“So you stayed up all night and made him better?” one of the midgets asked in an awestruck voice.
“Well, he’s still nuts, but yeah, other than that he’s all right,” Jane sighed, temporarily giving up the fight with the bridle.
“What was staying at the house like?” Liz wanted to know.
“Scary,” Jane said unthinkingly. Then, seeing the blank looks on Liz’s and Shannon’s faces, she amended: “It’s haunted.” In the next stall, Robin snorted. The other girls squealed and looked up at Jane with more eager attention than they’d ever shown her before. Scouring her mind for some creepy details from one of the nineteenth-century novels she loved, Jane tried to conjure Lily’s dramatic sense of storytelling as she slowly said, “Well, there used to be this woman kept locked up in one of the bedrooms on the third floor … .” Robin coughed conspicuously. “This was a long time ago, but the real estate agent had to tell the Jeffrys about it before they bought the house, because weird things kept happening up there … .”
“Like what?” Shannon whispered, agog.
“Anyone who sleeps in that bedroom is attacked by hundreds of tiny pillows,” Robin called out loudly, and despite her momentary pang of disappointment in losing her audience, Jane laughed.
The questions kept coming, and not just to her. The barn was abuzz with whispered conversations, and small groups gathered and broke apart like flocks of grackles descending on tree branches. As Jane walked to the tack room to find the martingale that she’d forgotten to attach to Lancelot’s bridle, now thankfully on his head, she could hear murmurs coming from various stalls, like walking by houses with the windows open and overhearing snatches of the radio: “Jessica says that Emily’s so mad about Lancelot that she’s never coming back to ride here again … .” Good riddance, Jane thought. Two stalls down: “Do you really think that Jane can ride him? Did you see her face?” Watch me, she muttered, and winced from the dart of pain that shot up as her eyes narrowed into a scowl. Her natural competitiveness had suddenly hardened into a kind of defiance.
“So where’s Benjah-meen this morning?” There was an outburst of giggling, then a hush. Jane wilted, but couldn’t help herself from slowing down to hear Jessica’s reply to Alyssa’s insinuating question. “We-e-ell, I would imagine he’s with his cousins,” she said casually, but with an unmistakable lilt in her voice. “He told me last night that they were going to be really busy today.” She paused, then continued in a lower voice: “Which is why he can’t meet me until after dinner …” A chorus of “Oooooh”s rang out, and Jane couldn’t listen to any more. She stepped quickly into the tack room, grabbed the martingale, and fled back to Lancelot’s stall, where Susan was waiting for her.
Her trainer scrutinized her face and tilted Jane’s chin with one finger to get a good look at her eye. “So, I take it you feel up to riding?” She gestured to the tacked-up horse inside the stall.
“Yeah, I think so,” Jane said. If I don’t throw up.
“Well, why don’t you and Lancelot just have an easy day today? I’m thinking you could do a trail ride around the farm, just walking and trotting. We’ve got to build this horse’s confidence back up. Sound good?”
“Sure,” Jane said, but she had a twinge of unease. She didn’t want to say it to Susan, but she felt wary of being alone on Lancelot in the open fields, with so much room to run if he bolted … .
“I’ll ask Ben to tack up Professor. He’ll ride with you,” Susan said, and then she turned and called out, “All Advanced II riders need to be in the ring in five minutes! Advanced I, I want you to work on your own in the dressage arena, practicing the routine I gave you yesterday. Take turns, and try scoring one another. Okay?”
As Susan headed out of the barn, Jane quickly asked, “Um, Susan? Can’t Robin ride with me?” She realized as she said them that the words sounded panicky, but she felt panicky … about being alone with Lancelot, about being alone with Ben.
Susan frowned. “She’ll miss her lesson, but I suppose …” She gave Jane a quick, penetrating look.
“Yeah, no, okay … that’s all right,” Jane said. “I just didn’t want Ben to, to have to, if Jose needs him, you know …” She stopped.
“It’s fine, Ricky and Gabriel are back now.” Susan patted her arm. “Hey, Shannon, what happened to saying ‘Heads up’ when you bring a horse out of the stall, please?” She turned back to Jane. “Remember, just walk and trot. Get used to each other. Who knows, maybe you guys’ll even have fun!”
The reins bit into her hands as Jane was jounced and jostled in the fastest trot she’d ever tried to ride. She had to admire the royal curve of Lancelot’s neck, but it was difficult to appreciate the powerful engine beneath her when she was desperately trying to slow it down. “Easy, easy boy, easy, easy now,” she chanted, to little avail. Lancelot was breathing hard, fighting the bit, his chin tucked practically to his chest as Jane’s arms achingly pulled him in again and again. No, Susan, she thought as Lancelot bumped unceremoniously against Professor, making the old Thoroughbred stumble, I definitely wouldn’t call this fun.
She and Ben had hardly spoken since the ride began, and Jane felt almost grateful that Lancelot’s antics made it impossible to carry on a conversation. Ben looked comfortable on Professor, a graying Thoroughbred that Susan had bought off the track years before and trained as a hunter-jumper. Professor’s jumping days, as well as his racing days, were long behind him, but he was a trusty trail horse whose bright eyes and willing spirit belied the age that slowed his once considerable speed. He seemed not to mind his boisterous companion—probably, Jane thought, because he had experienced far worse jostling and tantrums from other horses on the track. She was thankful for Professor’s comforting presence, even if she was distinctly uncomfortable with the way his rider kept darting concerned looks at her.
“You okay there?” Ben would ask.
“Yeah,” she’d reply through clenched teeth. And that exchange, and variations on it, was all they’d said for the fifteen minutes they’d been in the field. Ben had suggested following the gentle slope toward the creek, retracing the route of the cross-country course Jane and Beau had ridden. But what with Lancelot’s sudden surges and shies, they had wound up taking a meandering route to the farthest line of trees that marked the northern boundary of the farm. To their left, the opposite side of where Jane and Beau had entered, was the paddock and the shed where Ben had watched them only days before.
“You were great, you know, over that jump,” he said now. Apparently he’d been thinking along the same lines.
“Oh, thanks,” Jane said, blushing even as she redoubled her grip on the reins. “Can we just try stopping here for a second? My arms are tired.” Ben immediately slowed Professor, and to Jane’s relief, Lancelot seemed inclined to follow him. He finally came to a halt, throwing back his head and blowing loudly. Jane took a deep breath and relaxed the reins. Lancelot gradually stilled. She reached down and stroked his neck, marveling at the silken fineness of his coat, and glanced over at Ben, who was holding his reins loosely in one hand, looking out over the paddock. He wore his stirrups quite long, she noticed, and his legs were stretched out in a more relaxed manner than was usual in English riding. He must be used to riding Western, she realized.
“I thought Susan was a little crazy, having you guys jump that thing,” Ben said, breaking the silence. Jane felt a rush of defensiveness—and prickly pride.
“Well, I think Susan knew what she was doing. We’re in the Advanced class now, and the shru—the hedge isn’t really any bigger than the jumps we’ll be doing in the ring later on. I mean, I guess it was a kind of test. Anyway, you were there, right? If anything went wrong?” And to her great surprise, Ben flushed and said nothing.
Jane felt the unease grow palpable between them. She’d spoken quickly, not really thinking about her words. Had she unwittingly said something dumb, something clueless? Was it even, oh god, her face, how gruesome she looked? She ducked her head down and fiddle
d with her stirrup leather, embarrassment coursing through her like a fever. Still, he said nothing.
Lancelot began to grow restless, tossing his head and giving a few shimmying steps away from Professor. Jane seized the chance to break the lengthening silence.
“Well …” she said, turning Lancelot around and glancing back at Ben.
“Yeah,” he said, and pulled Professor behind the bouncing red horse eagerly heading toward the trees.
Gradually, Lancelot quieted down. Jane could feel his furious pull on the bit lessen and sense the coiled tension of his stride easing, and with this slow relaxation his gait seemed to liquefy.
“You know, Red,” Jane said, “you could be a really great horse to ride if you weren’t so busy trying to run full speed into large objects.” She let an inch of rein slide through her fingers, ready to grab it back if Lancelot made another surge forward, but he maintained his—fast—walk, and she noticed that his ears flickered back as she spoke.
Jane heard a chuckle behind her. “There you go, talking to the animals again.” Ben was laughing. “I think when I met you you were having a conversation with Rocky, right?” Happily, he couldn’t see her blush, or the smile that split her face at his words, light and teasing in a way that reminded her of their night in the barn.
“Just call me Jane Doolittle,” she managed.
“So does that mean that Red’s telling you all his problems?” Ben had now brought Professor alongside Lancelot so they were riding stirrup to stirrup.
“He’s trying,” Jane said seriously. “But his accent’s so thick, it’s hard to make out. I think he’s Ukrainian. And he, um”—she was beginning to crack up at the images that floated across her mind’s eye—“really misses eating borscht.” To her horror, she snorted as she really started giggling, but Ben was coughing—it sounded like he’d swallowed the wrong way.
“He was brought over here as a spy for the Royal Ukrainian Cavalry, and being undercover’s pretty stressful … .”
“So that’s why he’s got that transistor radio buried in his stall,” Ben said thoughtfully, and Jane dissolved again.
“You know,” he continued, after they’d recovered, “it’s weird, but he does seem to calm down when we’re, like, talking and laughing and stuff. Remember in the barn? We were goofing around, and he sort of settled down—”
“He was sick then,” Jane objected—then wished she hadn’t as the implications, or possibilities, of what he had said hit her. “But maybe …” she quickly amended, hoping hard that he would say more. He did.
“Maybe he’s telling us we should be friends?”
Jane dared to look at Ben full in the face. His expression was open and friendly. He was smiling, and his smile was a little crooked, which was perfect, and his eyes crinkled up a bit like Jose’s, which was also perfect, and the sun shone in his messy black hair, and he was looking at her like there was absolutely nothing in the world worrying him. He looked at her with frank enjoyment. He looked at her like he looked at his family.
And so Jane knew. And so she said, “I think he definitely is.”
Her smile felt like a slipping mask. “Let’s try trotting again, okay?” As she let Lancelot bound forward she let her face fall apart. And she focused on the horse beneath her.
By the time they returned to the barn, Jane had managed to hold Lancelot in a controlled and even trot, trying half-halts, a few circles, and many changes back to walking. He’d attempted a final charge when they approached the gate, but Jane was ready for it and gave a low, but sharp, reprimand—Whoa!—willing herself not to tense up or clutch at the reins. It sort of worked—at least he didn’t run into the fence—and she wished Susan could have seen it.
Ben had. “Nice!” he said as he reached down to unfasten the gate. And that was just about as good.
Jane swung her leg over Lancelot’s back and hit the ground hard; in her tiredness, she’d forgotten how tall he was. Her arms felt stretched and rubbery, and her head was pounding. She threw Lancelot’s reins over his head and looked at him, while gingerly removing her helmet and touching her aching forehead. He was obviously completely fresh—his bold eye surveyed the horses filing from the ring as the Advanced II class broke up. Jane ran her hand over his dry coat and stroked his neck, telling him he was good, really good, and he was going to be just fine, and everything really was going to be okay.
Ben dismounted and led Professor over to her. “How’s your head?” he asked.
“Hurts.” Jane smiled faintly. “Um, thanks a lot for coming with me.” She felt as if she were testing an unknown material, like putting out a hand in the dark to find the dimensions of a room. I need to know how to be your friend, she told him silently. But as they walked the horses toward the barn, chatting about the ride, Jane realized she sort of knew it would be like this. And she would feel one way about it, and he would feel another. And, she vowed to herself as she saw Susan jogging over, no one, except for Robin, would ever, ever know how she felt, especially Ben. It felt good to make that promise—she felt protected. Protected but alone, with one more thing not to think about, one more thing to put away. The story of this summer, she thought.
“So?” Susan asked briskly when she reached them.
“It was okay,” Jane said. “He was good.”
“Jane was good,” Ben corrected.
“That’s great!” Susan beamed at them. “Now, I’ve got time before the next lesson. Why don’t we go down to the dressage ring and—”
There was a loud grunt of disapproval, and Jane turned to see Jose standing in the doorway of the barn, holding Brownie. Susan paused, openmouthed.
“I think, Susan, that Jane is tired and does not feel very good,” Jose said sternly, and Jane was amazed to see her trainer suddenly look abashed. “And I think you should thank her for riding your horse so well, and then send her to Maria to check her eye and give her some aspirin.”
“I’m okay,” Jane muttered, torn and uncomfortable. She snuck a look at Ben, but he was looking at his grandfather, then gave him a short nod, of thanks, it seemed. It came over Jane, though she was uncertain as to how it had happened, that Ben had signaled to him.
“No, Jose’s right,” Susan said quietly. “I’m sorry, Jane.” Jane hated to see Susan looking so unhappy, and she began a rush of words to fill the space that yawned between them, but Susan cut her off.
“Get Lancelot untacked, then go see Maria,” she said shortly, and walked away.
Feeling more unmoored than ever from camp routine, Jane skipped lunch and lay in her bunk bed, reading The Woman in White and resting her eyes whenever her head gave a particularly nasty twinge, until Robin found her and suggested that they go down to the lake. As they sat on the dock with their feet dangling down into the cool green water, Jane told her about the ride, then listened as Robin described the morning class; she had a lot to tell—in fact, Jane hadn’t seen Robin this happy about a lesson in a long time, and she told her as much.
“I’m not nervous,” Robin said bluntly. “And that feels really good. And I don’t … I don’t know, have to worry about screwing up in front of Alyssa and Jennifer and …”
“And me,” Jane finished.
Robin glanced away and took a deep breath. “I just don’t want you to think that I’m some sort of a coward. But Jane, I’m not as good a rider as you, and I sort of don’t want to pretend that I am anymore.”
Jane stared at her, marveling.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Robin asked anxiously. “Are you mad?”
Jane smiled. “No, I just think you’re the bravest person I know, that’s all.” Jane put an arm around her. “Let’s always ride together, and let’s never compete, okay?”
Robin put her head on Jane’s shoulder and gave a shaky sigh. “Okay,” she whispered. “You’re my best friend, Jane.”
“So you hate feeling like you can’t tell me something,” Jane said, and felt the head on her shoulder nod. “Trust me, I know exactly
how you feel.”
It wasn’t often that Jane felt lucky that summer, but sitting on the dock with Robin that afternoon, she knew that at least in one way—one very important way—she was.
Chapter 11
High Fences–and Tempers
In the days that followed, Jane gradually fell into a new rhythm at Sunny Acres, one almost entirely focused around the big red horse who had become her project, her worry, and, increasingly, her pride. There was no doubt that Lancelot was difficult. She was gaining an awareness of Red, a sense of his ferocious personality, his willful spirit, and what made him act up. If she was tense, he was tense. If she was unfocused, he was unfocused. She began to realize that Susan was right—that despite his power, Lancelot had lost his confidence and trust in the world around him. She didn’t spend much time wondering why anymore; instead, she simply spent time with him.
He made the other horses nervous, except for Professor and, now, Bess. Bess was a lovely, quiet mare, much like her owner in her grace and patience, and she didn’t pin her ears back or spook at Lancelot’s plunging, snorting presence in the ring. And Professor had taken a positive liking to his boisterous trail ride companion. Jane started turning Lancelot out to the big field at night, instead of isolating him in the paddock, and in the morning she usually would find Professor and Lancelot standing together, swishing flies or grazing side by side. When she brought Lancelot in, Professor followed them to the gate, and if Lancelot saw Professor in the ring being ridden by one of the midgets, he would trumpet to his friend and receive a lower, more dignified whinny in return. Susan decided to put them in adjoining stalls during the day, and Jane fastened back the barred window between them. Afterward she told Ben how much the two horses reminded her of the girls in the cabin at night—always popping their heads in and out of the common room and bunk room, seeing what was going on.
A Horse of Her Own Page 10