Horse Whispers

by Bonnie Bryant

  * * *

  THEIR ELEVEN GUESTS were assembled around the table. The cheese-and-cracker hors d’oeuvres had been eaten. Dessert was in the oven. And to Stevie and Lisa, the most beautiful words on earth were the ones Phyllis proclaimed on their behalf: “Dinner is served!”

  At every place setting there was a card listing the evening’s menu:

  Vegetable Soup à la Lake-wood

  Green Salad

  “Devine” Meatloaf

  Home-Style Mashed Potatoes

  Pecan Pie with Vanilla Ice Cream

  Coffee and Tea in the Living Room

  The Martins and McHughs sipped their soup. “Gosh, whom should we compliment?” said Mrs. McHugh.

  “It says ‘à la Lake-wood,’ ” Kate pointed out, her eyes twinkling. “That’s Stevie Lake and Lisa Atwood.”

  “Where are they?” Mr. Martin asked. “This is darned good soup.”

  “And he doesn’t even like vegetables,” his wife added.

  Carole giggled. “I believe the chefs are in the kitchen.”

  At that moment the two girls emerged, carrying a large tureen. They were wearing white hats for the occasion. “Anybody want seconds?” Stevie asked. She had insisted that there be enough for seconds of every course. After all, you had to treat others as you wanted to be treated yourself!

  Lisa nudged her gleefully. Stevie looked up. Every hand at the table had gone up.

  The meatloaf—made according to Phyllis Devine’s secret recipe—was equally popular. Near the end of the main course, Lisa came out with her camera and took pictures of everyone enjoying the meal: the Martins, the McHughs, the Devines, the Brightstars, Carole, and Christine Lonetree. Earlier she had copied down the recipes for her home ec report. Everything was going like clockwork.

  Just then Frank stood up to make a toast. “To our two cooks!” he said.

  “Hear, hear!” called the table.

  “And to their teacher!”

  “Yay, Phyllis!”

  “Yay, Mom!”

  “And now,” Frank continued more seriously, “I have another toast. As you all know, a few days ago, I bought five new horses. One of them didn’t seem to like it here much. I predicted she’d settle in soon enough.” He paused. He had the air of a man who has just made a major realization. When he continued, his voice was reflective. “But to tell you the truth, I’m not so sure she would have—if it hadn’t been for a certain visitor. We have Carole Hanson to thank for giving us the black mare. By giving I mean acting as the liaison between the mare and us—me, the ranch—so that when Carole leaves, we can continue her training ourselves. Along the way …”

  Kate’s father had to stop again. Everyone at the table had burst into thunderous applause. Carole looked down at her plate. This was the last thing she had expected. A lecture, maybe, but a speech in her honor? Hardly!

  “Ahem! Along the way,” Frank continued, his face a mixture of respect and curiosity, “we noticed something peculiar. The mare had no name. It seems appropriate in a way, since she hadn’t accepted humans. But now I’d like to announce that from here on”—he paused dramatically—“from here on, if Carole approves, the black mare will be known as Carole’s Chance. Because if Carole hadn’t taken a chance on her, nobody else would have. We would have treated her like any other horse. And as she proved two days ago, this mare is not any other horse.”

  Once again there was a burst of clapping and chatter. Only Carole was speechless. She didn’t realize Frank had accepted that the mare was really and truly different. That was more important to her than any words of gratitude. He reached under the table and came up with a present. He handed it to her. Her hands shaking, Carole unwrapped it. She drew a brass rectangle out of the box. It was a nameplate to go on the door of the mare’s stall. The inscription read CAROLE’S CHANCE. Carole’s eyes were shining. Everyone was looking at her. She could never, ever put into words how she was feeling. She was incredibly thankful when Phyllis stood up. “Anyone ready for dessert?”

  Stevie smiled with anticipation. “Sure, I’ll have—” But she didn’t get to finish her sentence. Beside her Lisa had clapped a hand to her forehead. Her mouth was open. Her eyes were nearly popping out of her head. Stevie felt her mouth go dry. Her limbs began to tremble.

  The two girls pushed their chairs back from the table. They sprinted for the kitchen. Lisa flung open the oven door, expecting the worst.

  “Why, oh, why! Why did we have to forget—” Lisa caught her breath.

  Stevie looked to the heavens. “It’s a miracle!” she cried.

  The pies were absolutely perfect: golden brown crusts surrounding the dark pecan filling.

  “I just don’t get it,” said Lisa, stunned with relief.

  “You don’t have to,” Stevie replied, grabbing pot holders to remove the pies. “Our beautiful dessert has been saved. That’s all that matters.”

  “But they were baking an extra twenty minutes at least,” Lisa insisted. Then she noticed the dial on the oven. It was turned all the way down to a warming temperature. Lisa grinned. Suddenly she had an idea who had brought about the miracle.

  “Girls, your guests are waiting,” said a voice behind her. Phyllis had slipped into the kitchen after them.

  “I know, I know, I’m bringing the pies out now,” Stevie answered. “Lisa, grab the ice cream.” She hurried out of the room.

  “Say, Phyllis?” Lisa said.

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks.”

  Phyllis beamed. “Anytime,” she said. She handed Lisa an ice cream scoop.

  Lisa got the tub of vanilla out of the freezer. “Phyllis?” she said again, this time more thoughtfully.

  “Yes?”

  “How many times do you have to burn the dessert—or almost burn the dessert—to become a real cook?”

  Smiling, Phyllis put an arm around Lisa’s shoulder. “How many times do you have to fall off a horse to become a real rider?” she said.

  Lisa laughed at the comparison. The first few times she’d fallen off, she had thought it was because she was a beginner. Then as she got better and still fell off occasionally, she’d thought it was because she was challenging herself more, with bigger jumps and more difficult horses. Now she realized that even the best riders fell sometimes. “A lot, huh?” she said to Phyllis.

  Phyllis nodded. “And you haven’t even begun to experiment with all the other disasters,” she teased. “I mean, you’ve never dropped the pudding, or left out the baking soda, or had the dog get the steaks …”

  Lisa’s head began to spin. Phyllis turned her around. “Go,” she said. “Go forth and conquer.”

  Stevie had served everyone pie in the living room. “Who’s for ice cream?” Lisa asked.

  Everyone but Carole put a hand up. Lisa noticed her friend standing at the edge of the group, looking wistfully at the door. When she was finished scooping ice cream, Lisa went over to her.

  “Do you want to go see the mare—I mean,” Lisa amended, “do you want to go see Carole’s Chance?”

  “I think we can call her Chance for short,” Carole reassured her, laughing. “I’d feel strange if everyone was referring to her like that in front of me.”

  “Good,” said Lisa, “because I would, too. Even though I love the name.”

  Stevie came over and joined them.

  “And yeah,” Carole answered, “I was thinking of going out and showing her her new nameplate.”

  “Great. We’ll save you a piece of pie,” Lisa said readily.

  “Yes, tell her we say hello,” said Stevie.

  Carole frowned. “I was thinking maybe you guys would come with me,” she said. “But if you don’t want to—”

  “Oh, no!” Stevie cried. “I mean, yes!”

  “We’d love to!” exclaimed Lisa.

  Carole looked at them. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “We wish we had—”

  “Next time we’ll—”

  All three of them stopped. Stevie open
ed her arms and they hugged one another. Some things didn’t need explaining. What had happened, had happened. The important thing was that Carole was all right, and that Chance was all right. Laughing and gabbing, they headed for the door.

  In the barn they met the most reassuring sign they could have seen: Chance was lying down in her stall. Stevie and Lisa looked at Carole. She beamed. Lying down was a big deal for a horse. It meant that she trusted her new environment enough to put herself in a helpless position, to let her guard down against attackers from the outside world. Wild horses hardly ever lay down.

  Quietly the girls slipped into the stall. They patted Chance and scratched her withers. The mare was still a little nervous with people, but each encounter seemed to reassure her. Carole noted that she was friendlier with Lisa and Stevie than she had been with John, Mick, and Kate’s father.

  “You know, maybe I overreacted,” Carole said reflectively, her arm around the mare’s neck. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten involved. But something made me do it. It was weird. It was as if I wasn’t thinking. I was just doing—doing what I had to do.” Even after the fact, she still didn’t understand exactly what had made her try to set the mare free.

  Stevie and Lisa glanced at one another in the semidarkness. Both of them were thinking about what John had said—that Carole had a special understanding of horses, that she was a horse whisperer. Somehow neither of them wanted to mention it. Somehow it seemed almost sacred, like something that should go unsaid.

  “It’s okay,” Lisa said gently. “I’ll bet you just knew how she was feeling more than anyone else did.”

  “Yeah. You were more in tune with her than other people,” Stevie added.

  Carole nodded, turning ideas over in her head. She thought back to the afternoon she had spent with the herd. Those horses had let her into their world. It was an experience she would never, ever forget. In a way it seemed more like a dream than reality.

  It was strange, but sometimes Carole felt as if she had a special talent—or power or ability—for understanding horses. And not just for understanding them but for being able to communicate with them. She thought of saying something about it to Stevie and Lisa. It would be hard to explain, but she could try. But when she looked up and caught their eyes, she changed her mind. The way they were looking at her, it was almost as if they already knew.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Bonnie Bryant is the author of nearly a hundred books about horses, including The Saddle Club series, Saddle Club Super Editions, and the Pony Tails series. She has also written novels and movie novelizations under her married name, B. B. Hiller.

  Ms. Bryant began writing The Saddle Club in 1986. Although she had done some riding before that, she intensified her studies then and found herself learning right along with her characters Stevie, Carole, and Lisa. She claims that they are all much better riders than she is.

  Ms. Bryant was born and raised in New York City. She still lives there, in Greenwich Village, with her two sons.

  Don’t miss Bonnie Bryant’s next exciting Saddle Club adventure …

  PAINTED HORSE

  The Saddle Club #75

  Stevie Lake is going on a class trip to New York City. She can see herself hanging out in Greenwich Village, but her teacher thinks long, boring lectures and a report are a much better idea. Well, Stevie has her own plans. She shakes her classmates and sets off to explore the Big Apple on her own. She ends up at the carousel in Central Park, which she loves. She meets lots of great people and horses—including a mounted police officer.

  When Stevie’s class wanders into the park, they don’t have such a great adventure. In fact, they get lost. Now it’s up to Stevie and her new friends to save them and stop the school trip from turning into a disaster.