DOES CAROLE’S MOUNT HAVE
WHAT IT TAKES?
Carole turned Spice’s head toward the woods. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, that Louise and Jessie were already somehow in trouble.
Willing though Spice was, Carole wished she were riding Jiminy, the sturdy Morgan, or Kismet, the stalwart Arabian. She hoped Spice had the courage, ability, and steadiness to do what she needed him to do. Still, he was the best horse she had. She had no choice but to take him.
She gave Spice a cluck and a kick to send him forward. They rode out into the darkness. The wind blew stiff and cold, and the snow was falling hard.…
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RL 5, 009–012
PUREBRED
A Skylark Book / December 1994
Skylark Books is a registered trademark of Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and elsewhere.
“The Saddle Club” is a trademark of Bonnie Bryant Hiller.
The Saddle Club design/logo, which consists of an inverted U-shaped design, a riding crop, and a riding hat, is a trademark of Bantam Books.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1994 by Bonnie Bryant Hiller.
Cover art copyright © 1994 by Garin Baker.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.
eISBN: 978-0-307-82523-0
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036.
v3.1
I would like to express my special thanks
to Kimberly Brubaker Bradley
for her help in the writing of this book.
Contents
Cover
Other Skylark Books
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
CAROLE HANSON SHIVERED slightly as she hurried up the icy dirt driveway of Pine Hollow Stables. It was below freezing—cold for Virginia, even in mid-December—and the wind blew hollowly through the bare branches of the trees that lined the drive.
Carole looked at the trees and smiled to herself. She’d been thinking about trees all day, but not these kinds of trees. Ms. Kendall, Carole’s social studies teacher, had assigned Carole’s class a family-tree project for them to complete over Christmas vacation. “The holidays are a good time for this because most of you will be visiting your relatives,” Ms. Kendall had said. “I want you to talk to them about this project. Learn from your own oral history.”
Carole knew that oral history is history passed down as stories from one generation to another. They had been studying it in school. Carole was excited about the project. Of course, she wasn’t planning to spend Christmas with her relatives. Carole’s dad was a Marine Corps colonel, and for years they had lived in different places all over the world. Now his assignment at Quantico, the Marine Corps base near Washington, D.C., seemed more or less permanent, but they had gotten out of the habit of spending the holidays with family. With the exception of her Dad’s sister Joanne, who lived in Florida, and her aunt Elaine, who lived in North Carolina, she didn’t know any of her relatives very well.
Carole shook her head to clear her thoughts. She’d had to stop at the library after school, and now she was running late for the riding lesson she took every Tuesday afternoon. It wasn’t like Carole to be late for anything—even though she could be spacey sometimes—and it was especially not like her to be late for riding. Carole loved horses more than anything else in the world. When she grew up she planned to spend her life with them, somehow—rider, trainer, vet, horse breeder, she never could decide—but for now she spent every minute she could at Pine Hollow Stables with her horse, Starlight.
Carole rushed through the main door of the U-shaped stable and walked quickly down the aisle, calling greetings to the horses as she went. She swung her book bag off her shoulder as she hurried into the tack room. “Hello, Lisa, Hello, Stevie!” she said to her two best friends.
Lisa Atwood was already dressed in her neat riding clothes and was settling her hard hat over her medium-length light brown hair. “You’re late,” she said with a slightly worried smile. “Is anything wrong?” Lisa was a straight-A student and the most serious of the three.
“Library book,” Carole answered briefly. She rummaged through the cubby where she kept her riding gear. “Overdue!” She shook out her old rust breeches and began to put them on. Max Regnery, the owner of Pine Hollow, absolutely hated it when his students were late.
“I can’t imagine why you’d think a library book was so important,” joked Stevie. “I don’t worry about mine until they’re months overdue. The last time, I ended up buying Charlotte’s Web from the library—the book cost less than the fine.”
Stephanie Lake—called Stevie by everyone except her mother—was equally good at riding and at getting into trouble. She was also usually pretty good at getting out of trouble, but no one had ever accused her of paying too much attention to books or to school. It wasn’t that she wasn’t smart. It was just that she could always think of more interesting ways to spend her time—like gluing her twin brother Alex’s shoes to the floor.
“It was months overdue,” Carole said. She pulled a sweatshirt on over the plaid blouse she’d worn to school and began brushing her black hair into a low ponytail. “I found it under my bed. And what were you doing with Charlotte’s Web? I read that in the third grade.”
“It was the third grade,” Stevie replied, grinning. “My mom said I should stick with the school library after that. Fenton Hall doesn’t charge fines.”
“Not to interrupt,” Lisa cut in, “but we don’t want Carole to be late, and we certainly don’t want all of us to be late. Carole, we’ve got Barq and No-Name ready. Why don’t we groom Starlight for you?”
“That’d be great,” Carole said gratefully. “I’ll be there as soon as I get my boots on.” Stevie and Lisa left the tack room.
I may not know much about my family, Carole thought, but at least I know a lot about my friends. She knew she could always count on Lisa and Stevie. The three of them were such good friends—and loved horses so much—that they had formed a club they called The Saddle Club
. It had only two rules: Members had to be horse-crazy, and they had to be willing to help each other whenever help was needed. Those were the easiest two rules in the world for Carole, Lisa, and Stevie. And although there were other “out-of-town” members of The Saddle Club, including Stevie’s boyfriend, Phil Marsten, the three girls were the only members who rode at Pine Hollow. They had had a lot of adventures and solved a lot of problems together.
AFTER THEIR LESSON, Carole gave Starlight a thorough grooming to make up for the hurried one he’d gotten before class. Starlight was Carole’s pride and joy. He was a tall bay gelding with a lopsided, six-point white star on his forehead, and he had been a Christmas present from Carole’s father. And from her mother, too, sort of … Carole’s mother had died just a few years ago, and Starlight had been purchased with some money she had left for Carole. Starlight was still very young and Carole had been working hard training him. She was delighted with how far he’d come.
When she had finished and Starlight was happily munching hay in his stall, Carole went down to visit the newest horse at Pine Hollow—Stevie’s mare, No-Name. Stevie’s eyes were still glowing with the incredible joy of actually owning a real live horse, and she was brushing No-Name over and over even though the mare’s chestnut coat already shone like a copper mirror. Lisa was standing on a step stool combing No-Name’s mane.
No-Name wasn’t really her name. That was the problem. The horse had arrived without a name, and Stevie wasn’t going to be happy until she’d found the perfect one for her. No-Name was part Arabian, part saddlebred, and lately Stevie had been focusing on Arabian names.
“How about Sarouk?” Stevie was saying as Carole walked over, picked up a comb, and began to work on No-Name’s tail.
“No.” Lisa shook her head.
“Tabriz?”
“Really, Stevie!” Carole said, laughing. “Where did you come up with those? Princess Jasmine was a better idea!”
“Ick.” Lisa wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think you’ve found it yet, Stevie. Not Sarouk, Tabriz, or Princess Jasmine.”
Stevie looked a little embarrassed. “Actually,” she confessed, “Sarouk and Tabriz are kinds of Oriental carpets. I looked them up in the dictionary.”
“That’s the problem,” Lisa said. “You’re looking at all these fancy names, and they don’t fit your horse’s personality. She’s like you, Stevie. ‘Sarouk’ wouldn’t fit you, either. Give her something straightforward—something adventuresome.”
“But she ought to have an Arabian name,” Stevie insisted. “She’s part Arabian, and she should have a name that reflects her heritage. Bloodlines are very important in horses—and you know that Arab stallions can trace their breeding back hundreds of years.”
“That’s true, and I know that bloodlines can tell you a lot about a horse,” said Carole. “I mean, good racehorses usually descend from good racehorses. Having a stallion like Man O’War or Secretariat in your horse’s pedigree can really be important. And then look at show jumping: so many good jumpers are out of Good Twist’s line, and—”
“Stop her!” Stevie cried.
All of them, even Carole, laughed. Carole was known for letting her enthusiasm get the best of her when she was talking about horses. They put down their brushes and began settling No-Name in her stall.
“But you’re forgetting the other half of No-Name’s pedigree,” Lisa said, returning to the subject of names. “She’s half saddlebred, and that was a breed developed in the American South. Maybe you should name her something southern, like Robert E. Lee—”
“She’s a mare!” Stevie declared.
“Or Scarlett O’Hara …”
Stevie wrinkled her nose. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t think so.”
“That reminds me,” said Carole. She told her friends about her assignment to trace her family tree. “I’ve decided to trace my mother’s side,” she said. “I don’t know that much about her family, and I feel as if I should learn more. I want to remember my mother, and find out more about her life.
“Plus,” she continued, with a teasing glance at her friends, “I’m sure I can find out something great about my family that’ll explain why I’m such a fantastic person. There’s bound to be someone special in my pedigree!”
“Like Man O’War,” suggested Stevie.
“No, Good Twist,” Lisa corrected her. “Carole prefers show jumping to racing.”
They laughed again, and at the sound of their laughter Mrs. Reg, short for Regnery, came around the corner. She was Max’s mother and the manager of the stable. She was known for her never-ending supply of horse stories, and also for her strange dislike of seeing riders stand idle when there was work to be done.
Now she smiled hello to the three girls and reached over the stall door to give No-Name a pat. “I was just noticing,” she said, “that Prancer’s stall needs cleaning out. If you girls don’t have—”
“We’ll do it, Mrs. Reg,” Carole interrupted quickly. It was a Pine Hollow tradition that all the riders did stable chores. It kept the costs down and taught the riders a lot about horse care. They got a wheelbarrow and pitchforks and moved down to Prancer’s stall.
“Prancer’s bloodlines being what they are, you’d think she’d be smart enough to clean her own stall!” Stevie joked as she haltered the mare and hitched her to cross-ties in the aisle. She paused to pat Prancer as she did so. Prancer had been a racehorse until an injury made her unfit for the track. She was a Thoroughbred and still somewhat untrained, but she loved people and now she was rubbing her nose against Stevie’s palm.
“That’s the problem,” Lisa said as she wheeled the wheelbarrow into the stall. “The fancier and finer the horse, the more it needs special care. In fact”—Lisa straightened up and grabbed a pitchfork—“we need to plan a celebration for Prancer!”
“Why?” asked Stevie. “Not that I mind a party, but …”
“Her birthday,” Lisa explained. “New Year’s Day!”
“That’s right, I’d forgotten,” Carole said. “All Thoroughbreds celebrate their official birthdays on New Year’s. It makes it easier to sort them into age classes on the racetrack.”
“And the poor horse who is born December thirty-first still turns one year old the next day,” said Lisa. “That horse will never make it to the track. Imagine racing against three-year-olds when you’re really barely two!”
“That’s why most horses are born in the spring,” Carole said.
“That, and the warmer weather. After all, most wild animals are born in the spring. But New Year’s is still Prancer’s birthday, and I think we should plan something special for that Saturday,” said Lisa.
They all agreed that Prancer deserved a celebration. Stevie promised to try to come up with something. Lisa and Carole smiled—when it came to parties, Stevie could usually think of something good.
“Prancer—now, that’s a good name for a horse,” said Stevie as she carefully turned over the bedding in Prancer’s stall. “Maybe I should name No-Name something like that.”
“Like what?” asked Lisa.
“Like one of Santa’s reindeer? Stevie, I don’t think so,” said Carole.
“It was just an idea,” Stevie said a little defensively. “It’s not that I actually want people to think reindeer when they see her.” She paused. “How you think they say reindeer in Arabic, anyway?”
“Probably ‘reindeer,’ ” said Lisa. “I don’t think Arabic countries are famous for their reindeer populations.” She grabbed the now-full wheelbarrow by its handles and began wheeling it down the aisle.
“Do you think you really need an Arabic name?” asked Carole. She unhooked Prancer’s water bucket from her stall and carried it down the aisle.
When Lisa returned from dumping the old bedding into the manure spreader outside, she and Stevie began to refill the wheelbarrow with fresh sawdust bedding from the pile in the corner of the stable. Nearby, Carole rinsed, cleaned, and refilled Prancer’s water bucket.
> “I wouldn’t call it necessary,” said Lisa. “It’s not that I dislike Arabic names. It’s just that I don’t know any that I do like. I don’t know enough Arabic. And I think a name should mean something.”
“Barq means ‘lightning’ in Arabic,” Stevie reminded Lisa. Barq was an Arabian gelding that Lisa often rode.
“Veronica diAngelo’s Arabian mare is named Garnet,” Lisa retorted. Veronica diAngelo was a rich, spoiled girl that The Saddle Club knew and despised. Garnet was a beautiful horse, and they felt she didn’t deserve such an obnoxious and uncaring owner.
“All that means is that Veronica is more interested in pricey jewels than in her horse,” Stevie said. “Catch me naming No-Name after a gemstone. ‘Sapphire, my precious Sapphire.’ ” She mimicked Veronica’s high, whiny voice.
“Might as well call her Rolls-Royce or Mink Coat,” agreed Carole. “It’s not your style—and I’m glad it isn’t!”
For a moment, Carole was lost in her own thoughts. Naming Starlight had been easy—she had first ridden him on Pine Hollow’s annual Christmas Eve Starlight Ride, and, of course, he had a star on his forehead. Starlight was the perfect name. But No-Name was a bigger challenge. She wished she could help Stevie come up with a name for her horse.
The three girls returned to Prancer’s stall and finished their work, and then put Prancer back in her stall.
“It’s got to be a great name,” Stevie insisted. She paused to give No-Name a final pat.
Lisa put an arm around her friend. “Don’t worry, The Saddle Club will think of something,” she reassured Stevie.
“We always do,” Carole chimed in.
Stevie smiled at her friends, and they smiled back. Together, they could solve any problem.
DURING THE LONG bus ride home from Pine Hollow, Carole had plenty of time to think about her family-tree project. The more she thought, the more excited she became. This could be really fun! Carole couldn’t wait to discover all the wonderful stories about her ancestors. Maybe her bloodlines were something special.
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