Bold Beauty

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  “Barker, I told you a hundred times! I’m not volunteering for those debates until they make me.” Pat had made a Life Science assignment that everybody in her class had to debate one topic before the semester ended. Pat coached one side, and our English teacher, Ms. Brumby, coached the other. They claimed they wanted to make us think about stuff. Kids were supposed to volunteer when a topic came along that interested them. So far my classmates had debated war and the environment. I was putting it off as long as possible.

  “Come on, Winnie,” Barker pressed. “Pat and I both want you on the abortion debate. You’ll have to go with a topic sometime.”

  “Not if the school burns down or a tornado hits or snow . . .” I knew it didn’t make any sense to hope the debate assignment would just go away, but it made even less sense to volunteer to make a total idiot of myself in front of everybody.

  Barker glanced at Catman, then back at me. “Winnie, this is the topic I’ve been waiting for. I know you’re as pro-life as I am. This debate could actually make a difference.”

  “Barker, you’ve heard me in class. I was the one saying, ‘Uh . . . um . . . duh. . . .’ You wouldn’t want me on your team!”

  “Count me in, man!” Catman held up his fingers in the peace sign. “Kids. Peace. Inside the womb and out.”

  “Thanks, Catman,” Barker said. “But it’s seventh grade only. No eighth-graders.”

  I reached down and untangled a lock of Beauty’s mane. “Barker, I’ll be cheering for you louder than anybody, but I just can’t—”

  Chico interrupted with yaps that should have come from a dog 10 times his size.

  Bold Beauty jumped sideways.

  “Sorry!” Barker scooped up the loudmouthed dog.

  “That’s okay.” I circled Beauty until she calmed down. “I want to get Beauty used to everything. And that includes dogs.”

  “In one day.” When Catman said it, it sounded like a challenge.

  “One day.” I rode in front of him. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’m off.”

  “Ditto.” Catman sniffed the air. “I smell biscuits and bacon.”

  Catman and Barker headed in for a Lizzy breakfast, while Beauty and I tiptoed through the maze of junk on our lawn.

  Mom once posted a list in our barn in Wyoming: Top 10 Spooky Objects for Horses. My mind had taken one of its automatic pictures, and I could see the smudged white paper with blue lines and the swirls and slant of Mom’s handwriting:

  1. Blowing paper

  2. Barking dogs

  3. Mud puddles

  4. Trash cans

  5. Little kids

  6. Plaid horse blankets

  7. Ropes and hoses on the ground

  8. Ponies

  9. Windy days

  10. Wagons and trucks and cars

  Dad had conveniently supplied me with most of the Top 10 on our own junky lawn. For the next hour, I let Beauty walk around sniffing strange objects. Horses identify each other and size up their world by smell. Beauty snorted at a bent, metal trash can. I gave her time to soak up the information. Horses have an extra sense organ at the end of their long nasal passages. It’s called the Jacobson’s organ, and they use it to decide if objects are friends or enemies. Lizzy says snakes have the Jacobson’s organ, too.

  Beauty and I moved from plastic cords to cardboard to an old red wagon. Beauty sniffed and nuzzled, processing each fear and gaining confidence.

  Lizzy came outside with the boys, and I showed them how well Beauty was behaving. When Chico barked, I told Barker to let him bark away. Beauty shied, but didn’t take long to settle down.

  “Not bad!” Barker shouted.

  But I didn’t just want Beauty confident. I wanted her overconfident. I rode closer to them. “Want to help?”

  Lizzy grabbed Chico. “I’ll help by getting this puppy . . . and me . . . as far away from this as possible.”

  “Deal!” I couldn’t risk Beauty smelling Lizzy’s fear. I turned to Barker and Catman. “As for you guys, mount your bikes!”

  Barker’s bike was regular, although he claimed all the Barker boys had asked for back bikes for Christmas. He and Catman pedaled to the street while Beauty watched as intently as if they were tigers threatening to pounce.

  I explained my plan as I urged Beauty into the street. “I want to teach Beauty that bikes are nothing to be afraid of. Ride slowly, and we’ll tag along.”

  Beauty wasn’t crazy about the idea, but she walked beside them as they coasted down our street.

  “When I give the cue,” I instructed, “you guys bike off fast.”

  Beauty pricked her ears as we trailed the bikes. She bobbed her head, but moved in behind them. When I could see yards ahead and no cars, I hollered, “Now!”

  Barker and Catman took off, tires squealing.

  Beauty broke into a trot.

  “That’s it, Beauty! They’re scared of you! See how they’re running away?”

  Bold Beauty must have believed me. She broke into a canter and charged, kicking up her heels for fun. At last, she was the one chasing!

  “Thanks!” I yelled. “Keep going!” I turned Beauty around and brought her down to a walk.

  Behind us, I heard a car turn onto the street. Here we go!

  I peeked over my shoulder and saw Pat Haven’s little car. I waved Pat up beside us, and Beauty sidestepped. She wasn’t cured yet.

  Pat stuck her head out the window. Her brown curls coiled across her face. I expected to hear them go boing, boing. “So that’s the new horse. Pretty. Doesn’t seem like a scaredy-cat to me, no offense.” Pat never failed to apologize for her animal expressions, even when the animal wasn’t around.

  I trotted, staying side by side with Pat’s car. She was sitting on a pillow, hands gripping the steering wheel at ten and two o’clock. The road looked deserted except for us. “Could I ask you a favor, Pat?”

  “And me coming to see you to ask you a favor. Isn’t that the bee’s knees! No offense. You first, sugar!”

  “Would you drive slowly to the barn?” I asked. “When I raise my hand, speed up. I want Beauty to believe she’s chasing you away.”

  “Well, I don’t like deceiving a body. But if you say so, I’ll make an exception.” She pulled in front of me, barely moving.

  Beauty couldn’t even trot without running into Pat’s bumper. I waved my hand.

  Pat sped up, and Beauty took to a trot. I waved my arm again until we were galloping behind Pat’s car.

  “Look at you!” I told Beauty. “You’re scaring off that big ol’ car!”

  We “chased” Pat all the way to my house. I walked Beauty straight to the cross-ties and got her brushes.

  Pat followed us in. “I can understand why a horse would be scared of a car. Big, ugly things—cars I mean.”

  “Well, Beauty won’t be scared any longer,” I said. “She thinks they’re scared of her.”

  Pat frowned. “But they’re not.”

  I laughed. “But Beauty thinks they are. That gives her confidence on the road.”

  Pat pinched a stray curl and let it boing against her temple. “But it’s a false confidence. Sooner or later, won’t she run up against a car she can’t chase?”

  She had a point, but I was feeling too good to get into it. Besides, I knew why she’d come. Might as well get it over with. “Pat, I think I already know your favor. Barker dropped by earlier.”

  “Good!” she exclaimed. “This abortion debate should be the best one yet. I think it’s the most important and—”

  “Pat, I don’t want to volunteer for the abortion debate.” I kept brushing Beauty. “You’ve heard me talk in your class. I can’t string four words together without messing one up, not in front of people.”

  “But we need you!” Pat protested. “Ms. Brumby is coaching the pro-choice side, with Summer, Brian, Kristine, and Grant.”

  “Grant’s arguing for abortion?” I’d gotten to know Grant Baines when I trained his Quarter Horse. “I can’t believe he t
hinks it’s okay to end a life.”

  “Honey, I think most of the kids don’t know what they believe. They haven’t thought much about abortion or life.” Pat sighed. “And I want them to think.”

  Talk about pressure. I could feel God pressing against my heart. “What about Andrew?” Andrew was one of the smartest kids in the whole school. When he talked, he sounded like a teacher.

  Pat shook her head. “Andrew’s waiting for the debate on animal rights. Our goose is cooked—no offense—if we can’t get four people on the pro-life side. I promised the class I wouldn’t force any topic on them. But I want this one, Winnie. And I want you.”

  “You don’t want me, Pat! I’d get tongue-tied.”

  “Bosh! God can untie that tongue when it’s saying what he wants!” Pat whipped out a carrot for Beauty, as if she just walked around with pocketfuls. Beauty chomped gratefully. “Pray about it, okay?”

  Pat left, and I was about to take Beauty off the cross-ties when I glanced at my watch. Four o’clock. I hadn’t ridden Beauty that hard. I’d gotten her over shying in less than a day. Why not try jumping?

  I sensed Catman in the barn and turned to see him holding Nelson.

  “You missed it, Catman! Beauty chased Pat’s car! No more shying—in less than a day, thank you very much. And I’ll bet her confidence carries over to jumping. In fact, I’ll bet I could take her over the high jump right now.”

  A shiver of excitement ran through me. That would be so amazing! All Beauty needed was a rider with confidence, and I had it! “I’ll do it,” I muttered.

  “Do what?” Catman asked.

  “Take Bold Beauty over that hedge,” I answered, already putting the bridle back on.

  “Thought you had to train her first.” Catman set down Nelson and walked over to Beauty.

  My mind was racing. I imagined telling the Howards that I’d cured their horse—in 24 hours!

  Catman tossed me the bowler, and I strapped it on. He stood at Beauty’s left shoulder and cupped his hands for me to use as a stirrup. Beauty stood still for the mount, but her skin twitched as I settled into the curve behind her withers and gathered the reins in both hands. It was like she knew what was coming and wanted it as much as I did.

  Beauty pranced to the pasture as if she hadn’t been ridden in a month. We cantered around, taking two fallen logs without losing stride. Winnie the Hunter Gentler.

  I looped and aimed for the hedge.

  And Winnie Willis on the powerful Bold Beauty comes to the final jump with a perfect score. They look confident. The fans rise to their feet. Horse and rider gallop, challenging the hedge head-on! Stride, stride, stride!

  Beauty snorted in time to her pounding hooves. High horsepower!

  The hedge seemed to rush at us, as if it wanted to jump us.

  Closer and closer.

  Something felt wrong. The beat was off. Beauty raised her head against the reins, shortened her stride. Her jaws opened. She wanted to stand back and fly at the hedge. But she was too far away.

  She hesitated, then lunged. The unsteady surge of power jarred my bones. We soared in midair. But the hedge still lay under her nose. We’d never make it. I leaned forward, willing her over. The old horseman’s saying popped into my head: Throw your heart over the fence, and your horse will follow.

  But my heart clung to my ribs.

  I heard her forelegs strike the hedge. Beauty’s belly scraped as she skimmed over. She landed hard on her front hooves, stumbling to get her hind end clear of the monster hedge.

  Beauty’s knees buckled. With a jolt, I felt myself propelled from her back. Up . . . up . . . and over her head I tumbled. Sky. Clouds. Grass.

  Then pain.

  And total darkness.

  When I opened my eyes, I couldn’t see the sun. For an instant I thought I was blind. Then the dark circle blocking the sun came into focus. Catman stood over me, hovering so close his hair dangled against my cheek.

  Light danced behind my eyeballs. My chest burned. I struggled for air.

  Then it came. I gasped. Air rushed in, like cold water flushing my lungs.

  Catman was saying something. “Winnie? You got the wind knocked out of you!”

  “Beauty . . .” At least that’s what I said inside my head. It came out a squeak, as if squeezed through me before popping out.

  Catman frowned at me.

  “Beauty?” I whispered.

  Catman stood up. “She’s cool.”

  I wanted to believe him. But lying flat on my back, I couldn’t see her. And I was afraid to move. Like if I turned my head, I’d shatter.

  Catman stepped away and came right back, holding Beauty’s reins.

  I looked up at the mare.

  “See?” Catman scratched behind Beauty’s ears.

  Beauty lowered her head and nuzzled my neck. She blew in my face. It was all the wind I could muster to blow back at her. Thank you, God. I couldn’t have handled it if I’d hurt Beauty.

  Catman led her back and forth where I could see her. Her eyes looked bright. She didn’t limp.

  Mom had a rule about getting right back on a horse after a fall. But that wasn’t going to happen. Beauty deserved to run free, away from stupid humans.

  I bit my cheek to keep from crying. “I . . . have to . . . get the . . . bridle off.” I pressed my hands to the ground to push myself up. Pain shot through my left shoulder. I lay back down.

  “Winnie?” Catman sounded scared. “I’m clueing in your dad.”

  “No!” I shouted. “Please, Catman! He’s not home anyway.”

  “Lizzy can get Doc.”

  “No! I landed on my shoulder. I’ll be all right.”

  Catman reached up to Beauty’s bridle, unbuckled the throat latch, and slipped the headstall over her ears. Beauty gave up the bridle, shook her head, turned, and cantered off.

  I swallowed warm tears. I could handle the pain. My head didn’t hurt. I’d have been screaming if I’d broken anything.

  What I couldn’t stand was what I’d done to Bold Beauty. How had it happened? I’d been so confident, so sure I could take that hedge.

  Something soft brushed my face.

  “Nickers!” She nuzzled my cheek, blowing warm air on my skin. “I’m okay, girl.” I reached over with my right arm to scratch her cheek. She nickered, low and long. I’d never loved her more than I did right then, when I had no right to be loved by any horse.

  “Winnie, what’s the skinny?” Catman dropped cross-legged on the ground next to me, Nickers on one side, Catman on the other.

  “I’m fine,” I assured him. “Help me up, okay?”

  When I sat up, the pasture spun in a quick circle, then stopped. Nickers lipped the top of my head.

  Catman stared into my face and grinned. “Nice shiner.”

  My hand went to my tender cheekbone. I had a vague recollection of hitting myself in the face as I landed. Great. A black eye. How do I explain that one?

  I wiggled my toes like they do in hospital shows on TV, then turned to Catman. “Nobody can know about this. Promise me!”

  “Not cool, Winnie.” Catman shook his head. “Somebody ought to scope you out. Your dad—”

  “No! Mom kept lots of horse problems from Dad so he wouldn’t worry! From Lizzy too!” I broke down into a shoulder-shaking cry that hurt my left shoulder and made me cry harder.

  I hadn’t wanted to cry like a baby in front of Catman. But the tears ended up doing what my words couldn’t. He stuck both his hands in the air. “Chill. You win! Stop crying! I can’t dig it, man!”

  I wiped tears with the back of my hand. “Thanks, Catman.”

  Nobody could know I’d fallen, not even Lizzy. She was scared of horses already. And she’d never be able to keep her mouth shut around Dad. If he found out, he’d lose all con-fidence in me as a horse gentler. Besides, Dad had just started feeling settled in Ashland. He didn’t need me to worry about.

  For a few minutes, my jagged breaths and sniffs were all that passed
between us.

  “I won’t tell—for now,” Catman promised. “But I don’t like it. And I want you to see my mother.”

  “Your mother?” Mrs. Coolidge worked in a beauty salon, not a hospital. “Why your mother?”

  “Claire finished two years of nursing school before she found her true calling.” Catman wheeled up his bike. “Handlebars,” he commanded. He balanced his bike while I climbed sidesaddle on the bar in front of him.

  Catman biked backwards through the pasture as easily as if we’d been coasting on pavement. He didn’t stop until we reached Coolidge Castle.

  People who stumble across this old mansion think it’s deserted. Or haunted. Bart Coolidge lets weeds grow till they bend over and dry out. Only a strip of lawn in front of the house gets mowed to make room for plastic lawn ornaments. Today big orange balls lay on the stubby grass, probably the beginnings of Halloween decorations, even though Halloween was over a month away.

  I slid off the bike, brushed off my jeans and shirt, and stared up at the three-story mansion that could have used a coat of paint. Several windows had boards hammered across them. Cats swarmed at my feet, but I didn’t bend down to pet them.

  Catman helped me up the creaky steps and inside. The cool, dark living room covered me with its perfume. The difference between the outside and inside of Coolidge Castle never failed to surprise me. Nothing inside the house was run-down, although most things were old. I could imagine stepping out of a time machine into a place a century or two ago. A giant chandelier cast a glow on velvet furniture, while thick red drapes kept sunlight out of a living room as big as our whole house.

  Catman’s mom descended the winding staircase in a lime green dress that reached to her matching fuzzy slippers. Her hair was totally wrapped in aluminum foil, probably some new hair treatment. “Calvin—ahhh! What happened to Winnie?”

  “I’m okay.” I braced myself as she scurried down the stairs and shuffled toward us. “Really. Just a sore shoulder—”

  “Your hair!” Ignoring my black eye, Mrs. Coolidge dashed straight for my hair and began pulling out twigs and leaves. “What did you do to this gorgeous hair?”

  I tried not to flinch as she combed her fingers through my hair. “Mrs. Coolidge?” At least my voice had come back, no hoarser than usual. “It’s really all right.”