Blue Ribbons

by Kim Ablon Whitney

  “He’s really good for a pony who hasn’t had many baths,” I said.

  “No kidding,” Hailey said as she went to get a sweat scraper.

  We rinsed him off for the third or fourth time; I had lost track. This time the water ran clear. Hailey scraped off the extra water with the sweat scraper and I handed Jane a towel. She worked on his legs while I dried his face. He leaned into me as I toweled him and then he sneezed into the towel. He seemed grateful for the attention.

  “I think he likes being taken care of.” He poked his nose out to me again. “Do you want me to rub your face more?” I rubbed under his jaw and he stretched his neck out, loving it.

  We took him for a walk in the sun to dry off and when he was bone dry we presented him to Martha. She had her big clippers out and oil to periodically clean them. “He better be super clean,” she said with a smile. “The clippers don’t lie.” She plugged the clippers into the extension cord. “Don’t put him on the cross-ties yet. Hold him while I turn them on. Let’s see what he thinks.”

  She switched on the clippers. Frankie didn’t even flinch at the buzzing sound. Martha held them up against his neck so he could feel the vibration. He looked at us with a funny expression, like he was wondering why we were making such a big deal about clippers. Again, it was weird. Why would a pony that was used to living in a field, probably only pulled in every once in a while to have a saddle thrown on his back, be so calm about being clipped?

  “Now for the real test.”

  Martha started with one line on his neck. I wasn’t sure whether the test was seeing whether he would be good when she clipped him, or seeing whether he was clean. But we passed on both fronts; he remained happily still as the pure white strip of hair fell to the ground.

  “Spick-and-span. Good job, girls. You can probably put him on the cross-ties if you want.”

  “I don’t mind holding him,” I said. “Just in case.” I didn’t really think he’d need to be held, but I liked him. It was almost like he’d singled me out the way he’d asked me to keep rubbing his face. I should have been spending my time with my new pony, but that was the last thing I wanted to do. Hailey and Jane hung around with me. We liked Martha a lot and she was really good with the horses. She knew things no one else did and every time we were with her we learned new things, like how to poultice a hoof or how to make an emergency twitch out of a lead rope.

  I asked her, “I don’t think we’ve ever had a horse with a blue eye in the barn. What’s the deal with that?”

  “It’s usually only in white or paint horses, horses with a bald face.”

  “Can they see just as well?”

  “Yup. People used to think it meant they were blind in that eye, but it’s not true. Some horses have two blue eyes.”

  Martha wielded the clippers like a chef at a Japanese steak house. Before long, half of one side of his body was done. He was good for all of it, even his stomach, which could be ticklish. Martha moved to his hind end, pausing after she did a strip. She stopped and peered closely at what she’d just done. I was sure she’d found a patch of dirt we’d missed.

  “Look at this,” she said.

  I took a hesitant step closer, bracing myself for the grubby, brown patch we’d missed. Martha was running her finger over the spot.

  “A brand,” I said.

  “Yup.”

  Jane leaned over my shoulder. The brand was a small, half-moon with what looked like a tiny triangle over it.

  Hailey wiggled between Martha and me. “Vi’s ponies don’t have brands, do they?”

  Martha dusted some loose hair off Frankie. Her shirt was covered in white hair. “Not that I know of.”

  Jane went to tell Tommy, who was in the ring teaching Hailey’s sister and another younger pony kid. He must have been with Susie because, a few moments later, they both came to take a look.

  “Strange,” Tommy said, examining the brand.

  “What do you think it means?” Jane asked.

  “That he isn’t one of Vi’s crop, I guess.”

  “Did she give you paperwork?” Susie asked.

  “She said she was going to try to find his registration papers.”

  I couldn’t stop looking at the half-moon. It was pretty, but also sort of ominous looking, almost like he was owned by people who had practiced witchcraft, which I knew was a ridiculous thought. “If he isn’t one of Vi’s, then where’s he from?”

  “I don’t know,” Tommy said, shrugging. “I’m not sure it matters either.”

  He and Susie headed back off down the aisle. Martha started the clippers again. I reached out one more time and ran my finger along the outline of the brand, the size of a small plum. How could we not find out where he was from?

  Chapter 10

  * * *

  The night before West Salem Mom and Dad sat me down. Dad did all the talking. Mom was clearly annoyed to be telling me. She had probably tried to convince him that they should wait till after the show and he’d insisted they tell me now.

  Mom’s CT scan results had come back and the docs had formulated a plan. They were going to do a course of chemo to see if they could reduce the tumors. The problem was the tumors were on her intestines and to get to them they might have to remove too much of her intestines. If the chemo worked it might shrink the tumors and get them to pull away from the intestines enough so they could just remove the tumors. She’d have chemo once every three weeks for a few cycles and then they’d do another CT scan to see if they could do the surgery.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Questions?” Dad asked.

  “I guess not.”

  “I want you to put all this aside,” Mom added. “It’s not your job to worry. You focus on the show.”

  I nodded. “Yup, okay.”

  I went back to my room, feeling paralyzed. I didn’t feel like telling Hailey. I didn’t feel like crying. I didn’t know what I felt like. I lay on my bed for a long time, wishing I had a dog to snuggle with. Then I wouldn’t feel so alone. I wondered if other only children felt lonely or if it was just only children of cancer patients. Finally I got up, brushed my teeth, and put on my pajamas. I went back into the family room and told Mom and Dad I was going to bed.

  I told my mom, “I really want to get my sleep so I thought I’d say good-night and then you wouldn’t have to come in later, you know? I just want to get my rest for tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” Mom said, clearly pretending not to be hurt. “Sure. That makes total sense.”

  I slunk back to my room, feeling awful for what I’d just done.

  West Salem Farm is an hour from our apartment—it’s one of the closest shows we do all year. Mom had to work late so we stayed in the city on Friday night instead of going out to Darien. We left our apartment at six in the morning. Manhattan at that time was totally dead. The streets were empty except for the occasional yellow streak of a cab. It was so quiet that if you listened you could actually hear the streetlights clicking from green to yellow to red. The only people out were the dog-people, men and women dressed in sweatpants and fleece vests trailing their labs, boxers, and pugs, and the joggers.

  “Shoot,” Mom said, as we pulled onto FDR Drive. “I forgot the carrots. I bought a whole bunch for Tyler . . . that is, if he’s good.”

  “I’m sure Susie has some for the whole barn.” Usually Mom’s devotion to making sure my ponies were well-carroted seemed really sweet, but right then it was annoying.

  We got to the show at just after seven. Lots of people were already out riding, preparing their horses for the day of showing. Most riders had Patagonia or North Face windbreakers on, some in bright colors. It would warm up by midday, but the temperature still hovered around fifty, the air brisk. A few of the warm-up rings out front were open for lungeing, and horses and ponies cantered circles around grooms.

  At Susie’s stalls in one of the temporary tents, Martha was grooming Tyler. Country music played in the background. Martha was originally from Tennesse
e and had made her way east following grooming jobs.

  We’d stopped at Starbucks and picked up coffees for everyone, including Martha’s double espresso and Susie’s skinny latte.

  “You are my savior,” Martha said as Mom handed her the coffee.

  “How’s Tyler doing?” Mom asked.

  “Oh, this old pro knows his way around a horse show,” she said. “He got off the trailer yesterday and yawned. He’s done this a few times all right.”

  While Mom and Martha were chatting, I slipped into the tack room to get my helmet out of my tack trunk. Jane’s trunk was open, which meant she was out riding. Hailey didn’t have to come until nine since Donald was her only pony and he didn’t need to be ridden before he showed.

  “Do you think Regan’s nervous?” I heard Martha ask Mom from the grooming stall.

  “Probably a little. You know everyone’s going to be watching today.”

  “She’ll do great—she always does.”

  “I hope so,” Mom said.

  There was a pause and then Martha added, “I hope it’s all right to say something . . . Susie mentioned about the cancer being back. I’m really sorry to hear it.”

  So Mom had told Susie. It was officially public, which meant Jane and Hailey either already knew, or would soon.

  “Thank you, Martha,” Mom said in what I recognized as her professional tone. She had a way of talking about her cancer that made it seem like she was talking about someone else, her sister or a friend perhaps.

  We were in a really weird phase of cancer treatment, where Mom would look fine for a while, like nothing was wrong. I remembered this phase. It was the pretend-this-won’t-change-our-life phase, now with an added dash of is-this-really-going-to-be-it-this-time?

  I walked back to the grooming stall. Martha dipped a brush in water and was flattening down Tyler’s mane.

  “When’s the braider coming?” Mom asked.

  “Right after the lesson.”

  Jane rode up on Coco, and Susie and Tommy whizzed up in the golf cart seconds behind her. Katie Whitt, an amateur rider, rode up to the barn after them. Katie went to NYU and had two really nice hunters with Susie. Hektor came and took Katie’s horse.

  Sweat covered Coco and steam was rising from her neck and back.

  “How was she?” I asked Jane, although it was pretty clear she hadn’t been that good.

  “A little fresh,” Jane said.

  “Let’s get Tyler tacked up,” Susie said to Martha. “And where’s Manuel?” She called out to one of the other grooms, “Manuel?” He appeared and Susie said, “Jane needs help with Coco because she’s got to get on Drizzle.” To me, Susie added, “I thought Jane could get on Drizzle and Sammy so you could concentrate on Tyler.”

  “Sure,” I said, even though I hated the idea of my friend getting my ponies ready for me. It made her seem like she was another employee, like Martha. And like everyone at the barn’s job was to make the Sternlicht family happy, or else Susie would lose her biggest client.

  Mom handed Susie her coffee and Susie thanked her. Then Susie came and put her arm around my shoulder. “Let’s take this pony out for a spin, huh? Make sure he doesn’t have any tricks up his sleeve.”

  Chapter 11

  * * *

  Of course I would have been happy if Tyler had a few tricks up his sleeve. If he’d been spooky or fresh. If I’d had to work him down like Jane had to with Coco. But Tyler didn’t have any tricks up his sleeve. He was a perfect gentleman in my lesson. After a few jumps Susie asked me how I was feeling and when I told her I felt good—not exactly the truth, but for a different reason other than whether I felt I was clicking with Tyler—she said we might as well save him for the classes ahead.

  Once the horse show starts, you could find me, Hailey, and Jane at the pony ring. We stashed our backpacks with everything we needed for the day—boot polish, hairbrush, hairnets and bobby pins, crop and spurs, gloves, ChapStick, sunscreen, cell phone, protein bars and bottles of vitamin-enhanced water—at the tent next to the ring. From then on out we were either riding or watching.

  The days we spent at the pony ring were the best. I wanted each day to go on forever. I loved watching pony after pony and listening to the trainers at the in gate.

  I rode Sammy in the pony equitation class. Sammy was a great pony, but he wasn’t completely easy. He loved to cut the corners to the jumps and you had to work really hard to keep him from diving in. Hailey was third in the Pony Medal, which was a really good ribbon since in the Medal the small, medium, and large ponies competed against each other and the older, more experienced kids on the large ponies often won. I finished seventh and I was happy with that since I didn’t usually do that well in the equitation classes.

  The first division of the day was almost always the small ponies. I placed third in the first class and second in the second class over-fences with Drizzle and I won the hack. Jane catch-rode a pony to good ribbons, too.

  When it came time for the mediums, Martha had Tyler up at the ring. Susie decided that I should ride him first and then Sammy. Tyler was all braided now—his mane and tail beautifully done up. We had bought the fake tail from his previous owner because it was one of the custom ones and it matched his hair color exactly. With the fake strands braided into his real hair, his tail looked thick and full. Tyler was the kind of pony that was so gorgeous that people walking by stared at him. If ponies were people, Tyler would have been one of those guys in the Abercrombie & Fitch ads. I should have been so happy he was mine but just looking at him, I had that small sick-to-my-stomach feeling just below my ribs. There was another big problem—when I looked at him, I immediately thought of my mom and of the cancer—the one thing I was trying hard not to think about.

  Hailey and I warmed up together. The schooling area was busy. Hugo Fines was calling out to Olivia Martin, telling her to get her eye on the jump right out of the turn. Hugo ran Autumn Ridge Farm, the top show stable on the East Coast. He was tall and skinny and always impeccably dressed. Today that meant chinos and a navy quilted Polo jacket with Maui Jim sunglasses. His dark hair was perfectly styled. Autumn Ridge was what people called a factory barn because they had something like seventy horses, tons of clients, and multiple assistant trainers. I’d never been to their barn, but I’d heard it was like a palace with fountains, statues, and shaped hedges. Their set-up at shows was always amazing, with incredible shrubs and flowers done by professional landscapers, and their horses’ stalls were always bedded with the shavings banked nearly all the way up the walls.

  Patti Dayton was hovering next to the vertical Olivia was jumping, waiting for Hugo to finish so she could claim the jump. Susie had just gotten the second of the two jumps in the schooling ring for us to work over. A few trainers and riders stood on the sidelines, watching the warm-ups. I could feel everyone paying particular attention to Tyler and me, waiting to see how I’d ride him.

  Susie put the jump down to a small vertical and we cantered it a few times before she raised it. Hugo finished with Olivia, and Patti started schooling Ava Higgenbotham. Ava’s parents were really into boats and all of her ponies had nautical names. Right now she was on Leeward. Her other medium was named Windward, and she had a large pony called Coastal. Sometimes when we were bored we invented silly names she could name her next pony or horse, like Shipwreck or Titanic. The Higgenbothams had family money. Ava’s grandfather had opened a chain of department stores that had made millions. From what I could tell, her parents didn’t seem to work. Patti was Ava’s private trainer and Patti was always praising Ava, like if she didn’t she might lose her cushy six-figure salary job with the Higgenbothams.

  We jumped the vertical a few more times at the new height and also jumped an oxer before Susie declared us ready to go.

  At the in gate, Martha and Manuel rubbed our boots with a rag, cleaned off the ponies’ mouths, and polished their hooves. I loved the sooty smell of hoof-oil, kind of like the same way I liked smelling gasoline when we fille
d up the car.

  “Who wants to go first?” Susie asked us.

  Hailey looked at me and shrugged. Jane had this thing about always going first, but Hailey never cared when she went.

  “I will,” I said, wanting to get it over with.

  “Okay, you know where you’re going?”

  “It’s the outside going away in five strides, diagonal in six, outside in five and then home over the diagonal in a four to a two.”

  “You got it,” Susie said. “Ride him just like you have been.”

  Olivia finished to lots of Hugo’s trademark high-pitched whoops. Hugo’s first assistant, Alison, was standing next to him clapping.

  Susie said to me, “Okay, kiddo, you’re in.”

  I entered the ring at a walk and listened to the announcer’s voice. “Now on course is number 1748. This is Woodland’s Tried and True, owned and ridden by Regan Sternlicht of New York, New York.”

  I didn’t have to glance at the sides of the rings to know that people had stopped to watch us. Of course they wanted to see Tyler with his new owner. They wanted to know if I’d be able to ride him—if we were going to be a winning combination. Dad had arrived a half-hour ago and was standing with Mom on the sidelines.

  I put my leg on Tyler and asked him to trot. Tyler was such a beautiful mover—his legs sweeping over the ground—that Susie told me to be sure to show off his trot. Once the judge had enough time to watch him trot, I pressed him into the canter. I made sure to get him going forward and out in front of my leg on my opening circle and then relaxed and stayed the same as I came out of the turn to the first line. Tyler’s stride was so even that it was easy to see the right distance and we jumped into the line perfectly. I counted the strides to myself and made sure to give Tyler a nice release over the oxer out of the line.

  The rest of the course went just as smoothly and each jump felt better than the last. I knew everyone watching was realizing that from now on we were the team to beat. But I couldn’t enjoy the ride. It felt like I was watching someone else ride Tyler—like I was just going through the motions, numb to it all. I landed off the last fence and Susie clapped and whooped loudly. I could hear Mom and Dad clapping, too.