That night DJ dreamed she was being chased—again. It was the first time in a while now. She jerked awake, heart pounding, mouth dry. Who was the man chasing her? And why? She turned on the light and headed for the bathroom. Surely by the time she went back to bed, the nightmare would be gone.
But it wasn’t. She ran and ran, trying to scream, but no sound would come. Dark behind her, a light far ahead—would she make it in time?
Her alarm saved her. She woke up feeling as though she’d hardly slept.
“You look like you’ve been zapped by the Death Star,” Amy said as DJ threw her backpack in the Yamamotos’ car.
“Thanks for nothing. I can’t help getting a zit.”
“Not the zit, silly, you’ve got huge bags under your eyes and notebook paper has more color than your skin. You sick?”
“I didn’t think so, but now I’m not so sure. You stay up half the night working on a term paper and see how you feel.”
“That’s why I always do my stuff early. I turned it in Friday.” Amy ducked when DJ swung at her.
“One more day, just one more day and no school for over two weeks. I can get through it.” DJ leaned her head against the back of the seat. “Oh, I almost forgot. Brad—”
“Your father?”
“What other Brad do I know? Anyway, he invited me to spend a couple of days at his house over vacation and said I could bring a friend. You want to go?”
“Do you want to go?”
“I’m not sure. Mom’s all upset.” DJ went on to tell her friend about the scene the night before—and her mother’s worries. “You’d think I was moving out tomorrow the way she carried on.” They’d reached their locker and the bell was about to ring. “I don’t know, Ames, I just don’t know.”
“Well, I’ll ask my mom if I can go, if you want. Sounds like a primo place.”
“I wanted to at first—I mean, all their horses and Jacquelyn doing dressage—she said she’d show me stuff and that I could ride one of their horses.” The warning bell rang. “See ya.”
DJ had a tough time keeping her mind on the rivers of the world in geography class. What was her mother going to say?
But Lindy didn’t mention the invitation at all that night. In fact, her mother hardly mentioned anything. She wore the green look of a migraine headache when she came in the door and headed to bed as fast as she could climb the stairs. When DJ offered to bring some soup, Lindy groaned and refused.
“Just leave me alone, and maybe I’ll be human again by morning.”
DJ spent the evening rewriting her paper and working on the book for the Double Bs. Gran had a meeting and wouldn’t be home till after nine. She’d nearly talked with Joe about the whole mess while at the Academy, but they hadn’t had enough uninterrupted time. Concentrating on what she had to do took every bit of willpower she owned and some borrowed besides. If only she could have gone to Gran’s after riding.
She chewed on the end of her pencil. They were supposed to call Brad. If only that phone call from Mr. Bradley Atwood had never come—and if only she hadn’t eavesdropped. She wished she could go riding up in Briones to forget everything. She looked up to see rain rivulets running down the window. Fat chance!
When Gran hadn’t answered the phone by ten, DJ gave up. Her final message said, “I’ll talk with you tomorrow. I’m crashing.”
School let out at noon. DJ let out a whoop and danced all the way to Joe’s truck. “I’m free, I’m free! Free at last.”
Amy followed behind her, shaking her head at Joe’s grin. “Don’t blame me that she’s gone freaky. I’m just her friend.”
At the Academy, DJ worked Patches without incident, to the surprise of both her and the owner. Mrs. Johnson had stayed to watch how DJ handled the horse so she could learn to ride him better. But when it was time for Andrew’s lesson, she went to sit in the car and read a book like she always did.
Andrew mounted Bandit with only slight hesitation, grinning at DJ’s words of praise.
“You won’t make him go fast so I fall off?” His question caught her by surprise.
“Why would I do that?”
“You went fast, and you fell off.”
DJ shook her head. “Andrew, my boy, you get some of the screwiest ideas. Falling off isn’t such a big deal. Patches dumped me because he had too much pep and he likes to do his own thing. But Bandit is not like Patches—Bandit has known how to behave for years. Patches is just learning. Don’t worry, buddy, you aren’t going to fall off today. Okay?”
“Promise?” He looked at her from under long lashes.
“Near as I can.” DJ snapped a lunge line on to the pony’s halter. “Now, are your legs in the right place? Back straight? Tuck in your elbows, hold your chin up, and you are ready to ride.” She moved him into the proper position as she talked. “Now, today you get to see what making the pony move feels like. You turn him with the reins, kind of like riding a bike, and you make him walk by squeezing with your legs.” She pulled first one rein and then the other, then pressed his legs against the sides of the horse. “So when I say turn right, you pull the . . .” She waited for his answer.
“Right rein. Not hard, though.”
“That’s right. And to go forward?”
“Squeeze my legs, but not hard.”
“Right. We don’t do anything hard here. Horses like a gentle touch.” DJ led Bandit out to the arena, through a gentle mist. The air smelled clean and fresh. Oh, to be riding herself! And not around the arena.
She closed the gate and led the pony onward, giving Andrew right turn, left turn, stop, and go commands. Little by little she could see him relaxing, and a smile begin to curve his lips. At the stop, she turned again to face him. “Now, see this lunge line?” She held up the coiled rope. “You are going to start going in a circle around me. While you do that, you’ll give Bandit his orders just like I did you. Got that?”
The smile flickered, and Andrew gritted his teeth. “I . . . I guess so.”
DJ stepped back three paces, letting out the line as she went. “Okay, make Bandit go.”
Andrew gripped the reins and squeezed his legs. Bandit walked forward like he always had. The boy turned to DJ with a grin wide on his face. “He did it. I made him go.”
By the end of the lesson, his smile was a permanent fixture.
So was DJ’s.
She understood much more how Andrew felt when Bridget refused to let her use stirrups during her dressage lesson later. “You remember how Major stopped the other day?” Bridget asked.
“How could I forget?”
“Your seat is much better, so I am sure that will not happen again. Remember what I said—when you pushed down with your pelvis, you pushed his backbone down, and that stopped him. Now, you must continue to drive him forward with your seat and legs. You did not have enough leg before.”
“I know, balance between hand, leg, and seat. It sounds so easy in the book.”
“You are right, it does sound easy. But nothing of value is ever easy, and you will be a much better jumper because of your willingness to work at this.”
So you’ve said. DJ kept the words to herself—Bridget didn’t care much for smart answers. By the end of the hour, her thigh and calf muscles were screaming and her back ached horribly. She was sure she’d hear the words “more leg” in her dreams.
When they finished the lesson, DJ surprised herself by asking Bridget a question. “Do you know of a woman named Jacquelyn Atwood?”
“Sure, she is a fourth-level rider from up north—Santa Rosa, I believe. Why?”
“Nothing much. Is she good?”
“To ride at that level you have to be. She has a wonderful horse, too. I cannot remember the name of the farm, but I believe her husband breeds Arabs.”
“Atwoods’ Arabians.”
“Yes, that is it. Why all this interest in a dressage rider? You thinking of going on?”
“Me? Give me a break!”
“Sorry I asked. Keep p
racticing, though, DJ. You are doing well.” Bridget waved and trotted through the mist to the office.
DJ watched her go, then used her legs to put Major into forward motion. If Andrew could learn new skills, so could she.
“Can we go to your house first?” she asked Joe on the road out of the Academy.
“Of course. I’ll drop Amy off, and we’ll be on our way. Your mother know this is the plan?”
“I left her a message.” Now that the fun of riding was over, the questions came hurtling back.
Once at their house, she told Gran and Joe about eavesdropping on Lindy’s conversation, then slumped back into her chair. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You can’t do anything at this point, except talk with your mother. The two of you need to come to some kind of agreement.” Gran drew a casserole dish from the oven and set it on the ceramic trivet on the table. “Would you please get the salad out of the fridge?” she asked Joe.
DJ sniffed appreciatively. “You baked bread, too.”
“DJ, darlin’, how many times have I told you not to eavesdrop?” Gran rested her hands on DJ’s shoulders. “You wouldn’t have so much to stew about if you hadn’t overheard that conversation.”
“I know, but I couldn’t help it.” DJ flinched under Gran’s steady grip. She knew the look of disappointment that must be in Gran’s eyes. “Don’t tell, please? I won’t do it again.” She drew lines on the tablecloth with her fork tines. “But how else am I supposed to know what’s happening? No one tells me—they just go ahead and do stuff. It’s my life they’re messing with.”
“I know it must seem that way.” Gran sat down, took Joe’s hand, and reached for DJ’s. “Let’s say grace.”
“Dear heavenly Father,” Joe prayed, “bless this food so lovingly prepared for us. Thank you for the blessings you have given us, one of them sitting right across the table. You know what needs to be done for DJ and Lindy, and we thank you that you are working it all out in your good time. We thank you and praise you. Amen.”
“Doesn’t seem like He’s working it all out. Just seems to be getting worse.”
“Might look that way, but it’s always darkest before the dawn.” Gran held out her hand for DJ’s plate. “That’s where faith gets a chance to grow, in that dark before dawn. So let’s just thank Him in advance for the answers and go on about our business.” She looked up to catch DJ’s eye and passed her plate back.
“I guess.”
“God sees the whole picture, kid, not like us who get only glimpses.” Joe took his filled plate back. “Oh, Mel, this smells like something right from heaven.”
“We’re lucky it doesn’t smell like turpentine or oil paint.” She glanced down at the multi-dotted painting smock she still wore. “I had wanted that painting done in time to dry for Christmas, but it doesn’t look like I made it.”
“What are you working on?” DJ forked chicken and noodles into her mouth.
“A surprise for Robert. Thought he might like it for his new house.”
“So it’s for mom, too?”
“Will be, after they are married. I don’t like to give a mutual present when they aren’t exactly mutual yet. A lot can happen between now and February.”
DJ stopped chewing on the bread heel she’d just buttered. “You think they won’t get married?”
“No, it’s just a kind of a superstition I have.” Gran gave Joe a quick glance. “I know, I know—Christians aren’t supposed to be superstitious, but old training is hard to break. My mother threw more salt over her shoulder than went in her soup. So I’ll give Robert this painting, and Lindy something else. Then they can enjoy both gifts together.”
“Gran, you blow me away.”
“Oh, darlin’, you and I both know our heavenly Father is first and foremost in my heart. And we’ll all keep praying that He becomes so for Lindy, too.”
They ate in silence until DJ said, “So . . . what do you think I should do about going to visit the Atwoods over Christmas break?”
“The Atwoods?” Gran arched one eyebrow.
“I don’t know what to call him—them.” DJ shook her head. “I hate making decisions.”
Gran looked at DJ over the rim of her violet-banded coffee cup. “I think you need to go see him—if not right away, then soon. You have a right and a need to know your biological father if it’s possible, and in this case, it certainly is. Between Brad and Robert, you are one mighty blessed girl to have two such fine men in your life.”
“Three.”
“Three?” The eyebrow went up again.
“GJ. I’ve got him, too.”
“Funny you should say that.” Gran patted Joe’s hand. “And he even does dishes.” The twinkle in her eyes brought an answering one from the man beside her.
“Flattery will get you everywhere. I suppose that was a hint so you could go back to painting?”
“Right.”
“Good. You do that and DJ will help me with the dishes so we can make time to work on her frames. Right, kiddo?”
DJ groaned and made a face. “Think I like dishes?” But she began gathering the plates to take to the sink. “Maybe tomorrow you can help me with the Double Bs’ book, huh, Gran?” She elbowed Joe away from the sink. “And if it’s nice, Joe and I can ride up in Briones.”
“More rain predicted.”
“You sure know how to make me happy.” Their banter continued as they rinsed dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher.
When her mother hadn’t come by for her by ten, DJ climbed into bed in her bedroom at Gran’s. At least this way she and Joe could get going early in the morning. As she closed her eyes, she thought a moment of the big box waiting at home. Whatever could be in it?
CHAPTER • 14
“I’ll never get this thing right!”
“Just ask that cute guy over there for help. That’s why he works here.” Amy looked up from the photocopy machine at the Copy House to grin at DJ. “You just have no patience.”
“With horses, yes. Machines, no.” DJ made her way past the busy machines, most manned by people using red or green paper to make Christmas letters, up to the desk.
“Hi, can I help you?”
Amy was right, he was cute, but right now DJ needed brains. “I can’t get that machine to print on both sides. I think we’re following the directions.” DJ pointed to the machine that she was sure was sticking its tongue out at her.
“I’ll be there in a minute, okay?”
“Sure, thanks.” She felt like stomping back to the machine. Why did everything seem to go wrong when she was in a hurry? At this rate, the cards would never be printed, and DJ was anxious to get going as soon as Joe got back. Today they were finally heading for a ride in Briones.
Amy finished printing the backs of her cards and moved on to the paper cutter. The photos had turned out beautifully clear: one of a rose from her mother’s garden, another of her little sister eating an ice-cream cone, a view of fog over San Francisco Bay, and one of a goose swimming in a pond. Each packet would hold two of each card, for a total of eight.
DJ’s horses probably wouldn’t appeal to as many people, but she knew her family would be pleased. Bridget had said she’d carry them in the tack shop, too, so DJ was running off twenty sets.
The young man flipped a couple of buttons, checked on the card stock paper, slammed the machine closed again, and pushed the green button. Her page came out as clear as could be.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” He held up the sheet of card stock. “Hey, that’s really cool. Did you draw that?” At her nod, he studied the drawing of the foal again. “My sister would love something like this. She’s nuts about horses. You making note cards?”
“Yeah, for Christmas presents.” DJ stopped, caught the nod from Amy, and continued. “And we’ll be selling them, too.”
“Could you get me a set or two? How much are they?”
DJ stumbled over her tongue. On the second try, she answere
d, “There are eight to a pack, and the packs cost four dollars. My friend Amy has reproductions of her photos on hers.” She pointed to the paper cutter table.
“Cool. Are the two of you in business or something?”
“Sorta.”
He stopped for a minute, studying the growing stack of four-by-five ready-to-fold cards. “Could I buy two sets from each of you? Makes my shopping easy.”
Amy looked up. “Sure, we’ll package them and bring them back here tomorrow. If you’ve got any friends here who might like them, let them know we’ll bring extras.”
DJ rolled her lips together to contain a grin. Leave it to Amy not to miss a trick.
When the Copy House employee walked off to help someone else, the girls swapped high fives. “That’ll at least help pay for the envelopes.” DJ removed her sheets from the machine and took over Amy’s place at the cutting board. “If we sell enough, we’ll have free Christmas presents to give. Why didn’t we think of this a long time ago?”
Amy folded her cut cards. “You know, maybe we should charge five dollars instead. I checked at a stationery store, and note cards were priced all the way up to $7.95 for a package of ten.”
“You know what my mom says, you’ve got to price stuff according to what the market will bear.”
“Woowee, listen to the big business woman over here!”
As soon as they finished cutting the cards, they paid their bills and headed out to the truck where Joe waited.
“You can see if you promise not to tell anyone.” DJ couldn’t wait to show him.
“Promise.”
Each girl handed Joe samples of her cards. A hush fell as they waited for his opinion.
“These are really good.” He shuffled through them again. “I’m impressed. Are these Christmas gifts, or your latest money maker?”
“Both. We sold two packs each to a guy who works at the Copy House.” DJ bounced on the seat in her excitement. “Now we can go riding. Hurry up, GJ, the horses are waiting.” She and Amy took their cards back and carefully put them into their bags. No bent corners or smudge marks would do.
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