The Trail Home

by Bonnie Bryant

  She was, however, ready to ride. As soon as Carole stopped the car at Pine Hollow, Stevie jumped out, eager to be with Belle. It only took her a few minutes to change her clothes. Stevie and Carole tightened their horses’ girths, mounted up, touched the good-luck horseshoe, and rode out into the ring.

  While Carole had been gone, Emily had tacked up Patch for herself. Patch didn’t have the specialty training PC did, but he was gentle and reliable.

  “Are you tired yet?” Carole asked Callie.

  “Not a bit,” Callie said with certainty. “Remember, my specialty is endurance riding.”

  Carole smiled. “This isn’t exactly the same thing,” she said.

  “No, but it involves long hours in the saddle. I’ve just been here for about forty-five minutes and I don’t think we’ve gone faster than a walk, have we, PC?”

  Emily answered for her horse. “No, we haven’t, and we won’t. You’re not ready for anything more than a walk yet. I checked my charts and they don’t say trot for another three pages.”

  “And canter?”

  “I don’t read that far ahead,” said Emily. “Besides, walking is a nice gait—one of my favorites. You can do a lot of things at a walk.”

  “Name one,” said Callie.

  Carole glanced up at the sky. It was a beautiful sunny day, no clouds and bright sunshine. Just as she’d hoped. “Shadow tag,” she said. “You’re It!” With that, she moved Starlight over to the shadow cast by Belle and Stevie.

  “You always make me It first!” Stevie complained, shifting Belle to her right. “Why don’t you make someone like Emily be It?” With that, Stevie reached over to Emily’s shadow.

  “Me?” Emily said, kicking Patch gently and getting him to walk toward Callie on PC. “Why me? Why not someone like …” She stretched her arm until her own shadow merged with Callie’s.

  Callie, now It, used her weakened legs to get PC moving at a walk. She headed straight for Stevie, who managed to evade the shadow by backing up. Then, while Stevie was still out of reach, Callie uttered the simple command, “Left, PC.” PC immediately turned left, leaving Callie within shadow-touching distance of Carole. “You’re It!” she said.

  “Sneak! You’re a sneak!” Carole said, more pleased than she could say at the way Callie had fooled them.

  Carole couldn’t remember the last time she’d played shadow tag. It was a favorite of the young riders at Pine Hollow, and she’d played it in many classes and Pony Club meetings, but not for a long time and never at a walk. She now found herself wondering why it had been so long. The four of them were having a terrific time playing in the sunshine.

  By the third round of “Its,” Callie was obviously tiring, and Patch, though well trained, was clearly a little difficult for Emily. Carole declared Callie the winner. Callie objected, saying she’d had an unfair advantage because she was riding PC. Nobody disputed that. Nor did they dispute Carole’s assertion that it was time for Callie to call it a day—as long as the losers had the right to call a rematch at a future date. Callie said she’d be only too happy to show them some of the other fine points of shadow tag at a walk. “If you can wait two or three pages, as Emily puts it, we might even move this up to a trot!”

  The deal was made.

  Ben, finished with his grooming demonstration, came into the small schooling ring and offered to look after PC for Callie.

  “No, I can groom him,” she said. “But I’ll let you do the hard part.”

  “Which is …?”

  “Carrying tack and bringing water,” she told him.

  “Whatever you say.” He took PC’s lead, and Callie rode back into the stable on the horse.

  Carole and Stevie began trotting around the ring. Stevie brought Belle up next to Starlight so that they could talk while they rode.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” she said to Carole, who was deep in concentration.

  “I was thinking about handicaps,” Carole said.

  “Like Callie’s?” Stevie asked her.

  “More like the general nature of handicaps,” Carole told her. “The other day I was talking with Emily about the difference between Callie’s temporary disability and her permanent one. She said she’d be nuts if she didn’t wish she was normal. That got me thinking about what normal is and what a handicap is. I mean, look at someone like Ben. Never mind that what I did was awful—it was and we don’t need to go over it again. If Ben were more, um, normal, I wouldn’t have been tempted. If he didn’t insist on being so secretive about himself, I wouldn’t be curious.”

  “Carole, it’s not like he’s trying to be secretive—”

  “No, but it is like he can’t ask for help. One of the things that makes Emily so special is that she asks for help—when she needs it. Callie does the same thing. Ben doesn’t know how. I think that’s a kind of handicap, too. You can’t give it crutches or a wheelchair or physical therapy, but it’s a handicap.”

  “Hmmm,” Stevie said. There was a long pause. “So, what about …”

  Before Stevie could phrase her question, Scott Forester walked into the ring. He waved at the two girls, and they drew their horses to a walk and went over to him.

  “Carole, I just wanted to remind you about the party tomorrow. You too,” he said to Stevie quickly. “And Phil as well. We’ll be starting about five o’clock, snacks, dinner, swimming, a real down-home barbecue. I hope you’ll be there.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Carole assured him.

  “See you,” he said, waving good-bye to both of them.

  The horses picked up their trot again.

  “What were you about to ask?” Carole asked.

  Stevie shook her head. “I forget,” she said.

  THIRTEEN

  On Saturday morning, Carole came to Pine Hollow with an extra backpack to hold her party gear—a clean set of clothes and a bathing suit. She’d have to shower before she went over to the Foresters’, because she’d discovered over the years that not everybody in the world loved the scent of horses and barns quite as much as she did.

  Pine Hollow was always busy on Saturdays, especially on summer Saturdays. There was no Pony Club meeting this morning, and Carole had agreed to work at the desk. There was no time to think about anything—parties, handicaps, injuries, or therapy. It was a refreshing change. The only thing Carole had decided for sure was that it was important for Ben to go to the Foresters’. He’d been invited, and he should be there. She could imagine how hard he would protest. He could probably think of a hundred reasons not to be around the smooth and worldly Scott Forester. She wanted to see to it that Ben didn’t have anything to protest about, so the one thing she’d decided, aside from a shower, was that the last thing she’d do before she left would be to check in on Fez—where she was sure to find Ben—to try to convince him to come.

  In spite of her intentions to focus totally on the pile of work in front of her, she found herself debating with the imaginary Ben all morning long.

  “Why should you feel uncomfortable around Scott? Surely it isn’t because he’s rich and the son of a famous politician. I’m not rich, and I’m not the daughter of a famous politician, and I’m not uncomfortable around Scott. Quite the contrary. He’s always nice to me …”

  No, that wouldn’t do. Whatever went on in Ben’s mind, the fact that Scott flirted mercilessly with every girl didn’t seem to be a strong talking point to lure Ben to the party. Scott’s flirtatious manner clearly irritated Ben. Then how about this?

  “The Foresters have planned this lovely party to say thank you to all of us who have helped Callie, and you’ve been enormously helpful to her.”

  Yes, that seemed like a better tack.

  “Carole?”

  She looked up, surprised to find a woman standing next to her, holding a check.

  “I’m sorry, my mind was someplace else.” Carole blushed, accepting the check. She decided she really didn’t have time to argue with Ben.

  At three-t
hirty, Carole relinquished the desk to Denise, who by then was eager for an opportunity to sit down. Carole took her bag, dropped it off in the locker area, and headed for Fez’s stall.

  As expected, she found Ben there. What she didn’t expect, however, was to see Fez lying down. She’d checked his chart. He was supposed to be in his sling for an hour now. Carole had thought she’d be able to help groom him.

  Ben was next to him, tensely crouched, much as he had been the other night when Fez had been thrashing so uncomfortably.

  “What’s the problem?” Carole asked.

  Ben shook his head. “I can’t get him to stand,” he said. “He’s so well trained that usually a good tug at his lead rope gets him standing for me, even when he really doesn’t want to.”

  Carole let herself into the stall. “Sometimes it’s psychological, you know.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, look. Did you ever try to lead a horse by looking back at him?”

  “Sure, and it doesn’t work. If he sees you stopped and staring at him, he’ll stare back at you. It’s probably some sort of passive confrontation thing with horses. You have to look straight ahead and walk straight ahead and he’ll follow. But you can’t stare him down.”

  “Right,” Carole said. “And now maybe it’s sort of like that. You can’t convince him to stand up when you’re crouched over him.”

  “Oh,” said Ben. “Well, it’s worth a try.”

  Ben stood up. He took the horse’s lead rope and tugged. He didn’t look into Fez’s eyes, he looked at the sling, now waiting above the horse. Fez didn’t move.

  “Try again,” Carole said, regarding Fez carefully. “He seems a little interested.”

  Ben tugged at the rope without looking at Fez. Slowly the horse shifted his weight and struggled to get his uncooperative legs under him. It took more than a few seconds, but then he was standing. As soon as that happened, Ben and Carole worked swiftly to get the sling around his belly to support him.

  “I told you you were good with horses,” Ben said.

  “Lucky guess.”

  “More than that, and I’m glad you came by.”

  “Well, it isn’t what I came by for,” Carole said. “I came by to remind you about the Foresters’ party and to offer you a ride over there.”

  “Okay,” Ben said. “What time?”

  “Five?”

  “Sure,” he agreed.

  That was easy. Carole smiled, trying to recount to herself all the arguments she had prepared to make to him.

  “What are you smiling about?” Ben challenged. Carole wished he weren’t so observant.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said evasively. “I guess I just thought you’d try to find a way to wriggle out of this party. You didn’t seem too enthusiastic about it before.”

  “Well, I don’t know that I’m exactly enthusiastic,” Ben said. “I could probably do without an evening around Scott Forester, but I decided long ago that when a congressman tells me to do something, I’m going to do it.”

  It was that simple, after all.

  When they had fastened the last of the straps, Ben and Carole checked Fez over carefully. Neither of them was happy with what they were seeing. If Fez had seemed listless before, it was even more apparent now. He’d stood up because he had been trained to be obedient. Carole brushed his coat and patted him while Ben checked his vital signs.

  “He’s got a low-grade fever,” Ben said, looking up from the thermometer. “His pulse is a little elevated. I’ve got to make sure Max keeps an eye on him while we’re gone.”

  “He’s probably just tired from the effort to stand up,” Carole said, hoping there was some truth to that.

  “Maybe. Or maybe there’s an infection. I’ll check his temperature again before we go. We can take him out of the harness then, too.”

  “I know you’re in charge, Ben, but considering how unhappy he looks right now, I think we’d be doing him a favor if we let him lie down. When he’s feeling better tomorrow, you can have him in the sling for an extra-long stay.”

  Ben looked at the horse and shook his head. “That’s two for you today, Carole,” he said, reaching to loosen the first strap.

  A few minutes later, Fez looked relieved to be lying back down in the straw. Carole headed for the shower in Max’s house, and Ben went in search of Max to let him know what was going on with Fez.

  Carole and Ben knew almost everybody at the party. The Foresters hadn’t lived in Willow Creek very long, so the only people Callie knew were from Pine Hollow and the hospital. Her parents had a few friends there, including another congressman from near Callie’s father’s district. Stevie and Phil were there, as were Emily and Scott and a few other riders from Pine Hollow. Callie was sitting in a lounge chair by the pool, wearing a lacy cover-up over her bathing suit.

  Most of the guests had suits and towels in their bags, and Mrs. Forester led them to bedrooms and bathrooms where they could change their clothes. Carole slipped into her suit and put her shirt back on over it. Stevie did the same.

  Phil and Ben were already in the pool when Carole and Stevie came out of the house. Emily lowered herself into a lounge chair next to Callie’s, piling her crutches on top of her friend’s.

  “Are we just going to watch?” Callie asked her therapeutic riding instructor.

  “Up to you,” Emily said.

  “Let’s go.”

  The two of them stood up together and, with a hand from Ben and Scott, made it to the pool’s edge. Mrs. Forester saw what was happening from where she stood near the food table. She took a step, ready to intervene. Her husband, standing nearby, caught hold of her arm and held her. She looked at him, questioning. He simply nodded. She stood still.

  Carole watched, fascinated, aware of Mrs. Forester’s concern and equally aware of what was happening at the lip of the pool. As the two girls slid into the water, everything that hampered them on dry land slipped away. Each floated easily in the water. Callie stretched her arms in front of herself and swept them back, moving toward her brother. Emily followed her. Water, like horses, was an equalizer. The girls could do everything anybody else could when they were in the water.

  Callie neared her brother. He reached out to her, offering his hands in support, which she did not accept. Instead, she moved her right arm back and then swept it forward in a rush, forcing a substantial wall of water right into his face.

  “Splash fight!” she declared.

  Carole and Stevie shed their shirts and jumped into the pool. Ben tossed a Frisbee to Emily, who used it to excellent effect on Phil, until Stevie’s additional attack on him made him duck underwater and come up under her, tossing her three feet into the air. Stevie landed with a big splash that even reached some of the adults.

  Emily’s next rush of Frisbee-assisted water got everybody wet, including the dog, who decided at that point that in the pool was better than out. He turned out to be as effective a splasher as both of his owners, who by then were mastering the forward push of water, alternating with the sideswipe.

  Carole took a deep breath, ducked under the water, and swam to the deep end of the pool, far from the splashers. She pulled herself out next to the diving board. From there she could watch.

  Enormous energy was being expended at the other end of the pool. Almost every person there, including Carole, had been filled with anxiety about at least one thing recently. They’d been working hard, trying to help themselves and one another. They needed a way to let all the tension out. Carole was no exception.

  She stood up and stepped onto the diving board. Starting at the far end, she ran as fast as she could. At the tip of the board she paused, bounced, rose high into the air, and then folded herself into as tight a ball as she could make. She landed in one of the most successful and spectacular cannonballs she’d ever made. If any of the adults had remained dry until then, they were not dry afterward.

  When Carole came to the top, she found her friends applauding her feat.
Then everybody had to try it, and it turned into a contest. It was hard for Callie and Emily because they had to have someone hold their hands as they made their way along the diving board, and it was very hard for Emily to make a tight ball, but it wasn’t hard for them to have fun doing it.

  Ben was voted the overall winner, though everybody agreed that Carole’s plunge had real style.

  “I practice for hours every day,” she said humbly into a pretend microphone that was really a barbecued rib. She took a bite out of it. It was delicious, sweet and tangy. She wondered briefly why anyone would have thought chicken might be a better idea than these ribs—until she tried the chicken, which was just as good. And Mrs. Forester’s potato salad was special as well. Carole munched on some of the celery and carrot sticks between helpings of barbecue, hoping in vain that they might make up for all the good but fattening things she was otherwise consuming.

  Nobody heard the phone ring except Congressman Forester, who was in the house getting more ice out of the freezer. He stepped out of the house and into the yard, casting his eye across the group of teenagers. “Ben?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir?” Ben said, standing up and putting down his plate.

  “The phone’s for you. It’s Max,” Congressman Forester said.

  Ben went pale. It couldn’t be good news, and everybody knew it. Carole went with Ben to answer the phone.

  “Yes.… Right.… That’s what I was afraid of. Judy said it might happen.… Right.… Okay, I’ll be there.” He hung up the phone.

  “It’s Fez,” Ben sad. “He’s not doing well at all. Max said he’s thrashing around—”