A Horse of Her Own

by Annie Wedekind

  She pushed aside the heating pad, now uncomfortably warm in the stuffy cabin, and gave her shoulder a few slow, circular rotations. Sore, but not as sore. Certainly not as sore. She squeezed it and nearly yelped aloud. Note to self: Do not squeeze, she thought, employing a Lilyism.

  Jane dressed quietly, rummaged in her bag until she located her sketchpad and pencils, and tiptoed from the cabin. The sun hadn’t risen yet, though the midnight blue of the sky had paled around the edges, and the birds were making a merry racket in anticipation of dawn. In a few hours, Jane thought, her parents and Lily would be here. She remembered how homesick she had gotten the first time she’d come to Sunny Acres for overnight camp, and just as Lily had done, she’d called her sister and they’d stayed on the phone until they both were too sleepy to speak. But now it had been six weeks since she’d seen her family, and so much had happened. She wondered if they’d sense a difference in her, if there was a difference in her. Did she feel changed? As Jane headed to the still-dark field to find Lancelot, she considered it.

  She’d lost Beau, that was the biggest change. But though her heart still hurt when she thought of him, she also knew for a certainty that he had a good owner who loved him. She hoped he missed her, but she also saw that he was content and, loving him, she couldn’t really wish for anything else.

  She’d also discovered new things about Robin and had seen her friend grow less shy toward everything around her, including Jane. She hoped that her decision not to go to Collegiate wouldn’t cut off their new closeness … and she hoped that MLK was the right choice. She felt deep down that it was, that it was the sort of place that matched her … what, difference? Weirdness? For that was the other big change of this summer—no longer wanting to be like the clique. Of course, she’d never managed to be like them in the first place, but she’d always wanted to, desperately, it now struck her. She felt sorrow for her loss of Jessica, despite everything, but then she’d never really “had” her to begin with. And then there was Ben.

  From the lightening shadows around the trees, Jane saw a reddish form emerge. She hailed Lancelot and paused for a moment at his side, looking up at the first bits of sunlight reflecting in his large, bright eyes. He snuffled at her sketchpad, moistening a page with his breath, and she pulled it away from him. “If I don’t fall asleep, I’ll make you a portrait,” she told him. Sketching always calmed her, and she thought it might be a good idea to force herself not to think about what lay before her today.

  An hour later, she was putting the finishing touches on her drawing of Lancelot’s head and neck, crosshatching his coat and adjusting the shading around his ears, when she heard voices outside and peered from the stall to see Susan and Jose entering the barn.

  “Who turned the lights on already?” Susan was asking, and Jane called, “Me,” and waved to them.

  “And what are you doing here so early, bonita?” Jose asked her. He looked very dapper in clean jeans and a neat Western shirt with roses on the shoulders. Jane held her drawing up for him to see and he nodded, smiling. “Very nice,” he told her. Susan was looking distractedly around the barn, as if formulating a plan of attack. She, too, was more dressed up than usual. At least, her hair was combed and braided tightly, her field boots were clean, and her CLUB SODA, NOT SEALS T-shirt looked freshly washed.

  “Susan, can I talk to you for a second?” Jane asked suddenly.

  “I’ll start bringing in the school horses,” Jose said, and as he turned he winked at her. Jane again had the slightly uncomfortable feeling that Jose had an inkling of what she wanted to talk to her trainer about.

  “What is it, Jane?” Susan asked, now looking over the clipboard she’d pulled down from its nail by the tack room door.

  Jane swallowed hard. “I’m going to ride in the event today.” It came out as a croak.

  “Mm-hm,” Susan said, flipping pages and frowning.

  “I was going to just go out with the others, but now I … I guess I figured I should tell you first.”

  Her trainer looked up. “Tell me what first?” she asked. She obviously hadn’t been paying any attention.

  “That I’m going to ride in today’s event.”

  Susan looked at her blankly. “You can’t. Your shoulder,” she said automatically.

  “It’s fine,” Jane lied.

  Something seemed to finally sink in through her trainer’s abstraction.

  “You’re telling me you want to ride in today’s event?” she asked incredulously. “Jane, you haven’t been doing any of the training. You don’t know the dressage course; you’ve never done cross-country on that horse … . It’s impossible!”

  “I know the dressage course, and I’ve been training Lancelot for a while now,” Jane continued doggedly.

  “What do you mean, ‘training him for a while’?” Susan barked.

  Jane felt herself becoming flustered. “I mean I’ve been practicing for this. I’ve done a bunch of dressage, I know he can jump, and we’ve gone out in the field—”

  “And got dragged through it!” Susan exclaimed, with a look of dawning comprehension.

  “That was only because a stupid branch hit him,” Jane protested. “Before that he did really well.”

  “Forget it, Jane,” Susan said brusquely. “I haven’t seen you train, and I have no idea if you’re up to this.” Was it Jane’s imagination, or did Susan not look as dismissive as she was trying to sound?

  She decided to press on. “You said that I was, well, that I was a good rider. You told Jose”—Jane knew she was taking a risk in reminding Susan of that argument and revealing that she had overheard it—“and I just want a chance to prove it!” Jane’s hands were becoming clammy. Susan had to understand … .

  “Why not let her try?” asked a calm voice. Jane and Susan turned to see Jose standing at the entrance to the barn, holding Brownie. He was smiling gently and looking at Susan.

  “But you’re the one who said I pushed her too hard,” Susan spluttered in disbelief. “And now you’re saying …”

  “I’m saying that you should give her a chance to live up to your faith in her,” he said with a bit of mischief in his voice. “It’s true that she’s been practicing for this, and doing very well from what I hear. I have also heard the opinion”—he winked at Jane—“that maybe I am … a little protective of my bonita.”

  Now it was Jane’s turn to gape at him. So Jose did know, and from the sound of it, had known for a while, she thought. And he’d called her my bonita.

  Susan seemed to be deflating. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Jane? Or”—she flared up again—“was this a secret between you two?”

  “I didn’t know Jose—”

  “Jane didn’t know that I—” they said simultaneously.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Susan grumbled.

  “I guess I wanted to …” Jane didn’t quite know how to finish the sentence. “Prove something,” said aloud, sounded too arrogant, or too desperate. “Surprise you” sounded dumb. She let her voice trail off. She knew she wouldn’t be able to explain how all of this had come about.

  Susan sighed. “And you really think you can do this?” She looked at Jane sharply. “You know the courses? You can ride with that shoulder? There are a lot of factors that make me think this is a bad idea, Jane.”

  Jane’s heart pounded as she said, in the steadiest, most convincing voice she could manage: “I can do this.” She waited, in a silence that grew more oppressive with every passing moment, her eyes averted from her trainer’s embarrassing glare.

  “Fine,” Susan growled. Jane’s eyes flew back up. Incredibly, Susan was wearing her familiar smile-frown. “I’m going to trust you. And I’m going to trust my instinct. Which is that, yes, you’ll be able to do this.”

  Jane felt giddy with relief. She looked happily at Jose, who winked at her again. “Thanks, Susan,” she said with some difficulty. “Thanks so much!”

  “Don’t prove me wrong, Jane,” Susan sai
d, with a fierce look, but as her trainer bent again to examine her notepad, Jane thought she saw the ghost of a twinkle in her eye.

  The morning hours passed with alarming speed. Immediately after her conversation with Susan, Jane had gone to walk the cross-country course before the other girls were in the fields. She didn’t know if they’d already done this or not, and she didn’t want to run into Alyssa or Jessica at the hairy barrels. Plus, this way she got to see the ground conditions exactly as they would be while riding, unless they were hit with another rainstorm.

  There didn’t seem much chance of that—the sun was now scorching the sky and the fields were mostly dry. Jane hastily made her way up the hill to the far paddock, where she would again be jumping the shrubbery. It looked brambly and menacing as she examined it, and she felt a wave of nerves crash over her. She quickly moved on.

  There were sixteen jumps in all, some in combination, and by the time Jane returned to the barn she was very sweaty and feeling more than a little ill. She hadn’t been expecting the narrowness of some of the jumps, and she remembered with a sinking feeling Lancelot’s run-outs while jumping with Emily. And the fences into and out of the edge of the pond! Lancelot hadn’t shown any fear of water, but then she hadn’t galloped him through large stretches of it … .

  At breakfast, she told Robin about her conversation with Susan—but Robin had already heard about it from Ben, who’d heard from his grandfather.

  “I wonder if everybody knows,” Jane whispered. It wasn’t a comfortable thought. She looked around at the other tables—Jessica, Jennifer, Liz, and Alyssa were grouped at one, not eating much either, except for Liz, who was plowing through her huevos rancheros with enthusiasm. Shannon had gone home yesterday, but Jane was surprised to see Megan and two of her friends at another table.

  “I don’t think so,” Robin told her. “I was in the barn early, looking for you, and ran into Ben. I definitely don’t think Susan’s made any kind of general—”

  “Listen up, everybody!” Susan strode through the actual kitchen and onto the porch, propping one boot on the bench of an empty picnic table and slapping her leg with her clipboard.

  “ … announcement,” Robin finished lamely.

  “The dressage test will begin in one hour and a half. You’ll continue immediately to the cross-country course. We’ll take a half-hour break, then the jumping test. The scoring will work as follows. You’ll get a score for your dressage test and carry that score with you to the cross-country. We are not timing the cross-country, so you will only get points off if you do the course incorrectly or if your horse refuses a jump. You’ll get points off for each refusal, and if your horse refuses the same jump three times, you’ll be disqualified. In the jumping course, you’ll again get points deducted if you go the wrong way and for refusals. Three refusals means disqualification. Also, you’ll get points deducted if you knock down any rails. This is similar to real eventing scoring, though we’ve made some adjustments to make it a little simpler. If riders end up in a tie at the end, we’ll have a jump-off. Any questions?”

  “What are the penalty points?” Jennifer asked.

  “Three points for a knock-down, and five points for each refusal or course mistake,” Susan explained. “And by the way, Jane’s competing with you.” She grinned broadly at the campers. “No more questions? Great. See you at the dressage ring in an hour and a half.” She marched from the porch, banging the screen door behind her and leaving a loaded silence in her wake.

  “Right,” Jane muttered to Robin. “That’s my signal to leave.” She swung her leg over the bench and grabbed her tray, trying to ignore the staring faces around her. Suddenly, she heard fake-sounding laughter behind her and turned to face it.

  “Well, well, well,” Alyssa said archly, her arms folded across her chest and an awful look of smug amusement on her face. But Jane noticed that Jennifer did not look like she found it quite as funny as her best friend did, and Jessica looked positively furious.

  “Yes?” Jane said, trying to sound unconcerned.

  “It’s sad, really,” Jessica said in a high, unnatural voice, staring daggers at Jane. “How you’ve always tried to get in with our group any way you can. Really sad.” Alyssa gave a contemptuous snort of agreement.

  Jane’s face burned. It was too close to being true, and now that it wasn’t true anymore it was horrible to be falsely accused. She turned to the door and said as coolly as possible over her shoulder, “I don’t want to join you, Jessica. I just want to beat you.” And she walked out.

  “Ow,” Jane said through gritted teeth as Jose pulled the bandage tightly under her armpit. Ben shot her a concerned look, and she managed a smile. “It’s okay,” she told them, “just pinches a bit.” Jose fastened the bandage with a metal clip, and Jane gave a tentative stretch. She didn’t want to tell them, despite the ointment and the wrap, how much it still hurt, so she just gave a false, bright smile: “Much better!” Jose patted her knee, and Jane rolled down the sleeve of the olive-green button-down Robin had lent her to make up for her lack of jacket and stock-collared riding shirt the other girls would be wearing. Robin had also bravely braided Lancelot’s mane, though the enormous horse still made her nervous, and now she was working on Jane’s hair, pulling it back with a barrette to keep it out of her face.

  “Hey, that looks nice!” Ben said, giving her a critical stare.

  “What?” Jane asked, getting antsy under Robin’s ministrations.

  “Whatever Robin’s doing. That hair thing,” he said. “It looks good.”

  Jane blushed and jumped up. “Okay! Enough!” she said. “Next you’re going to be putting makeup on me!” She turned and saw Robin’s outstretched hand, proffering a tube of lip gloss, and they cracked up. “No way,” Jane said. “Lancelot would think I’m Emily and try to ditch me.”

  Sounds of slamming car doors and voices filtered into the barn, and the riders paused in their various stages of preparation to dash outside to look for their families. Giving Lancelot one more swipe with the soft rag, Jane followed Robin and Ben outside to see who had arrived. There were the Taylors, leaning against their massive black Land Rover with a broad-shouldered boy with golden blond hair talking to Alyssa—her brother, Clay, looking as full of himself as ever in his dark sunglasses and loose-fitting, pale blue polo shirt. They were joined by Jennifer’s parents, who could have been the Taylors’ twins in style, and Jennifer’s younger sister, who was talking excitedly about coming to Sunny Acres next year. Jennifer rolled her eyes at Alyssa.

  More cars pulled up and Jane saw Jessica’s brother, Dalton, tall and good-looking with swept-back hair, longer in the front, stroll over to knock knuckles with Clay. She didn’t see Jessica’s mother or father. Her parents were divorced, and it was usually her mom who came to riding-related events. Then, finally, Jane heard the familiar rattle of the Ryans’ dirty-white Volvo making its way up the drive to come to a lurching halt under a tree. Her first instinct was to go running to them, but conscious of Ben at her side, she remained where she was, giving what she hoped was a casual enough wave toward her folks, now climbing out of the car.

  But Lily was having none of this nonchalance. Her sister hurtled across the lawn, and Jane couldn’t help herself—she ran to meet her halfway, and they rocked back and forth in a tight embrace before Lily released her and held her at arm’s length to get a good look at Jane with her sparkling, violet-blue eyes.

  “You look wonderful, Janoo! You should always wear your hair like that,” she said delightedly. “And you’re so tan! And old! You’re anciently old! You should be going to college, not me!” And they hugged again for another long moment.

  “Where’s Robin?” Lily demanded. “And this wonder horse of yours? And your whole life—I want to see all of it! Mum and Dad are saying hello to Mrs. Jeffrys—show me first!” Jane grinned. There was nothing in the world more enthusiastic than Lily enthusiastic. Her sister grabbed her hand tightly and they headed toward the barn.

 
Lily’s entrance had caused a bit of a stir. Indeed, her sister was pretty much an event in herself. She looked beautiful, Jane thought, with her dark wavy hair pulled up in a loose knot with tendrils coming down around her face, her long, dangly earrings, and a vintage wrap dress offset by big, brown men’s shoes. Lily never looked like anyone else, but she always looked marvelous, and Jane noticed Clay and Dalton casting very interested glances in their direction.

  Lily hugged Robin hello, and Jane introduced her to Ben, who looked a little awestruck. “Hi,” he said, his voice squeaking a bit, and Lily smiled warmly at him. Jane was about to take Lily to see Lancelot when she heard her parents calling her. “Where’s my daughter?” her father was saying in a mock-ferocious voice, and Jane blushed.

  “Has Jane told you how weird our parents are?” Lily stage-whispered to Ben. “It’s a miracle we’re so well adjusted.” She crossed her eyes as she spoke, looking totally nuts, and Ben and Robin cracked up.

  And then Jane was hugging her mother and father, with a rush of released missing that she’d bottled up over the past weeks. It felt so good to have their arms around her, she had to force herself to step away so she didn’t look like a total baby. Her mother’s face, surrounded by a cloud of dark curls that Lily had inherited, was wreathed in smiles, and her father stooped down to kiss the top of her head. Just as Lily didn’t look like other people, the Ryans certainly didn’t look like other parents. Jane fondly took in all their familiar, beloved details: her mother’s face, tanned from gardening, with blazingly blue eyes, her faded denim skirt, and her one piece of jewelry, a thin silver chain with a locket that Jane’s father had given her long ago. And her father, tall and knobby-kneed in his old shorts and sandals, his fair hair and beard towering over them all, his pipe tucked into the pocket of his wrinkled checkered shirt.