A Horse of Her Own

by Annie Wedekind

  “Beautiful,” Susan barked. “Go to bed.” And she banged back out again.

  When Jane rose early on Saturday morning, Robin’s bed was empty, her sleeping bag neatly zipped with her ancient stuffed rabbit peering cockeyed from the coverlet. Alyssa and Jennifer were still asleep, but Jessica’s bunk was missing its inhabitant as well.

  Jane yawned her way to the barn. She wanted to get in a morning ride before the parents showed up for lunch and the Advanced II show. The parents. She stopped in her tracks, stunned. Her parents. Mrs. Jeffrys saying, I’ve got to call all the parents again. Her parents would be coming today, for a show she wasn’t riding in. She started running for the main house.

  She called Lily’s cell phone, which was usually jammed under her pillow, since she also used it as an alarm clock. Her sister was going to kill her for waking her up at this hour, but Jane hoped she’d forgive her before sending a missile from the house to the farm.

  The phone rang and rang. Finally, “Mmph?” and deep breathing.

  “Lily? Lily? It’s Jane. Wake up, Lil.”

  “Gah.”

  “Lily, are Mum and Dad planning to come to the farm today? Did Mrs. Jeffrys call them?”

  “Whah tize it?”

  “Lily, wake up for just a second. Please!”

  She heard more breathing, then silence.

  “LILY! WAKE UP!”

  A scrabbling sound, then: “I answered the phone when Mrs. Jeffrys called. I told her we had other plans today and would pick you up tomorrow. To tell you we were sorry we were going to miss your show. She probably thinks we’re horrible people, but it was the best I could do. I didn’t say anything to Mum and Dad.” Her sister had the cross, clear, overly articulated voice of someone talking in their sleep.

  Jane exhaled a sigh of relief. “You’re the best, Lily, you really—”

  “GOOD NIGHT.” And the phone went dead.

  Jane replaced the receiver, limp with relief and gratitude for her sister. She grabbed an apple from the bowl in the kitchen, hunted around for a granola bar since she was planning to skip breakfast, and was interrupted by Mrs. Jeffrys, perfectly dressed and lipsticked at seven in the morning. Jane wondered if she’d slept in her clothes.

  “Oh, Jane dear. Here, come here, my dear. I’m so sorry. I should tell you … your parents … Would you like to sit with me for a bit of breakfast?” She was obviously torn between her role as farm owner and den mother, frantic with the day’s preparations, but wanting to break the news that Jane knew was coming gently.

  “I’ll just take a granola bar, if there are any, thanks,” Jane said firmly and, she hoped, cheerfully. “And don’t worry, I just talked to my parents. I don’t feel good enough to ride in the show, anyway, so it’s actually great that they’re not coming today.”

  “Oh, your poor shoulder. Such a brave dear. So glad it’s not worse than it is. Here’s a granola bar,” and with that, Mrs. Jeffrys was out the door.

  Jane gave her poor shoulder a few shrugs as she jogged back to the barn and swore. She hoped Ben came up with some first aid soon. The ice packs she’d been using three times a day for the past two days, on Maria’s instructions, seemed to have helped some, but they were messy and required sitting still for longer periods than she had patience for. Her scrapes and cuts were healed, though sensitive, particularly the pinecone bite on her back, but her upper arm and shoulder still hurt.

  The barn was silent when she entered, but she headed for Bess’s stall in case Robin had already brought her in. Sure enough, there was Bess, who looked at Jane calmly with her great doe eyes, but her owner was nowhere to be seen. Jane decided to check the tack room, and as she reached the door, which was slightly ajar, she heard voices. She paused, trying to figure out who they belonged to, and if she wanted to talk to them or just go straight to the field to collect Lancelot. As she stood indecisively, she heard another noise—a faint scratching sound, like a mouse. It seemed to be coming from the stall that abutted the tack room, and Jane walked over to investigate. She jumped when she saw Robin crouched down on the sawdust, her ear pressed against the conjoining wall between the stall and tack room. Jane opened her mouth, but Robin hastily put a finger to her lips, so Jane slipped through the open stall door and joined her friend’s unusual eavesdropping.

  The voices on the other side of the wall rose, and Jane realized that there was really no need to press her ear against the dirty stall: Ben’s and Jessica’s voices came through perfectly clearly now.

  “I think it’s obvious,” snarled Jessica.

  “What’s obvious?” Ben replied. He sounded defensive.

  “Why you do all this stuff for Jane.”

  Jane and Robin huddled closer together.

  “I’m not doing anything for Jane. My grandmother told me to give her this for her shoulder.”

  Now Ben got a taste of Jessica’s mimicry: “My grandmother told me to,” she said mockingly.

  Apparently Ben had had enough, because Jessica quickly added, “You better not leave before you tell me what’s been going on.”

  “There’s nothing going on!” Ben practically shouted. “I told you that I thought what you did was crappy, because it was. And yeah, Jane’s my friend. She was my first friend here, before you, before you and me …”

  “Before you and me what?”

  Silence. Then Jessica continued, “I didn’t tell Jane because Jane doesn’t need my help.”

  “Yeah right. But Alyssa and Jennifer do? If you’re saying that she’s a better rider than they are, then you’re right. But I don’t think that’s why you left her out.”

  “Oh, then why did I leave her out?” Jessica asked icily.

  “Because you wanted her to mess up. Or get scared. Because you’re jealous of her, obviously.”

  “I am not jealous! How could I be jealous of Jane?”

  “Then why are you grilling me?” Ben yelled.

  And now it was Jane who had had enough. She strode out of the stall and banged her fist on the tack room door. “If you’re done talking about me, can I please come in and get my halter?” she asked loudly. She heard Robin come up behind her. The tack room fell into silence.

  She pushed open the door and looked straight at Jessica, whose face was beet red.

  “For your information, there is nothing ‘going on.’ After all, how could you possibly be jealous of me?” she said softly. “Now please get out of my way.”

  Jessica opened her mouth, shut it, and stormed through the door that Jane held open for her.

  Jane looked at Ben. “Sorry,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” he muttered. He handed her a plastic bag. “Here’s some stuff for your shoulder.” And he walked out.

  “He’s not mad at you,” Robin said urgently. “He’s mad at Jessica. He’s just upset.”

  But Jane felt hollow inside as she went to get Lancelot from the fields.

  Working trot to K, change diagonals at X … Jane gritted her teeth, fighting to keep her hands steady. She hadn’t had the heart to go through Ben’s supplies yet, but at least she didn’t have to go into two-point in dressage. Pushing her arms before her over jumps was definitely going to be the most painful part of tomorrow’s riding, unless of course Lancelot bolted and tore her shoulders from their sockets altogether. She remembered imitating him the day before and suddenly felt more nervous than amused.

  But he was going well, recovered from yesterday’s mood, and she took him through the dressage test several times before heading in. She still wasn’t sure about the counter-canter vs. flying change, but figured she’d watch what the other girls did the next day. She didn’t lie to herself about today’s ride: It was mediocre; she was stiff, and Red was only half-attentive. But they made it through the motions, and she’d make them do better tomorrow. She’d make herself focus completely tomorrow. Her shoulder would be better tomorrow.

  When Jane returned to the barn, she realized that she’d made a miscalculation.

  “Jane, wha
t are you doing on that horse? Mrs. Jeffrys told me you weren’t feeling well enough to ride!” Susan blindsided her as she slipped from Lancelot’s back. Jane froze, unable to think what to say. “Ah, I was just …”

  “Put your arm back in that sling,” Susan harrumphed at her. “You’ll be able to ride Lancelot again when you’re feeling one hundred percent.” She turned on her heel and headed for the outdoor ring, where Jose and Ben were beginning to set up Advanced II’s jumping course.

  “Whew,” Jane said to Red.

  She passed by Jill Grabel as she led Lancelot to his stall and thought the Long Run trainer might recognize him and say something. She did give Jane a brief smile, but that was all, and Jane was too shy to start a conversation with one of the judges.

  As soon as Lancelot was settled in, Jane grabbed Ben’s bag and went to find Robin. She knew she must be nervous about the show, and her parents would be arriving soon. She found her in the cabin, changing into clean jods and a lavender button-down shirt that looked freshly ironed. She had pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail and put on a bit of lip gloss. “You look great,” Jane told her.

  “Ugh,” Robin said. “I just want this to be over and done with. Jane, I really don’t think I like having shows at camp.”

  “Don’t you want to start showing Bess this fall?” Jane had always assumed that this was a next step for Robin; indeed, she’d already entered and done well in some smaller shows last winter.

  “Honestly?” Robin looked at her with large, worried eyes. “No, I really don’t. And my mom keeps telling me I have to. Like, What’s the point in having a horse if you don’t show?”

  “You’ve never told me that before,” Jane said wonderingly, though it fit with what Robin had told her at the lake.

  “Well, I knew how much you did want to show, and I guess I just felt stupid. And it hasn’t come up again until now, really. My mom called me this morning to tell me how excited she was.” Robin’s mother had been a horsewoman, too, before arthritis had forced her to stop riding. When they were younger, she’d even come out to Sunny Acres with them, taking lessons with Susan after trail riding with the girls. It had always seemed wonderful to Jane to have a mother who understood about horses, though she found Mrs. Zimmerman remote and intimidating out of the saddle. But now she understood that Robin felt pressured. She’d even felt pressured by Jane, before their lakeside conversation. She just wanted to enjoy horses, to enjoy Bess, and riding, and camp, without it being about winning and losing. Given her own emotional roller coaster over the past several weeks, Jane thought Robin might, after all, be much, much smarter than her.

  And yet … Jane knew she was made differently. What she enjoyed was the work of it all, was getting better, and, yes, being better. Did that make her a worse person than Robin? She suspected it might. Or maybe, as long as she didn’t cheat or act badly toward others, she could make it a good thing. Or was she selfish?

  She turned her thoughts back to her friend, now sitting on the edge of her bunk looking gloomy.

  “Listen,” Jane said, sitting down next to her and taking her hand. “You absolutely don’t have to show Bess if you don’t want to. You happen to be a really good rider, and you’d win, just as I’m sure you’re going to win today, but if you don’t like it, then that’s that. No one will think anything about it. And I could always get Mum to give a speech about the importance of showing, which to her is zilch.” Jane smiled and squeezed Robin’s hand, wanting to physically push encouragement and support into her friend.

  Robin smiled back, then gave her a hug.

  “Thanks, Jane,” she whispered.

  The driveway was beginning to fill with cars when Jane and Robin emerged from the cabin, and adults in sun hats and khakis and sandals were milling on the lawn behind the house, while younger children hung around their parents or ran shrieking to the cabins to find their siblings.

  Jane saw Shannon’s parents, comically mismatched in height, and Liz’s, who she’d always thought were nice, then a crowd of strangers who must belong to the midgets, most of whom were leaving today. Jane realized with a jolt that she’d been too preoccupied to notice that these weren’t the same midgets as the beginning of camp, then reasoned that of course they must have switched halfway through. She commented on this to Robin, who looked at her strangely.

  “This is actually the third batch of midgets, Jane. They usually only stay for two weeks. Haven’t you noticed?”

  Jane shook her head. “They all look the same—short,” she said, and Robin shoved her gently, then spotted her parents’ car pulling up in the driveway and ran to greet them. Jane lingered behind, not particularly eager to join in the lunch, which was spread out on picnic tables under the lawn’s shady trees. And when she saw Mrs. Jeffrys waving to the campers to form a group in front of the buffet, she turned to make an exit. She had a feeling that they were about to sing.

  “Not so fast, young lady.” She was stopped by Susan’s glare. “Singing won’t hurt your shoulder,” she said with a chuckle. “Back you go.”

  And, Jane had to admit, when they reached the final, tender verse, “Then my old Kentucky home, good night,” and she looked around at the green splendor of the farm, the majestic oaks and glossy magnolias, and the rolling fields of bluegrass dotted with horses, it was a pretty nice song.

  She was starting to get nervous for Robin as she helped tack up Bess. The parents and the other riders were now grouped around the fence of the outdoor arena, and the three judges were in the center, carrying notepads and looking very official indeed.

  “Just imagine it’s another lesson, except there are a bunch of idjits wandering about,” Jane advised in her British accent.

  “How many points do we get off for throwing up on our mount?” Robin Britished back.

  “None, as long as you don’t hit a judge,” Ben chimed in from outside the stall.

  “Was that a silly accent, or do my ears deceive me?” Robin asked giddily. She sounded a little punch-drunk from nerves.

  “’Tis no worse than yours, my lady,” Ben retorted, and Robin blew an unladylike raspberry at him.

  Jane had shut up when she heard Ben’s voice and occupied herself with Bess’s girth.

  “Madam Ryan, after we witness the triumphant victory of Madam Zimmerman, might I advise you on how to bind your pathetic wound?”

  Jane looked up reluctantly from the buckle. But Ben’s cheerful smile and crinkled-up eyes seemed to be radioing assurance through the bars of the stall. And his British accent was almost as bad as hers.

  “It’s already injured, no need to insult it,” she said faux-crossly.

  “Well, it is pathetic.”

  “Is not.”

  “Is too.”

  “Really! Enough!” said Madam Zimmerman, and they moved aside to let her lead Bess to the ring.

  “Good luck!” Jane and Ben said together as they followed her out.

  But Robin didn’t need their luck. Though she might not like shows, she loved to ride and it was obvious, from her graceful seat during equitation to the nearly flawless jumping course she completed. Jane pounded her hands together until they ached when Susan pinned the blue ribbon on Bess’s bridle, and Robin flashed her a happy, abashed grin.

  Jane ran to her as the girls filed out of the ring—Shannon with a red second-place ribbon and Liz with a yellow third—and joined Robin’s parents around her stirrup. Her mother was adjusting Bess’s ribbon and saying to Robin, “Well, I hope this has convinced you to show this fall.” Robin and Jane exchanged looks.

  “Um, Rob, didn’t you say something to me about wanting to put the money you spent on shows into your college fund instead?” Jane blurted. Robin stared at her.

  Mrs. Zimmerman gave a little laugh. “Dear, you don’t need to worry about your college fund, for goodness’ sakes!” She looked perplexedly at her daughter, who fiddled with her reins.

  “Why, I think that’s a mighty good idea,” Mr. Zimmerman broke in, as Jane
had been counting he would. “With the market these days, you never know what shape you’re going to be in a few years down the road. I think that’s very smart, honey.” He patted her boot and beamed up at his daughter.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” Robin managed, then burst into a sudden fit of coughing that didn’t fool Jane one bit.

  Later, as they pinned her ribbon in a place of honor on their bunk, Robin asked Jane how in the world she’d come up with that idea.

  “It was Ben, actually,” Jane told her. She’d filled him in a bit on Robin’s parents as the show started, and he’d hit on the notion of the college fund—it was a ploy he had used on his parents when they’d wanted him to take piano lessons.

  “Ben’s brilliant,” Robin said appreciatively.

  “His accent is atrocious,” Jane replied, blushing.

  “How’s the stuff he got for your shoulder?” Robin asked, peering into the bag that now lay on Jane’s bunk.

  “I guess we’ll find out,” Jane said, pulling out a heating pad and Ace bandages. “He said to keep doing the ice bags, then the heating pad at night. Then tomorrow I’m going to put this hot-cold ointment on my shoulder and wrap it up in this bandage. And until then, I’d better keep wearing the sling.” She saw the anxious look on Robin’s face. “Seriously, it’s going to work. What’s the worst thing that could happen?” And in a flash she remembered the terrible feeling of being dragged through the woods … .

  “Okay, forget I asked that,” Jane muttered, and went to get some ice from the house.

  Chapter 18

  Sunday, Part One

  The green numerals of Jessica’s clock spelled 4:46, then 5:10, then 5:28, and Jane gave up trying to sleep. Her mind ached with mixed-up courses and directions, spinning from the creek’s banks to a tight turn to confront the oxer in the stadium course, to a flying change (counter canter?) in the dressage ring. She had a feeling she was going to forget the courses entirely by the time she had to face them.