A Horse of Her Own

by Annie Wedekind

  “What is going on down there?” Jane asked, giggling.

  Robin looked up, her face a picture of intense worry.

  “You did not tell me that this was a scary bunny book,” she said seriously, and Jane laughed.

  “It’s a traumatizing bunny book, actually,” Jane agreed.

  Robin closed Watership Down emphatically. “I think that’s all I can take tonight. I’m going to have nightmares about cats and wire traps and farmers … .”

  “Well, I’ll be having nightmares about random twigs, so we’ll be in about the same shape tomorrow morning.” Tomorrow morning. Thursday. Jane yawned on purpose, trying to forcibly quell the jolt of anxiety she felt. She tentatively touched her shoulder and winced. Robin raised her eyebrows and was about to say something, but Jane cut her off.

  “Don’t,” she said. “It’s going to be fine.”

  The cabin door banged open, and Alyssa and Jennifer came in, wet and complaining about the weather. Jessica wandered in from the common room with an armload of laundry that she dumped on her bed.

  “Why are you here?” Alyssa asked her. “I thought you were hanging out with Ben.” Jane studiously examined a hangnail.

  “It’s raining, if you haven’t noticed,” Jessica said coolly.

  “So?” Jennifer questioned insinuatingly. “It’s not like you have to walk around in the rain.” Jane snuck a look at Jessica. Her face was clouded over and she was folding socks with unnecessary violence.

  “He had to do something with his family,” she said shortly.

  Jennifer and Alyssa exchanged a meaningful glance. They changed the subject back to the weather a little too airily, and Jane wondered with a stab of hope if Jessica and Ben had argued … . Part of her thought it would be wonderful if they had argued over her, over Jessica not having told her about the hedge, but a larger part of her wanted them to simply not like each other, and to leave her out of it altogether.

  “So what do you think of the dressage test, Jess?” Alyssa asked.

  “Oh, did you guys get it?” Robin asked, wiggling her toes vigorously.

  Jennifer nodded. “It’s pretty hard … . Take a look.” She handed Robin a piece of paper inked with circles and dotted lines. Jane leaned forward eagerly and her shoulder throbbed.

  “All King Edward’s Horses Can Make Bad Fudge,” Jennifer announced.

  “Pardon?” said Robin.

  “The letters around the ring—A, K, E, H, C, M, B, F, with X in the center.”

  “Oh, it’s a mnemonic device,” Jane said.

  “Oh, it’s a mnemonic device!” Jessica shrilled mockingly. Jane sat back, startled into silence. But nobody laughed.

  “Jesus, Jess, chill,” Alyssa said sharply.

  Alyssa, coming to my defense? Jane’s crimsoned hurt turned to astonishment.

  “Whatever!” Jessica threw her pile of clean T-shirts onto her bunk and stomped from the room. They heard the cabin door slam behind her.

  “She is being such a brat!” Jennifer exclaimed. But she and Alyssa didn’t extend their temporary support of Jane to actually addressing her again or including her in the conversation. Instead they disappeared into the common room for a whispered conference, and Jane, shoving away her questions for the moment, dove for her sketchpad and furiously started copying out the dressage test with Robin’s help.

  “All King Edward’s horses can make bad fudge, all King Edward’s horses …” Robin chanted under her breath as she and Jane headed for the barn the next morning.

  “I keep picturing these big Percherons wearing crowns and standing with their hooves in mixing bowls, looking confused,” Jane said.

  “Well, they’re terrible with the measuring spoons,” Robin agreed.

  “But great with cracking the eggs.”

  “Not so good with the whisking.”

  “No clue about oven temperature.”

  “And they always forget to wear aprons.”

  Laughing, they almost ran into Susan, barging around the corner of the barn. Her hair was sticking out in alarming tufts from her braid and she barked at them to watch where they were going. Then, more kindly, she asked Jane how her arm was.

  It was still very sore, and Jane had struggled pulling her jods and boots on, but she just said, “Okay.”

  “Why don’t you lunge him today?” Susan advised. “The ring’s a mess but I think the paddock’s not too bad. And get that arm back in a sling.”

  Jane agreed, and they spent a calm, rather dull morning in the paddock. She couldn’t use a lunge whip with Lancelot, so she practiced body language techniques from Listening to Your Horse that worked fairly well, though she got dizzy from turning around and around in circles, trying to keep her shoulders at the proper angle to his body. The weather was still uncertain, sudden gusts of wind sending clouds whipping through the sky, bright shafts of sunlight occasionally breaking through and setting fire to the myriad puddles dotting the farm like a chain of silver medallions. Jane just hoped the ground would be dry by Sunday.

  It was too wet to sit under their tree, so after lunch Jane and Robin headed for the cabin, the test tucked safely in Jane’s pocket. But the cabin was full of people, so they decided to go down to the dressage ring, where they hoisted themselves on a fence rail. Jane pulled out the paper and unfolded it on her knee.

  “I really hope we copied this down right,” Robin worried as they stared for a minute at the arcane squiggles and dashes that confronted them.

  “Me too,” Jane said with a wry smile. “Okay, we’ve got King Edward’s horses, but we’ve also got a D and a G in the middle, before and after the X.”

  “Daring Gopher?” Robin suggested.

  “Demented Geese,” Jane returned.

  “Dreadful Goat!” squealed Robin.

  “Dreadful Goat?”

  “How is that weirder than ‘Demented Geese’? Your ‘mnemonic device’ is fixed.”

  “Fine, but don’t go around chanting it,” Jane sighed. She focused on the page before her. Enter at a working trot, halt and salute at X, proceed at a working trot to C, turn left … .

  “This really looks like stuff you’ve done, Jane!” Robin said excitedly, after many minutes of mute absorption in the test.

  “Except the circles are a lot tighter. I mean, half of our marks aren’t King Edward at all, but points right between the King Edward letters. And do you think we’re supposed to canter on the wrong lead here, or do a flying change?”

  Robin shook her head. “It doesn’t say. We’ll get Ben to find out. Here, why don’t you do the course on foot—I’ll call it out to you and tell you how your circles are.”

  And so they spent the next hour walking, trotting, and cantering Jane around the ring, until she felt like she pretty much had the course by heart. Tired and wanting to take a break, she snorted in imitation of Lancelot to make Robin laugh, and then pretended to completely freak out, bolt, rear, then trample her rider.

  “NOT funny!” Robin yelled at her.

  As they walked slowly back to the cabins, Jane realized that she’d managed to spend an entire morning and half an afternoon without worrying, and she told herself that that must be the best medicine of all for her shoulder. Or so she hoped.

  The day passed alarmingly quickly, and by dusk Jane’s anxiety returned with the pain in her shoulder. She had to admit that it felt worse after her day’s activities, which hadn’t even included riding. But she refused to think that she might not be able to compete on Sunday. The thought was impossible. Her shoulder wasn’t broken, so she could grit her teeth and bear it. Right?

  She visited Lancelot in the barn after dinner and found Ben in his stall.

  “I was just, uh, checking on him, since you’re not feeling so hot,” he said almost shyly, and Jane’s stomach did a flip-flop that she tried to suppress. “I figured he should stay in the barn tonight, in case it rains again.”

  “Nurse Flo seems to be happy,” Jane said, seeing the skinny tabby curled up tightly in her
corner nest.

  “Yeah, Red always looks like he’s going to step right on her, but he just misses, and she doesn’t seem to care.”

  “Meant for each other,” Jane said. An awkward silence fell.

  “Oh, hey, I can’t believe I forgot this,” Ben finally said, digging in the back pocket of his jeans. “Secret agent man delivers.” He handed Jane two sheets of paper covered with Susan’s familiar drawing style.

  “The jumping course! And cross-country! How did you get these?” Jane eagerly ran her eyes over the pages.

  “Well, it might make me sound less heroic, but it was really easy. Susan asked Ricky to go into town to copy the tests, and I got him to make a couple extra.”

  “You’re brilliant. And heroic.” Jane beamed at him. She was so relieved he hadn’t gotten them from Jessica, she felt like doing a small jig.

  “What has my grandson done that’s so wonderful?” Jose asked, and Jane and Ben jumped. She felt his hand on her good shoulder and looked up to see him smiling with affection and curiosity at them.

  “Mucked out Lancelot’s stall for me, because of my shoulder,” Jane lied hastily, shoving the papers into her pocket and trying not to blush, which never worked.

  “Well, heroic maybe, but I don’t know how brilliant that is,” Jose said.

  “Ah, but Abuelito, you haven’t seen my new technique. You see, when I’ve got a really big pile of poop, I do this thing with the shovel … .”

  Jose waved him off. “I don’t want to know.” He chuckled. “But don’t tell your grandmama how you’re using your brain to muck stalls better. She’ll make you stay inside for the rest of the summer, reading your schoolbooks.”

  Ben grinned ruefully at him. “I definitely won’t,” he promised.

  Impatient to study the new courses, Jane told them good night, escaping from Jose’s questions about her shoulder and his pointed glance toward her pocket. One usually comforting and now perilous thing about Jose was that he always and rather mysteriously knew everything that was going on at the farm. Jane hoped that he wouldn’t guess their secret, and if he did, that he wouldn’t try to stop her.

  Friday dawned in a blurred red fireball blistering the newly washed sky, and by breakfast, the humidity had reached its usual August level of barely-less-than-unbearable, and the campers were for once longing for the lake over the barn. The beginners and their one healthy counselor headed for the canoe launch directly after breakfast; the advanced riders could join them if they wished, but everyone lingered in the kitchen with the intermediates, curious to see their exam, which they’d be given after they’d finished eating. Jane noticed that Megan looked slightly green, and her untouched bowl of cereal had turned to mush. It sounded like she was whispering the parts of a horse’s leg over and over to herself.

  Finally Susan came in, holding a sheaf of papers and accompanied by two strangers. Jane whispered to Robin that they must be the guest judges, and similar whispering rippled down the long picnic tables.

  “Okay,” Susan said, grinning and frowning simultaneously. “My advanced girls can clear out now. You’ve got a free day, as you know, but if you want to work your horses, go ahead. My intermediate riders will take your exam now, then go down to the barn to finish preparing your stalls and your horses. You need to bring your horses to the outdoor ring for the halter competition at noon, so if any of you advanced riders have set up jumps, please make sure they’re out of the way then. And I should introduce our two guests who will be helping with the judging. This is Jill Grabel, a trainer at Long Run … .” There was a murmur of hellos from the girls, and the surprisingly young trainer gave them a friendly wave that set her shiny brown ponytail bobbing. “And this is Tom Cumbler, from Windsor Farm.” The stocky man in jeans and a Western-style shirt and cowboy hat nodded to them. His face was lined and expressionless, except for piercing hazel eyes that somehow managed to escape the shadow of his hat to cast a penetrating look around the kitchen.

  “Okay, everybody out except my intermediates, let’s go.”

  As Susan shooed them from the kitchen, Jane looked back over her shoulder and caught Megan’s eye. She gave her an encouraging grin, and Megan sent a wan smile back. “You’ll do great,” Jane mouthed to her, and Megan’s smile got a little stronger.

  Jane mulled over her first impression of the judges, and Susan’s funny speech: my intermediates, my advanced girls. She’s proud, Jane thought. She’s proud and showing off a bit, showing Jill Grabel and Tom Cumbler what sort of shop she runs around here. It made her smile, then made her start worrying again about Sunday. With a jolt, Jane remembered that Long Run was where Jessica had said Lancelot came from, and so Jill Grabel had probably trained him and his former owner—and they’d won championships! What if she embarrassed the whole farm in front of her, and in front of Tom Cumbler? Jane’s vivid imagination provided her with a whispered conversation between the trainers: Well, Lancelot used to be a great horse, but he had a great rider then … . Jane shuddered at the image, and at what Susan’s reaction might be.

  All of the Advanced I riders were going down to the dressage ring, so Jane and Robin decided to practice jumping instead, especially since this was the part of her show tomorrow that Robin was most worried about. Liz and Shannon, declaring it too hot to ride, headed for the lake, so they had the outdoor ring to themselves.

  To Jane’s mounting horror, she found her shoulder too sore for her to effectively ride Lancelot, who was in a cantankerous mood. Each time she had to firmly pull him in, her shoulder gave a sickening stab, and he soon was dragging them all over the arena. She was wordless and near tears by the time they had to clear away the jumps for the halter show. Robin was, for once, too absorbed in her own performance to quiz Jane on how she felt, so Jane was left to her own darkening thoughts as she rubbed down her horse.

  All around her, the barn was frenetic with activity. Some intermediate riders were putting the final touches on their horses; others had hitched them outside to finish raking their stalls. The tack room was a blur of hair spray and boot polish. Jane decided to go ahead and put Lancelot in the field so he wouldn’t be upset by all the clamor. As she threaded him through the other horses and frantic girls, she saw Ben, carrying a toolbox, pass by the barn and hailed him.

  “Secret agent, I need your help again,” she said. In any other circumstances the cocky salute and warm smile he returned would have melted her, but Jane felt a little desperate.

  “I’ve got to get something for my shoulder. Anything that will help me ride on Sunday. I’ve looked through the first-aid kit, but I don’t think a Band-Aid’s going to help much.”

  “I can see what we’ve got at home, and maybe raid the main house,” he said immediately. “But, not to go Granddad on you—do you really think it’s okay for you to ride?”

  She just looked at him.

  “All right. I’ll bring you everything I can find. But don’t hurt yourself, Jane.”

  “Okay, Granddad.” She smiled. “And thanks.”

  “Let me put this away,” Ben said, waving the toolbox, “and we can go watch the show.”

  As they walked over to join the other girls—the whole camp had turned up and was lounging around the outside of the ring—Jane saw Jessica staring stonily at them. She averted her gaze when Jane caught her eye, but apparently Ben had noticed as well. “Um, let’s go stand over there.” He indicated a spot far from where Jessica and Alyssa and Jennifer were standing. Jane, already heartened by Ben’s medical mission, felt her spirits bounce further upward.

  The judges completed their inspection of the stalls and walked toward the ring, followed by a line of girls leading their horses out from the barn. Jane searched the procession for Beau, and when she spotted him she gave Ben’s arm an unplanned, hard squeeze. “Look at Beau!” she gasped.

  He was magnificent. As he strode through the gate, the sun shone from his gleaming coat, polished to a glassy shine Jane doubted she had ever produced in her years of grooming him. It
brought out unexpected red highlights on the curve of his hindquarters, behind which a blue-ribboned and perfectly braided tail swished saucily. He carried his head high, obviously aware of his splendor, and the row of neat braids, shot through with the same deep blue and, Jane saw with amazement, tiny white daisies that she recognized from the flower beds around the barns, lay perfectly against the crest of his neck.

  Megan, standing stiffly beside him, barely reaching the top of his shoulder, hadn’t fared quite as well, Jane noticed. Her boots were impeccably polished and her shirt neatly tucked in, but her jods had a telltale swipe of horse slobber streaking her thigh, and her face was bright red from her exertions. Several of the other girls seemed to have spent more time on their own grooming than on their horses—some were wearing sundresses, some had French braided their hair—and Megan definitely looked worse for wear compared to them. She was even wearing her riding helmet, which none of the other intermediates were. But she stood as tall as she could beside Beau, and when the girls were asked to walk their horses, she strode forward confidently, her horse bouncing beside her with a spring in his step.

  And when, twenty minutes later, Susan pinned a blue ribbon on Beau’s halter, and Megan threw her arms around his neck, Jane got a hard lump in her throat.

  “She loves that horse,” she whispered.

  Ben took her hand and gave it a brief squeeze, and then they started to clap, as loud and as hard as they could.

  Chapter 17

  Robin’s Ride

  An air of festive confusion, which reminded Jane of eighth-grade graduation in its tumult and nervous anticipation, gripped the farm. Mrs. Jeffrys had taken it into her head that all the campers—including the advanced riders—should sing for the parents when they arrived, and Alyssa and Jennifer discussed a boycott, of which Jane heartily approved, even if she wasn’t invited. But it was almost worth it to get to experience Susan playing temporary counselor, banging through their cabin door at eleven o’clock on Friday night, kicking them out of bed, hurling sheet music at them, and leading them in a sleepy, confused, very off-key version of “My Old Kentucky Home.” Luckily, most of the girls already knew the words.