Stevie said good-bye and hung up the phone, feeling happier. She was certain Phil would be more eager to discuss her plan in person on Thursday. Maybe he wanted his whole family to hear how much she was helping him, and that was why he hadn’t wanted to talk about it now. She stood up and headed downstairs to find her parents.
Her mother heard her and came to the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips. “Come here a minute, Stevie,” she said. “I need to explain something to you.” She led Stevie to the dishwasher, which was standing open just as Stevie had left it. Mrs. Lake pointed inside. “The concept of the dishwasher is not to wash the leftover food. It’s to wash the dishes. Got it?”
“Got it,” Stevie replied humbly. Without waiting for her mother’s command, she began unloading the caked and coated dishes and taking them to the sink to rinse. As much as she hated this chore, she wasn’t going to complain about it tonight. Between the dinner at Phil’s on Thursday night and the stable sleepover on Friday, the last thing she wanted to risk right now was a grounding.
BY THURSDAY AFTERNOON Carole was so exhausted from lack of sleep that she felt as though she were sleepwalking through the day. Her father was still going into his office early every morning and returning late every evening, looking almost as tired as Carole felt. He hadn’t noticed that anything was wrong, and she didn’t want to bother him, even though she’d had the phantom horse dream every night. She felt like bursting into tears every time she so much as thought about Starlight, although she hadn’t seen him at all on Wednesday because of an after-school meeting. That meant she hadn’t seen her friends at all, either, so she still hadn’t told them about her problem. But she had decided to talk to somebody about it. Stevie and Lisa hadn’t paid much attention the last time she’d told them about her dreams, but this time she would make them understand how frightened and confused she was. Then they would be sure to come up with a way to help her. The Saddle Club had never let her down before.
When she arrived at Pine Hollow after school, Carole almost collided with Stevie, who was racing out of the locker room as Carole was walking in.
“Whoa!” Stevie exclaimed, pulling up short just in time. “Sorry about that. Good thing it was you coming in and not Max.” All the riders knew that one of Max’s strictest rules was no running in the stable.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Carole said. “Where’s Lisa?”
“She’s at a ballet lesson, I think,” Stevie said. “Or is it a flute lesson? I can’t remember.” Lisa’s mother wanted her daughter to be well-rounded, which meant she made her take all sorts of lessons and classes after school. Stevie glanced at her watch. “Uh-oh, I’d better get going if I don’t want to be late. See you later.”
“What? Wait,” Carole said. “Where are you going? I was hoping I could talk to you about something …”
“Can it wait until tomorrow’s sleepover?” Stevie asked, glancing at her watch again. “Tonight’s my dinner, remember?”
“Dinner?” Carole repeated blankly.
Stevie looked slightly annoyed. “At Phil’s house,” she said. “I told you all about it on the phone Tuesday night.”
“Oh, right,” Carole said. She vaguely remembered the conversation. Stevie had made a three-way call to her and Lisa to tell them about the dinner invitation, but Carole had been too tired to pay much attention.
“Anyway, I really have to run now,” Stevie said. “I still have to change before my mom drives me over, and I don’t want to be late. I mean, how would it look if the guests who came all the way from Israel are there on time and the one who’s just coming from ten miles down the road keeps everyone waiting?” Without waiting for a reply, she gave Carole a little wave and dashed away.
Carole sighed and walked to her cubby to get her riding boots. As she pulled them out, they dislodged a pair of sunglasses, which clattered to the floor. As Carole bent to pick them up, she recognized them as her father’s favorite pair. She had borrowed them from him a couple of weeks before and must have forgotten to return them. Setting the sunglasses on the bench so that she’d remember to take them home, she began pulling on her boots, already dreading the afternoon ahead.
FEELING COWARDLY, CAROLE decided she would work Starlight on the longe line that day instead of riding him. She told herself he was overdue for a review session of longeing over cavalletti. Horses needed a lot of repetition of every lesson if they were to learn it well, and Starlight was still relatively young. But in her heart she knew that was only an excuse because she didn’t want to ride him.
Still, she felt a little better about her decision when she realized it wouldn’t do Starlight one bit of good to ride him when she was this upset. There was no sense communicating any more of her tension to her horse than was absolutely necessary.
But the plan didn’t work out as well as Carole had hoped. Even though she wasn’t on his back, Starlight obviously sensed that something was wrong, and it affected his performance. He seemed confused about the simplest commands, acted restless and skittish, and generally didn’t perform at his usual calm, competent level. Carole knew it was her fault for working with him when she was so tired and upset, but Starlight’s erratic behavior certainly wasn’t helping her mood. She finally gave up and led him inside, glad that nobody had been around to see their embarrassing performance, except for Troy’s old dog. Princess had been lounging near the stable entrance for the past half hour.
After Carole had untacked and groomed Starlight and left him resting comfortably in his stall, she wandered to the locker room to collect her things. She pulled her schoolbag out of her cubby and looked around for the sunglasses. But they weren’t where she’d left them.
Frowning, she bent down to look under the bench. The sunglasses weren’t there, either.
“It figures,” she muttered to herself. “The way this week is going, I’m not surprised I can’t even keep track of a pair of sunglasses.” Still, she knew she’d left them on the bench. Was it possible that the Pine Hollow Pilferer had struck again? If so, it seemed Stevie’s theory was wrong. Shannon Brice hadn’t been anywhere near Pine Hollow that day. Carole made a mental note to mention the disappearing sunglasses to her friends the next time she spoke to them. She packed up the rest of her things and got ready to go.
As she walked past Mrs. Reg’s open office door, Carole glanced inside and gave the woman a listless wave. Mrs. Reg looked up, frowned, then called her inside.
“Carole, you don’t look well,” she said without preamble. “What’s the matter?”
Suddenly the long days and longer nights of the past week were too much for Carole. She couldn’t hold back any longer. She collapsed into the creaky old guest chair in front of Mrs. Reg’s desk and poured out the whole story.
Mrs. Reg listened silently. When Carole had finished, the older woman nodded slowly.
“That reminds me of a story,” she said.
Carole got ready to listen. She knew that Mrs. Reg’s stories often contained helpful advice, although it could sometimes be difficult to figure out exactly what it was. But she was desperate, and willing to take help wherever she could find it.
“It has to do with a young fellow who used to ride here many years ago,” Mrs. Reg began, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. “He was a fine rider, but very, very superstitious.”
Carole smiled a little at that. She knew that most horse people tended to seem a little superstitious to non-horse people. The lucky horseshoe was just one example of the many old stable superstitions at Pine Hollow.
Mrs. Reg noticed the smile and chuckled. “There are superstitions and there are superstitions,” she said. “Some are harmless, funny, helpful, or lovely. But others can be stupid, troublesome, or even dangerous. This young man definitely had one of the latter kind.”
“You mean dangerous?” Carole asked.
“No,” Mrs. Reg replied. “I mean stupid. You see, he refused—absolutely refused—to ride any horse that had even a speck of black on it.”
Carole laughed. “But that’s so silly!” she exclaimed.
Mrs. Reg ignored the comment. Carole remembered that Mrs. Reg disliked interruptions and did her best to keep quiet.
“As you can imagine,” Mrs. Reg went on, “the young man’s choices were pretty limited when it came to which horses he could ride. Obviously he couldn’t ride black horses or bays, since their points, manes, and tails are black. And most of the chestnuts we had at the time had at least a few black hairs on their muzzles or somewhere else on them. So all this fellow was left with were a chestnut roan gelding that was almost twenty years old and a brown-and-white Appaloosa mare that was so passive and gentle, we normally used her only for the very youngest and least experienced riders.
“Obviously Max did his best to talk some sense into this young man,” Mrs. Reg said. “That’s my Max, not your Max.” Carole knew that Mrs. Reg was referring to her late husband, the current Max’s father. “He tried everything he knew to convince him that the problem was in his mind rather than with the horses, but the young man refused to hear reason. As far as he was concerned, what he thought was what he thought, and that was that. He had no interest in facing up to it. All he was willing to do was work around it.”
Mrs. Reg stopped talking, and Carole leaned forward in her chair. “What happened? Did the rider ever come around?”
Mrs. Reg shook her head and stood up. “Nope,” she said. “And eventually the gelding died and we sold the mare, so the young fellow stopped riding at all. As far as I know, he never did get over that odd superstition of his.” Mrs. Reg sat back and sighed, and Carole knew the story was over. Feeling more confused than ever, she got up and said good-bye to Mrs. Reg, then left the office.
As she walked slowly toward her bus stop at the shopping center near the stable, Carole thought about Mrs. Reg’s story. Was she implying that Carole’s fears were all in her mind? If so, maybe it was just as well that Carole hadn’t had a chance to tell her friends or her father about the dreams. There was nothing they could do if the problem was all in her head. By the time she reached the bus stop and collapsed on the bench to wait, she had decided that the best thing to do was to ignore the nightmares and hope they went away.
STEVIE SIGHED IRRITABLY and fiddled with her fork. She was sitting at the Marstens’ dinner table, wearing her best corduroy pants and a soft blue silk shirt she’d borrowed from her mother. The horseshoe pendant Phil had given her at Christmas was around her neck. The food was wonderful, and Phil’s aunt and uncle were friendly and charming. But so far the dinner was not going the way Stevie had hoped. All anyone could talk about was Phil’s bar mitzvah. And nobody, least of all Phil himself, had shown the slightest interest in hearing about Stevie’s detective work. Every time she tried to bring up the missing yarmulke, somebody changed the subject back to Saturday’s event.
At the moment Phil’s uncle Paul, a large, jolly man with curly black hair, was telling a funny story about his own bar mitzvah. It had something to do with a snowstorm and an escaped cow, but Stevie wasn’t really listening.
“… and the first thing I mentioned in my Dvar Torah speech was the cow,” Uncle Paul finished with a broad smile.
Stevie smiled weakly as all the Marstens roared with laughter. She had no idea what a Dvar Torah speech was, and at this point she didn’t really care. Phil’s ten-year-old sister, Rachel, poked Stevie in the ribs. “That sounds like something that would happen to you!” She turned to her aunt and uncle. “Stevie’s always getting into all kinds of trouble,” she announced. “And usually she ends up getting all her friends in trouble, too, including Phil.”
“That’s not true,” Phil protested, with a grin that gave him away. “Stevie never finds trouble. It finds her!”
Aunt Karen smiled at Stevie, then turned to her nephew. “Well, you’d better watch out that she doesn’t drag you into too much trouble from now on,” she said teasingly. “After your bar mitzvah you can be held accountable, you know.”
Phil laughed, then turned to Stevie to explain. “That’s part of what a bar mitzvah is,” he said. “Once you’re a full member of your community, you’re responsible for your actions.”
Phil’s mother nodded. “That’s right. It’s Jewish law. If a child does something wrong, large or small, the parents are responsible. But once that child becomes an adult”—she paused to smile at her son—“then that person is responsible for himself.”
“Or herself,” Rachel piped up, and Mrs. Marsten nodded.
“Uh-oh,” Stevie said. “You’d better not tell my parents about that. Otherwise, the next thing I know, I’ll be having a bar mitzvah of my own!”
Everyone laughed. Then Phil’s older sister, Barbara, spoke up. “Actually, for girls the ceremony is called a bat mitzvah,” she told Stevie. “It’s a newer tradition than the bar mitzvah—it’s been around for less than a hundred years. But I’m glad we have it now.” She smiled at her family. “My bat mitzvah was one of the best days of my life. I really never expected it to be so special, but it was. I’d never paid much attention to being Jewish before. But once I had to sit down and really think about it, I realized how important it is to feel like a member of a community. I hope Phil’s experience is as wonderful as mine.”
Stevie raised an eyebrow in amazement, wondering if there was something wrong with her hearing. Usually Phil and his sisters fought and argued and teased each other like—well, like Stevie and her brothers. Now Phil and Barbara were smiling at each other like best friends. What was going on?
But Mr. Marsten didn’t seem surprised at all. “Well said, Barbara,” he told his daughter. He took his wife’s hand and held it tightly as he spoke. “That sentiment holds true whether that community is the Jewish community, or your country, or your hometown, or even your own family.”
“Especially your own family,” Mrs. Marsten added, looking at her husband lovingly.
That made sense to Stevie. It even helped to explain why Phil and his sisters weren’t fighting tonight. She smiled, thinking of her own family, then of The Saddle Club. Both were definitely communities she was glad to be a part of, brothers or no brothers.
“I can’t wait for my bat mitzvah,” said Phil’s sister Lauren, who was seven years old. “I can already speak some Hebrew.”
Aunt Karen reached for a second helping of potatoes. “Good for you,” she said. “Speaking Hebrew is important. It’s our ancient language, and it unites Jewish people everywhere. And Paul and I were certainly glad we already spoke it when we decided to move to Israel. But there’s more to becoming a bat or bar mitzvah than speaking Hebrew, right, Phil?”
“That’s for sure,” Phil said sincerely.
For the first time, Stevie thought she was beginning to understand what he meant. Phil’s bar mitzvah wouldn’t be just another birthday party. It was a special event, a life-changing event, like a wedding or a college graduation. And just as on those days, the gifts and party and all the other trappings weren’t the point. The point was the celebration itself—in this case, the celebration of the beginning of adulthood. That was why Phil wasn’t more upset about his missing yarmulke. It was beautiful and special, but he could use another one for his bar mitzvah. That couldn’t change what was special about the day.
Stevie was also beginning to feel a little guilty about her earlier impatience. Now that she had figured out why everyone was so excited, all she wanted was to be a part of it all. But she still wanted to get Phil’s yarmulke back. In fact, she was more determined than ever. She didn’t want anything as stupid as a petty theft to cast even the slightest dark spot on Phil’s big day.
THE NEXT DAY after school The Saddle Club met at the Willow Creek Mall to shop for a bar mitzvah gift for Phil. Their parents had already dropped off sleeping bags, sandwiches, and everything else they would need for their sleepover at Pine Hollow, and Mrs. Atwood was going to pick the girls up from the mall and drive them to the stable.
“I want to make sure we get something re
ally special,” Stevie told Lisa and Carole as they strolled down the long mall corridor, glancing in store windows. She had already told her friends about the dinner and what she’d learned.
“Do you have any ideas for the gift?” Lisa asked. The Saddle Club had decided to pool their money instead of buying separate presents.
Stevie shrugged. “Not a single one,” she admitted. “I was hoping you guys would have something brilliant in mind.”
“Not me,” Lisa said. “What about you, Carole?”
“Hmmm?” When Carole looked up, her friends could tell she hadn’t been listening. For the first time, they also noticed that she looked tired.
“Are you okay, Carole?” Lisa asked, concerned. “You don’t look too good. Are you sick or something?”
“No,” Carole said. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all. I haven’t been sleeping too well because, um, my shoulder has been bothering me. I think I bruised it the other day when I fell off Starlight.”
“Have you been to the doctor?” Stevie asked. “If it’s still bothering you after five days, maybe you sprained it.”
Lisa nodded. “Especially if it hurts so much you can’t sleep.”
“No, no,” Carole said quickly. The last thing she wanted was to get involved in a conversation about her sleeping habits. She wasn’t used to keeping things from her friends, but she was determined to follow her vow of the day before and ignore her dreams. The problem was, her sleeping self hadn’t gotten the message. She had had another terrible nightmare the night before. “It’ll be all right. Really. Now what about this gift for Phil? We’d better start looking if we want to find something before Lisa’s mom comes to get us.”
The others glanced at their watches and agreed. But as they continued through the mall, chatting lightly about possible gifts for Phil, Lisa couldn’t help sneaking a glance at Carole, wondering about what she’d said. Was Carole hiding something? It wasn’t like her to keep her problems hidden from her friends. After all, that was what The Saddle Club was all about—helping one another. And all of them had learned long ago that that was one of the best things about having friends.
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