Taking the Reins (An Ellen & Ned Book)

by Jane Smiley

  “Ruthie can talk to him about birds.”

  “They can take a walk. He likes to do that. He says that because the ocean and the mountains and the fields and the trees are so close together, there are lots of types of birds around here.”

  Wednesday was going to be a big day.

  Of course Ruthie knows where my house is, but because I’ve never seen her here, I was shocked, dumbfounded, taken aback, floored…all those words, which I love. Let’s say I was a little surprised when I was walking down the stairs and looked through the window in the door, and there was the top of Ruthie’s head. I opened the door. She turned around, smiling. She had a bag, full, I was sure, of pencils and paper. I said, “Abby wants you to draw a picture of Gee Whiz.”

  “He’s gorgeous.”

  “Do you have gray pencils?”

  “All pencils are gray. He’ll be like a black-and-white photograph on a golden background with a few green trees.”

  “You’ve looked at him before.”

  “When I was there, he was whinnying all the time.”

  I said, “You want some breakfast?” She shook her head but followed me to the kitchen, and when Mom set a piece of bacon and a poppy-seed muffin in front of her, she ate them right down.

  Mom took us to the barn. Dad was already gone, and along with him—“Thank goodness,” Mom said—the red Cadillac. Mom did not drop us off. She parked, got out, and followed us to the barn, but the colonel and Da’s mom weren’t there yet.

  I could see Da opening the gate to the gelding pasture, then leading LB out. Tater was standing behind LB, flicking his ears and waving his tail. Then I saw him glance at me and toss his head. But his ears stayed pricked and he didn’t run up the hill. I trotted toward him, and he actually nickered again. When Da saw me, he said, “The dad is back.”

  I said, “Did he make you clean six stalls before breakfast?”

  “No, but we straightened up the feed room. He told me that his motto is—”

  I said, “Do it now.”

  “That’s what he told me.”

  I walked on to the gate, and Tater put his nose through the railings. I tickled him a little bit between the nostrils, then took his halter off the hook and opened the gate. He looked like he’d spent the night rolling in dirt. Even his cheeks were grimy. But I didn’t mind brushing him. Because of the summer weather, his coat was smooth—I would use the soft brush, which Tater seemed to appreciate. I decided it was like petting, and my first thought was that I should brush Ned to see if he liked it, and my second thought was that horses don’t get petted much, sometimes on the face or just in front of the saddle. At horse shows, you see riders have a good jumping round and because they’re happy, they give the horse a couple of smacks on the neck, and I know they think they’re praising the horse, but why wouldn’t the horse see this as a slap?

  I looped the rope over a railing outside of the barn, did the brushing, and combed Tater’s mane, too—and here came Colonel Dudgeon, hopping and skipping toward us, already laughing. “My girl!” he said. “Haven’t you done a lovely job!” Just then, Abby’s mom came over with Mom and introduced her to the colonel, and I went into the tack room to get my saddle and bridle. I did turn my head and look at them. They talked and talked. I waited. And then the colonel put his hand on Tater, and I knew they’d made a deal.

  I put my saddle back on the rack and trotted out of the barn toward them. The main thing I did just then was look around for Abby’s dad—there he was, up the hill, with his hand on a fence post. I saw him jiggle it. So he’d been gone for almost three weeks, and everything had fallen apart, and he had to fix it now. I knew my job was to find things out, and right then I thought of a way. Ruthie was next to the round corral, where she was looking at Beebop, and why he was in the round corral I don’t know—no one dares to ride Beebop. Beebop is a friendly horse, though, and he was kind of leaning toward Ruthie, inviting her to pet him. She looked cautious. I went over to her, showed her how to pet Beebop a little bit on his shoulder, then I said, “Let’s go look for Abby and see if she can put Gee Whiz somewhere where you can see him.”

  Ruthie followed me. We found Abby in the feed room. Did she look sad? I couldn’t tell. I said, “Ruthie’s here. She’s ready to draw a picture of Gee Whiz.”

  “Oh, okay.” Yes, she was sad. So the colonel had made an offer and her dad had accepted it, that was my deduction. She walked away and Ruthie followed her. I dawdled, and then I got my wish. Da came over, carrying LB’s bridle, and said, “Five thousand dollars.”

  I spun around. “For which one?”

  “Gee Whiz. Abby’s dad looked like he’d been hit over the head with a hammer. But a good hammer. They’re taking Gee Whiz to the East Coast. Horses are way more expensive there. I’m sure he’ll get a lot more for him.”

  “How much are they giving us for Tater?”

  “Fifteen hundred.”

  I grabbed his elbow. I said, “How do you know all of this?”

  “You think I can’t hear Colonel Dudgeon? His voice is like a church bell.”

  “Doesn’t your mom try to hush him up?”

  “No, she just laughs.”

  “Where is she? I don’t see her.”

  “She stayed in town to have her hair cut.”

  I knew what I had to do. I waited for Da to leave—I was sure he had something planned—and when he did, I went out of the feed room and walked straight to the mare pasture. I had three carrot pieces in my pocket. Ned and Sissy were standing under a tree, nose to tail, with their heads down, switching their tails back and forth a little because of flies. This is how horses cooperate when there are lots of flies. Very lightly, I imitated Da’s high Ned whistle, and Ned lifted his head. I showed him the biggest carrot piece, and he sighed, then idled in my direction. Yes, it was now hot. That was good. I looked at all the halters hanging on the railing, picked out Ned’s. When he got to me, I slipped between the rails, gave Ned his bit of carrot, and put on the halter. I walked him around a little bit, asking him to step over, and then I petted him on both sides. He wasn’t as dirty as Tater had been, but he was pretty dirty. Then I led him to the fence, climbed to the top rail, and got on. I didn’t look left or right. I didn’t try to see if anyone was coming. All I did was keep petting Ned under his mane.

  One good thing about Ned is that his back is smooth and easy to sit on. Some horses, like Gee Whiz, have big withers and prominent spines—I don’t see how you could ride them bareback, but there I was, thinking all these thoughts, and then Ned began to walk around. He wasn’t trying to eat grass, and he wasn’t stopping or going fast; he was just walking, and in my mind, he said, “Where to?” I said, “Along the rail,” and turned him slightly. I didn’t kick him or push him hard with my legs. He went along the rail. It was like he was going for a walk and didn’t mind taking me with him. Sissy watched us for a minute, and then she came, too, a few steps behind us. The other mares, who were a little farther down the hill toward the dry creek, didn’t seem to notice.

  And I thought, this is what I really like—not going to shows or taking lessons, but just being with them, feeling them under me and near me. I put my hand behind, on Ned’s back. It was warm and smooth. And then, it happened—a coyote with pointed ears and a furry tail appeared between some trees a little way down the hill. It looked pretty small, skinny with long legs, maybe young. Ned and Sissy both lifted their ears and one of the mares whinnied. Then another mare whinnied—it was like a signal going around. But all Ned did was look at the coyote and look away, then walk on, and I saw that maybe because all the horses at Abby’s ranch live in the pastures instead of in stalls, wild animals were no big deal. I said, “Ned, I think you’re more afraid of what a person might do than what an animal might do,” and he tossed his head. Yes. I thought about that time when I slipped onto Ned in the round corral and rode him for maybe a mi
nute. I remembered how excited I’d been, how a minute had seemed like forever, and then Abby had come running out of the house with the news that Jack So Far had won some money in a race. Jack So Far was older now, and so were we all. What was the stranger thing—that I was sitting on Ned, wandering around the pasture like it was no big deal, or that so much time had passed since that moment, and yet I’d never forgotten it?

  I admit that I did sort of forget about all the grown-ups, so I was a little surprised when we turned back toward the fence, and they were standing there, Mom next to Abby’s dad, Abby’s mom next to Colonel Dudgeon, and Da and Abby off to the side. I didn’t see Ruthie, but I was sure she was busy with her “commission.” I didn’t go all the way to the fence. I squeezed my thighs, and Ned halted and flicked his ears. Sissy went over to what was left of the hay and ate a few bits.

  I saw Abby’s dad’s mouth open and I glanced at her mom, who was hiding a smile. My mom looked like she didn’t know what in the world was happening. I said, in my Colonel Dudgeon voice, “Mr. Lovitt, I’ll give you fifteen hundred dollars for Ned. Take it or leave it.” I saw Da nod his head and then stick his tongue out at me.

  Abby’s dad’s mouth closed right down and his eyebrows lifted. They went really high, too, let’s say right up to the brim of his cowboy hat, which he then pushed back with his hand.

  He cleared his throat and said, “Actually, I think, since I understand that you are selling Tater, that Sissy is a better match for—”

  I said, “No thanks. Sissy is a good horse, but the best match for me is Ned.”

  He said, “Ellen, you make me laugh, but you’re ten years old—”

  “I’m eleven.”

  I saw what I needed to do. I pulled a little on the rope, got Ned to turn, continued walking around, and then, when I got to a spot that was a little open, I clapped him with my legs and said, “Trot.” He trotted. And yes, I did stay on, and the reason I stayed on was that Ned has maybe the smoothest, easiest trot I have ever felt. It didn’t bounce me; it sort of cuddled me. We trotted in a pretty big circle. I squeezed my thighs and he halted. I said, “I know what I want.”

  And Abby’s dad said, “Well, you always do, I’ll admit that.”

  Mom was nodding.

  I said, “Ned would like to stay in the mare pasture with Sissy.”

  Abby’s dad said, I kid you not, “That does seem to be working.”

  And then, two of the geldings I didn’t know ran across the gelding pasture, squealing and kicking up. My heart skipped a beat, but Ned just glanced at them. I walked him to the fence and slid off. I held out my hand to Abby’s dad, and he came over and shook it.

  I petted Ned a few times down the neck and took off his halter. He stood there, quietly. I put my arms around his neck and give him a hug. I wasn’t stupid—I knew that he was more mysterious and less reliable than Tater, that not everything was going to be perfect, but that was a good part, the step-by-step part that would be a fascinating puzzle that I would spend years figuring out. I also knew, I really did, that he was my friend, and that I would treat him like a friend. I gave him the rest of the carrot, and he took it very carefully.

  Mom and I sat with Colonel Dudgeon on the porch, and Mom told Colonel Dudgeon just to give the money for Tater to Abby’s dad. Then Ruthie turned up, and Colonel Dudgeon said, “Well, I hear you’re interested in birds!” and Mom said, “Birds are interesting!” So the three of them went on a walk around the ranch. Ruthie left her bag on one of the chairs, and I peeked into it. Yes, there was a drawing of Gee Whiz. I didn’t take it out, but I could see that it was so good, you could almost hear it whinny. I decided that Ruthie was my friend, maybe my best friend, now, since there were things that we shared with each other that we didn’t share with anyone else. And if you love a horse, you know that a best friend can stay mysterious. I sat by myself for a little while, enjoying the breeze and smelling something sweet, though I didn’t know what it was. I thought maybe bushes and plants and trees were interesting, too. There are a lot of things to find out about, that’s for sure.

  And that’s why I forgot, until the last minute, to say good-bye to Da. Mom had the door open, waiting for me to get into the car, and I knew we had to go. I suddenly remembered that Da would be leaving the next day and I knew I wanted to give him a hug or something, but I couldn’t see him anywhere, not even on the roof of Abby’s house. I looked and looked, but finally all I could do was ask Abby to give him a hug for me, and she said, “I’ll give him one for me, too. I’m sure he’ll be back.”

  That night, I couldn’t get to sleep. The door to my room was open. I could hear Dad snoring across the hall. Everything else was totally silent, so I knew Mom was sleeping, and Joan Ariel, too. My room was mostly dark, with a little moonlight flickering through the trees, and when I paid attention, I could hear a light breeze, which was why it was flickering. I sat up and closed my eyes. Immediately, I saw Ned next to Sissy, under a tree, down by the dry creek. I said, “Where’s the coyote?”

  Ned looked around, sighed, looked at me. He didn’t say anything, even in my own mind. But that was okay. I didn’t care whether he was talking to me anymore. The feeling I got from petting him, sitting on him, having him walk and trot underneath me was enough. Soon, sometime, we would canter, and that would be heaven on earth, as Grandma would say.

  And it was fun to spend more time with Ruthie. We walked around the neighborhood. I did the talking; she did the drawing. Some days, she would point things out to me—say, a bird or a tree—and I would go home and look them up, then tell her what I’d learned the next day. We both liked exploring.

  A few weeks later, two days before school started, I got a letter from Da. His handwriting was fine, and he spelled most of the words correctly. He said that he was enjoying his new pony, named Delinquent, that his mom had found in England, a Dartmoor pony, about the same size as Mordecai. And in case I wondered, because of the word “Dartmoor,” yes, he had read The Hound of the Baskervilles all the way to the end. The letter reminded me of how much fun I’d had with him (as if I would forget) and I wondered when I would see him again. The good sign was that his mom and Jane were best friends. That meant that I could be a pest until Jane invited them back. I do not mind being a pest. When I wrote to Da the next day, I made sure to say that everyone missed him, including Rusty, who kept howling his name, “DAAAAAAAOUUUU.” That made me laugh; I hoped it would make him laugh, too. In the meantime, I sneaked that book, The Pale Horse, out of the bookcase and took it up to my room. It wasn’t exactly scary, though there were some witches, but there wasn’t actually a horse. My favorite part was that there was a town named Much Deeping. That is a town I would like to visit.

  Jane Smiley is the author of many books for adults, including Some Luck, Horse Heaven, and the Pulitzer Prize–winning A Thousand Acres. She was inducted into the American Academy of Arts and Letters in 2001. Taking the Reins is the third and final book in the Ellen & Ned trilogy, after Riding Lessons and Saddles & Secrets. Jane is also the author of five Horses of Oak Valley Ranch books: The Georges and the Jewels, A Good Horse, True Blue, Pie in the Sky, and Gee Whiz. She lives in Northern California, where she rides horses every chance she gets.

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