Secret Rider (Show Jumping Dreams ~ Book 1)

by Claire Svendsen

  Mickey was calling out something but I couldn't hear what it was. I closed my legs around Harlow and when he saw that we were cantering on towards the tree he backed off a bit but I pressed on.

  "Come on boy," I yelled, looking for a spot.

  I thought I saw one but Harlow didn’t. He was going to jump from too far away. I had visions of him catching a leg and us tumbling through the air.

  “No you don’t,” I yelled. “Come on.”

  I forced him to add a stride and jump from the spot I’d seen and he did, stretching up and over the fallen tree like he was jumping a house. We landed on the other side and I steadied him to a walk.

  "Good boy," I patted his neck. "Good boy."

  It was the best feeling in the world. Just me and my horse and the jumps. It was all I'd ever wanted to do and all I ever would want to do. Mom could stop me from riding and ban me from horses but I could do whatever I wanted when I turned eighteen. I'd leave home and get a real job at a stables and I'd buy my own horse and ride every day. She wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

  But the long lonely years until that happened stretched out before me like a black abyss. I knew they would be the worst years of my life because I had tasted how great things could be and now it was going to be taken away from me.

  I had walked Harlow all the way to the end of the paddock, his reins loose in my fingers, my mind lost in the sadness. But when I turned to walk back to Mickey, I suddenly realized things had just got a lot worse. There was Esther standing at the paddock gate and next to her was my Mom. They both looked furious.

  I struggled to untack Harlow while people yelled at me, fumbling with the leather and buckles and trying not to cry. Esther was mad that I'd jumped the tree trunk. In fact she was mad that we'd jumped at all. Mickey and I had somehow forgotten that not only were we not supposed to ride outside the arena while she wasn't on the property but that we also weren't supposed to jump either. Mom was just mad about everything. The lies. The fact that I'd disobeyed her. Every mistake I’d ever made. I wasn't even sure how she figured out where I was or how she managed to actually be in the barn with the horses without flipping out. I guess yelling at me overrode the massive fear of horses she developed since Summer’s accident.

  Mickey kept looking at me but I couldn't look back. I was already biting the inside of my cheek to stop from crying and there wasn't anything I could say that would make any of it better. I'd done all the things they were accusing me of and although they were things that I wanted to do more than anything in the world, I always knew that one day I would have to accept the consequences of my actions.

  Harlow kept nuzzling my shirt. I knew he was worried. He kept looking over at them as they yelled. Finally I couldn't take it anymore.

  "Can you stop shouting," I said quietly. "You're scaring the horses."

  They both shut up as I unclipped the cross ties and put Harlow back in his stall.

  "Goodbye boy," I hugged his neck. "I'm sorry that I won't be able to come and ride you anymore but you've been the best horse that anyone could ever ask for and even though I know you were never really mine, I'll never forget you."

  He turned his head around and hugged me back. The only horse I'd ever known to give real hugs. I knew that I'd see him again someday but by the time I was released from the cruel clutches of my mother, he would be too old to do the kind of jumping I wanted to do. Still I told him that I'd take him on trail rides and we’d go to the beach. I told him I would come back for him.

  Mom started her yelling back up in the car. I tuned most of it out. She said she'd never forgive me. That I'd betrayed her. That she didn't even know who I was anymore.

  When we got home she was still yelling but now they had turned into the sort of sobbing yells you make when you're crying at the same time. She was carrying on about how she couldn't bear to lose me and that if anything happened to me she would just die.

  I sat there at the kitchen table feeling numb. I didn't like to tell her that the world was a dangerous place and it wasn't just because of horses. There was a girl at my school who was hit by a car and had to have both her legs amputated. She was just crossing the street. Nothing dangerous about that, until there was. Eventually she sent me to my room where I sat, staring out the window and wondering why I couldn't cry.

  The days stretched out in a blur. I went to school but I couldn't do any work. I sat in class and listened to the teachers drone on about math or history but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. It was as if they were talking in a foreign language. At lunch I couldn't eat. Mickey sat with me and went on and on about the barn and how Hampton and Harlow were doing but it didn't make me feel any better. In the end I told her that I'd rather not know.

  At home Mom didn't speak to me. I sat up in my room with my homework stretched out before me, unable to write. At night I couldn't sleep and when I did I had nightmares that something was wrong with Harlow and he needed me but I wasn't there. I would wake in a cold sweat and toss off the covers, staring out the window and wondering if I should run away. But I couldn't even run away to the barn. I wasn’t welcome there either.

  Esther had been furious. Not just that I'd jumped Harlow but also that my mother hadn't given her permission for me to ride. When I took home the release form, I'd forged her signature. That meant Esther could have been in big trouble if something had happened to me. So even if I wanted to, I couldn't go back there.

  My grades started to slip. There were tests where I didn't even write my name on the paper. Eventually I was called to the principal’s office.

  Mrs. Wilbur was a big lady who liked to wear pearls and flat, sensible shoes. I'd never been called to her office before so when the girl appeared in my biology class and said I had to go, everyone turned and stared at me. I quickly stuffed everything into my backpack, trying to avoid the stares. Mickey looked at me and raised an eyebrow. I just shrugged back at her. I knew why I was being called. I was falling apart. The only problem was that I didn't know what to do about it. And deep down I knew it was stupid. These weren't big world problems. I wasn't being forced into a gang or abused at home. Last year we even had a girl who was pregnant but her parents took her out of school and we never heard from her again. I wasn't allowed to ride horses. So what? So then why did it feel like the whole world had gone gray?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Two boys sitting outside the principal’s office glared at me as I sat down. They had spray paint on their shorts, splashes of red and black against the tan fabric. I guessed they were the ones who’d been tagging the lockers in the gymnasium. They didn’t look too happy about being caught.

  “What did you do?” one of them said. “Forget to bring an apple for the teacher?”

  Then they both laughed. I didn’t bother and answer. Just stared at the floor as they were called in and waited my turn. I wondered what Harlow was doing. It was hot outside. He was probably in his stall, standing under his fan. Or maybe he was out in the arena giving a lesson to another girl and wondering where I was. He had to be missing me by now. He always looked forward to my carrots. I let out a strangled sob.

  “Emily Dickinson, you may come in now.”

  The two boys were led away by campus security and I was being called in. I had no idea what I was going to say. She would never understand how my heart was breaking in two. No one would. I told myself I’d just sit there and listen to her chewing me out for my bad grades and my inattentiveness. If I nodded now and then and promised that I would try harder and do better then she’d have to leave me alone, at least for a little while. But as I sat down in the leather chair that faced Mrs. Wilbur’s big oak desk, I caught sight of a grainy black and white photograph of a horse on the wall behind her and I burst into tears.

  Mrs. Wilbur just sat there, handing me a tissue from time to time and waiting for me to stop. The tears that hadn’t been able to come before had been released and I couldn’t do anything but wait until they dried up. Eventually they dwi
ndled to a slow leak.

  “I’m sorry,” I sobbed.

  “That’s okay dear. It’s good to let it all out now and then.”

  She smiled and I noticed for the first time how kind her face was, with sky blue eyes that lit up when she talked. Mickey had once been called in when she was caught cheating on a test and she said that Mrs. Wilbur was a nasty old hag but she didn’t seem like that at all. I thought she seemed kind and caring, the sort of person you didn’t mind telling all your troubles to. And so I did. It all came tumbling out. My dead sister. The drive to ride horses that was stronger than anything I’d ever felt in my whole life. How I’d worked for lessons and become a better rider and then lost it all because my lies had finally caught up with me. She sat there and let me get it all off my chest and when I finally stopped talking, she turned around and took the photograph off the wall.

  “This was my horse, Biscuit,” she said. “I could jump him round a four foot course with my eyes closed.”

  “You rode horses?” I gasped.

  I had no idea. She didn’t look like the sort of person who would have had any interest in horses at all. I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t have the proof right there in my hand. The photograph showed a plucky girl sitting atop a huge chestnut horse. He had a big head and slender body but from the handful of ribbons clutched in the girl’s hands, he could obviously jump.

  “I used to,” she said. “Back in the dark ages.”

  “Why did you stop?”

  I was leaning on my elbows, trying to soak in everything she was saying.

  “I hurt my knee,” she said. “Not riding, mind you, it was something stupid. I fell down the stairs but I ended up having surgery and it didn’t take. Four surgeries later and they told me I probably shouldn’t jump horses anymore.”

  “That’s awful,” I said.

  “It was okay,” she shrugged. “By then I was in college and I didn’t have much time. Plus I met a boy.”

  “I wouldn’t care,” I said. “No boy is ever going to take me away from horses.”

  She smiled. “You may feel different someday.”

  But I knew I wouldn’t. Horses would always be number one and that was that.

  “So what happened to Biscuit?” I said.

  I could imagine the poor horse being sold to a horrible owner who beat him or something and I was already starting to get misty eyed again.

  “I kept him until he passed away,” she said. “We still went on trail rides now and then but I could tell he missed the show life.”

  “I’m sure,” I said, thinking of Harlow again.

  She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms like she was thinking.

  “So, now we know why your grades are suddenly so bad, what are we going to do about it?”

  I slumped back in my chair. Getting everything off my chest had helped but it wasn’t going to bring riding back. The only person who could do that was my mother and there was no way she was going to change her mind in a million years.

  I hoped that Mrs. Wilbur might have the answer. After all, she rode horses and she knew what it was like to have that taken away from you. But sadly, she didn’t have any words of wisdom. She just told me the same thing adults always say. Keep your grades up. Do your chores. If you’re good and kind and helpful then your Mom will see how much you deserve to ride. The trouble was that I’d been doing that for years and it hadn’t got me anywhere. In fact my mother had been even more certain that I’d never ride again because for all pretense and purposes I’d become the girl who couldn’t care less about horses in order to avoid any suspicion. I left Mrs. Wilbur’s office feeling even glummer than I went in.

  Mickey called that night while I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering about the practicalities of running away to join the circus. I could learn to ride the trick ponies bareback and jump through rings of fire. It wouldn’t be so bad. I’d sure learn a lot of new skills. I told Mickey as much.

  “The circus?” she laughed. “For real?”

  “Why not? It has to be better than this. I’m telling you Mickey, I can’t stand it. Imagine if Hampton was taken away from you and you couldn’t ride anymore. How would you feel?”

  There was silence for a moment. “I’d feel pretty bad,” she finally said.

  “Exactly. It’s a fate worse than death.”

  “Don’t say that,” she said quietly.

  “Well it is.”

  “There has to be something you can do. Some way to convince your Mom to let you ride.”

  “It’s never going to happen. Not now. Not ever. If there was ever a slim chance, I’ve blown it.”

  “Wait?” she suddenly shouted down the line so loud that I had to pull the phone away from my ear.

  “Okay,” I said. “This had better be good. I think you just shattered my eardrum!”

  “It is,” she gushed. “What about your Dad?”

  “My Dad? That’s your big idea? The man walked out on us when I was five after my sister died in a horse riding accident. Why would you think that he would be any better about it than my Mom? Besides, I haven’t heard from him since. The man doesn’t care about me.”

  When I was a little kid, I used to cry myself to sleep every birthday I didn’t get a card. I’d have these elaborate daydreams that he would show up on the doorstep and I’d run into his arms. He’d hug me and say that he was sorry he ever left and that he wanted us to be a family again. For years I kept that dream alive. Then it turned sour. I imagined that if he turned up, I would tell him how much I hated him for leaving and walk away. See how he liked it. Although deep down I knew that I would eventually forgive him because he was my father and he was the only one I had. But I never had that opportunity because he never came.

  “No, listen,” Mickey said. “Just tell your Mom that you want to go and live with him.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” I snapped.

  “Well, from the tone in your voice I’m guessing you don’t but that’s beside the point. Your Mom won’t know that. You have to really sell it to her. Tell her that you’ve tracked him down and you’ve decided that it would be better for everyone if you went to live with him for a while. He’s your father. He has rights too. And so do you.”

  It was a dirty trick, one that I’d seen other kids of divorced parents at school play. Sometimes it worked. Others it didn’t. Most of the time it was messy and ugly and involved lots of screaming and crying until either the parent or the kid relented. But there was screaming and crying going on in my house anyway. True, most of it was internal. My Mom and I weren’t exactly on speaking terms right now. The only thing was that I thought it could probably work.

  At dinner that night I was cordial and polite. I laid the table and forced a smile but inside my stomach was churning. What if this didn’t work? It was the only chance I had left, short of actually finding my father and going to live with him for real in the hopes that he would be more open minded when it came to horses.

  I looked at my mother as she stirred the pasta sauce. Her hair was loose and she looked pretty but sad. But I was sad too. All I wanted was to ride in the Olympics. It was what I’d always wanted since I’d ridden my first pony and time was slipping away. I was thirteen. This year was my chance to prove myself on the local show circuit. By the time I was fourteen, if I was good enough, my plan was to get selected into the young rider’s program. I had life goals. I knew what I wanted and I was going to make sure that one way or another I made it happen. I wasn’t going to be one of those people who looked back on their life and wished they had taken the chance to fulfill their dream but they hadn’t. I wasn’t going to have any regrets.

  “Did you have a good day?” I asked her.

  “Yes,” she said.

  You won’t be having a good day in a minute, I thought.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Dinner was a cordial event of polite conversation that didn’t mean much of anything. I asked about her job at th
e museum and in return she asked me about school. She told me that they just got in a new shipment of African artifacts that she was particularly excited about. I lied and told her that school was great. If this whole thing worked out I was going to have to bust my butt to get my grades back up before report cards came out but I knew that Mrs. Wilbur would help me in that respect. Extra credit was my middle name and I’d make sure Mom never even knew I slipped in the first place. If it all worked out.

  I played with my pasta, a little overcooked and chewy but not bad. It was just that with the words caught in my throat, I didn’t seem to have the room to swallow it down. Eventually I put down my fork. It was now or never. This was it.

  “Mom,” I said, looking at my bowl and not at her face. “I want to go and live with Dad.”

  In the years since he left, my mother and I hadn’t had many conversations about my father. In the beginning I remembered her calling him every name under the sun. Then she burned all the photos that had him in them, which is why when I found that one in the attic, I took it back to my room. The fact that I even mentioned him now made her face go instantly pale.

  “What?” she stammered.

  “You heard. I want to go and live with Dad.”

  “No.”

  She got up and started putting the dishes in the sink. No? Just like that? It wasn’t even a discussion.

  “You can’t stop me from going to live with him,” I said. “He has rights too and so do I. I want to get to know my father.”

  She spun around, her face now red and angry.

  “This is about that horse thing isn’t it,” she spat. “You don’t want to get to know your father, you just want to ride and you think he’ll let you.”

  “So what if he will?” I said. “You’re crushing all my dreams. It’s not fair. Dad would never do that.”

  “That man got your sister killed and he’ll get you killed too. I won’t allow it.”

  That was the first time I’d heard her say that. I didn’t know if she really believed it or not. Was it true that my father caused the accident that killed my sister? That couldn’t be what happened. It was just a fluke. A freak thing that no one saw coming.