“And it does more than that,” Nadine added. “It makes us feel like we’re doing some good in this world. Making a difference.” She smiled at her husband. “Passing on a little bit of ourselves.”
Carole had no idea what to say. Why were Lionel and Nadine telling her all this? It was making her more uncomfortable than ever.
“Lionel!” Craig Skippack called at that moment, waving at them from the playground. “Nadine! Yo! Can you give us a hand with this safety fence when you have a sec?”
“Be right there!” Nadine called back.
Lionel smiled at Carole as he and his wife stood and brushed the dirt off their knees. “Anyway, thanks for listening, Carole. We’ll catch you later, okay?”
Carole was relieved when they’d left her alone once again with her work. Good, she thought, the couple’s story fading as thoughts of Ben, Starlight, her job, and her father returned at full force. Maybe now I can stop thinking about other people’s problems and get back to the business of figuring out what to do about my own.
NINE
“You are certain this horse is pure Morgan?” Greta bluntly asked the short, portly man. “His chest looks rather narrow.”
“Sure’s I’m standing here,” the barn manager drawled in response. He pushed back his wide-brimmed hat and shifted the toothpick he was chewing on from one corner of his mouth to the other as he blinked at the compact, handsome bay gelding standing in front of them. “Sire goes straight back to Bullrush. And check out that tail. Pretty nice, eh?”
Greta nodded shortly, barely sparing a glance for the horse’s long, flowing dark tail before returning her gaze to its shoulders and forelegs.
Lisa had been feeling a little more relaxed ever since her stepmother’s minivan had rolled to a stop at the small horse farm and the familiar sights and smells of horses had greeted her. In fact, she was actually enjoying watching her sister-in-law interrogate the barn manager. It was easy to forget that it was November, just days before Thanksgiving, as she stood in the sunshine of the warm California afternoon, watching the beautiful Morgan gelding prancing nervously in the farm’s small, dusty paddock.
Meanwhile, Greta seemed to have forgotten that Lisa and Peter were there at all. She was all business, sizing up the Morgan with a practiced eye, running her hands down his legs and over his body. “All right,” she said abruptly to the manager, stepping back. “I will need to see his gaits.” She cast a long, slow look over the man’s ample belly. “You can lead him for me? I will need to see him walk, trot, and canter. Briskly.”
Before the man could answer, Lisa stepped forward. “I’ll do it, Greta,” she offered. “I can lead him around.”
The manager gave her a suspicious glance. “You know anything about horses, young lady?”
Lisa ignored him. She was looking at her sister-in-law, who shrugged.
“All right,” Greta said. “Many thanks, Lisa. Begin with the walk, if you please.”
Lisa hid a smile as she stepped forward and took the Morgan’s lead. Maybe Greta wasn’t convinced Lisa knew much about horses, but it seemed she was willing to believe she knew at least a little.
For the next few minutes Lisa led the willing horse around and around the small paddock—walk, trot, canter, trot again, then canter again, then back to the walk. Greta watched it all through narrowed eyes, never taking her eyes off the horse.
Finally she seemed satisfied. “That will do,” she called to Lisa. She turned to the barn manager. “I will let you know my decision after I speak with my client.”
Lisa guessed that meant Greta wasn’t really interested in the horse. If she had been, she would have wanted to ride him, too. Lisa patted the Morgan on his gleaming neck, feeling a little sorry for him. The gelding snorted softly into her ear.
The man, too, seemed to realize what Greta’s comment meant. He nodded, looking disappointed. “You wanted to see the chestnut, too, right? She’s inside. Farrier just did her this noon, so I figured I’d leave ’er in for you.”
“Fine.” Greta nodded. “Let us go inside, then.”
The manager led the way into the rustic log stable. As Lisa stepped over the threshold, she took a deep breath and glanced at Greta with a smile. “Mmm. I just love that smell, don’t you?”
Greta cast her an uncertain glance. “I beg your pardon?”
“The smell,” Lisa explained, suddenly feeling stupid. “You know—the smell of horses, the barn … It reminds me of Pine Hollow. Um, that’s the stable where I ride back home.”
“Ah.” Greta turned away as the manager called them forward.
Lisa watched, her face burning, as her sister-in-law joined the manager at a stall. How does she do it? she wondered sourly. How does she always manage to make me feel like a total idiot when all I’m trying to do is be nice?
Taking a few deep breaths, she glanced over at her brother. Peter didn’t seem to have noticed anything strange about their exchange. Looking at him also reminded Lisa of exactly why she was trying to get along with Greta in the first place. That helped her keep her temper as the three of them followed the manager to a stall near the end of the wide, clean-swept stable aisle. A young liver chestnut mare with a broad blaze was peering curiously out at them, her large eyes alert and intelligent.
This time, Greta looked much more impressed with the horse in question. After the manager had led the mare out for a quick inspection, Greta stepped back and nodded. “I would like to try this one, please,” she said. “Where is her saddle?”
The manager waved to a stable hand who happened to be passing at that moment. A short time later, the mare was tacked up and walking quietly toward the paddock.
“Do you want me to lead her for you first?” Lisa asked Greta.
“Yes, thank you,” Greta replied. She never took her eyes off the horse as she answered Lisa. “Halfway around at a walk, then a full circle at a trot, if you please.”
Lisa nodded, grasping the mare’s bridle. Lisa clucked to the horse and they got moving. When she returned, a little breathless from the exercise, Greta looked more pleased than ever.
“Very nice,” she muttered. She glanced at the manager. “But the faster gaits are equally important in this case.”
Lisa patted the mare, who seemed to have a sweet temperament to match her healthy good looks. “I could take her around a few times,” she suggested, suddenly very eager to climb into a saddle again. “That way you could watch someone else riding her before you get on her yourself.”
Greta shook her head immediately. “I will ride her myself,” she said firmly. Without further hesitation, she walked up to the mare, gave her a quick pat, and then swung herself up into the saddle in one smooth movement.
Lisa felt a little stung by Greta’s quick dismissal. But as she watched her sister-in-law ride the mare across the paddock, she had to admit that Greta was an excellent rider.
Lisa leaned on the paddock gate beside Peter, both of them watching as Greta trotted the horse along the fence line, testing its gaits. The manager hurried after Greta on the other side of the fence, calling out helpful suggestions, which Greta ignored.
Peter smiled, his eyes never leaving his new wife. “She’s a good rider, isn’t she?” he commented. “I mean, I really don’t know much about these things, but everyone tells me she is.”
“She’s an amazing rider.” Lisa hesitated, not sure how to say what she wanted to say next without making Peter feel as if she wasn’t totally on his side. “Er, but not only that. She’s really … different,” she offered at last. “Very colorful.”
“I know. Isn’t she great?” Peter sighed and rested his chin on one hand as he leaned against the fence and watched Greta. “As soon as I met her, I knew she was something special. I mean, she’s smart, she’s beautiful, she’s just as interested in languages as I am, she’s a terrific mother.…”
Lisa had almost forgotten about Dieter and Hanni again. She stood up straight and looked at her brother, wondering how he really fel
t about them. “Well,” she said carefully, “I guess it all must still be kind of, well, challenging. I mean, a new wife from a whole other country, new stepkids …”
Peter shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose it’s sort of a big change in some ways. To tell the truth, the kids and I are taking a little longer to get used to each other than I expected.” He frowned slightly, then shrugged again. “Still, I guess that’s the way in any new situation, right? Period of adjustment. Anyway, now that I’m their stepdad and not just Mama’s boyfriend, I’m sure we’ll get into the swing of being a real family soon.”
Lisa thought that sounded a little naive, but she didn’t say so. “Love conquers all, right?” she said lightly.
“Not just love. Marriage takes work, too,” Peter said solemnly, sounding so much like their father that Lisa turned to look at him, assuring herself that it was still Peter standing beside her. “Hard work, on both sides. And Greta and I are definitely ready to work as hard as we need to at this.” His gaze strayed to his wife again.
Lisa turned to watch Greta, too, thinking about what Peter had said. Despite his speech about hard work, she still wasn’t totally convinced that he was being realistic about his new family. Lisa hadn’t seen any signs that her brother and Greta’s kids were making any real efforts to adjust to each other at all. And if Greta’s attitude toward Peter’s family was any indication, they weren’t going to be getting much help from her.
“Oh well,” Lisa said, her mind wandering back to her own immediate family. Her mother hadn’t been much help after the divorce, and her father had moved to California almost immediately after the breakup, so he hadn’t exactly been available to help Lisa get through it. And somehow they had all survived. “I guess by now we’re all pretty much experts at adjusting to new family situations.”
Peter glanced at her. “You mean Evelyn?” he said. “Yeah, it’s still weird thinking about Dad having a new wife, isn’t it?”
Lisa hadn’t been thinking of Evelyn in particular, but she nodded. “I guess so, a little,” she agreed. “But it helps a lot that she’s so friendly and nice.”
She winced as soon as the words left her mouth, hoping that Peter didn’t think she was implying that Evelyn was nicer and friendlier than Greta. But Peter didn’t seem to catch on to the comparison. He was nodding slowly. “You know, Lisa, I have to hand it to you,” he commented. “You and Evelyn really seem to get along great. I have to admit, I still have a little trouble being around her, thinking of her as part of the family or whatever.” He kicked at the base of the fence post. “It’s going to be weird seeing her at the Thanksgiving table this year instead of Mom.”
I guess that’s true, Lisa thought, leaning against the fence again and gazing into the paddock, where Greta was cantering the chestnut mare in a tight circle. But that’s definitely not the only thing that’s going to be weird about Thanksgiving this year.
At that moment, Stevie was leaning against a fence watching half a dozen elderly horses grazing beneath the gray, chilly Virginia sky. “Brr!” she commented, pulling her fleece jacket closer around her neck. “It’s really starting to feel like Thanksgiving out here, isn’t it?”
Deborah nodded. Then she turned to Mrs. Monroe. “Your farm is lovely,” she said politely.
“Why, thank you, dear.” Mrs. Monroe waved one arm to indicate the grazing horses. “There you have it—my dear old residents. Aren’t they beautiful?”
“Absolutely,” Deborah replied.
Stevie had to agree with that. There was a small barren paddock between where they were standing and the large pasture where the horses were grazing, but two of the horses were close enough to the fence for Stevie to get a pretty good look at them. One appeared to be a Thoroughbred mare, and the other was an enormous warmblood gelding, nearly seventeen hands high, with a funny snip on his huge bay face that looked like a cat’s head—at least from Stevie’s viewpoint.
“What’s his name?” Stevie asked Mrs. Monroe, pointing to the bay.
Mrs. Monroe looked where she was pointing. “Hmmm? Oh, the warmblood? His name is Leo. He was quite a good show jumper in his younger days. Belongs to a fellow who lives just outside of Boston—excellent rider, but no room for old soldiers like Leo, so he called me to take him in. Isn’t he handsome?”
Before Stevie could answer, there was a sudden flurry of barking from somewhere behind the barn. “What’s that?” Deborah asked, looking startled.
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Monroe was already hurrying in the direction of the noise. “Sounds like the pups have gotten loose again. I’ll be back in a jiff.”
“Do you need any help?” Stevie asked uncertainly.
Mrs. Monroe waved one hand cheerily. “No, no, dear,” she called over her shoulder. “They’re just small dogs. I’ll be fine.”
When the woman had disappeared around the corner, Stevie blew out a sigh and turned to Deborah. “Whew!” she exclaimed. “And people say I talk a lot!”
Deborah laughed. “I’m really sorry, Stevie,” she said. “I knew this wasn’t going to be thrilling, but I never dreamed it would be quite as dull as this. When she gets back, I’m going to do my best to get us out of here as quickly as possible.”
“Maybe we should make a run for it now,” Stevie suggested. But she was only joking. Glancing out at the pasture again, she found her gaze drawn back to Leo. Even though hollows were visible above his eyes and his back was swayed slightly with age, she could see the outline of the majestic young competitor he had once been.
“Actually,” Deborah said with a grimace, picking at a splinter on the fence in front of her, “just about the only thing more boring than this interview is going to be the story I have to write about it. Mrs. Monroe really hasn’t given me one bit of information I can use, unless I want to turn it into an article about her sister and all the boyfriends she had back before the war.”
Stevie sighed, still watching Leo as he grazed. “You know, it’s kind of a shame,” she said. “I mean, no matter how dull she is, this woman is performing a really great service here. In her own older years, she’s providing a safe, loving home for horses that might not have anywhere to go otherwise. And didn’t you hear what she said? People are sending their retirees to her from places as far away as Boston!”
Deborah nodded, looking slightly sheepish. “I know, you’re right,” she said. “I just wish there was a way to get all that good stuff across to the readers. Then it might actually make a readable article.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Stevie grinned. “You’ve got to forget about Mrs. Monroe and her sister and her cats and all the rest of it. Focus on the horses! Find out more about the ones here, where they came from, that kind of thing. They’re the reason for this place, right? And anything about horses is at least slightly interesting—at least, that’s what Carole always tells us.”
Deborah sighed. “Actually, I was thinking along those lines myself. The only trouble is, it means sticking around this place a little longer … and trying to drag that kind of information out of Mrs. Monroe in between still more stories about her childhood and the family farm and who knows what else.”
“You can do it,” Stevie said confidently. “Don’t tell me nice old Mrs. Monroe scares you more as an interview subject than that horrible Central American drug lord you tackled last year. Or the tobacco executive you exposed before that. Or—”
“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.” Deborah chuckled and clapped Stevie on the shoulder. “I knew there was a reason I brought you along! You’re even better at this motivation stuff than my editor at the paper.”
“So we’re sticking around?”
Deborah nodded. “We don’t leave until we get our story. You have my word.”
The two of them spent the next few minutes watching the horses in the pasture and discussing questions Deborah could ask. Finally Mrs. Monroe hurried toward them again, huffing and puffing.
“There we are, dears,” she said. “Ready to go inside and warm up wit
h another cup of tea?”
“Thank you, but not quite yet,” Deborah replied politely. “Actually, I was hoping we could get a closer look at some of your residents. Are there any horses in the barn we could meet?”
“Oh, that seems like a lot of trouble for you,” Mrs. Monroe demurred. “Why don’t we just go inside and get comfortable? It’s a bit nippy out here, and I wouldn’t want you young girls to catch a chill.”
“Oh, we’re not cold,” Stevie said helpfully. “It’s very refreshing.”
Deborah nodded. “Besides, it will be warmer inside the barn,” she pointed out. “We can start there and give ourselves a chance to warm up a bit while we see the horses inside.”
“Well, yes.” Mrs. Monroe was starting to look flustered. “But you see, I can tell you anything you need to know about my horses. I know everything about them—that way I can give each one the care it needs, you know.”
“That’s very commendable.” Deborah smiled at the woman, but Stevie detected steely determination in her face. “But really, I think the article will be better if I can just check out a few of the horses myself. You know—it will give it that personal touch that people like.”
Stevie felt a twinge of pity for Mrs. Monroe as she sighed heavily and gave in, gesturing for the visitors to follow her as she headed across the yard toward the barn once again. Poor old lady, Stevie thought with a secret smile. She’s probably regretting ever asking Deborah here now that she’s making her run all over the farm to show her around.
Still, Stevie knew that Mrs. Monroe couldn’t be all that feeble if she took care of half a dozen or more horses by herself. Even geriatric horses needed to be fed, watered, and groomed, and to have their stalls cleaned.
She probably just didn’t want to be bothered, Stevie thought as she followed the two women into the barn, which was large and brightly lit. She probably loves the idea of sipping tea and blabbing some more about her wonderful family and all that. I guess that was her idea of what being interviewed should be like.
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