The Long Ride

by Bonnie Bryant

“Well, it looks like a fast walk to me,” Scott said.

  “Slow down, boy,” Emily said as if she meant it, but neither Ben nor the horse slowed down a bit.

  Callie was so focused on the work she was doing—and there was no doubt that it was work—that she was almost unaware of her brother’s concern. Scott wasn’t the natural-born rider that his sister was. He was a natural-born talker—star of every debate team he’d ever been on—and destined to be a politician like his father.

  “She’ll be fine as long as she isn’t distracted,” Ben said, speaking for the first time as he continued to lead PC across the ring. Ben had all the patience in the world for horses. He didn’t have much tolerance for people, though, and that seemed to include Scott in particular.

  Scott merely glared at him, but he did stop fretting out loud. He stepped back and stood by his parents. His father slung an arm over his shoulder.

  Up on the hillside, Carole and Stevie could see it all, and although they couldn’t hear, they knew what was going on.

  “I don’t think Scott is ever going to speak to me again,” Stevie said.

  “Oh, he’ll get over it,” said Carole.

  “He told me I should have just hit the horse and been done with it. That was what he said, ‘and been done with it.’”

  “If he knew anything about horses or driving, he would know that if a car hits a horse, there aren’t any winners. You swerved, and it probably saved all of our lives. Even the police investigation said so.”

  “I wonder,” Stevie said.

  “Don’t. It’s true,” said Carole. “There’s no point in wondering about it.”

  “No, I don’t mean that. I mean, I wonder how much I saved,” Stevie said. “Look at Callie.”

  “She’s going to be fine,” said Carole.

  “Maybe. And then there’s Fez.”

  Fez was the horse Stevie had swerved to avoid hitting. She’d hit him anyway, and the impact had sent the car tumbling down the hillside. The horse had been left on the road, badly hurt.

  If he hadn’t been so valuable, he would have been put down right away. He’d broken a leg that wasn’t going to heal easily, if at all. As part of his recovery, he’d spent some time suspended in a tank of water that kept his weight off the leg. Most owners couldn’t afford to give their horses the kind of treatment Fez had received, but the Foresters had insisted that the vet do everything possible to save him.

  “Maybe Fez’ll make it; maybe he won’t,” Carole said.

  “You sound like you almost don’t care,” said Stevie. “An odd thought for somebody who’s never met a horse she didn’t like.”

  Carole smiled. “Fez might possibly be the exception to that,” she said, shaking her head. Fez was a top-level endurance horse, and some of the qualities that made him a champion in that sport made him difficult to love, from Carole’s point of view. Endurance riding demanded enormous spirit, heart, and determination from both horse and rider. In the case of Fez, that also seemed to translate into stubbornness. Carole had been exercising him and found herself at odds with the animal almost every time she rode him. He’d been a challenge she hadn’t met easily. And then she’d seen Callie ride him and it had been as if he were a different animal. Callie knew exactly how much room to give him to let him strut his stuff. He was fiery, to be sure, but Callie managed him by letting him at least think he was in charge. It was a formidable partnership.

  Another part of Fez’s spirit came from his total awareness of what was going on around him. He was highly sensitive and reacted to everything, which meant he spooked easily. He’d been out in the paddock when the freak thunderstorm struck, and the lightning had terrified him into jumping a four-and-a-half-foot fence onto the road, straight into the path of Stevie’s car.

  “But just because I didn’t like riding Fez doesn’t mean I don’t care about him,” Carole said.

  “Oh, I know that. A day hasn’t gone by that you haven’t either stopped by the clinic or called to find out how he was doing.”

  “And every time I stopped by, you were there, too,” Carole reminded her.

  “A pair of softies, that’s what we are,” said Stevie. “Besides, it was a way to avoid the journalists who wanted to talk to me all the time. At the hospital, at home, every time I turned around, there they were. Somehow or other they never located the clinic.” Right after the accident, Stevie had been flooded with requests for interviews. Reporters wanted to talk to the driver of the car that had so seriously hurt “the congressman’s daughter.” It hadn’t helped Stevie’s own recovery at all.

  Stevie and Carole watched the rest of the lesson in silence, enjoying the interaction between horse and rider. It didn’t seem odd to either of them that in this instance the horse was doing more of the instructing than the rider.

  The two girls, along with their friend Lisa Atwood, who was spending the summer in California, had ridden together for a long time. Riding was something they always enjoyed, even when it was work, and for each of them there had been times when the very act of riding was itself an act of healing.

  Carole glanced at Stevie, who was sitting still, intently watching Callie and Emily, and watching the people who were watching Callie and Emily. Carole hoped Callie’s healing would mark the beginning of Stevie’s healing. Stevie might be able to fool some people about how well she had recovered from the trauma of the accident and the crush of journalists, but she couldn’t fool Carole. Carole knew that the smile on Stevie’s face masked enormous doubt and pain in her heart. Stevie, after all, had been the one behind the wheel, and now nothing was the same.

  TWO

  In the schooling ring below, Carole saw that the session was coming to an end. Ben brought PC to a halt at the mounting block, where the therapist and Callie’s father were waiting to help Callie dismount.

  “C’mon,” Carole said, standing up. “Let’s go give a hand with the tack and grooming. PC could use some help.”

  Stevie looked doubtful. “Don’t you think there are enough people to help already?”

  Of course there were. There were a half dozen people watching this first session, but Carole didn’t think that was the point. “They’re all there to look after Callie. You and I should take care of PC.”

  “Okay,” Stevie agreed, somewhat reluctantly. Not for a minute did Carole think that Stevie’s hesitation had anything to do with PC or the idea of looking after a horse. It had nothing to do with horses and everything to do with people. Since Stevie still blamed herself for what had happened, Carole knew she was certain others did, too. “Others” included Callie’s parents and brother. Stevie wasn’t eager to face them again. Carole wasn’t going to be deterred. She gave Stevie a hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “Last one down there is a …”

  “Chicken?” Stevie supplied.

  Carole didn’t respond, just hurried down the hillside. Stevie followed more slowly.

  They arrived at the dismounting area to find that Callie was still receiving congratulations on her session.

  “You did really well,” the therapist was saying.

  “A good start,” said Emily.

  “You must be very tired,” said her mother.

  “Would you like me to carry you?” her father asked.

  Carole winced for Callie. It had to be extremely annoying to have all those well-wishers standing around telling her how she felt.

  As she watched the group crowding around Callie, Carole thought back to their first meeting. The two hadn’t hit it off. Carole had been put off by what she regarded as Callie’s arrogance and need for special treatment. Gradually she’d realized that Callie wasn’t arrogant, merely shy and uncomfortable in a new situation. Unfortunately, Carole had let her first impression affect the way she behaved toward the new girl. Then, before she could apologize and suggest that they start fresh, the accident had happened. Suddenly those minor differences didn’t seem important anymore. Now, as Callie began her journey to recovery, Carole was det
ermined that they would both start over as friends.

  For now, Carole didn’t see any point in adding to the confusion. She just smiled at Callie and took the horse’s lead rope to walk him back to his stall. Stevie followed.

  “Here, dear, I’ll get your crutches,” said Mrs. Forester.

  “I can carry her,” Congressman Forester said.

  Carole and Stevie were aware of a lot of chatter as they did the routine but enjoyable work that was part of riding. That meant untacking, grooming, watering, and feeding the sweet horse that had just exerted so much effort for their friend. They worked in silence, which was more than could be said about the others who were there.

  The therapist wanted to talk with Emily about future sessions, since she couldn’t be there every time. They had worked out a plan that would help Callie rebuild strength in her muscles and, with some luck and skill, overcome the residual brain damage from the accident.

  Callie’s parents talked intently with Max Regnery, the owner of Pine Hollow. Max had been instructing a class during the beginning of the session, but once the class was over, he had joined the well-wishers. They stood outside PC’s stall, so Carole and Stevie could hear that they were discussing Fez. The injured horse would be returning to Pine Hollow soon, released from the clinic.

  “We’re going to work with our vet—you’ve met Judy Barker, haven’t you? Well, she’s the best. And we’ll do whatever we can,” Max said.

  Carole listened, but she didn’t know what the Foresters were saying until Max answered them.

  “No,” he said. “It’s not a matter of money. He’ll get whatever care he needs. And whatever care seems best.”

  Carole and Stevie exchanged glances. “As if Max, or anyone here, could possibly ignore the needs of any horse!” Stevie whispered, giving PC a final brush and pat.

  Pine Hollow was a long-established stable with a lot of traditions. One of the strongest ones was that everybody there worked. When the girls were younger, they had thought that the primary reason for that was to keep costs down, and it certainly did that. When riders pitched in, it meant that the place needed fewer paid staff members, and that made riding accessible to more people.

  But it had taken a while for the girls to understand that there was a lot more to it. By helping, by looking after their own horses and often pitching in to help with other people’s, they’d learned that riding didn’t start when you got into the saddle and end when you dismounted. Riding was taking responsibility for your horse as well as riding it. That resulted in another of Pine Hollow’s traditions: turning out well-trained, successful horsemen and horsewomen. Pine Hollow’s “graduates” had earned lots of ribbons at prestigious horse shows, and some had gone on to distinguished careers in different aspects of riding, horse care, and stable management. Carole intended to be among them.

  “I’ll get his water bucket,” Carole said.

  Stevie went to get a fresh tick of hay. When she returned, she found that almost everybody was at PC’s stall. It looked like a tableau, with the players surrounding the featured characters. Callie was rubbing PC’s nose while the gentle horse chomped on a carrot she’d given him. Scott stood nearby, looking tense, as if the act of petting the horse could endanger his sister. The therapist looked proud, as if she’d invented therapeutic riding. Emily, clearly pleased that she’d been able to help, was holding on to PC’s halter with what looked like great pride of ownership. Ben was there, too, but he stood back, silent as usual.

  Carrying PC’s bucket, Carole made her entrance into the scene. The tableau broke apart, letting her into the stall.

  “Good start,” she said to Callie while she hooked the bucket on the wall.

  “I guess it was,” Callie said. She nodded, pleased, because what Carole had said was true. It was good, and it was a start, but it was only a start … but it was good.

  “Were you afraid?” Carole asked her.

  Scott recoiled at the question. He obviously didn’t like the idea that someone would challenge his sister’s courage. He started to protest, but Callie cut him off.

  “You bet,” she said. “But it worked out okay. I like riding again, and this feels right.”

  “Aren’t you tired and ready to go home?” Scott asked.

  “Not quite,” said Callie. “As long as everybody’s here, you can save me a lot of work—”

  “Anything we can do …,” Carole said quickly.

  “Not that kind of work,” said Callie. “Like writing out invitations kind of work. Mom and Dad are planning a party for this weekend—on Saturday. You’re all invited.” She looked around at everyone. Ben looked away, embarrassed.

  Callie saw that. “You, too, Ben, of course,” she said. “Definitely, all of you. It’s sort of a welcome-home party for me. In the backyard, cookout, swimming pool—the whole deal. Dad says he won’t even mind if we play music he doesn’t know how to dance to. It’s time we had some fun, don’t you think?”

  “Great idea,” Carole said.

  “Can you come, Emily?” Callie said.

  “Sure. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Stevie?”

  Stevie glanced at Scott. He didn’t look at her. It was probably just as well. If he had looked at her, it would have been a glare and Stevie would have chickened out. This party was for Callie, not Scott. “Of course I’ll be there,” she said.

  “You can bring Phil, too.”

  “Okay, I’ll see if he can come,” Stevie said, hoping very much that he would be able to. Phil, her boyfriend, would provide a good distraction from Scott’s moody glares.

  “Come on, honey. Time to go home now,” Congressman Forester said, joining the teenagers in the stable. He offered his arm to his daughter. Callie looked at it briefly and then took it. She was tired. It was clear to everyone that she was grateful for the support.

  The crowd dispersed. Emily gave PC a final pat and followed Callie to the car, chatting with Scott as they went. Carole took PC’s saddle to the tack room, and Ben picked up a pitchfork and began mucking out a stall down the aisle.

  Stevie stood and watched Callie. She cringed with each awkward step the girl took. It was her fault. All of it was her fault.

  THREE

  After Callie’s first session, Carole wasn’t in any hurry to leave Pine Hollow. She packed a tired Emily off to her own home, telling her she’d finish looking after PC. Stevie had disappeared, and Carole wasn’t surprised. The day had been hard on her.

  Carole wondered how she’d feel if she’d been the one behind the wheel. It wouldn’t matter how many times she was told it wasn’t her fault: she wouldn’t be any more ready to believe it than Stevie was. It was one thing to consider the matter abstractly: You did everything right. It wasn’t your fault. Nobody would have done anything different. It could have been so much worse. It was another thing to watch Callie struggle with each step.

  When Carole returned from the tack room, PC was waiting for her expectantly. Horses seemed to understand that a nice grooming and a rubdown were the payoff they got for a job well done. PC was smart enough to know that he’d done a good job.

  Carole scratched him affectionately on the cheek and patted his neck. It only took a few minutes to finish grooming him and give him his fresh hay and another handful of carrots. She gave him one last pat for good-bye and then stepped out of his stall, sliding the bolt into place behind her.

  She could hear someone working in a stall down the aisle. Curious, Carole followed the sound of hay being pitched expertly. By the sound of the third forkful, she knew it was Ben. It was funny how someone who said so little with words could say so much through his work.

  Right then Carole wasn’t feeling terribly social herself, but she decided to see what Ben was up to and give him a hand. She picked a shovel off the rack and went back down the aisle.

  Ben looked up when she appeared. If she hadn’t known him better, she might have thought he almost smiled when he saw her.

  “Thought you could us
e a hand,” she said.

  He answered with something that was more a grunt than a word. She took it as a thank-you and used her shovel to help clean the stall floor. When the wheelbarrow was full, she rolled it out to the manure pile and returned, picking up a fresh load of straw on the way. Together they spread the sweet grass on the floor of the stall—a stall that had been empty since the accident. That was when Carole looked at the nameplate on the stall door. The brass was still shiny and new, the name clear and clean: FEZ.

  “He’s coming back today?” Carole asked.

  “Needs a clean stall,” said Ben.

  “Is he—?”

  “Judy and Max talked. She says she’s done everything she can. It’s time for him to come home.”

  “Today?” Carole asked, repeating the question Ben hadn’t answered.

  “Looks that way,” he said. He glanced at his watch, offering no further information on the subject. Ben could be pretty infuriating—if you took that sort of thing personally. It wouldn’t have occurred to Carole to give so little information. Then she realized that, from Ben’s point of view, he wasn’t holding back information as much as speculation. He really wouldn’t know if Judy was actually going to bring the horse by that afternoon or if she might be delayed by an emergency with another of her patients and put it off until the next day. Carole sighed. Fez would be there when Judy brought him, no matter when that was.

  “Well, the place looks spick-and-span for our returning guest. I’ll go update the charts in his notebook so the office will be as ready for his arrival as the stall is.”

  Each of Pine Hollow’s horses and residents had a notebook in which all the caretakers, instructors, owners, and various professionals, including the vet and the farrier, could make notations. In some ways it was like a patient’s chart in a hospital. Most of the entries were pretty routine, noting feed blends, farrier appointments, and veterinary matters like immunizations and tests. Fez’s chart was mostly empty, since he’d only been at Pine Hollow a short while before the accident. Nevertheless, Carole needed to make notations for the records about his recovery since the accident, and she would have to put in whatever information and recommendations Judy had for Fez’s recuperative care.