Show Barn Blues

by Natalie Keller Reinert

  If Kennedy could get these ponies going in time.

  She waved her hat at the ponies as they ran by a fifth time (or sixth, or seventh — I’d lost count and the little devils had endless energy) since they’d been turned out, shooing them away from the fence-line. “I know it’s slower than what you had hoped for, but look, three nice gray ponies for less than the one at Dennis Lowery’s place! And he still hasn’t found a buyer, by the way. You could probably make him an offer and get that pony anyway. Then you’d have one finished pony in the barn, if anyone is ready buy.”

  “There’s not enough money to make him an offer he’d consider.” The pony fund had all gone to the Kinsale ponies. The ones acting like complete sociopaths right now. I shouldn’t have agreed to buy them. I should’ve bought Lowery’s pony and just one prospect. But these had been such bargains, and Kennedy had sung their praises so highly… I’d gone insane and flung all the money I’d budgeted for ponies at these little terrors.

  “Are they going to do that all afternoon?” I turned at the sharp voice and saw Colleen marching out of the barn, arms folded across her chest, elegant eyebrows drawn together in a frown. Just what I needed. “They’re making the horses in the barn jumpy. I want to take out Bailey and I’m a little nervous that he’s going to spook and get away from me.”

  “I’ll come help,” I said. To Kennedy, I hissed, “Control them or get them back in the barn.” I left her to deal with the little monsters on her own. She’d taken the money I’d given her and she’d bought them, she’d taken responsibility for them — I washed my hands of them. As long as they didn’t upset my nice, quiet, full-size horses and adult riders in the barn, we’d all get along just fine.

  Colleen waited for me with hips jutting and jaw set. “I wasn’t looking for help handling my own horse,” she said sharply as I entered the barn with her. “Just wanted to know if those ponies were about through acting so crazy. What’s with them, anyway? I thought you were going to buy nice ponies for the girls to ride.”

  “Nice ponies for the girls to show, down the road,” I corrected her, picking up Bailey’s leather halter from its hook. “Show ponies are expensive. I’m saving everyone some money by starting out youngsters and getting them ready here, rather than buying finished ponies.”

  “More expensive than a horse like Bailey?” She narrowed her eyes.

  Colleen, you are too smart for your own good — or mine, I thought. “A different kind of investment,” I said lightly, rolling back the stall door. “You’ll ride Bailey for ten years or more. A kid outgrows a pony in a fraction of that.”

  Bailey snorted at me and then looked back out his window, where he was watching the Killer Ponies make their rounds. He whinnied, his mouth wide open and his nostrils dilated, then snorted again when none of them replied.

  “They’re not worried about you,” I told him, slipping the lead rope around his neck and sliding on the halter before he could bounce away, still high on pony crazies. “They’re not worried about anyone but themselves.”

  Bailey quieted under my touch and ducked his head helpfully into the halter, eager to get out of this stall. As well he should be. I’d taken him out for a few late-evening trails the past three nights, followed by a hard dressage session in the covered arena. It had meant staying well past closing time, breaking my own rules, but the results had been pretty impressive — by last night’s ride, he was trotting like a tired old mule along the white sand of the trail, our path lit luminescent in the glow of a full moon, and giving me pretty solid lateral work and flying lead changes in the arena afterwards. A change of scenery, indeed, I’d thought as I untacked the weary horse last night. He was a new horse, fresh and eager and moving forward with enough impulsion to wow any dressage judge.

  I found the rides were calming for me, as well. Shifting focus, new goals, more relaxed rides… I was sleeping better now than I had in weeks, months even. This was especially impressive considering the ever-escalating signs the neighborhood was about to get a lot more crowded. Driving past the property next door was growing more depressing by the day — cars parked along the highway verge, men in suits looking at papers and pointing into the pine trees, surveyors peering through their spyglasses. Yesterday I had passed by on my way to the store, and there had been a trailer unloading a backhoe — a sight that made my heart sink.

  This morning I hadn’t been able to resist taking the Gator down the driveway to have a look. Sure enough, there was now flattened brush and the white scars of broken tree branches, a narrow path carved into the heart of the pine woods. I was facing the dismaying reality that just as I was learning to appreciate the natural world from horseback once more, a big chunk of it was about to disappear from my life forever.

  Still, there was no telling how much of the property next door would be flattened. Maybe they wouldn’t want to build homesites up against a smelly farm, full of manure and livestock. Maybe they’d leave me a nice buffer zone of trees and palmetto, so that from here, in the sanctuary of my farm, I wouldn’t have to remember hundreds of acres just next door had been converted to golf courses and Italian Revival McMansions.

  More importantly, the development next door wouldn’t affect the trail business one bit. We would be using my land all the way to the lake, after all, and that was good for an hour or so. I didn’t know who owned the land beyond the lake these days, but I didn’t think it was accessible to anyone but horsemen. There were no roads, there were no houses, for quite a few miles east.

  For now.

  The only thing I knew for certain was life was about to change. I just wasn’t sure how much of the change would come from the ponies and the new trail business — which no one knew about but Kennedy and the grooms — and how much would come from external forces like nearby construction.

  I led Bailey down to the wash-stalls and put him the cross-ties for Colleen, who was still looking annoyed at my assistance. Wait until you get on him and he’s a perfect gentleman, I thought, leaving her to groom her horse on her own terms. She could tap her toes and cross her arms all she wanted, but when she got out there and felt a nice polite horse beneath her again, she’d be singing my praises in no time.

  Anna passed by with Missy’s big chestnut, Donner, who was blowing after the tough lesson I’d just given them. Their ride had started like a lion and gone out like a lamb — over the first jump, Missy had come off in a tangle of legs and stirrup leathers and reins and whip, and then she had proceeded to jump the same course of fences six times in a row without letting Donner put a foot wrong.

  “Cool him out really well,” I called to Anna, although she already knew what she was doing, and watched the horse and rider panting with some satisfaction. Hard, grueling work was exactly what these teams needed to make horse shows seem like a piece of cake.

  Which was good, I thought, glancing at the calendar in the tack room, because today was Wednesday, which meant in three days we’d all be packing up for the Maywood Horse Show, and there would be plenty of tough customers there. Maywood was one of the first big shows on the circuit. “WEF, here we come,” I muttered, crossing off a few days I’d missed on the calendar. “Watch out for Seabreeze.”

  They better watch out for Ivor, too. Just as I’d been taking Bailey for evening rides, I’d been taking Ivor out for a few early morning spins. Just an easy gallop out to the shell mound and back, nothing too crazy. But it stretched his legs and freshened his mind, and the gallops seemed to wake me up better than coffee.

  Only Anna knew about the extra rides, and Anna was still wrapped up in her private misery, trying to decide if showing horses was her life’s work, or just something fun she liked to do with a pal.

  Anna walked Donner past the tack room door again and I stepped out to watch her. There was no spring in her step, and she didn’t even glance at the horse dragging a few steps behind her. Anna usually conversed with her horses, and gave them a few pats on the neck every so often. None of that now.

  Poo
r girl. It wasn’t easy, realizing loving a horse and making a living with horses wasn’t the same thing. But the sooner she learned that lesson, the happier she’d be. Horses could make you crazy if you let them all into your heart. For the few chosen ones who did worm their way into your affections, you still had to be able to step back and be rational, and know when to cut your losses.

  I reached out and touched a pony-sized bridle hanging from a rack near the door. Kennedy must have dug it out, going through my tack trunks in search of gear that would fit the little newcomers. I ran my fingers over the brass nameplate on the crown, my throat tightening a little. Then I slung the bridle over my shoulder and took it with me, heading back towards the house to find some lunch. Kennedy would have to find a different bridle for her little gray demons. This one was off-limits.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Gayle, what’s the matter?”

  “N-nothing,” Gayle stammered, but the white, pinched look around her mouth said otherwise. Gayle was having show nerves.

  I sighed.

  “Is it something on the course? Is it the triple? Because you have triples down pat, and so does Maxine. You have nothing to worry about.” I put a hand on Gayle’s shoulder, and felt her trembling beneath her navy blue show coat. “You have nothing to worry about,” I repeated. “Just take Maxine out, take each fence as it comes, and have fun.”

  “Have fun,” Gayle said woodenly. “Have fun.”

  “You will have fun,” I said firmly. “Go mount up and you’ll feel better. Anna has your horse.” Maxine was near the temporary stabling being amused by Anna, who was running her fingers up and down the mare’s nose and evading her lips every time the horse tried to catch her. One of these days Anna would get bit and she’d stop playing that game, but for now, it was nice to see her having fun. We all learned these lessons the hard way, and we all had the scars to remind us, too.

  Maxine was already dark with sweat. The day was warm for November, one of those hot humid days that seemed to crop up just when you’d thought the fall weather had come to stay, and twenty minutes lunging with side-reins meant some hard work and hard thinking — plenty enough of both to work up a summer sweat. Margaret was out in a field beyond the horse trailers lunging Bailey, and as soon as Gayle was mounted up, Anna was going to head out with Donner. Then Margaret would come back for Hope, and I’d handle Ivor myself. Everyone got their giggles out on the end of a long rope before they were mounted on a show day. I made sure my horses understood a show day wasn’t an opportunity to revisit old lessons for a refresher course. This was a day to put down your head and behave.

  Gayle scuttled over to Maxine, and Anna went into helpful groom mode. She tightened the girth and then first held the mare still while Gayle struggled in an her futile attempt to mount from the ground, then tactfully turned the mare so that Gayle could use the wheel-well of the horse trailer to get into the saddle. I frowned and marched over as Gayle turned Maxine towards the chaos of the warm-up arena. “Where’s the mounting block?”

  Anna looked around, as if she expected the mounting block to step out from behind a horse and wave helpfully. “I don’t know?”

  “Did you not pack it?”

  “I don’t… um…” Anna cast deer-in-headlight round eyes at me.

  “Anna! You packed the trailer. You have a checklist. What else did you forget?”

  “Grace? Have you seen boot pulls anywhere?”

  I wheeled around. Missy was walking towards me in breeches and flip flops, a pair of field boots in one hand. Old-fashioned field boots, without zippers in the back — the kind of boot you needed boot pulls to get on and a bootjack to get off. “Let me just check,” I told her, and swung around on Anna once again. She quailed.

  “I’m sorry…”

  “What else?”

  “Well, are there boot pulls?”

  I turned again. “We can use hoof picks,” I told Missy. “Assuming we have hoof picks.”

  Anna brightened. “We have hoof picks!”

  “Thank goodness. Go and find us some.”

  Anna went off to rummage through the grooming buckets. Missy smiled uncertainly and cast her gaze around, taking in the tumultuous show-grounds. “Is Donner ready yet?” she asked after a minute, looking worried.

  “You have half an hour,” I said. “Plenty of time.”

  Anna returned with a pair of hoof picks and handed them over silently. Missy settled down on the wheel-well to pull her boots on. “I should get zippers,” she said apologetically as she wiggled the hoof picks into the fabric loops inside the left boot. “But I’ve had these boots for so long…”

  They were ancient Der-daus, custom-made, built to last a lifetime. “How long have you had them?” Anna asked.

  “Since I was seventeen,” Missy said with a rueful smile. “At least my old boots fit, even if I don’t ride like I did then.”

  “You rode as a kid?” Anna started to knot up a hay-net along the trailer’s wall. “Like, you showed?”

  “Oh, I did it all.” Missy paused and focused all her effort on getting the slim boot on. She might have to give in and get new ones soon, I thought. Nothing lasts forever, especially not pencil-slim calves. “I showed, I hunted… I wasn’t afraid of a thing back then.”

  “And you stopped? What happened?”

  “The usual,” Missy laughed, but it sounded rueful as well. “College, love, marriage, work, babies. And my horse died, and I never found another one I was so comfortable with. So I stopped riding, and then eventually I realized how much I missed it, and then, years after that, I finally had a little spare time to start taking lessons again. And then Grace helped me find Donner, and here we are. But I’m definitely not the brave teenager anymore.”

  “You’re very brave,” I objected. “You never tell me no. You do everything I tell you in lessons.”

  “That’s just my nature,” Missy said, and she grinned at Anna as if they shared a private joke. “I’m not good at saying no. I’m very easy to bully. That’s why Donner tells me what to do so often. He jumps those courses because he likes to, how he likes to. I’m just along for the ride. And that’s why he’s a good horse for me now,” she finished. “When I was a teenager, we would’ve fought all the time.”

  Anna was nodding along with Missy’s every word. “Your horse when you were younger, he was really different from Donner?”

  “He was night and day with Donner,” Missy said. She stood up and stretched up and down on her toes. “God, these are getting tight. I’m getting old. Yeah, he and I were partners — we were equals, all right. And now if I had an equal, we’d never get around the course — we’d just sit inside the barn and look nervously at each other. Things change when you quit riding, you know? There’s a spark — you have to keep that alive, or it goes out. You’re not less of a person, or anything like that. But you’re not willing to do the same things for a ribbon, either.”

  “I never thought of that,” Anna said. She’d given up pretending to work now and was just watching Missy. But that was fine with me — Missy was giving Anna the talk I couldn’t. The talk from the other side, the talk from the decision to walk away from it all and live a normal life. I thought I could see the result already.

  Just like Kennedy with her inability to give up horses, no matter how burned out and tired she’d thought she was, Anna had a look on her face that told me she wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how much it hurt her to give up Mason as her partner.

  I owed Missy big-time. I didn’t want Anna to leave, after all — training a new working student was no fun.

  Anna turned and saw me watching her. “I’ll go get Donner lunged,” she said hastily, mistaking my silence. “Sorry about that.” She went scurrying into the depths of the white tent where the horses were stabled for the weekend, Missy and I watching her go. Then Missy turned to me.

  “She was thinking about quitting?”

  I nodded. “Pretty sure. She wasn’t sure she wanted to keep showing
with a different horse, but that’s her only option at this point. You just did me a big favor.”

  Missy shrugged and smiled at the same time, her emotions neither here nor there. “I guess I’m the example of what not to do, in this case.”

  “Don’t think of it like that. Everyone has a different road.”

  Missy nodded, watching as my working student emerged from the stable tent with her horse and went off to lunge away his excess energy. “I never saw this road coming,” she said softly. “Not when I was Anna’s age. But I guess you’re right.” She smiled then. “Thank goodness I found you!”

  Another Sunday night, another hanging of the ribbons. Happily, this time everyone had a little something to show for their hard work. Gayle sniffed and wiped away tears as she hung up her blue ribbon — Maxine had pulled out all the stops once again, proving if Gayle just sat tight and remembered the course, Maxine would take care of her. Missy had two thirds and a fifth, which she was pretty happy with; Stacy had a first, a second, and a sixth; even Anna had brought home a first place ribbon with Mason, from an under-saddle class — the only class she’d ridden him in, after withdrawing from all the jumping.

  Colleen was the big winner of the weekend, with three firsts, a second, and a fluttering sunburst of a Grand Champion rosette which dwarfed all the other ribbons. She pinned the massive award on Bailey’s stall, where it sat like a planetary body above the little moons of the other satin scraps, and we all clapped for her while she curtseyed and waved. Bailey, annoyed by all the action outside of his stall, turned his tail towards us and dragged his hay pile to the back corner.

  “Who cares what he thinks?” Colleen crowed. “Look what we won!”

  I sent them all home with smiles on their faces, a big difference from the evening after the dressage show. “I might rethink my dressage commitment,” I told Kennedy, who was hanging around because she thought as an employee she ought to be at the barn at all hours.