Terry wasn’t sure how long she stared out the window, but when she finally returned to bed, her watch on the nightstand read two o’clock. “It’s so late,” she groaned. Finally overcame by exhaustion, she dropped off into a restless sleep plagued by dreams of cantering toward the log pile.
Chapter Twelve
The telephone jangled impatiently on the night-stand in the dark hotel room. Without opening her eyes, Terry tolled over and fumbled for the receiver.
“Hello?” she mumbled sleepily.
“Good morning!” Captain Riskin called cheerfully. “Horse show morning. Time to be up!”
“What time is it?” Terry yawned.
“Six a.m.,” he answered brightly. “Bobby and I will meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes. Be on time!”
Before Terry could protest, he hung up. She replaced the receiver and stretched with a tired groan. “Susie, get up!”
Susie didn’t answer, remaining a motionless heap in the center of her bed. Terry got up and shook her friend’s shoulder, but Susie only grumbled and pulled the sheet over her head.
Terry yanked the sheet off her. “Get out of bed. We’ve got a show to ride in today.”
Susie buried her face in the pillow. “Leave me here,” she protested. “You can ride Chase.”
“I’m not riding your horse, so get up,” Terry commanded as she headed for the bathroom. “Do you want the Captain to come up here and drag you out of bed?”
Susie slowly sat up, scratching her disheveled hair. “What’s the rush?”
“We’ve got horses to braid and clean,” Terry answered through a mouthful of toothpaste.
Susie flopped back onto her bed with a moan. “Forget it. Too much work!”
“Susie!” Terry exclaimed. “We’re going to be late!”
When Susie didn’t budge, Terry filled a glass with cold water and threw it at her.
“Yeow!” Susie squealed, scrambling off the bed as the water hit her. “I’m up! I’m up!”
When the team arrived at the show grounds, they were happy to see that the storm clouds had begun to break up. In the arena and on the outside course, horses were churning up the turf in a final morning schooling session. Competitors and trainers hurried about to finalize last minute details.
As soon as they reached the stabling area, Terry, Susie and Bobby dashed from the car. Each grabbed a handful of rubber bands and a mane comb for braiding. Before they began working, Billy gave each of them a blue work shirt to wear over their clean ratchatchers and breeches.
In her hurry to groom Merry Chase, Susie left her work shirt open. “Button up!” Billy commanded. “I ain’t lettin’ no dirty riders sit on my clean horses today.”
“Okay, okay,” Susie grumbled, buttoning up her shirt to the top. “All I get is orders this morning. ‘Get up!’ ‘Keep clean!’ What’s next?”
By seven-thirty, the horses were immaculately groomed with manes and tails braided. Captain Riskin surveyed them with satisfaction. “Good, you have finished in time. The show begins at nine o’clock, so now we will get breakfast.”
Bobby eagerly followed him out of the tent, but the girls held back. Terry couldn’t bear the thought of eating. She swallowed, trying to settle the jittery butterflies in her stomach. “None for me thanks. Maybe after I ride.”
“Me, either,” Susie echoed.
“Nonsense,” Captain Riskin insisted. “You need something in your stomach to start the morning. It will be a very long day of competition.”
Resigned to their fate, Terry and Susie followed the Captain and Bobby to a crowded food stand under a blue-and-white striped tent a short distance from the main ring. Beneath the tent were picnic tables covered with blue-checkered tablecloths. Three women in starched white catering uniforms worked behind a counter busily preparing eggs, bacon, sweet rolls and coffee.
Terry noticed the loud confusion of schooling day had settled into a muffled drone as pre-show jitters set in. An exhibitor at the head of the food line hurriedly picked up a cup of orange juice only to spill it down the front of her white show shirt. Behind Terry, a young girl who had been quietly arguing with her trainer turned and ran tearfully from the tent.
The uneasy tension was contagious, making Terry even more nervous. She wished the show would start so she could ride instead of wait. But, when she looked at her watch, the time had only crept fifteen minutes. She held it to her ear to make sure it was still ticking.
She looked across at the main arena where the ring crew was putting the finishing touches on the fences for the first class of the day. At the base of each jump was a row of white flower boxes filled with colorful mums. Potted evergreen shrubs stood as wings at either side of the fences. The announcer’s stand at the end of the ring will filled with show officials ready to begin the day. Spectators were beginning to fill the bunting draped boxes in the stands that circled the arena. She wondered when her parents would arrive.
“What would you like for breakfast?” the Captain asked.
“Huh?” she mumbled absently as she watched a woman try to climb the grandstand steps without dropping her squirming pug, a cup of coffee and an over-sized straw bag.
“Breakfast,” the Captain repeated impatiently. “What would you like to eat?”
Terry’s stomach churned uneasily as she glanced at the variety of food behind the counter. Nothing tempted her appetite. “Just a chocolate donut,” she answered, hoping that would be enough to appease him. “I promise I’ll eat more after my first class.”
He frowned, but ordered the donut without further comment. Once they had all been served, the Captain found an empty table where they could sit. He opened the manila envelope he had picked up at the secretary’s trailer the previous day. Inside were three cardboard numbers with metal hooks on the back. “Terry is 171, Susie is 172 and Bobby is 173,” he said, handing each of them their numbers.
The loudspeaker emitted a shrill screech, followed by a man’s tinny voice. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the twenty-first annual Westfield Horse Show. It is our pleasure to welcome our judge, Mr. Morgan Drake from Logan, California. Mr. Paul Stickney will officiate as ringmaster. Our veterinarian is Dr. Robert Vickers.”
Terry watched the judge and his secretary walk to center ring. To her dismay, she was amazed how much he resembled Mr. Krepper. He was dressed in brown slacks, tan sport coat and a Panama hat. Under his arm, he carried a clipboard.
The judge was accompanied by the ringmaster who wore the pink coat habit of a foxhunter. He carried a long, slender gold horn. When he reached the center of the ring, he lifted the horn to his lips and blew a long, mournful note, officially signaling the start of the show.
“That’s our signal to get moving,” Captain Riskin told his students when the opening ceremonies were completed. “Finish your breakfast then we give the horses a final polish before tacking up. Make sure you leave enough time to school before your classes so you are not late.”
Terry waited nervously atop Tic-Tac in the warm-up ring next to the outside course. Susie and Bobby stood next to her, but none of them spoke. They were too busy watching their competitors jump the course. Captain Riskin had posted them twenty-first, twenty-second and twenty-third to jump, so they had a long wait.
Terry was dismayed by the number of fine riders in the class. When four out of the first six rounds appeared flawless, her ribbon hopes rapidly faded. She decided the best plan was to concentrate on getting safely around the course in the hope that Bobby or Susie would win a ribbon for Briar Hill.
“Susie, Terry, Bobby,” Captain Riskin called. “Time to take a few warm-up fences.”
“Yes, sir,” they answered, trotting promptly towards him.
He motioned them to the far side of the warm-up ring where a brush box and post-and-rail practice fences were set up. Several other junior exhibitors were busily schooling their horses. “Ride a few fences to loosen up you and the horses before you go on course,” he directed.
/> They turned and cantered single file toward the brush box. Terry’s confidence flooded back as she felt Tic-Tac’s easy stride. For the first time that morning she relaxed, enjoying the bold leap he took over the fence.
“Number 87 on course,” the loudspeaker blared. “172 on deck, please.”
“That’s me! “Susie yelped, realizing her time had come.
“Go wait by the in-gate until that rider finishes the course,” the Captain instructed her. “Remember, do not let Merry Chase take hold of the bit and run. Keep him quiet. Terry and Bobby, you will be next so be ready. Good luck to all of you. Do your best.”
By the time they reached the in-gate, the loudspeaker was calling Susie’s number. She flashed Terry and Bobby a nervous smile then trotted into the field to begin her courtesy circle. Terry and Bobby stood up in their stirrups to see over the heads of the riders whose horses blocked the front end of the warm-up ring.
Terry crossed her fingers as Susie cantered confidently toward the first fence. Merry Chase neatly jumped the brush and then headed quietly down toward the log pile.
“The kimberwick seems to have cured him of his racing,” Terry said to Bobby as they watched Susie wind her way around the rolling outside course.
Merry Chase jumped each fence smoothly until the final in-and-out when he got in too close and knocked down the back pole. When Susie finished the course and trotted through the out gate, she grinned apologetically at Terry and held up crossed fingers.
“Number 171 on course, please,” the loudspeaker blared as soon as Merry Chase had left the field.
Terry looked anxiously among the spectators clustered along the perimeter fence, but there was no sign of her parents. She wished they had been there for moral support. It would have been a lot easier to ride with a few friendly faces in the crowd.
As Tic-Tac trotted eagerly into the field, Terry forced herself to concentrate only on the job ahead. She urged him into a canter and rode boldly toward the first fence. “Come on, Tic,” she encouraged. “Let’s show ‘em what we’ve learned.”
As soon as they cleared the first brush fence, Terry forgot all about the spectators, the other competitors and the judge. She was only aware of the steady rise and fall of Tic-Tac’s powerful shoulders and the surge of energy from his haunches as he soared over each fence. Even the log pile where she had tumbled in schooling gave them no trouble. Cantering away from the final fence, he gave a cocky toss of his head to show he knew how good the round had been.
As soon as Terry returned to the warm-up ring, she gratefully flung her arms around Tic-Tac’s neck. “You’re the absolute best!” she exclaimed, fumbling in her pocket for a piece of sugar.
She had just dismounted when Captain Riskin and Bobby came up after the completion of his round. “How did your ride go?” she asked.
“Really good,” Bobby replied, “as long as the judge doesn’t count a light rap on the wall against us. But, you were amazing! I’ve never seen you and Tic-Tac look so good.”
Captain Riskin proudly patted Terry’s shoulder. “I could not be more pleased with that round. Well done.”
She grinned. “Thanks, but Tic-Tac deserves the compliment. He did all the work. All I had to do was remember to keep out of his way.”
“Stay near the ring until the class is over,” the Captain told Terry and Bobby. “You both performed very well. Despite the excellent competition, we may get a ribbon from this class.”
“Where’s Susie?” Terry asked.
“I sent her back to the tent to put her horse away,” he answered. “She will not place with a pole down, so no point in tiring the horse out by keeping him waiting in the hot sun.”
“Terry! Terry!” She turned to see her parents waving from outside the warm-up arena fence. She excused herself and led Tic-Tac from the ring to join them.
“Mom! Dad!” she exclaimed. “You should have seen Tic-Tac! He was great!”
Mrs. Allen hugged her. “We did see you. And, you two were better then great!”
“We got stuck in traffic, but made it just in time for your ride,” Mr. Allen explained, patting Tic-Tac’s neck. “We didn’t want to distract you just before the ride, so we waited until you were finished. You two really looked terrific out there!”
Terry grinned. “Thanks. It was such a thrill. He’s never jumped better.”
“Get over there, Mother,” Mr. Allen directed, holding up his Polaroid. “I want a picture of you with the winner.”
Before Terry could strike a pose, the loudspeaker clicked on. “This concludes Class Ten, Junior Working Hunter. Will the following riders please return to the outside course dismounted to trot their horses by the judge for soundness.”
Terry nervously squeezed her mother’s hand. “I can’t listen…”
“In this order,” the metallic voice continued. “Numbers 61, 84, 173, 171 …”
“That’s us!” Terry joyfully squealed. Without listening to the remaining numbers, she spun Tic-Tac around and hurried back toward the field.
She proudly trotted him down the gravel path that led to the jump field, falling in line with the other six horses that had been recalled. When all seven had trotted past the judge, he checked his clipboard then spoke quietly to the ringmaster who signaled to the announcer’s stand.
“Dr. Vickers to the outside course, please,” the loudspeaker blared. Dr. Vickers, please.”
“Must need the vet’s okay to pin the class,” Terry thought as she listened to the announcement.
She happily scratched Tic-Tac’s neck, standing proud amongst the other competitors. “We did it! A ribbon at our very first show!”
She looked around to check out the other ribbon winners. In first place was one of Duffy Hawkins’ students. She didn’t recognize the girl standing second, but Bobby and Red Sunset were third. She grinned and flashed him a thumbs up.
When the veterinarian arrived, he had the riders trot again while he carefully watched all seven horses move. After conferring briefly with the judge, the veterinarian signed the judge’s card and left the field.
Terry watched with anticipation as the ringmaster took the card to the announcer’s stand. He returned escorting a woman in a yellow flowered shift. She held a silver bowl in one hand and a wooden rack strung with satin ribbons in the other. Terry zeroed in on the white fourth place ribbon, knowing that soon it would belong to her and Tic-Tac.
“This has been Class Ten, Junior Working Hunters,” the loudspeaker squawked. “Trophy and ribbons are being presented by Miss Gloria Pearce. First place, the blue ribbon and trophy are awarded to Number 61, Swing Along, owned and shown by Kathy Petrie.”
Terry watched Kathy lead her chestnut horse forward while the audience applauded. The girl paused as she accepted the bowl and blue ribbon while a photographer ran out to snap her picture.
“Not only did she win, but she even owns that beautiful horse.” Terry thought. “Now that’s really lucky.”
“Second place goes to Number 84, High Quest, owned and shown by Sharon Hughes,” the announcer continued. “Third place is Number 173, Red Sunset, owned by Briar Hill Stables and exhibited by Robert Kramer. Fourth place is Number 43, Doublemint, owned and shown by Sara Shaw.”
Terry took several steps forward to receive her award before realizing her number had not been called. Instead, the fifth girl in line stepped past her, leading her horse forward to accept the white ribbon.
“There’s a mistake,” Terry tried to protest as she watched the other two riders receive the remaining ribbons. When all six ribbons had been awarded with no mention of her number, she led Tic-Tac from the field with bitter disappointment.
“What happened?” she wailed to the Captain and her parents when they met her outside the field fence. “We know we were called back fourth.”
“Most definitely you were, Terry,” Captain Riskin assured her. “But, unfortunately Tic-Tac was lame for the jog. As you know, a lame horse cannot win a ribbon.”
“
Lame!” Terry exclaimed, her disappointment over the class forgotten as she dropped to her knees beside her horse. She ran her hands down Tic-Tac’s legs, but could not feel any heat or swelling.
“I’m so sorry, Terry,” her mother softly comforted.
“You’re still a winner in my book,” her father assured.
“Let me take a look,” a deep voice offered.
Terry looked up tearfully to see Dr. Vickers standing behind her. “He was just fine before and during the class,” she assured the show veterinarian. “What could have happened?”
“Let’s find out,” Dr. Vickers suggested. “He may have pulled something while jumping.”
Terry, Captain Riskin and her parents waited anxiously while the vet carefully examined Tic-Tac’s legs. When he felt nothing obviously wrong, he took a hoof pick from his pocket to clean out the horse’s hooves.
“I think I’ve found the problem” he announced triumphantly as he picked out the left front hoof.
Terry watched him dig out a sharp edged stone that was embedded deep into the frog. Dr. Vickers thoughtfully turned it over in his hand. “Must have picked it up on the gravel track that leads out to the jump field when you came out for the soundness jog. Looks like he may have a stone bruise. Nothing too serious. Trot the horse by me now, young lady.”
Terry glanced hopefully at the Captain and her parents as she jogged off with Tic-Tac. She looked over her shoulder to see if he was still limping, but she was too close to be sure.
“That’s enough,” Dr. Vickers called after she had trotted past him twice.
“How is he?” she asked anxiously.
Dr. Vickers smiled and patted Tic-Tac’s neck. “Still a little sore, but much better. That stone was painful like a splinter, but it’s gone now. Be careful of that hoof the next few days. He’ll be a little tender. I suggest some Epson salt soaks and poultice to draw out any soreness.”
Terry smiled gratefully. “Thanks. That’s great news. I was scared I’d done something to hurt him.”
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