Keeping Barney

by Jessie Haas

  In a moment he was there, flushed and coatless. With a sudden shock of recognition, Sarah realized how much weight he’d lost over the winter. For the first time his shoulders looked broader than his stomach, and you could see the bone structure of his face. Sarah was forced to admit that he was good looking. Not like David Harrison at school, that everybody was in love with, but he definitely had his good points.…

  “What’re you staring at, Sarah?” She started guiltily. “Boy, he looks happy to be out. Lemme bring the guys to see him.” He went behind the barn, and in a moment Herk and Ginger trotted out. Sniffing, pricking of ears, and occasional nips and squeals went into the reunion, until Sarah began to feel uneasy above all this plunging horseflesh.

  Albert rescued her, getting halters and tying up his horses. Sarah dismounted awkwardly. Already, her legs felt molded around Barney’s barrel, like those of the cowboy who rode her model horses.

  “You’ll be stiff as a board tomorrow morning,” said Albert cheerily. “C’mon, tie him up and help me groom.”

  Jill arrived a few minutes later, tumbling out of the car at full steam. She’d gotten up late, and there were new kittens, and Aunt Marion had had twins this morning, that was why she was late. Albert and Sarah exchanged smiles over Ginger’s back.

  “Well, where do you want to go?” Albert asked, when the horses were tacked up. “Bemis’s trail ought to be pretty well open by now.”

  Sarah thought with longing of the quiet wooded trail, twisty, hilly, and adventurous. It was one of her favorites—and it wasn’t very long. It probably couldn’t hurt … no. Much though she wanted to go, she couldn’t make it feel right inside.

  “I’d better not. His Majesty shouldn’t tackle anything like that for a while.”

  “Oh, I forgot. Tell you what, then; we’ll ride home with you over the logging trail. That’s not too hilly, and we can go somewhere else after, if these fatsos aren’t too tired.”

  “Thanks,” said Sarah, and they mounted and started off, talking happily, the horses bouncy, eager, and competing for the lead. Sarah felt a warm, hard bubble of joy expanding in her chest. This was what she wanted; this was the best and only way to live.

  (16)On Woodfield Mountain

  A little bit of snow fell after that, but not enough to hamper their riding for long. In the next few weeks they rode almost every day. They explored again all the trails they’d explored in the fall, and found new ones. Once they got lost for almost an hour, and Albert was late for chores. The girls tried to help him make up for lost time, but only managed to get in his way. They rode in sunshine so hot that the horses came home sweaty, in spite of being walked the last mile, and in cold, raw winds, and once in the rain. For the first time, Sarah smelled the warm, pungent aroma of a wet horse working. It was a little like damp feathers and a little like ordinary dry horse, but combined, the scents made something magically new, and unforgettable.

  Barney was shedding in good earnest now, and Sarah came in from every trip to the barn coated with rich bay hairs. Goldy, too, was losing her woolly undercoat, and left bits on the corners of the couch, where she insisted on rubbing whenever she came inside. The poor couch had received so much abuse since they’d moved that Mom was abandoning her attachment to it, and when Goldy came trotting purposefully in, she only looked resigned.

  The happy spring wore swiftly on. Despite the lengthening days, and the extra hour of riding gleaned from daylight saving, time slipped through Sarah’s fingers. Missy wrote to say she’d be home May twentieth; Sarah didn’t count the days, hoping that they’d pass slower that way, but one Friday morning she woke up and realized that the twentieth was only a weekend away.

  In school, even Jill noticed her glumness, and she came up with a dozen schemes for kidnapping Barney, for proving to Missy that he loved Sarah best, even for raising money enough to buy him. Sarah couldn’t plot with her. There just didn’t seem to be any point.

  More constructively, Albert brought up the long-deferred plan to ride over Woodfield Mountain, and they decided to go on Saturday.

  Sarah’s alarm woke her at six, and she padded downstairs to get ready. She liked being alone in the yellow light of the kitchen while it was still dusky outside, making breakfast. For the first time, she managed to flip her egg without breaking the yolk. Then, to pack a lunch. She invented a roast beef, tomato, lettuce, and cream cheese sandwich that promised to be delicious, providing that it survived the trip. A few green olives in a sandwich bag, two apples to share with Barney, and a Thermos of milk completed the picnic. She stowed it all in her knapsack and took it to the barn.

  She caught Barney, brushed him, and tacked up. Next came the far more difficult task of capturing Goldy. She had to be shut in or she’d follow them, but by now she knew exactly what was going to happen, and she wasn’t going to allow it without a struggle. She wandered here and there, nibbling casually at new shoots of grass with one eye cocked warily in Sarah’s direction. Just when Sarah’s hand snaked toward her collar, she trotted on a few steps farther. Finally Sarah gave up pretense and chased her openly. Goldy loved this. Every time Sarah lunged, she charged out of reach, ears flapping, tail straight up, and bell tinkling wildly. She ran with the grace of a small steeplechaser, but Sarah was far from admiring her. At last she got a pan of grain; Goldy was always conquerable by greed, and was soon locked in Barney’s stall, bleating plaintively.

  Sarah stuffed Barney’s halter and rope into the knapsack—that couldn’t be doing her fragile sandwich much good—and shrugged it onto her back. As she mounted, she had a sudden vision of herself at riding school: a self-confident girl, properly attired, riding a well-mannered Thoroughbred around the ring to gather blue ribbons in the school show. How horrified her instructors would be to see her now, in jeans and a flannel shirt, with a knapsack, setting off on self-willed little Barney and not at all sure who was going to be in control today. “You’re a good Bear,” she told him hopefully. “Let’s go.”

  They arrived at Jones Dairy just as chores were getting finished. Albert was spreading a fresh layer of sawdust; Sarah helped, and by the time they were done Jill had arrived. They caught Ginger and Herky, groomed and saddled them, got Albert’s lunch, and they were ready to go.

  As Sarah mounted, she heard the crackle of paper in her shirt pocket; oh, yes, the envelope! She took it out and handed it to Albert. “Here, Dad sent this. I almost forgot.”

  At first she thought he wasn’t going to open it, but after staring at it a moment, he tore open the flap. Sarah strained to see, without seeming too obvious. Dad wouldn’t tell her anything last night. “Sorry, Peanut, if Albert wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”

  Albert was reading one of the pages inside, his face slowly getting redder and redder. Finally he looked up, and seeing their eyes on him, tried to seem casual. “Just a story Sarah’s father read for me,” he said airily, and tossed it on a shelf in the barn as though it didn’t matter. But Sarah knew it did, and from the look on Albert’s face, she thought that Dad had probably mixed his criticism with quite a bit of praise.

  The last time they’d been up Woodfield Mountain, the trail had been deep in leaves. But the leaves had been pressed under the snow all winter, and now, wet and shining, they covered the ground smoothly. The horses’ hooves cut through to the dark earth underneath. The smell here was different than in the fields—cooler, faintly spicy. The trees were just beginning to leaf out, making a bright, lacy canopy overhead. Small birds tumbled and squabbled in the treetops, where before there had been only jays. The jays were still there, floating on their wings of fallen sky, but their voices were less raucous.

  They passed the little orchard. There was the place where they’d stopped last fall, there the deer had foraged, there by the stone wall the hunter had risen up and fired. This all had to be explained to Jill. When she understood where they were, she actually stopped talking for a moment. Sarah watched Barney carefully, but he didn’t seem to remember the place. God, how long a
go it all was!

  From here on, the trail was new to her. It twisted up steeply as they neared the top; in places it was only a jagged bed of stones, where the spring rains had washed it. The horses scrambled over these places, Jill usually dismounting to make it easier for Ginger. Agile Barney managed splendidly; Sarah gave him his head and abandoned herself to the enjoyment of his power, knowing that while he had to concentrate on the footing he couldn’t be naughty. Herky rolled on, unflappable.

  “Are you still going on the Hundred Mile Trail Ride this fall, Bert?”

  “Yup. I earned the entry money this winter, and there’s all summer to get him in shape.” A pause. “Y’know, Sarah, you could help me condition him, since you won’t be having Barney.” Sarah’s heart sank, remembering. She forced herself to listen.

  “I’ll have haying and stuff to do, so maybe we could work out something where I’ll work him in the morning and then pick you up at your house. You could bring me home and take him back to your place, work him in the afternoon and keep him overnight. Then you could bring him over for his morning work—or something like that.”

  “Poor Herky,” said Jill. “Sounds like he’ll be going all day.”

  “He needs it. He’s a big boy—lots of fat to get rid of. Would you like to, Sarah?”

  “If it would really help …” It did sound like a good idea. Lots of running around, but at least she’d be able to ride, and she’d be helping Albert to maybe win the trail ride. And there’d be a horse around at least part of the time, to fill the barn and keep Goldy company. Wish it was going to be you, though, she thought, patting Barney’s neck.

  Hunger pangs overpowered them at the top of the mountain, though it was only quarter to eleven. They compromised by eating half their lunches there, and saving the other half for when they got to Woodfield. The ground didn’t seem wet till you’d been sitting awhile, but when they got up they all had wet pants. “It’ll help us stick to the saddle,” Jill said, but in the meantime it only made mounting difficult, as their wet pants clung to their skin.

  They were heading downhill now; the wet leaves made the trail slippery, and Barney fretted, tossing his head and trying to go off at angles. Sarah thwarted him most of the time, but once in a while he surged off through the brush, and she had to fight him back onto the trail.

  Behind them, Jill started to sing “The Bear Went over the Mountain,” stopping in the middle to explain how appropriate it was, considering Barney’s nickname and where they were. Then all three of them took it up, singing as loudly as they could. They went through it three times, and repeated snatches at intervals.

  At the bottom, they decided to finish lunch in the Woodfield village square. That would give plenty of opportunity to impress whoever was interested with their long trek. They felt like mountain men, coming down from their wooded haunts to rough up the town; slouching in their saddles, they played the role as they’d learned it in books and on television. This was only among themselves, of course. An old lady who knew Albert’s mother stopped to talk, and Albert spoke to her as one civilized. Jill and Sarah, behind him, tried to make their faces tough and truculent, and ended up giggling helplessly.

  They stayed until a man came out of the general store with a shovel, and said for them to clean up all the droppings before they left. Deciding that civilization was a foppish thing, for foolishly scorning their gift of high-grade fertilizer, they cleaned it up and returned to their mountain fastness.

  On the way back up, Sarah could feel Barney straining under her. His neck hair was rough with sweat, and he was obviously tired, but he gamely held his position in the lead, refusing to take second place to Herky. They hurried as fast as the tired horses could safely go, but Albert was still late for milking. Sarah and Jill offered to help, but he said he could work faster without them, thanks.

  Sarah rode slowly home, alone. Even the prospect of seeing Goldy and having supper couldn’t hurry Barney now. Sarah was tired, too, and her hips and ankles ached. She kicked her feet out of the stirrups and let them dangle; amazing how good a simple thing like that could feel. Barney stretched his neck out on a loose rein, his ears flopping at weary angles. Getting him tired is one way of making him behave, Sarah realized.

  “Poor Bear, we’re almost … home.” Two days left.

  (17)Prospects

  Missy was coming for Barney on Monday afternoon, so Sunday was their last day together. Sarah had half expected Albert to call, but he didn’t. That was OK; she wanted to be alone today. She rode up the logging trail behind their barn, with Goldy and Star tagging along.

  Star wandered far off in the woods, as usual, and Goldy stuck close, complaining. Barney insisted on stopping regularly to sniff her over from nose to tail and think about her. Despite her gloom, Sarah couldn’t help laughing at this obvious ruse. “Faker!” Oh no, said Barney’s ears. He was truly concerned.

  They came to a fallen tree, too big to jump, and she turned him aside. He plowed through the brush with Goldy, outraged, at his heels. On the other side, Sarah suddenly realized that it would never occur to her to be on guard against his trickery there, though the opportunity was perfect. With her arms up to protect her face, she couldn’t have stopped him.

  Missy had said you had to know when you could trust him and when you couldn’t, and she’d spent a long time trying to feel that out. Now, though, it came instinctively.

  So, she decided half regretfully, it didn’t mean that she’d won. It only meant that she knew the rules. There were times and places for each of them to be in control, just as there were times and places for continued testing. The horse-book authors and riding instructors might call that nonsense, but Missy would probably agree.

  Goldy was lagging farther and farther behind, and her complaints sounded genuinely desperate. Looking back, Sarah realized that the fat little goat was exhausted. “We’ll have to cut our ride short, Bear.” He didn’t mind, but she did. This was probably the last time they’d ever set off into the woods together. Reluctantly, she turned him around. He stopped to nose Goldy. What is she going to do without him? Sarah wondered. Poor Goldy, losing her best friend.

  Back at the barn, she unsaddled and cooled him out, lingering over the routine. This was the last night she’d measure out his grain into the black rubber pail, the last time she’d rub Vaseline into the scar while he munched. She bent to look at it; a faint fuzz was starting to form on the pink railroad tracks. He’d have hair there soon, but she wouldn’t see it.

  When he was through with his dinner, she opened the gate and watched the two of them head downhill, Barney snatching mouthfuls of grass and Goldy ambling beside him, challenging him to head fights.

  She took the pail and Vaseline back to the tack room and stood there for a moment, looking at the polished saddle and bridle on their pegs, the brushes, the fly-repellent, the box of medicines, all neatly arranged. She tried to fix everything in her mind, so she could never forget it. Then, drearily, she squatted down and began packing the smaller things into the pail. Mom was taking them over in the car tomorrow afternoon, and Missy was riding Barney home; Sarah didn’t want to have to face packing after he was gone.

  That night, she couldn’t concentrate on homework. The words and numbers whirled through her head and vanished out the back. When Mom and Dad came up, she was sitting at the desk with her head down on her math book.

  “Sarah?”

  She started and looked toward the door, pasting on a smile. “Yeah?”

  “Just checking. Haven’t heard a peep out of you all evening.” They came inside, and Sarah turned backward in her chair to face them, bracing herself. It would be talk about Barney, wise counsel about loving enough to let go, about building her character—the last thing she wanted. Dad was obviously the one who was supposed to start, and the silence stretched on while he tried to formulate his beginning. Sarah couldn’t read Mom’s expression.

  At last Dad looked away from the picture of Barney, and launched into speech. “S
arah, there’s … there’s one thing I didn’t really think about when I said yes in the fall, and that’s how attached you’d become to … Barney.” The hesitation was natural to Dad. He couldn’t really think of horses as having names, the way people or dogs or pet goats did. “Maybe if I had, I’d have said no, I don’t know. You put an awful lot into him to have to give him up.”

  “At least now she’s got him to remember,” said Mom quietly. It was right, but not comforting. Sarah’s face stiffened into a mask to hold back her hurt.

  “Well,” said Dad, clearing his throat, “that’s as may be. Sarah, I realize the last thing you want is a lot of talk right now, but you should know that I’ve changed my mind. Your mother’ll be teaching full-time next year, the book is almost finished, and money isn’t as tight anymore. And I no longer have any doubts about your accepting the responsibility. So we’ve decided to afford you a horse, as soon as we can, and you’ll love the new horse, too, when you get to know it.”

  In spite of herself, Sarah felt a tickle of excitement. “You’re really sure, Dad?”

  Mom laughed. “He’s worried sick that Goldy’s going to be lonely.”

  “And yes, I approve on your account, too,” said Dad. “Now, I’m afraid you’ll still have to survive a horseless summer. We’ll do our buying in the fall, when your mother tells me the prices are down, and I hope by then we’ll have the advance on the book. That OK?”

  “Oh, Dad! And Albert’s going to let me help condition Herky, so I’ll be able to ride. But …” Unexpectedly, her voice choked off, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Look, it’s almost ten,” Mom said briskly. “Why don’t you give up on the math and go say good night to him? Oh, and I’m letting you stay home tomorrow, in case Missy comes early. Do you want to?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  The last good night. She sat at the desk for a few minutes more after they left, trying to think. Her own horse—what would it be like? She couldn’t imagine anything but a short-legged, furry little half-Morgan. Well, she’d try to buy a half-Morgan, if there was one to be had. But it wouldn’t be Barney. It wouldn’t have pink, fading scars on its chest, that she and Dr. Raymond had healed from a gaping wound. It wouldn’t have the same doe-eyed naughtiness, or even like to be scratched in the same spots.