“Let’s go eat, then talk about you drawing her.”
Before she left for home Sunday afternoon, DJ had ten drawings scattered over the table. She’d also ridden again, working Herndon until he cleared all the jumps nicely. Another ride on Lord Byron after a dressage lesson on Herndon reminded her again of how much there was ahead to learn.
When DJ called home, Lindy said they would all be over at Gran’s, so she should be dropped off there.
“Do you want to come in?” DJ asked when Brad stopped the Land Rover in Gran’s driveway.
“Not this time, unless you want me to.” He motioned to her face, which at least was no longer swollen.
“Nah, it’s no big deal. Thanks for the wonderful weekend. You’ll call me when that other mare is about to foal?”
“If it looks like it will happen on a weekend.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Take care of yourself, kid.”
DJ leaped from the car with all her gear and, after one more wave, trotted to the front door. She had so much to tell everyone!
“Hi, I’m back,” she called from the entrance.
The two torpedoes hit her at the same time, but she was braced and ready. She reached down and hugged them, one arm around each. “Hi, guys.”
They looked up, their mouths going round as their eyes. “DJ, what did you do?”
She put a finger over her lips to shush them. When she looked up, her mother and Robert stood before her.
“Darla Jean Randall, whatever happened to your face?” Lindy’s face matched the shock in her voice.
CHAPTER • 6
“It looks worse than it is.” DJ put a hand to her bandaged cheek.
Lindy’s horrified question brought Gran and Joe to the hallway. When DJ looked at her grandmother, Gran shook her head. No, she hadn’t mentioned anything about the accident.
Robert put an arm around Lindy’s shoulders. “Okay, DJ, fill us in.”
DJ set her things out of the way and joined everyone in the living room. With all eyes on her, she swallowed and related what had happened. “So it’s just a couple of stitches. I know I have a black eye, but it’s getting better.” She blinked both eyes for good measure. “Most of the swelling is gone already.”
“So you were jumping with a horse you didn’t know?” Lindy leaned forward, away from Robert.
The boys had glued themselves to DJ’s side as if assigning themselves as her protectors. Every once in a while, one would moan, “Poor DJ.”
By the third “poor DJ,” she nearly burst out laughing. But she could tell her mother was in no mood for laughter.
“Come on, Mom, it’s no big deal. I’m not broken anywhere. If I never get hurt any worse than this, I’ll be blessed.” Oops, not the right thing to say. The frown deepened between her mother’s eyes, and DJ sent Joe a pleading glance.
“She’s right, Lindy. She’s not seriously hurt, and we’ll all keep praying that she never will be.” Joe smiled at DJ. “Besides, Gran has been sending guardian angels DJ’s way for fourteen years now. I’d say they’re doing a pretty good job.”
“I just don’t want Brad Atwood being irresponsible with my daughter.”
DJ bit her tongue.
“No one was irresponsible. Accidents happen.” Robert rubbed Lindy’s shoulder and drew her back into the circle of his arm. “Remember when Bobby took a header off the bleachers? Was that my fault for not watching him better? Or yours? Or DJ’s? Or Dad’s? We were all there.”
DJ sat back in her chair in relief. “Thanks, Robert.”
As the conversation turned to other things, DJ regaled them with the tales of Elusive. She brought out her drawings and made the boys giggle at the baby peeking out from her mother’s tail.
“These are about your best yet,” Gran said, holding the pencil drawings up for better light. “She sure is a sweetheart.”
“Yeah, and I finally got her to come to me.” DJ told that story, then went on about the possible flood, the gorgeous yard, riding Lord Byron, taking lessons from Jackie, and what great food they had.
Lindy jerked up a restraining hand. “Enough already. DJ, you’re not letting anyone else get a word in edgewise.” Her look shouted “be quiet!”
“Oh, sorry.” DJ slumped back. She watched her mother for any sign of relenting. She still had so much to tell. Wasn’t she interested? The boys leaned against her knees.
“DJ, tell us more stories,” one pleaded, the other nodding.
“How about we kids go in the other room and let the grown-ups talk all they want?” She didn’t even try to keep the sarcastic bite out of her words. DJ looked up to catch a questioning look from Robert. Gran just shook her head.
Letting the boys pull her to her feet, DJ and her escorts left the room. They settled in the family room, all three in Joe’s big recliner. DJ told them again about the filly, this time making it more of a story. “The Adventures of Elusive, Ellie for Short.” Whenever she asked, “And do you know what happened then?” the boys gave her another idea, and off the story would go again. Then she drew pictures to illustrate the story and let the boys color them.
By the time they were ready to leave, DJ had pretty much forgotten about her hurt feelings, but when they got home, she knew for certain her mother hadn’t.
“I didn’t appreciate your sassy remark,” Lindy said before DJ went up the stairs. “I also think you should have called me to say you’d had an accident.”
“Sorry.” DJ knew if she said anything more, another smart remark might explode into the air. Why would she want to call when her mother probably would have ordered her to come home at once?
“Brad at least should have had the courtesy to call.”
“But, Mom—”
“No buts.” Lindy took another tack. “Is your homework done?”
DJ shook her head. “I forgot to take it with me. It’s not Brad’s fault.”
“Well, someone in this family has to be responsible.”
Sorry didn’t seem to be cutting it, so DJ chose not to say it again. “Good night, Mother. I’ll try to do better.” She stomped on the first step of the stairs but changed her footing fast. She would not get into a fight and ruin the entire weekend.
But the old “not fairs” raged in DJ’s head, keeping her from falling asleep. Here she had been so excited about her visit and all the neat things that happened, and her mother got into a hissy fit. All Lindy could think of was homework and who was responsible. Who was her mother to say that? Until the last year, she’d hardly ever asked about homework—and never about the Academy. Gran had done all the asking, just like Gran had done everything around the house. Lindy hadn’t done much of anything but work, go to school, come home, and study. She hardly took a minute in her loaded schedule for her daughter.
DJ flipped over on her other side. Let God see if He could figure this one out—she sure couldn’t. But the Bible verses she’d memorized in Sunday school started a parade through her wide-awake mind. Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you. . . . Love one another. . . . Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, rejoice!
DJ flipped from side to side with each verse. Finally, she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. “God, I need to get to sleep so I can get up early to study. I didn’t yell at my mother this time—I thought I did pretty well. Anyway, you know I’m trying to control my mouth and my temper. What gives?” She waited, her arms crossed on her raised knees and her good cheek resting on her wrist.
A soft tap at her door made her think, for just an instant, God had arrived to answer her.
“Come in.”
Lindy poked her head in and, seeing DJ sitting up, entered the room. “I heard you tossing around. Can’t sleep, either?”
Enough light from the streetlights entered the windows that DJ could see her mother’s shape but not her expression. At least the tone of voice sounded comforting. She hung on to Lindy’s last word. “Either?”
“Yeah, I
kept hearing our conversation over and over.”
DJ waited. “Me too.” She scooted over and patted the bed beside her. “You can sit down if you want.”
Lindy sat, one knee up on the bed, so she was partly facing DJ. “That bandage on your face scared me half to pieces.”
“Mom, it’s no big deal.”
“If you had to have stitches, it’s going to leave a scar. That is a big deal to me.”
“The doctor said it would disappear with time. We’ll hardly be able to see it.”
“The thought of a scar on your face doesn’t bother you?”
“Not a whole lot, but then I haven’t seen it yet. Jackie changed the bandage. She said a scar like this would have been a badge of honor back in the days of sword fights.”
“Great. So my daughter walks down the aisle at my wedding looking like she’s been in a duel.”
DJ snorted. She could tell from the tone that her mother was poking fun of the idea. “Does it really bother you?”
“Not really. Not as much as the fact that you got hurt and neither Gran nor I were with you. Besides, you can cover the scar up with makeup if you like.”
“Mom, you and Gran can’t be with me all of my life.” Still, her mother’s words warmed DJ’s insides.
“I know. But cut me some slack, okay? I’m just learning about this mom stuff.”
DJ thought a bit. “You know, I see Joe more than Gran nowadays. I miss her, especially in the mornings.”
“Funny, she said the same thing the other day.” Lindy turned and patted DJ’s hands on her knees. “You think you can sleep now?”
“Mm-hmm.” DJ could feel her eyelids getting heavy.
“Me too.” Lindy stood and leaned over to kiss DJ’s cheek. “Mom reminded me that you have a very forgiving heart. I’m glad you do. Sometimes I think you are more grown-up than I am.”
“Huh?” Great, that was an intelligent, mature answer. Try again.
“Only in some ways, of course.”
“Night, Mom. I love you.”
“Thank you, Darla Jean Randall.” Lindy’s voice wore a coat of tears. “Have a good day tomorrow.” She sniffed as she went out the door.
DJ snuggled back down in her bed. The words “I love you” had just popped out. Had she ever before said “I love you” to her mother? Gran yes, but to her mother? Not for a few years at least.
“Thank you, heavenly Father,” she whispered just before dropping off to sleep.
DJ explained her accident about fifty times at school the next day. Her eye was already turning black, especially underneath. “I look like a raccoon,” she muttered to Amy in the washroom after lunch.
“Not really. They have two black eyes and no bandage.” Amy brushed her black hair and wrapped a scrunchie around the thick, straight mass. “Did you hear what happened at the Academy this weekend?”
“How would I if you didn’t tell me?” DJ turned from examining the bandage and the new zit on her chin.
“Joe might have.” Amy stuffed her brush back into her backpack.
“They were too grossed out about my face to think of anything else.”
“How come you told Gran not to tell your mother?”
“ ’Cause I was afraid she’d freak and probably give my da—Brad—a bad time. And it wasn’t his fault. I let Herndon turn out on me. When I think about it, it was probably all my own fault. My timing was off when he ticked it the first time, so then he didn’t have confidence in me, and well, he turned out. I shoulda been ready.”
“I wouldn’t let Bridget hear me say that.” Amy headed for the door. “Come on, we’ll be late.”
“I know—what do you think, I’m stupid or something?”
Amy raised one straight eyebrow.
“Don’t answer that.” As Amy headed the opposite way, DJ hollered after her, “So what happened at the Academy?”
Amy turned around, walking backward. “Tell you later.”
Keeping her mind on her classes the rest of the day wasn’t easy.
“So what happened?” DJ pounced with her question as soon as she and Amy met again at their locker.
“Bridget will probably introduce her to you.” Amy sorted through her books to decide what to take home.
“Who? Amy Marie Yamamoto, do you want an eye to match mine?”
Amy ducked away and slung her backpack over one shoulder. “Mrs. Lamond Ellsindorf—you-can-call-me-Bunny—that’s who.” Amy threw a you-really-don’t-want-to-know-more look over her shoulder. “To listen to her tell it, she is the most important rider on the East Coast, or was, until her husband got transferred out here to the wilds of California and she was forced to come with him.”
They climbed into the backseat of the Yamamoto minivan. Amy’s older brother, John, who after finally, as he said, turning the big one-six, had just gotten his driver’s license, was driving.
“There’ll be no comments from the peewee section,” he growled.
“John.” Mrs. Yamamoto might not be very big, but one word from her, and her children shaped up. “Hi, you two. Ignore the grouch here. DJ, whatever happened to your face?” She turned around to see better.
DJ briefly told her story again, sharing enough to be polite.
“And the wedding coming up, too. What a shame.” She turned back to the front. “Now, John, you watch your speed.” The implied “this time” made DJ glance curiously at Amy.
She mouthed, “He got a warning ticket.” DJ covered her snort with a sneeze.
“So what about that Mrs. What’s-her-name?” DJ asked when she could look at Amy without giggling.
“You’ll see” was all Amy would say.
DJ was in for a flurry of questions about her new look later at the Academy. “Think I’ll just wear a sign that says ‘I got dumped’ or something,” DJ muttered to Major.
He sniffed the bandage and snorted, spraying her with a fine mist. “So you don’t like the smell of bandage, huh?” She wiped her face. “Thanks a big fat lot.” She leaned against his neck and hugged him, making sure her bandage didn’t rub against him. The doctor had said to keep it clean and dry. So far, she’d managed.
Patches, too, gave her the once-over. Instead of snorting, he backed away.
“Oh yeah, anything to act nervous about, you’ll take.” She snapped a tie shank on his halter and snubbed him down to a stall bar. Patches couldn’t be trusted to stand still or keep his teeth to himself while being groomed. She’d learned that the hard way, too.
Once she had him groomed and saddled, she settled in for a rough ride. “Now, you just behave yourself, and we’ll get along fine.”
His ears flicked back and forth, letting her know he was listening, but his attention was clearly on a flashy bay taking jumps in the middle of the covered arena.
“Make sure you stay to the outside,” Bridget said as she opened the gate to the arena. “Give the jumper plenty of room.” She smiled up at DJ. “I am glad you were not hurt worse. Next time, lower the jump after a refusal, then work up to the earlier height. Get your horse’s confidence back and yours, too.”
“Thanks.” Who blabbed? she wondered. But when DJ felt Patches hump his back, she put all other thoughts from her mind. Arena sand wasn’t one of her favorite meals. She could tell after her warm-up laps that Mrs. Johnson had been riding over the weekend because Patches suddenly figured he could do whatever he wanted. DJ thought otherwise. Their training time was nearly over before he gave up the battle.
“You know, you stubborn beast, we would both have a lot more fun if you’d do what you’re told, when you’re told.”
The next time through, he started, stopped, cantered slow and easy, changed leads, and even backed up with only a flicking of his ears.
“He about used up all your patience?” Bridget swung the gate open to let them out.
“Tried to.”
“You do well with him. Mrs. Johnson was asking if you thought he was ready for you to work with the two of them together.”
“Me?”
Bridget nodded.
Doing her best to keep her cool and watch Patches at the same time, DJ asked, “What do you think?”
“Until I watched you work him today, I thought any time but . . .”
“He’s not usually this much of a pain. She has to learn to make him mind is all.”
“I will let her know that you will take her on as a student. She can set up a regular lesson time with you when she is ready. You will be paid double, one hour on him and one coaching them both. Any questions?”
DJ shook her head. “Not now, but later, I bet.”
“Good. See you on Megs in—”
“Could you maybe give me half an hour?”
DJ could have groomed six horses in that time, her hands flew so fast. Wait until she told Amy. An adult student!
But in the car, Amy was too busy grumbling to let DJ squeeze a word in edgewise. “That . . . that witch. She thinks she owns the place and that all of us are her slaves!”
After hearing Amy out, DJ asked, “So why does Bridget let her get away with stuff like that?”
Both Joe and Amy shrugged.
“But I’ll start asking around,” Joe promised. “Something odd is going on here.”
DJ had been home an hour before she heard the garage door open and her mother’s car pull inside. The meat loaf in the oven smelled good and would be done in half an hour, along with the baked potatoes. Just a few minutes before, DJ had checked everything to make sure nothing was out of place. The house looked good, the dinner smelled better, and DJ had washed and changed clothes. Tonight, she and her mother would have a good evening together.
“There are two messages on the machine for you,” she said while taking the plates down to set the table.
“Thanks, dear. What a day this has been!” Lindy set her briefcase on the counter and slipped off her heels.
“You want a cup of tea?”
“That sounds heavenly. Make it a raspberry zinger, okay?” She punched the code into the machine and scribbled some numbers as she listened. After dialing, she tapped a pearl-tinted fingernail on the countertop.
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