A Horse of Her Own

by Annie Wedekind

  Jose nodded. “I won’t forget your help tonight, Jane.”

  She blushed.

  Ben joined them, standing a little apart, chewing on a piece of hay and studying the awakening landscape before them. The sun was now cresting the horizon, and Jane saw Maria hail them with a big wave as she mounted the steps to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. They all waved back, and Jane felt a rush of gratitude toward Jose and Ben, and Maria, too, for this sense of camaraderie, of belonging, which stole up on her like the morning light.

  “Well …” she said, glancing shyly in Ben’s direction. He stepped forward, reaching out his hand, which she took. They shook, hard.

  “Thanks for helping out,” he said. “It was, um …” He stopped.

  “We couldn’t have done it without you,” Jose finished.

  Jane’s and Ben’s hands dropped.

  “Good night,” Jane said. “No, wait a sec, I mean—good morning!”

  “Good morning!” Jose and his grandson replied, and, with a last look back at the barn … and at the pale gold rays of light just now reaching the stall festooned with streamers and balloons … Jane started walking back to the cabin.

  Chapter 8

  Good Morning, Heartache

  It was almost one o’clock when Jane awoke. The cabin was empty, and the air felt hot and close from the afternoon sun pouring through the bare window. The room had the look of abandoned places at the wrong times of the day—the way your bedroom looks on a school day, when you’re sick and have to stay home, Jane thought. Or the way school would look on a Saturday. It was strange how the feeling of places was so specific to what you did in them, and when. And strange when you realized their existence outside of you—that they were there, not even waiting, really, when you were not … . Jane’s thoughts drifted, and she lay in her loneliness, doing battle with the one thought that, finally, moved relentlessly to the surface. She quickly got out of bed to get dressed and to find Robin. It felt like she hadn’t talked to her best friend in days.

  Robin was walking toward the cabin as Jane was pulling on her boots on the front porch. They flew into each other’s arms.

  “I’m so glad you’re up!” Robin gasped. “I’ve been waiting all day!”

  Jane looked down at her friend’s sneaker-clad feet and spick-and-span khaki shorts.

  “Didn’t you ride today?” she asked.

  “No!” Robin looked at her with disbelief. “I’ve been here, waiting for you to wake up, crazy. Besides, I finally got to the middle of Watership Down.” Jane would’ve smiled if she could remember how.

  “C’mon,” Robin continued, “let’s get some lunch. I just checked—everybody’s gone down to the pond, so we can have the kitchen to ourselves.”

  Jane realized she was famished and started from the porch, then looked down in dismay at her boots. “I don’t know why I’m wearing these … .”

  “Because they’re your summer uniform,” Robin said briskly, tugging at her hand. “If you went and put on sandals I’d know you’d finally completely lost it.”

  The kitchen was cool and inviting after the sweltering gray glare of the farm at high afternoon, with two ceiling fans stirring the red-and-white-checked oilcloths that covered the long wooden tables where the campers ate. The dining area was actually a roomy screened-in porch just off the kitchen, but everyone simply called it “the kitchen.” Jane and Robin went up to the counter that halfway divided the porch from the industrial-sized stove, dishwasher, and sink, where Maria was up to her elbows in suds.

  She smiled at them. “So, you are awake! ¿Tienes hambre?”

  “Sì!” said Robin, who was taking Spanish. Jane (who took Latin because she loved the ancient mythologies, though she’d found out that she did not love the ancient verb tenses) hazarded a nod of agreement.

  Maria smiled. “I heard about your big night, you must be! Do you want to eat camper or Reyes?”

  “Reyes!” Jane and Robin said in unison. Maria had to cook for two groups—the campers, whom she fed traditional American fare, and her own family, for whom she conjured a variety of thick bean stews, fresh vegetables, and homemade tortillas. Sometimes at lunch, when she had to prepare one right after the other, she’d offer the campers some of her family’s food for a change. Jane and Robin and a few others always accepted, though many turned up their noses. Once Jane had even heard Emily loud-whisper to Alyssa, “No Taco Bell for me.” She’d hoped that Maria hadn’t overheard.

  Their plates laden with a warm, spicy-smelling dish plentifully garnished with slices of tomato and onion, Jane and Robin went automatically to their usual table, though they had the whole porch to choose from. Jane felt Robin looking at her, but she found it hard to meet her friend’s eyes. The lightening of her spirits from finally being in Robin’s comforting presence had now subsided, and she felt yesterday’s misery crawling back to her like the song from the Billie Holiday record that her parents sometimes played in the evenings. “Good morning, heartache …” She decided to plunge in, so she could at least talk about the thing that wasn’t painful first, before Robin started asking questions she didn’t want to think about yet, and for which she had no answers.

  As she related the events of the previous night, which now had a cast of unreality, a too-bright and dreamlike quality, from the shadowless world of the illuminated barn at three A.M. to the fragmented, drifting, yet comfortable conversations with Ben, she and Robin began to piece together the chronology of the day before. Jane said that she was surprised that no one had mentioned Emily’s departure that afternoon, and Robin reminded her that they had had their own crises to deal with. “And besides, even if Alyssa and Jennifer hadn’t been hiding out—” She paused and gave Jane a look.

  “We’d be the last ones to find out anything anyway,” Jane finished.

  “Exactly. After you’d gone to bed, I saw that Emily’s stuff wasn’t on her bunk, and I asked Liz where she was, but all she told me was that she’d decided to go on vacation with her family and didn’t say good-bye to anybody. Then today, after Susan explained where you were—”

  “Wait a sec, what did she say?” Jane asked, curious.

  Robin shrugged. “Well, she just said that you’d been up all night helping Jose with Lancelot, and then she went off on how we all have to take responsibility for our horses. It was weird, she didn’t say anything directly about Emily, but of course it was completely obvious. It was almost like she didn’t want anybody talking about Emily or asking any questions. Then Jessica told me, well, she told Jennifer, and I was just sort of there, that Emily’s mom and dad had been coming by the farm to drop off some more clothes and stuff for her, and when they got here she told them to wait, and she packed up and left with them. She said that Emily’s mom and dad talked to Susan for a while, and then they just took off … .”

  “Go West, young idiot,” Jane said, and she smiled sardonically, thinking of the trouble Emily had left in her wake. But she couldn’t hold the smile, grim though it was, for very long. It was as if there was a heavy wave just beneath her, and when she managed to get her head above the water for a moment, it returned, tugging at her, bringing her down once again.

  “So what’s Ben like?” Robin asked. Jane blushed, and Robin broke into a tentative grin, her eyes sparkling.

  “No!” Jane protested. “This isn’t a real blush blush, it’s just that, you know, it’s kind of weird thinking about it. You know sometimes I blush for no reason.”

  “Mm-hmm …” Robin nodded, unconvinced.

  “He’s nice,” Jane said hastily. “He’s … I don’t know, a really easy person to be around. You’ll like him a lot when you hang out with him more. That’s it.”

  “Okay, sure,” Robin said, but she still had a mischievous look that made Jane very much want to change the subject.

  So, finally, there was nowhere else to go. They sat in silence for a while.

  “I don’t want to hear about the birthday,” Jane said quietly.

&nb
sp; Robin nodded. “Well, can I tell you about my plan?”

  Jane looked up from her plate, where she’d been stirring her mostly uneaten food around in circles. She wasn’t very hungry anymore.

  “What plan?”

  Robin took a deep breath. “I think you should ride Bess. Our lessons are never at the same time, and I think Bess could do the advanced stuff. You’ve ridden her before, and—”

  But Jane stopped her. “No way, Robin. She’d get totally worn out. It’s not fair to her.” It came out sounding harsher than she’d meant.

  Robin’s eyes grew bright with tears. “I just want to help,” she whispered.

  Forcing back the lump in her throat, Jane leaned across the table and pulled her friend close to her. “You’re the best friend ever,” she told her. “It’s the nicest idea ever.”

  But Robin was really crying now. “I just hate how unfair it all is,” she choked out. “I hate it that you might … that you might have to leave!”

  “Who said anything about leaving?” Jane shook Robin’s shoulders, then grabbed her a napkin. Leaving was exactly what she had planned on doing; it had been in her mind all last night and greeted her when she woke up. But suddenly, hearing Robin say it aloud, seeing her friend’s sorrow, she felt a surge of defiance charge through her veins like a current of electricity.

  “Listen,” she said quickly, before the feeling passed, “I’m going to figure something out. I’ll talk to Susan. I can ride in your class, on one of the school horses. Maybe the new one. It’ll be fine.”

  “Really?” Robin looked at her with mingled skepticism and relief. “You really feel that way?”

  “Absolutely,” Jane said stoutly. But even as she said it, doubts stole in, sapping her strength. Who knew how good Beau’s replacement would be … Leaving Advanced I now, after she’d been so proud to get in … Not riding Beau …

  She managed a smile. “C’mon. Let’s go see how Big Red is doing.”

  “Who?” Robin asked.

  “Oh, that’s what Jose calls Lancelot.” They bussed their trays and waved good-bye to Maria.

  “Well, I guess it’s a better nickname than the Nutty Knight.”

  But Lancelot’s stall was empty and looked as if it had been recently cleaned. Jane glanced at the brass nameplate affixed to the door: LANCELOT/OWNER: EMILY LONGSTREET. She wondered if Beau’s stall now bore a similarly smug declaration of property, but she stopped herself before she was tempted to turn and look. “C’mon,” she said to Robin, “let’s check the paddock.” She felt a pinprick of worry. What if Red had gotten worse? What if Doc Hallman had taken him away? But surely Maria would have said something, or Robin would have heard … .

  Still, it was a relief to find the big gelding in the shady paddock, tearing out what mouthfuls of grass he could find by the roots and stamping impatiently at the fat, lazy flies that seemed like genies of the afternoon heat. He threw his head back as they approached and took one long sideways step, his nostrils dilating as he sniffed the air. The whites of his eyes shone as he snorted again and gave his head a few furious shakes, gracefully sidestepping again with a dressagelike precision.

  “There’s just something fierce about him, isn’t there?” Robin whispered as they leaned against the fence.

  “Something amazing,” Jane replied. “You can’t stop looking at him.” It was true: There was an air about Lancelot, beyond the obvious beauty and breeding manifest in the sleek coat that looked poured over his rippling musculature like molten copper, in the proud, delicately chiseled head, that commanded attention. There was arrogance, certainly, but there was feeling as well. Robin sneezed and Lancelot spooked, giving a half rear as he spun around and cantered to the far side of the paddock.

  “Crazy,” Jane whispered after him. “What happened to you, anyway?”

  “I wonder if we’ll ever know,” Robin mused.

  “We got along pretty well last night,” Jane said. “But he was sick. I wonder …” And suddenly she swung her leg over the fence, hopping to the other side with the ease of long habit. She reached back through the rail and grabbed a handful of clover and long grass.

  “What are you doing?” Robin asked warily.

  “Just an experiment,” Jane called over her shoulder as she headed toward the red horse, who had stopped grazing and was attentively watching her approach. Jane whistled low and tunelessly, walking as nonchalantly as possible, not meeting Red’s glare but pretending she was looking at something interesting just over his withers. He didn’t move.

  “Hey, nutty horse, hey, nutty Red,” she sang, holding the grass out in the cup of her right hand. “Hey, you big palooka who kept me out of bed!” His ears flickered toward her, and he took a half-step backward. Jane continued to sing as she ambled up to him, then her hand was on his neck and he was eating the clover from her other hand, before he’d had time to startle, or she’d had time to think better of the whole idea. She stroked his glorious coat, still brittle in spots with dried sweat, as he chewed the grass, staring off into space. He sighed. “You’re really all right, you know, Red,” Jane told him.

  “Jane, think you could get a halter on him?” Susan had joined Robin at the fence, looking tired and harassed.

  “I’ll try,” Jane called. Lancelot turned and looked at her. “You want to go for a walk, buddy?” she asked. He blinked at her. It’s worth a shot, Jane thought, and she grabbed a handful of his mane, as she used to do with Beau. She started walking forward, not looking at Lancelot, holding firm to his mane. To her great surprise, he moved with her. “Good boy,” Jane said, and gave him a pat with her free hand. They walked side by side to the fence, where Susan and Robin were standing, slack-jawed.

  “Well,” Susan said, and her face relaxed into a smile. She handed Jane a new, stiff leather halter, which Jane slipped over Lancelot’s ears, standing on tiptoe and staggering a little to reach as far as she could to his poll.

  “What did Doc Hallman say? Is he okay?” Jane asked as she fastened the buckle below yet another small, shining nameplate fixed to the cheek piece: LANCELOT.

  “He’s fine,” Susan said crisply, her smile fading. “But if Jose and Ben—and you—hadn’t been there, it might have been worse. When will you girls learn to take responsibility for your horses … and Jose is not getting any younger … .” She stopped, the muscle in her cheek working furiously as she stared stonily at Lancelot, as if he were culpable for the campers’ carelessness toward his caretaker.

  “Well, not you,” she said gruffly, giving Robin a sharp look that actually made her start. “You’re a good owner to Bess, Robin.”

  “Thank you,” Robin said in a small voice. They stood in silence as Susan scuffed her boot on the grass, still staring at Lancelot, who ignored her. Jane could tell that he was getting restless standing still so she began walking him around in a small circle while she waited for Susan to continue. She wasn’t entirely sure what had put Susan in such a foul mood, but she very much hoped that she wasn’t a part of it. Well, what have I done? Is she just mad that I might have to take up another one of the school horses? She felt a sudden wave of resentment toward her grim-faced trainer. If I’m such a problem, maybe I should just leave and get off her hands.

  “Susan, did you want me to do something with Lancelot, or can I let him go?” she asked brusquely. Lancelot was now shaking his head, and Jane was being dragged unceremoniously beside him as he tried to break into a trot. Suddenly Susan’s stormy face broke into a new smile, with more than a hint of calculation in it, and her eyes danced as they flitted back and forth between Jane and Lancelot and Robin. She let out a great bark of a laugh, and Lancelot shied. “Oh, really!” Jane said in exasperation as she tugged on his halter. Another surprise: He immediately stood still again.

  “Look at this!” Susan crowed. “I’m such an idiot!” Jane and Robin and Lancelot all stared at her in silence.

  “Yes, Jane,” she said merrily. “There is something I want you to do with my new horse. I want y
ou to ride him.”

  Chapter 9

  Susan’s Big Idea

  Your new horse?”

  “Ride him?”

  Susan, still chuckling, answered Robin’s question first. “Yep. I was so pis—ah, angry when Emily’s parents told me she was leaving, and that she wanted me to train Lancelot for her this summer, that like a madwoman I offered to buy him.” She paused, running a hand through her hair and tugging on it till the crown stood up in a small explosion.

  “And they agreed?” Jane asked bewilderedly.

  “Yeah, they called my bluff. Mrs. Longstreet has her shorts in knots that Emily’s going to get hurt, and her dad seemed to want to wash his hands of everything. It was … odd, the whole situation. Especially how little Mr. Longstreet asked … .” Susan reached down to pluck a blade of onion grass and stuck it in the side of her mouth, and when she straightened, Jane could see that her expression had clouded.

  “What did Emily say?” Robin whispered.

  “They didn’t even tell her.” Susan grinned, and the cloud blew through, leaving a wicked sparkle behind. “Glad I won’t be in that car when they do.”

  Jane doubted that Emily would care. She left her horse untended to get colic, whipped him when he defied her, and complained about him constantly. She couldn’t imagine an owner who liked her horse less. But she was anxious to find out what Susan had meant by the other part of her amazing statement—ride him?

  “Go ahead and bring Lancelot in,” Susan said, reaching to open the paddock gate, and before Jane could say anything, her trainer had walked away, slapping her boot with her crop. Then she called over her shoulder, “Robin, you better come and tack up Bess for the afternoon lesson, too.” The girls stared at each other.

  “Ours not to reason why …” Jane finally said, quoting her father, who had the habit of reciting the ominous lines from “The Charge of the Light Brigade” when he had to make a difficult left turn onto a busy road, as an army of headlights streamed toward them. “Though hopefully this won’t involve doing and dying,” she added, and walked Susan’s fidgeting horse through the gate and toward the barn.