by Jane Smiley
“It’s just a rumor.”
“But she told me! It’s not a rumor if her own nephew’s wife said what was going on.”
“Why don’t we let sleeping dogs lie?”
“I tell myself that every single day.”
I stood absolutely still. My main thought was that if it wasn’t Mom’s business, then it certainly wasn’t my business, and so I had better just keep walking and not listen anymore.
A rustle of pages. Daddy opening his Bible. Well, if it was big enough for that, it was pretty big. And the other thing was that I’d never heard Mom talk in quite this tone before. Mom was the one of us who always knew what to do. I heard a sigh—it sounded like Mom. I said to myself, Time to go to bed, but I stood there anyway. Finally, Daddy read, “ ‘And he says to them, Because of your unbelief; for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say to this mountain, Be transported hence there, and it shall transport itself; and nothing shall be impossible to you.’ ”
They were silent. This was a pretty familiar verse, since it was one of Daddy’s favorites. Finally, Mom said, “But should I do anything?”
“It doesn’t say to.”
She said, “Okay.” And then they kissed. I could hear them. I went back into my room, and came out again and stomped around a little bit.
When I thanked Sophia for letting me ride Pie in the Sky and said how nice he was, she just nodded, smiled, and said, “Colonel Hawkins thought you did a good job, and I did, too.” And even though I had been planning to ask her what was wrong with Onyx and why she wasn’t riding him, well, I didn’t say a word. And then, all day, half the time I thought it wasn’t my business, and half the time I really wanted to know. At lunchtime, I looked around our table, and wondered what each of the girls would do in my place. Stella wouldn’t have cared. Gloria would have waited for Sophia to say some tiny little thing that let Gloria ask the question. Mary would have said, “So, why didn’t you ride your horse?” Luisa would have passed her a note in class, since Luisa was pretty shy. Leslie would have told about something that happened at camp, like fording a rushing river, and then said how afraid she was, and waited for Sophia to chime in about being afraid to ride her horse. What was my way of doing things? Well, just to worry and mind my own business. I did try one thing, which was to sit down after lunch next to Alana, who was Sophia’s old friend from her neighborhood. Sophia had introduced us, and we had talked about a couple of things, like assignments, since she was also in my biggest class, geology. I asked her if she had read the chapter about volcanoes, and she had. So then I stood around, and after a while I finally said, “You heard that I rode Pie in the Sky over the weekend.”
“Sophia said you did a good job.”
“So, does Sophia like Pie in the Sky, do you think?”
“Sort of. Not as much as Onyx.” Then, “You wanted me to say that, right?”
“Well, if it’s true.”
“It’s true.”
“But Pie in the Sky is a wonderful horse.”
“You should buy him.”
I laughed—not a real laugh, but polite. Then I said, “So she really does like Onyx?”
“She rides him every day. Believe me, if she didn’t like him, she would tell me. Sophia is not tactful.” Then she rolled her eyes.
So even Alana didn’t know that Sophia wasn’t riding Onyx.
Daddy suddenly got a bee in his bonnet about Jack needing to learn about loading into a trailer. And it was true—most of our horses came to us from far away. By the time they arrived, they knew all about trailers, and even though some horses didn’t enjoy the experience, they were willing to put up with it. But Jack had never left the property, so what if—
Whenever Daddy started on the what-ifs, I tried not to listen. He was right, though.
Thursday after school, I came home to find the trailer and the truck parked in the arena, Danny’s truck by the barn, and Nobby, the oldest and most easygoing of the other horses, waiting to be of service.
There is really no reason why a horse should go into a trailer. Trailers are dark and small, and in the wild, a horse would never go into a dark, small place that he had to back out of. But horses go into trailers all the time, and then they are rattled and rolled around, and they get out, and go in again. Either it is a sign that they trust us, or it is a sign of complete stupidity. I prefer to think that they trust us.
It was a pleasant day—calm and a little overcast. By the time I got home, Danny had already had Jack in the pen working off his excess energy. Nobby was in there with him now, and I could see Jack nibbling at her mane, which made her put her ears a little back, though she didn’t squeal or snap at him. She walked away, and he followed her. I went and got the flag and let myself into the pen. I didn’t do much with them, but I did keep Nobby walking, which meant that Jack kept following her. I thought that was good practice for following her right into the trailer. After a few minutes, Daddy called me over to the arena. I put lead ropes on both Jack and Nobby and opened the gate. Nobby, of course, waited until being told that she could follow me through the gate, and Jack found her so much more interesting than anything else that he waited, too. The three of us walked calmly over to the arena. Danny took Jack from me, and I held Nobby.
The first thing that Danny did was pretend that he was just standing there while Jack sniffed the trailer. It was the kind with a ramp that the horse was supposed to walk up, so Jack had to sniff the ramp and jump back a few times. Then he had to carefully avoid the ramp, step around it, and stretch his neck to stare into the darkness of the trailer. Then he had to sniff the fenders and the wheels and the window and even the hitch. Then he had to stare at the truck. Then he had to do all of these things on the other side. After that, he decided to ignore the trailer. At that point, Danny unsnapped the lead rope and let him go, and our job was to pay him no attention and pretend that all we cared about was Nobby. After Jack had skittered away with his tail in the air, Dad made a big deal of giving Nobby a carrot, and Nobby obliged by chewing it very loudly.
As soon as Jack came over to see what was going on, Daddy marched Nobby up the ramp into the trailer. I latched the chain across her hind end so she wouldn’t back out, and Daddy went under the front bar and came out the front door.
Danny and I sat down, him on the fender of the trailer and me on the pole of one of the jumps, while Daddy made a big deal of putting some oats in a couple of buckets. When Jack came zipping over, Daddy kind of pushed him aside and walked up the ramp. He set one bucket down at the front of Jack’s side of the trailer, and then he hung Nobby’s bucket on her side, where she could get it. He left the front door open so that if Jack came around, he could see her eating.
Then Dad came to the back of the trailer and leaned against the side. All this time we were pretending that Jack was not staring into the trailer, that he was not putting his two front feet on the ramp and leeeaaannning forward trying to see or sniff something, that he did not give a little whinny, that he didn’t sort of bounce up in frustration and trot away. Nobby rattled her bucket. It was like she had been coached on exactly what to do.
Danny was still holding the lead rope, and finally Jack went over to him and nosed his leg. Danny snapped the lead rope back on him, then just eased off the fender and started walking him. Jack went along willingly. They walked all around, and then Danny walked up the ramp and into the trailer. The lead rope had a loop in it, but Danny was watching. He wanted Jack to follow him into the trailer, at least as far as his nose, but he didn’t want him to avoid the ramp and then get caught with the rope around the side of the trailer. But Jack was good. He stepped up onto the ramp and got as far as putting his front feet into the trailer. Danny gave him a bit of carrot, and asked him to back down the ramp before Jack got the idea of doing that himself.
Now it went pretty smoothly. They walked in and out several times, waited longer after going in and waited less time after going out, and sometimes Danny gave J
ack the carrot and sometimes a handful of the oats. After a while, Jack was going in and backing out easy as you please, in fact looking to do it. The next thing Danny did was give Jack to me, untie Nobby in front, undo her chain, and let her back out. Now it was her turn to wander around the arena. Then he lifted the ramp and shut the door, closing up the trailer completely, and we all walked away, leaving Jack and Nobby to do whatever they wanted. They went over to the fence and started reaching for bits of grass underneath the bottom rail. We went into the house and had some water.
We went out again. Danny walked over to the trailer and let down the ramp. Now it was like Jack couldn’t wait to get on there and see what was inside. We had to hold him back long enough to put the lead rope on him, and then he led Danny right in. He ate a bite of the oats, and Danny backed him out. The second time he finished the oats, and then he had to stand there for a few minutes before Danny let him out. The third time there were no oats, and I attached the chain in the back and Danny tied him up (you never ever tie a horse before attaching the chain). Next Daddy put Nobby back in her place, and we closed up the trailer. There was a little shuffling, but I looked in the window—no panicking. Daddy got into the truck and eased it away, around the arena and out the gate. Then he stopped. Still no panic.
By suppertime, Jack seemed happy and sane in the trailer, so we put the horses out, gave them some hay, and started cleaning up. At one point, Danny said, “Ralph Carmichael taught a horse to jump today. Took him about twenty minutes.”
I said, “Who’s Ralph Carmichael?”
Danny said, “Do you remember Andy and Daphne, at the show? Andy was riding the Appaloosa.”
“They were about the nicest people at the show.”
Danny nodded. “Well, Ralph is their dad. They’re staying at the Marble Ranch for a few months.”
Daddy said, “How did he teach a horse to jump in twenty minutes?”
“He looped a rope around his neck and sent him around in a circle, like they do with a lunge line, but the horse was much more free somehow. Thing was, Ralph was sitting on a horse, too. His horse was trained to do everything by leg pressure. First he stood there while Ralph sent the other horse around him, about thirty feet out, then Ralph walked his horse toward a jump while the other horse was still going around, and as he stood by the jump on his horse, the other horse jumped the jump. Never paused or hesitated. After a few times, they did it with Ralph’s horse trotting, and then they went around to another jump. Andy says tomorrow they’ll do it cantering.” Danny shook his head. “It was like Roy Rogers or something.”
I wished I’d seen it.
Danny turned to me and said, “You should see it. You should see it tomorrow. It’s not far from the high school, maybe fifteen minutes. I’ll pick you up at two, since Friday’s the early day.”
Danny had never offered to pick me up at school, so I knew I was in for something special.
As soon as I walked into the lunchroom the next day, Sophia jumped in front of me and said, “You’re coming tomorrow, right?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t realize it was supposed to be a regular thing. I—”
“We can pay you.”
I stared at her. “Why would you pay me?”
“We always pay professionals who ride our horses.”
She was serious, but I barked a laugh.
“What’s so funny? You get paid for teaching those girls.”
“I think Jane is just being nice to me.”
She said, “Maybe that’s how it started. But anyway, I’m going to call you tonight, and you can ask your mom.”
She was so serious and definite. I did not know how to handle Sophia. There was no telling her that I did not want to fall in love with Pie in the Sky. That would be embarrassing, and I didn’t have any other real reason to refuse to ride him. Daddy and Jane surely felt that I was learning something by riding a well-trained horse. So my only hope was that Mom would say I didn’t have time to stay there until noon. That wasn’t much of a hope. I said, “Well, call me.”
She nodded and walked away.
I truly did not understand Sophia. She was like a child, she was like a grown-up, she was like a girl, she was like a boy. She didn’t seem to know that she was the only kid at the high school with serious braids to her waist, her hair parted down the middle from her forehead to the nape of her neck. She didn’t seem to know that her eyes were the bluest eyes anyone had ever seen. She didn’t seem to know that other kids stared at her. She didn’t seem to know that she had walked away from her lunch without either eating it or throwing it in the trash can. Alana picked it up and threw it away.
What you first noticed about the Marble Ranch was the setting. You went through the gate, and there were hills covered with oaks on both sides, then a little meadow with a beautiful old oak standing there by itself, spreading and twisting in all directions, the limbs heavy but strong, the leaves just floating in the light. Right when you noticed that, the hill fell away into a wide valley that rolled back, golden and soft, to layers of retreating hills. The field to the left of the road was fenced, and Hereford cattle were grazing peacefully. To the right of the road was a big pond full of ducks and other birds, and behind that was a huge arena with two cattle chutes, one at the near end and one at the far end, and a small red equipment building. A bay horse was standing in the arena, his head over the gate and his ears pricked. The road swept up the hill to a pair of red barns that were shining in the afternoon sunlight, but Danny turned and drove to the arena and parked beside the equipment building. The door of that building was open, and here came Andy Carmichael. He smiled when he saw us and said, “Aren’t you Abby?”
I nodded.
“I’m great with names. But who’s this guy here again?”
“Joe Schmo,” said Danny, and they laughed.
I held out my hand for the bay to sniff it and said, “But what’s this one’s name?”
“Registered as Canterbury, but we call him Barry Boy. He’s four.”
I said, “He’s been jumping.”
“Yup. Pretty good at it. We’ll see.”
Danny said, “Tell her how you got this one.”
“Oh, that was funny.” We followed him into the arena, where he petted Barry Boy, then put a halter on him. They started to walk, and we followed. “My dad has this friend who trains jumpers, and I was supposed to go to a show up in Marin County to look at a horse she had for sale. The friend got waylaid by some tooth problem, and so she called my dad before she went to the dentist and described the horse, and she said to just go try him and call her back, because she expected to be laid up for the whole day.
“So we got to the show grounds and found the horse—a nice bay, no white markings. The groom was at breakfast or something. Dad and I get him out of the stall and walk him around, and then throw the tack on him and take him to the show ring—it was the day before the show, so we go straight to the main arena, warm him up, put him over a few warm-up jumps. He seems fine, so Dad jumps a little course with him, just three feet, nothing huge. We cool him out, brush him down, and put him back in the stall. Then the groom comes, and we say, ‘Well, we tried Buster, and he was pretty good. We’ll call Pepper about him’—the woman’s name is Pepper Austin. And the groom says, ‘Buster ain’t been out of his stall all morning. I just hosed him down.’ So Dad and the groom walk over to the stalls, and Dad points out the horse we were working with, and the groom says, ‘That ain’t Buster, that’s Canterbury. Miss Pepper picked him up at Golden Gate Fields last night, and he’s headed down to Vista del Canada, but we ain’t had a chance to take him there yet. We just stuck him in a free stall.’
“Dad asked how old he was, and the groom said, ‘He’s a three-year-old. Had two wins already. He’s going to Hollywood Park.’ Well, we laughed about that. Dad never even noticed that he was a stallion, not a gelding.” Andy laughed a merry laugh and said, “Anyway, he had a few chances at Hollywood Park, but he didn’t win anything
, so they gelded him and called us.”
I looked up the hill and saw that Daphne was trotting down the road. When she saw me, she waved, then turned off the road and came straight down the hillside in her jeans and cowboy boots. In the meantime, Andy began leading Barry Boy out the gate. We followed him to a meadow near the pond and met Daphne in a medium-sized paddock that I hadn’t noticed when we were driving in. Ralph Carmichael was already there, moving poles and jump standards. If I hadn’t known he was their father, I would have thought he was their grandfather—he had white hair sort of fluffing around his face, and also a white mustache that had been smoothed into bars with the ends turned up. He was tall and wiry—Andy came to about his chin. “Ready?” said Mr. Carmichael, then to us, “Nice and quiet here now. Beautiful spot at this time of day.”
Andy took Barry Boy over to one corner and began lunging him while Ralph set three jumps down the center of the pen. If you drew a line, one would be on one side of the line, a single vertical, and on the other side, an in-and-out. Opposite to the vertical, along the rail of the pen, he set up another vertical. I saw right away what they were going to do—if you lunged the horse in a circle on one side of the pen, you could jump him over the in-and-out, and if you lunged him on the other side of the pen, the two verticals would be on opposite sides of the lunging circle.
Andy was hopping around in the middle of the circle, waving his arms, then springing suddenly at Barry Boy, even saying, “Boo!” Barry Boy flinched once, and kicked up his heels once, and I saw that the Carmichaels viewed lunging the way I saw working the round corral—not a way for the horse to learn to settle down, but a way to get the bucks out. When Ralph and Daphne had set the jumps the way they wanted, Andy took off Barry Boy’s halter and walked away from the horse at a brisk clip. Barry Boy trotted after him. When Barry Boy got to Andy, Ralph called out, “Yup!” and Andy gave Barry Boy a treat of some sort.