this a million and one.”

  “Thanks.” He backed out the room, closing the door behind him.

  “She is having fun,” said Stevie.

  “Maybe she won’t come home,” Carole said. The thought was not comforting. “Speaking of which, I think it’s time for me to go.” She stood up and stretched, a little stiff from sitting on the floor. “Thanks for dinner; thanks for listening; thanks for the call to Lisa,” she said.

  “You are more than welcome,” Stevie told her. “Mom always says I’m supposed to invite you to dinner anytime.”

  “Well, I’m glad you invited me tonight,” Carole said, hugging her friend.

  The two of them walked to the front door. As they passed the den, Carole said good night and thanked Stevie’s parents.

  “Good night, Carole,” said Mr. Lake. “Do you need a lift someplace?”

  “Oh, no, thank you. I needed to work out some kinks so I walked over from Pine Hollow, but my car’s there. I’m going to pick it up now. Good night, and again, thanks.”

  “I’ll talk to you soon,” said Stevie.

  Carole waved a final good-bye and set out in the moonlit night to Pine Hollow.

  ELEVEN

  Usually by ten o’clock at night, Pine Hollow was completely dark, the horses were settled down, and all the lights were off in the Regnery house, which was next door to the stable. As Carole approached that night, though, there was a light in the office, and she could see a few lights in the stable. The first thought that occurred to her was that it was her fault, that she’d left lights on, probably left the computer running, was guilty of leaving lights on all through the stable. On reflection, that was out of the question. When she’d left at five-thirty, it had still been daylight and few lights, if any, would have been on in the stable. Moreover, there had been lots of people still around, many of whom might have turned on lights. The more logical conclusion was that someone was still there.

  She let herself into the stable through the office door. Her computer was turned off and snugly protected by its dust cover, as she’d left it. She dropped her backpack on the office chair and headed into the stable to see if anyone was there.

  The horses were quiet, ready for darkness and sleep. They barely noticed her as she walked through. It didn’t take long to find the source of the light. Just two hall lights and a stall light were on, and they were all at Fez’s stall. Carole looked over the door to find that Ben was taking care of Fez.

  The horse was lying down on his side. He was thrashing his legs, clearly in discomfort. Ben was next to him, talking quietly in that tone he used that only horses seemed to understand. He glanced up and saw Carole.

  “Can you use a hand?” she asked, letting herself into the stall.

  “I think he could,” Ben answered.

  “You gave him something for the pain?”

  “I just did, but it hasn’t taken hold yet. I thought I’d sit with him until he calmed down.”

  Ben held the horse’s sore leg in his hands and massaged it ever so gently. Fez made no effort to pull the leg from Ben’s touch, so it was reasonable for Ben to think that whatever he was doing was comforting to Fez. He kept on doing it and continued with what Carole thought of as his sweet talk.

  Carole sat down in the straw. She lifted the horse’s head and slid her legs under it, becoming the horse’s pillow. She stroked his cheek and his nose, his forehead and his neck, smoothly and softly.

  Carole watched Ben at work, gentle and kind. The veins stood out on his strong hands, and his brow furrowed in concentration. He crouched, ready to move if Fez should threaten him with the now decreasing thrashes of his limbs. It was hard for Carole to fit together the sullen and private Ben who’d chastised her so that afternoon with the Ben who now gave his rapt attention to the ailing horse. How could someone with so much love for horses be so distant with people? It occurred to her at that moment that perhaps it was people and not horses who had hurt him in the past. Carole kept the thought to herself and went on patting Fez softly.

  Fez’s dark eyes shifted ever so slightly to look at her and then closed. Fez accepted her kindness along with Ben’s. She could feel the full weight of his head on her lap as he relaxed.

  It was a quiet moment in the stable. There was the occasional contented sound of the horses nearby, a snort, the clop of a hoof shifting position. Outside she could hear crickets chirping. In the stall she heard the slow, even breathing of the horse, whose pain was subsiding, and she heard Ben’s gentle massage and his soft, sweet talk. Fez’s thrashing slowed even more. He took a deep breath, sighed, and slept painlessly.

  Neither Carole nor Ben spoke or moved for a long time. Ben gradually stopped his massage, then slipped his hands under Fez’s cheek and supported his head so that Carole could slide out from under its weight. She piled some straw where she’d been sitting to make a pillow and watched as Ben lowered the resting horse’s head onto the straw. The medicine had taken hold; Fez would sleep now, long and hard.

  The two caretakers crept out of the stall on tiptoe, like the parents of a sick child. Ben switched off the light that had illuminated the stall; Carole clicked off the overheads. They tiptoed down the stable aisle and went into the office, pulling the door closed behind them.

  Ben spoke first. “You’re really good with horses,” he said.

  “You too,” she answered.

  “You care, don’t you?”

  “A lot. More than most people understand.”

  “It’s the same for me,” Ben told her. “Horses have always been what’s good in my life.”

  That was something Carole could understand. What she wasn’t so sure about was why Ben was saying this to her.

  “Working with them is how I stay near that good. The way I can work the most is if I get the training I need. That’s why I’m applying for that grant for a preveterinary degree from the Horsemen’s Association. In order to get the grant, I have
to do a project. That’s what Fez’s therapy program is all about. But don’t get me wrong. I mean, I like the horse okay—even though he wasn’t all that nice to me, or to you for that matter, when he was healthy—but if he makes it, it’ll prove that I know what I’m doing with horses. I made the plan for the program myself, but I got approval from both Max and Judy before I did anything with the horse. Judy even showed it to the specialist who worked with Fez at the clinic.

  “Never mind that they approved it; none of them thinks it’s going to work. They say the Foresters should have let Judy euthanize Fez right after the accident. Maybe they’re right. Maybe they’re right that it won’t work, but I have to try. That grant is the only hope I have for going to college. Fez has to get better. He just has to.”

  Carole was stunned. She had no idea what to say to Ben and, for once, realized that perhaps saying nothing was the best thing she could do. She nodded while she considered what had just happened.

  In a way, what he said didn’t surprise her. She’d pretty much figured out that he was applying for a grant and that Fez’s program was an integral part of the application. The stunning part was that he’d told her about it and that he’d told her in such a personal way. Ben Marlow had totally opened up to her on one—just one—very important subject.

  Fez’s survival and Ben’s were tied together. If Fez made it despite the gloomy speculations of Judy, Max, and the specialist, then it would prove to anyone who had any sense that Ben Marlow knew what he was doing with horses. Of course, anybody who had ever seen Ben lead a horse into its stall knew that he had a special touch with horses. If the Horsemen’s Association needed more proof than that, Ben would provide it, and Carole would help him. Since he’d opened up to her, she could do so with him.

  “I’d like to help you,” she said.

  “You have,” he answered.

  “And I will again.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  Ben reached to turn out the ceiling light in the office while Carole clicked off the one on the desk. He followed her through the door to the outside and pulled it shut behind him, locking it and stowing the key.

  Carole fetched her car keys from her handbag.

  “Can I give you a lift?” she asked, almost automatically.

  “No thanks, Carole,” he said stiffly. He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked down the driveway and onto the street without turning back or saying good night.

  Some healing had taken place, Carole knew, but it was clear that wounds remained and that there were places she was still not invited to go—his home among them.

  TWELVE

  There was a pleasant feeling of normalcy around Pine Hollow the next morning. Carole worked industriously at the computer, stopping occasionally to answer the phone, switch horse and pony assignments, or solve a problem.

  By midmorning, she’d made a list of horses for the farrier to check on Monday, she’d set up another computer file, she’d answered half an hour’s worth of questions from a potential boarder, and she’d successfully avoided any further conversations with Ben Marlow. A morning well spent, she teased herself.

  Callie and Emily were working together again that morning. Carole had helped them by carrying PC’s tack to his stall and had then stopped to check on Fez, who did not seem one iota better. Nor did he seem any worse, and that had to be considered good news.

  Carole could hear them working together outside her window. Denise McCaskill was helping them as well, taking the lead rope. Now that Mrs. Forester had satisfied herself that it really was safe and that the people at Pine Hollow—including her daughter—knew what they were doing, she was off the hook as general supervisor of all things therapeutic and was spending the morning at the beauty parlor.

  The sounds from Pine Hollow’s mini–therapeutic riding center were positively giddy, even if it was clear that they didn’t mean a lot of progress was being made.

  “Hey, this is neat,” said Callie. “You’ve trained this old boy to verbal commands, haven’t you? I can just say ’left’ or ’right’ and he does it without any other aids.”

  “Yep,” Emily said. “And if we were working to strengthen your vocal cords, that would be a good exercise for you. But …”

  Callie laughed. It was a happy and relaxed sound. “Left … Right … Left … Right,” she intoned.

  “You’re making me dizzy!” Denise complained.

  “Straight,” commanded Callie. “There, is that better?”

  “Much, unless that includes walking into the fence.”

  “I think I know what PC stands for,” said Callie. “Perfectly Compliant?”

  “No, I think it’s Probably Crazy,” Denise offered. Emily, who claimed to have named her horse, also claimed that either she didn’t know what PC stood for or that whatever it stood for changed frequently.

  “Nope, you’re both wrong. For now it’s Properly Chastised, which is what he deserves to be for dumping you the other day.”

  “He didn’t mean to,” Callie said. “I’m sure it was my fault, and it doesn’t matter anyway because it’s hardly a problem at all. Now, go left, PC, left.”

  “Use your leg as much as you can,” said Emily. “Good. That’s right—I mean correct.”

  It pleased Carole to hear the light and happy chatter while they worked. They might be joking, but she knew they were also working hard. Hard work could be fun, especially when it had to do with horses.

  Ben was showing the beginner class how to groom a pony. Under Max’s instruction, he was introducing them to currycombs, dandy brushes, hoof picks, rags, and sponges. It was a complicated business for the beginners, and teaching them was a lot of work.

  The phone rang again, and Carole turned her attention back to the job at hand.

  “Pine Hollow,” she said, answering the call.

  “It’s me.”

  “Hello, Stevie,” Carole said. “How’s the laundry business?”

  “It’s slow today. The boss said I could have the rest of the day off if I wanted to, and I want to. I was thinking that you’ll only be working for a little while longer, and then we might do some ring work with the horses. Does that sound like a good idea to you?”

  “Excellent,” Carole said. “Brilliant, inspired, and simply good as well. What time can you get here?”

  “Well, I was sort of thinking you might perhaps want to come pick me up?”

  “I would?”

  “Almost certainly,” Stevie said.

  “Why not?” Carole agreed. “I’ll be there in about half an hour. You’ve got riding clothes here?”

  “Yes, and boots as well.”

  “See you then,” Carole said, cradling the phone.

  The laundry was at the nearby shopping center, less than a mile from Pine Hollow. The girls had walked the route together hundreds of times because their favorite hangout—the ice cream parlor, TD’s—was at the same shopping center. It was a little unusual for Stevie to ask for a ride, but if she needed help, Carole was going to give it to her. After all, it was only last night that Stevie had spent a fair amount of time trying to help her with the mess she’d gotten herself into with Ben. Besides, if Carole drove Stevie over to Pine Hollow, they could start riding sooner.

  Carole tidied up her desk, turning off the computer and straightening out the papers and pencils for Denise.

  There were twenty minutes left in Carole’s shift, but nothing said she had to spend them all at the desk. She decided to devote the time to tacking up Belle and Starlight.

  Starlight’s nostrils flared eagerly when Carole approached with his saddle. He knew it was almost time for them to have a ride, and he seemed eager to get going. He stood absolutely still while she put on his saddle and bridle. Belle was every bit as cooperative, though she seemed a little curious as to why the job was being done by Carole instead of Stevie. Carole glanced at her watch as she secured Belle’s saddle. It was noon, and that meant the end of her workday.

  She latched B
elle’s stall door behind her and went to tell Denise she was leaving. She also told Callie and Emily that she and Stevie were going to ride for a while and asked if they’d like to join them.

  “You’re done with your work for the day, aren’t you?”

  “We sure are,” Emily said.

  “Then how about some play?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Emily told her.

  “Me too,” Callie agreed. “I guess. I mean, as long as we don’t do anything too … well …”

  “Don’t worry,” Carole said. “We won’t do barrel racing until next week.”

  “Deal,” said Callie.

  “I’ll be back with Stevie in ten minutes,” Carole promised.

  She fished her car keys out of her bag and left for the shopping center.

  Stevie was waiting for her in front of the laundry. Carole reached across the passenger seat and opened the door for her. Stevie had to be feeling pretty low to have asked for a lift from the shopping center to Pine Hollow. There was no point in asking her about that.

  “This is the complete chauffeur service,” Carole announced, welcoming Stevie to the car. “Belle and Starlight are both tacked up and waiting, and I’ve invited Callie and Emily to ride with us.”

  Stevie settled into the seat and smiled contentedly. “Thank you, Carole. I knew you’d understand.”

  Carole did, of course. The night before had mostly been spent on her and the dumb thing she’d done to Ben. That couldn’t make her forget the fact that Stevie had been very low recently. Carole was glad to help her.

  Nobody who had been in the car that rainy afternoon would ever be able to forget the horror of the accident, the scream of the horse, the terrifying rolling that never seemed to stop. The lasting effects of the accident were very different for all of them, but they were there. Carole’s scratches had healed quickly; Stevie’s broken ribs still bothered her sometimes, but they were almost all better; nobody knew how long Callie’s residual brain damage would remain or if it would ever go away. What would never go away for any of them, though, was the memories. Sometimes Carole would wake up in the night, still feeling the car tumbling down the hill, feeling her shoulder jolting against the door repeatedly, feeling her body straining against her seat belt, slamming into Stevie next to her. She knew Stevie shared these nightmares. It was the last time she’d driven. Carole wondered when she’d be ready to drive again. The new car Stevie shared with Alex was sitting in the driveway of the Lakes’ house because Alex was spending his summer days on a lawn crew that drove around town on a truck large enough to hold its equipment. The car was Stevie’s all day, every day. She just wasn’t ready to drive.