Gold Medal Horse

by Bonnie Bryant

  On the far shoulder they stopped in surprise. They’d never noticed it, but the other side of the highway was dotted with small pastures, too, just like the horse park. Only here the fences were made of sturdy brown rails, and the buildings behind them looked plain and utilitarian. A number of horses grazed in the pastures, and they raised their heads curiously to look at the gray-white horse. Before Stevie and Carole could do more than look at the horses in return, a red Jeep tore down the driveway, screeching to a halt right in front of them.

  “You got him!” A man in a brown leather jacket exclaimed in relief as he parked the Jeep and got out. “Is he okay?” He took the lead from Carole and ran his hands quickly over the gray-white horse’s legs. Then he looked at the three girls. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  They described the horse’s jump, chase, and capture. “I’m grateful to you,” the man said. “You did exactly the right thing. I’m Dr. Lawrence. I’m a vet, and this is the Kentucky Equine Hospital. Ghost here is one of our patients.”

  The girls shook his hand and introduced themselves. “ ‘Ghost’ is a good name for him,” Stevie said. “He looks like a ghost—tall and white and thin.”

  Dr. Lawrence looked thoughtful. “Yes, that’s why I named him that,” he said. “I have no idea what his real name is. He’s a registered Thoroughbred, but he’s so old that the numbers on his lip tattoo have faded and you can’t read them. I don’t know where he came from originally. He was a rescue from the SPCA.”

  Carole’s eyes sparked angrily. “I knew he’d been treated badly!”

  Dr. Lawrence nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. The man from whom we got him hadn’t owned him long, however. Most of Ghost’s injuries look old, and many of them aren’t actually the result of poor care. He just got hurt, probably—like a football player blowing out his knee.”

  Dr. Lawrence began leading Ghost back to the hospital building, and the girls followed. “This horse has been pacing up and down the pasture, looking at the horse park, ever since he got here,” he told them. “Today he finally jumped his fence. I keep thinking maybe he’s an old event horse trying to get back to competition. Maybe he remembers Rolex.”

  Carole liked the idea but doubted it was true. “That sounds too much like a fairy tale,” she said. “But he did try awfully hard to jump into the park—you could tell he tried as hard as he could.”

  “He’s got a lot of spirit, but he’s still obedient,” Stevie added. “He stopped as soon as we asked him to. He’s a good horse.”

  Dr. Lawrence led the horse through a large door into a stable with large stalls. “We’ll keep him inside and keep an eye on him,” he said. He gave the horse a few flakes of hay, and soon the horse was munching happily. “He’s a mystery, that’s for sure,” Dr. Lawrence said. “He’s not a young horse—see how his gray coat has faded to almost pure white?—and with those legs he’ll always be somewhat lame. I’m sure he’s had a hard life, but I agree with you. I think he’s a good horse.”

  Carole ran her hand through the horse’s long mane. “What happens to him now?” she asked. “Can he stay here?”

  Dr. Lawrence sighed. “Not permanently, but certainly for a while longer,” he said. “I’d like to find a good retirement home for him, but it won’t be easy. Someone will have to take this old boy out of the goodness of his or her heart.” Dr. Lawrence shook his head sadly.

  “Our friends Dorothy and Nigel know a lot of riders,” Stevie suggested. “Maybe they’d know someone who could take him. We’ll ask.” She patted Ghost’s neck. “He sure is a nice horse.”

  “If you have any ideas for a home, call me,” Dr. Lawrence said gratefully. “I really appreciate your rescuing and returning him. Thank you.”

  “Well,” Carole said to Lisa as they walked back, “you were right—he’s in good hands now.”

  “Now,” Stevie admitted, “but not forever. Ghost needs a permanent home.”

  Carole nodded, frowning. They’d have to think of something.

  “BUT I THOUGHT it was called a three-day event,” Stevie protested. “Why is Nigel’s dressage test on Thursday, when cross-country doesn’t start until Saturday and the show jumping is on Sunday?”

  “That makes it a four-day event,” Lisa said. They were on their way to Rolex with Dorothy. Nigel had already gone ahead to get ready for the first phase of the competition.

  “There are too many competitors,” Dorothy said. “To make the competition fair, all of the horses have to be judged by the same dressage judges, and they can’t fit them all into a single day, so they spread the tests over two days. It doesn’t matter—Southwood still has to be obedient and supple today and bold over cross-country on Saturday.”

  “And show jumping on Sunday,” Carole supplied.

  “Yes.” Dorothy nodded. “More than anything else, the show jumping proves that the horse hasn’t been completely worn out from cross-country day.”

  “Will Nigel do well in dressage?” Stevie asked as they turned into the park and Dorothy flashed her pass at the man at the gate. “I mean, will Southwood?”

  “I think so,” Dorothy said. “You never know—something could happen to upset him. But I don’t think it will.”

  IT DIDN’T. WHEN Southwood entered the arena, The Saddle Club could see from their seats in the grandstand that he was relaxed and focusing on Nigel’s commands. The two moved in partnership from their opening halt to their final salute.

  “It’s not just that Southwood trots when he should be trotting,” Stevie said, watching the test intently. “It’s the way he trots. Do you see how all his power seems to come from his back legs? Do you see how his head just seems to flow into Nigel’s hands?”

  Carole and Lisa exchanged amused glances. Stevie, who was normally animated and disorganized, loved the rhythms and precision of dressage.

  Lisa watched Nigel turn Southwood into a tight canter circle. Southwood’s body was bent from his nose to his tail—Lisa knew that was difficult for a horse to do. “I wish they’d do a piaffe in this test,” she said. A piaffe was a strong, powerful trot done entirely in place—much more difficult, and more beautiful, than it sounded. Lisa had seen it only in photographs.

  Stevie shook her head. “They never would, not in a three-day event, not even in the Olympics,” she said. “It’s much too difficult a move. Only horses that are dressage specialists do it.”

  Carole nodded. “Event horses do dressage and show jumping, but you could say they specialize in cross-country,” she explained to Lisa. “The dressage and show jumping the eventers do is easier than the stuff international dressage riders and show jumpers do.”

  “I didn’t know there were international show jumpers,” Lisa replied. She frowned. Even though she wasn’t as experienced as her friends, she wanted to know as much about riding as they did.

  “Sure,” Carole said. “There are really three Olympic equestrian teams from each country—one for eventing, one for dressage, and one for show jumping.”

  “I get it,” said Lisa. “And Nigel’s trying out for the eventing team.”

  “Shhh!” whispered Stevie. They watched closely as Nigel and Southwood finished their test. At the end, Nigel halted Southwood in the exact center of the arena, doffed his hat to the judges, then let the reins slide long through his fingers. Southwood stretched his neck almost to the ground as he walked out of the ring.

  “That was beautiful,” Stevie said dreamily.

  Carole and Lisa agreed. They’d watched enough of the earlier riders to know that Southwood’s test was well above average. He had started off well.

  “Of course,” Lisa said thoughtfully, “Nigel doesn’t have any reason to hold Southwood back during his dressage test. Southwood knows all the movements, he’s just judged on how well he does them. It’s only during the cross-country that Nigel wants to ease up.”

  “Right,” said Carole. “And it’s cross-country that will count the most to the people choosing the Olympic event teams.”

&nb
sp; Stevie sighed. “We still haven’t done anything to convince Nigel to give Southwood a chance. I’ve made a lot of little comments, but we haven’t done anything big.”

  “We’ve all made a lot of little comments,” Lisa remarked, “and I think they’re sliding right off Nigel’s back. But I don’t know how to convince him—and I keep thinking that, after all, he does know more about this than we do.”

  Suddenly Carole sat up straight and elbowed her two friends. “Look!”

  On the edge of the crowd, at the foot of the grandstand, Drew was scanning the spectators. When he caught sight of The Saddle Club, he waved. Then he turned and spoke to a shorter boy next to him, who was facing the arena. The boy had his back to the grandstand.

  “It’s Eddy!” Stevie whispered. “Run!” They got up and scrambled down from the stands.

  “Pretend you don’t see them,” Lisa said. “Act normal. Act like we’re going to go congratulate Nigel.”

  Carole peeked over her shoulder. “Here they come!”

  The Saddle Club dashed through the crowd. “Where do we go now?” Carole asked when they were safely away from the grandstand.

  “Why, girls—what a happy coincidence!” Mrs. Harrington had been walking down the road. When she saw them she stopped and smiled. “Do you have plans for the rest of the afternoon?” she said. “Because I happen to be free—I’m just going home now—and I did promise you a tour of Blue Hill.”

  The Saddle Club jumped at the chance. The past two nights they’d stayed so late at Rolex that it had been dark when they sat down to dinner in the Blue Hill dining room. They had been through most of the house, but they still hadn’t seen the rest of the farm. They dashed back to the stables and found Dorothy to tell her where they were going, then rode in Mrs. Harrington’s car back to Blue Hill.

  Blue Hill was enchanting. Mrs. Harrington showed them the stallion barn, where four Thoroughbred stallions lived in equine luxury. Each had its own private pasture adjoining a large, clean stall. “Don’t try to pet them,” Mrs. Harrington warned the girls. “They’re strong-minded animals, and you have to be careful around them. I don’t allow Drake or Tory into this barn.”

  “We know not to pet them,” Carole said. They looked at the stallions with respect.

  Next Mrs. Harrington led them through the two large broodmare barns. The stalls were extralarge, for safe foaling, and each one was equipped with a tiny video camera.

  “You videotape the horses being born?” Stevie asked in astonishment.

  Mrs. Harrington laughed. “The cameras are hooked up to a closed-circuit TV monitor,” she explained. “We have so many mares here that during foaling season we sometimes have several giving birth at once. We use the monitor so that it takes only one person to watch for the time when the horses go into labor.”

  Most of the stalls were empty because most of the mares had already had their babies and were grazing with the foals in the pastures. Mrs. Harrington walked them past several pastures, and they stopped to admire the baby horses frolicking. “They’re adorable!” Carole said. “We have a young horse named Samson at Pine Hollow. We helped with his birth and a lot of his training.”

  “We’ll sell most of these babies as yearlings in the fall,” Mrs. Harrington said. “They’ll be trained elsewhere. Then, next spring—more foals.”

  “It must be lovely to have so many babies around,” Carole said, “but hard to let them go.”

  “It is,” Mrs. Harrington admitted. “However, we certainly couldn’t keep them all. Come, let’s introduce you to the riding horses.”

  In a small, tidy stable close to the main house lived three horses and two ponies. Mrs. Harrington owned a black mare named Jenny. “She’s my field hunter,” Mrs. Harrington explained. “Bennett here belongs to Mr. Harrington, and each of us rides Trilby sometimes.”

  The children’s two ponies were named Amazing Grace and Sam. “You have to call her Amazing Grace,” Mrs. Harrington said. “Not just Grace. Tory is quite firm about that.” She gave the palomino pony a loving pat. Sam was a slightly sturdier chestnut. He happily crunched the carrot that Carole offered him.

  Mrs. Harrington checked her watch. “The children will be home from school soon,” she said. “Do say something nice about the ponies to them. They’re so impressed with the three of you, ever since Dorothy told them how well you ride, that I know praise from you would mean a lot.”

  “It won’t be hard to say something nice about these ponies,” Carole said. “They’re really sweet, and they’re good-looking, too.” She looked around the little stable. “All of your horses are super high quality,” she said frankly.

  “Nothing like our renegade,” Lisa said. Seeing how well all the Blue Hill horses lived had made her think sadly about poor Ghost. She couldn’t get him out of her mind. She knew that Ghost couldn’t stay in the horse hospital forever, and she really wanted him to have a good home.

  “I don’t know,” Carole said thoughtfully. “Ghost had good conformation underneath all those scars, and Dr. Lawrence said he was a Thoroughbred. I bet that in his good years he looked as handsome as these horses.”

  “Who’s Ghost?” Mrs. Harrington asked. The Saddle Club realized that they hadn’t told her about their rescue of the day before. They’d described Ghost to Dorothy and Nigel on the ride back to Blue Hill from Rolex, but at dinner the conversation had centered around Nigel’s dressage test and then had turned to other competitors and their chances at Rolex. The Saddle Club had found everything so absorbing that they hadn’t mentioned Ghost to the Harringtons. Now they told Mrs. Harrington the story.

  “He really needs a good home.” Carole finished, “if you would happen to know anyone with lots of land—” She stopped suddenly and blushed. Mrs. Harrington had lots of land, but Carole hadn’t meant to imply that she should take Ghost.

  On the other hand, it would be a perfect solution … but how could they ask Mrs. Harrington for such a big favor? Carole knew that even horses in retirement needed to have veterinary care. They needed to have their hooves trimmed, and they probably needed grain and a blanket in the winter. All that could be expensive.

  Lisa and Stevie knew exactly what Carole was thinking. “We mean,” Lisa said, “if you knew someone who maybe didn’t need so much pasture—”

  “Someone who wanted another horse around,” Stevie said.

  “He’s very friendly,” Carole said. She tried not to shuffle her feet.

  Mrs. Harrington laughed, then looked serious. “Girls,” she said, “another horse around here wouldn’t make a dent in the grass. I wouldn’t mind giving your Ghost a home, but I can’t promise you anything. Horses, espedaily ones that have been mistreated, can carry diseases with them for a long time. If Ghost brought a strange virus to Blue Hill, our foals could all become seriously ill. I can’t allow that.”

  She sighed. “I’ll talk to Mr. Harrington tonight,” she offered. “If he agrees, I’ll come meet Ghost and speak to the veterinarian. Then, if we can find a suitable place for Ghost to live in quarantine for a few months—away from other horses—then maybe he can live here. It’s the best I can do. Okay?”

  “Of course,” Lisa said. She understood Mrs. Harrington’s reasoning—none of them would ever want to endanger the beautiful foals! “It’s very nice of you. It means so much to us.”

  “I can tell,” Mrs. Harrington said kindly.

  “He’s such a nice horse,” Lisa continued. “I’m sure you’ll like him.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  They walked quietly back to the house. It’s a lot of “ifs,” Stevie thought. If Mr. Harrington agrees, if Ghost is healthy, if we can find a quarantine … Yet she knew Mrs. Harrington’s offer was generous. I only wish we could do something to repay her. Not only might she save Ghost, but she rescued us from Dready Eddy for yet another day.

  “STEADY, STEADY! EASY, Southwood! Whoa!” Drew led Southwood out of the stables on Friday morning. It was a rest day for Southwood, since the other ha
lf of the Rolex field was riding their dressage tests that day. Southwood, however, looked anything but restful: He snorted and plunged and tossed his head. When Nigel mounted him, Southwood gave a quick buck before snatching at the bit and taking off at a trot.

  Nigel waved gaily to The Saddle Club and Dorothy as he rode away. “We’ll just take a little walk around the park,” he called. Southwood tossed his head again and kicked out at a scrap of paper. “Whoa, old boy!” Nigel turned his full attention to the horse.

  The Saddle Club was astonished. Yesterday Southwood had been calm and businesslike, and today he looked like a rocket ship ready to blast off. They hadn’t known he could act so wild, and Lisa found it alarming. Dorothy, however, was laughing. “Southwood’s turned into a true event horse,” she said. “He really hasn’t been in very many three-day events, but already he knows he’s supposed to do cross-country the day after dressage. Southwood’s ready to go.”

  Drew shaded his hand with his eyes and continued to watch Nigel and Southwood. “Just like Prospero,” he said, a wistful look on his face. “He loved eventing, and he especially loved cross-country. He was a big, handsome, dark dappled gray, Lisa, and when he was about to start cross-country he would arch his neck and whinny.” Drew looked sad. “He was so beautiful!”

  “Ghost, the horse we found on Tuesday, acted a little like that,” Lisa said. They’d told Drew about the rescue and Mrs. Harrington’s kindness. “He seemed to want to be at Rolex. It was almost as if he knew what was going on.”

  “Dr. Lawrence said maybe Ghost was an old show horse,” Stevie added. “He thought Ghost saw all the people and horses and wanted to be at the show.”

  “You never know,” Dorothy said, to The Saddle Club’s surprise, because they found Dr. Lawrence’s idea a little far-fetched. “Horses have strange memories. Sometimes they forget things right away, and sometimes they never, ever do. I once had a mare who was almost run over by a mailman. Great big trucks, strange tractors, and noisy motorcycles never scared her, but from the day the mailman nearly hit her, she became terrified of Jeeps, because they looked like mail trucks. She never lost that fear.”