All the King's Horses

by Laura C Stevenson

  Gwen smiled. ‘Thank you. I’m afraid his mind is everywhere but here, but I think he’ll be OK for Tiffany now.’ She dismounted and patted the horse. ‘What do you think, Dandy?’

  Dandy gave her a little bump with his nose. Mr Gordon and Tiffany ducked through the fence, and he shortened the stirrups while Tiffany stroked Dandy’s neck. After a minute, Mr Gordon gave Tiffany a leg up, and Gwen gave her the reins. ‘Just walk at first, Tiffany,’ she said anxiously. ‘Hardly anyone’s ridden him but me.’

  Tiffany nodded, and her face was very serious. When they started off, her back looked like someone had shoved a riding crop down it, and Dandy walked as if he were on eggs, but you could see they both knew what they were doing. I glanced at Grandpa; he was nodding.

  After they’d walked around the ring a few times, Mr Gordon called, ‘Try a trot.’

  Dandy swished his tail and looked at Gwen as Tiffany closed her legs, but he went into it. Tiffany’s serious look turned into a smile, and I knew why: it looked like Dandy was floating.

  Gwen smiled, too. ‘Isn’t that nice?’ she called to Tiffany. And then, turning to Mrs Gordon, she said, ‘She’s good.’

  ‘She’s very good,’ agreed Mrs Gordon. ‘She’s one of those kids whose whole heart is in her horse, but it’s more than sentiment. She works.’

  I gave Tiffany a thumbs-up as she rode by, but I wasn’t sure she saw it. She’d stopped smiling, and her face looked just like Grandpa’s; her whole mind was wrapped up in getting Dandy to go just exactly right. Walk, trot, halt. Walk, trot, circle, halt. Gradually, Dandy stopped looking around; his head came down, his strides got evener, and he looked really good.

  ‘OK,’ said Mr Gordon finally. ‘You’ve both done great. Let’s give him a break.’

  Tiffany looked sad, but she halted him in the centre and slid off. The Gordons and Gwen ducked through the fence and strolled towards her; before I could stop him, Grandpa had ducked through the fence, too, so we had to go with him. I was afraid he might go straight for Dandy, but he just nodded at everybody and stayed out of the way.

  ‘Well, what do you think, Tiffany?’ said Gwen. ‘Do you like him?’

  Tiffany nodded so hard I thought her helmet was going to fall off, but she didn’t say anything; she just stroked Dandy’s neck.

  ‘It looks like a good combination to me,’ said Mrs Gordon. ‘But of course, the decision is yours.’

  Gwen swallowed and looked over Dandy’s back. ‘You wouldn’t just ride him, would you, Tiffany? I mean, you’d talk to him?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ said Tiffany. ‘I’ve got lots of time, and I’d spend it all with him!’

  Gwen looked at her, and I saw tears in her eyes. ‘OK, then,’ she said. ‘It’s a deal.’

  ‘Thank you,’ whispered Tiffany. And she put both her arms around Dandy’s neck.

  Mr Gordon cleared his throat. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s that. Dandy can go in the extra stall while we do the paperwork, but first …’ He put his hand on Tiffany’s shoulder. ‘I think we should meet Tiffany’s friends.’

  Tiffany turned around, looking embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘This is Sarah Madison, and her brother Colin, and her grandfather, Angus O’Brien, and …’ Gwen made a little noise and stared when Tiffany said Grandpa’s name, so I thought that’s why she stopped. But when I looked at her, I could see that wasn’t so. She was staring at Jenny.

  I opened my mouth to explain who Jenny was, but Mr Gordon had already stepped forward. ‘Tom Gordon,’ he said. ‘And this is my wife, Judy.’ He held out his left hand to Grandpa. ‘We’re very pleased to have you here.’

  Grandpa smiled and shook hands, and when I introduced Jenny as our neighbour, everyone shook hands with her, too. Tiffany was looking OK then, so I figured she’d just been surprised to see us with a stranger.

  After all the introductions were over, Grandpa got down to business, just the way he always had. ‘Good girl, good horse,’ he said, laying his good hand on Tiffany’s shoulder and nodding at Dandy. ‘Good.’

  I bit my lip, because I wasn’t sure what everyone would think when they found out Grandpa couldn’t speak a whole sentence, but Tiffany and Gwen looked as if he’d just given them a trophy, and both the Gordons looked pleased, so it was OK.

  ‘Let’s go back to the tack room and have some cocoa,’ said Mrs Gordon.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Mr Gordon. ‘Would you like to see our horses, Mr O’Brien? They’re Thoroughbred crosses that we’ve raised from weanlings.’

  Grandpa nodded happily, and he followed Mr Gordon, Tiffany, and Gwen to the barn. Mrs Gordon looked after him, shaking her head. But before she could say anything, Jenny spoke up. ‘It’s great that Tiffany’s going to get that nice horse.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ said Mrs Gordon. ‘There’s some justice in the world at least, and she deserves all she can get. Her parents are …’ She glanced at Colin and me and broke off.

  Jenny watched Tiffany stop Dandy at the barn door. ‘She spend a lot of time here?’

  ‘A fair amount,’ said Mrs Gordon. ‘But it’s always touch and go. Most of the time, her parents are glad to have her off their hands, but sometimes they get defensive, or something – I can’t figure out exactly what it is. When that happens, they don’t let her come for a while. Fortunately, they slip back into their old ways pretty fast, but it’s very hard on her.’ She sighed. ‘I wish there were more we could do, but her social worker says there isn’t, since it’s not a matter of physical abuse—’

  ‘Cocoa’s ready!’ called Mr Gordon.

  We went in, and there was Grandpa, nodding while Gwen told him how she’d trained Dandy, and looking happier than I’d seen him look since he’d left Pennsylvania. I gave him half a cup of cocoa (so he wouldn’t spill it), and then listened to the horse talk until Tiffany edged over to me and said, ‘Let’s go look at Dandy.’

  I nodded, and we slipped out. As we walked down the aisle, I thought she was going to talk about how great Dandy was, but instead she said, ‘Is Jenny really your neighbour?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, looking over my shoulder to be sure the tack room door was shut, ‘she lives in one of the warehouses, with those … er, poor people. But she’s really nice.’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ said Tiffany, looking embarrassed. ‘I didn’t mean that. It’s just … never mind.’ She dug two carrots out of her pocket and handed one to me. ‘Let’s give him these.’

  Dandy stuck his head over the stall door and bopped her with his nose. She giggled and gave him his carrot. ‘Isn’t he cute?’ she said.

  ‘He sure is,’ I said, and I felt a little sad as I watched him rub his head on Tiffany’s shoulder. He’d never go to the Olympics – he just wasn’t that sort of horse – but he was well-trained, and sweet, and if I’d had a horse like that, I’d have been the happiest kid in the world.

  Tiffany looked out the barn door. ‘Look, it’s starting to snow! Isn’t it pretty?’ She sighed happily and leaned against the stall door. ‘Oh, Sarah – I never even dreamed things could be this perfect. Not for me.’

  Something about the way she said it made me ashamed of feeling jealous. ‘You deserve things

  to be perfect,’ I said. And I meant it.

  *

  We didn’t have to walk back; Mrs Gordon gave us a ride as far as our road. She wanted to take us all the way to our house, so she could tell Mom we could come and visit the horses whenever we wanted – but I said we hadn’t been sure Grandpa could walk that far, so we hadn’t told Mom where we were going, and it would be better, all in all, if we explained what had happened and got her to call. Mrs Gordon gave Jenny a funny look and said it sure was a good thing she’d come along with us, but she smiled when she dropped us off by the tracks, so we knew she wouldn’t squeal.

  We were going to tell Mom right away – both about the Gordons and about how much better Grandpa was when there were horses around – but when we got home, there was a three-coloured Chevy with fins behind our old humpbacked For
d in the driveway, and there was smoke coming out of the chimney. I looked at Colin. ‘Should we go in the front door and say hi to Mom’s friend?’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ he said quickly. ‘It’ll take a lot of horse visits before Grandpa’s comfortable with guests. It’d be better to go in the side door and up the back stairs.’

  We did, and it worked, which showed us Grandpa really was better. Usually when we came home, he looked around for Mom, but this time, he settled right down in his study. I brushed my hair and put it back in the clasp Mom was always trying to get me to wear; then I went to Colin’s room to persuade him to come be polite, but he’d put his No Trespassing sign on his door. I couldn’t figure that out – he’d been so happy all the way home because of Grandpa – but I knew better than to barge in when that sign was up, so I left him be.

  When I got downstairs, the sliding double doors to the living room were closed, which was unusual. Of course, in a drafty old house like that, it didn’t do much good to light a fire unless you closed the doors, but … I tiptoed up to them and peeked through the little crack. And I saw Mr Crewes and Mom sitting on the sofa.

  I thought of going to fetch Colin; then I thought some more. Mr Crewes had driven him home the afternoon Grandpa went to the playground, so he must have recognized the new Chevy. Maybe that was what had upset him. I peeked through the crack again. There wasn’t much to be upset about; there was a whole cushion between them, and they were both drinking coffee. But Mom wasn’t looking very happy, so I decided I’d better listen a little before I went in.

  Mr Crewes was talking. ‘And you think he’s getting worse?’

  ‘Define “worse”,’ said Mom. ‘He’s been wandering less, but doesn’t always recognize Sarah and Colin any more. And if you knew how much they meant to him …’

  Mr Crewes frowned. ‘Did the specialist you saw expect the disease to stabilize?’

  ‘I thought so,’ said Mom, ‘but maybe that’s just what I wanted to believe. Recently – well, one of the big maples in the front yard is rotting from the centre. And every time I pass it, I look at the rot and think, what is there to stop it?’

  What is there to stop it? Of course, she wasn’t really talking about a tree; she was talking about Grandpa. I swallowed hard, wondering if it was wrong to pray to faeries.

  ‘It’s always possible that the process can be retarded.’

  ‘By whom?’ she said. ‘All the specialist could tell me was that nobody understood the brain well enough to help Dad, let alone to cure him.’

  ‘There are other specialists,’ he said. ‘My college roommate is a doctor now. If I wrote to him, he might be able to recommend somebody.’

  ‘Suppose he did,’ she said bitterly, ‘and suppose I took Dad to see the specialist, and the specialist told me what I already know in my heart – that the deterioration will go on and on until Dad loses everything that gives a man self. Would we be any better off than we are now?’

  Mr Crewes got up to put down his coffee cup; when he sat down again, it was on the cushion that had been between him and Mom. ‘If a specialist knew that, he could at least give you sympathetic and reliable advice. And that would be valuable, if not now, at least later. Eventually, for both the children’s sake and your own, you’d have to send him to—’

  ‘– an old folks’ prison?’ She looked into the fire; then she said, in a tight sort of voice, ‘You don’t know who he was.’

  ‘Not directly,’ he said. ‘But I’ve gotten to know Colin pretty well. And every time I talk to him, I run into a hero. Sometimes it’s Einstein, sometimes it’s a warrior with an unspellable Gaelic name, but they’re always grand and wonderful, from a world altogether different from the TV and comic-book facsimiles the other boys idolize. That kind of consciousness can only come from personal experience.’

  Mom nodded. ‘Oh yes – and it wasn’t just the way he survived losing his arm, or his genius in the ring. He had a … bardic gift, I guess you could call it. He lived and breathed stories as he lived and breathed horses. And they interacted, somehow. One foot in the Otherworld, the other in the barn.’ She smiled, but her face looked sad. ‘And I lost him. Not now – long ago.’

  ‘Lost him?’ Mr Crewes sounded surprised.

  Mom sighed. ‘We had a major falling out over my marriage.’

  I edged closer to the door.

  ‘You see,’ she went on, ‘Peter’s family was of the same … class, I guess you could say … as the Smithes. That’s why we met, as a matter of fact – he roomed with the Smithes’ oldest son at Harvard, and they came to the farm for Easter. But Dad was the runaway son of an Irish drunk, self-educated, prone to settle matters with his fists – proud as a king, but no gentleman.’

  Mr Crewes nodded.

  ‘You’re going to laugh,’ Mom went on, ‘but I didn’t understand what that meant. I went to school with children like the Smithes’, and because I was Dad’s daughter, and in the paper a lot because I’d won horse show championships, most of the other kids looked up to me. So, although the Smithes never even invited us into the living room when we went there to talk about strategies for the next show, I always thought we were their equals.’

  Suddenly, in my mind, I was running over to the Big House at the Smithes’ to ask Mrs Smithe if she wanted me to ride one of the young hunter-jumpers in the next show instead of Fay (‘my’ pony). I was all excited, because Grandpa had said Mrs Smithe would probably say yes. I burst in the front door and dashed past the picture of the stag and the dogs into the living room – and stopped short, because the Smithes were sitting there with some of the people whose horses Grandpa trained. They were all in riding clothes; it wasn’t a party or anything. But when Mrs Smithe turned and saw me, I could tell I’d broken the rules, and I backed out, saying I was sorry I’d interrupted, which was what I thought I’d done wrong. But now I saw that what I’d done wrong was be there, in the living room. And I saw why, all those years, though the Smithes had been nice to us kids, I’d never really liked them.

  I came back to the real world with a bump, and realized I’d missed something. ‘ … no difference to two eighteen-year-olds in love,’ Mom was saying. ‘But both families exploded. Peter’s parents said I was a fortune-hunter; and Dad said a man like Peter never married an Irish girl – he just made promises until she was in a family way, then left her.’

  Mr Crewes shook his head, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he was knocked speechless, like I was, that anybody – let alone Grandpa or Grandfather and Grandmother Madison – would say things like that. Mom glanced at him and went on.

  ‘Dad was especially bitter because the minute the War ended, he’d started making plans for me to study dressage at the Spanish Riding Academy. With that behind me, he figured I could qualify for the 1948 Olympics.’

  ‘You were that good?’ Mr Crewes’s voice said he was as impressed as I was.

  ‘That was part of the problem,’ said Mom. ‘I wasn’t. I was beautifully taught, and I worked hard, but I never had that extra ounce of genius that makes a truly great rider like Dad. He never admitted that, but I knew.’ She shook her head. ‘So there I was, between Peter – bright, polished, subtle in all the ways Dad wasn’t – and Dad, with his prejudices, his left fist, his hopes …’

  ‘And you chose Peter,’ said Mr Crewes with a sad smile. ‘Throwing over years of training for a school boy.’

  ‘A Harvard boy, to make things worse. When Dad realized I was really going to do it, he said terrible things. I’d heard them before, plenty of times, but they’d never been directed at me. This time, though, they were, and finally I got angry back, and I said …’ Her voice lowered. ‘I said I wanted my own life, because I was sick of living out his Olympic dreams.’

  ‘Oh, Deirdre!’

  ‘Don’t say it. The moment it was out of my mouth, I was sorry.’ She sighed. ‘But the rift never healed. Peter and I got married – his parents relented at the last minute and came, but Dad didn’t. I wrote sometimes, but he didn’t
write back until Sarah was born. After that, he called on her birthday, and later, on Colin’s; and when I wrote that Peter’s reserve unit had been sent to Korea, he offered to take the kids for the summer. And so they became … ambassadors. Bearers of the regret I wasn’t allowed to offer in person.’ She dropped her head into her hands. ‘It was so unnecessary. And now – what can I say? It’s too late.’

  Mr Crewes put an arm around her shoulder. ‘It’s not too late,’ he said. ‘You said yourself how much the children mean to him. And look how much you’ve given him since he’s been ill.’

  ‘I couldn’t just turn him out in the streets, could I?’ she said, in a voice that didn’t sound like Mom’s at all.

  I couldn’t believe she’d said that, but Mr Crewes didn’t seem to be upset about it. ‘That’s what I was saying earlier,’ he said quietly. ‘There are hospitals, as well as old folks’ homes.’

  ‘What?’ she said, turning on him. ‘Send him off to strangers? Leave him to lose his sanity and his dignity with nobody to grieve for him? How could I do that? He was the king of trainers, a poet, a hero! And even if he hadn’t been, he’s my father, and I love him with all my heart!’ Her voice choked off, and she cried and cried, and Mr Crewes put both arms around her and stroked her hair.

  I went upstairs and checked on Grandpa. He was asleep on his office sofa, so I could have gone and told Colin about Mom and Dad and all the rest. But I didn’t; I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about it.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about it myself.

  I NEVER DID tell Colin about Mr Crewes and Mom; after all, it might not have been what it looked like, and I didn’t want to upset him, especially since he spent every supper telling us about the nifty things he and Mr Crewes were doing at school. I didn’t tell him about the hospital stuff, either, because he was impatient enough about not being able to get back to Faerie as it was. But I did tell him about Mom and Grandpa, and he thought it was just as sad as I did. We agreed it meant we had to be extra nice to Mom, and we started cleaning the house and doing all the dishes without being asked; she was really pleased. So everything was fine, except the way I felt about her not telling us that Mr Crewes had been the friend she’d gone shopping with, or that he’d come to visit. There was nothing wrong with those things, of course; it was just … well, she was the one who’d said ‘no secrets’.