Stevie and Lisa couldn’t believe their good luck.
“She’s beautiful!” Lisa said, barely able to utter the words because she was so excited.
“And loving!” Stevie added. “I’m sure she’s going to win. I’ll tell my dad to bet a bundle on her.”
“Let your dad do his own betting,” Carole advised. “But for now, go back to your seats. I’m going to be in the post parade, and I want to see somebody cheering for Prancer.”
“I’ll cheer for Prancer, but I’m mostly going to cheer for you,” Stevie said. She and Lisa gave Prancer a final good-bye pat and returned to the grandstand.
The next few minutes went very quickly for Carole. She was glad she’d taken the time to understand what was going on at the time of the earlier race, because now it all seemed a blur, made fuzzier by the butterflies in her stomach.
“Riders up!” the judge announced. Carole wasn’t certain, but she thought that included her. She remounted her pony, glanced around and saw that all the other lead riders were mounted as well, and then she took Prancer’s lead, holding it while Stephen hopped onto the featherweight saddle Prancer was now sporting.
Carole tried to do everything the other lead riders were doing. As each racehorse reached the entrance to the track, its assigned lead pony took the lead, escorting the horse and jockey out onto the track. It wasn’t hard to do that. Prancer seemed to want to be as close as possible to Carole. She walked her pony slowly, savoring every second of the parade. The horses circled back toward the end of the grandstand and then began their trek around the track to the starting gate. The Thoroughbreds were all carefully in line by their numbers, allowing the spectators to see and admire them. They walked slowly and sedately. That wasn’t easy for Carole, because she kept craning her neck to see Stevie and Lisa. Once she spotted them, she waved. None of the other lead riders was waving, but then probably none of them had their best friends in the grandstand, she reasoned. She glanced at Stephen to see if she’d made a mistake. He just winked at her and then leaned forward and patted Prancer’s neck. Prancer nodded her head eagerly.
The track was bigger than Carole had imagined. It was wider than Mr. McLeod’s practice track, and it seemed longer, too, though that may have been because the whole place, including the grandstand, seemed so vast. The crowd milled anxiously—some spectators headed for betting windows, others for hot-dog stands. Children played in open spaces that would soon hold eager race watchers. Some of the people watched every horse’s every move. Others studied booklets or newspapers. A few dozed on the benches in the sun. Everybody seemed to be enjoying a day at the track, one way or another.
Carole spotted Mr. McLeod then, standing at the same place along the rail so he could watch the race for himself. Judy stood next to him. She thought of waving to them but decided it would be unprofessional. Then Mr. McLeod waved at her. She waved back.
“Warm-up time,” Stephen said. All around them, the racehorses began cantering and galloping toward the starting gate. Carole pulled her pony away to allow Stephen and Prancer the space they needed to stretch Prancer’s muscles for the race. Stephen didn’t want Prancer to trot or canter. He made her gallop from a standing start, just as she would do in the race. Carole watched Prancer, once again awestruck by the beauty of her movements and the perfection of her speed. She felt she could watch that horse for hours. She was sorry the whole race was going to be over so quickly.
Stephen and Prancer galloped a quarter of the way around the track and then slowed to an elegant and graceful walk the rest of the way to the starting gate. Carole and the other lead riders withdrew to a special area where they were to wait until the end of the race.
“You stay here until that horse is ready to go back to the paddock,” one of the other lead riders told Carole, but she already knew that. She just nodded, trying to pretend she was grateful for the tidbit of information. Nobody else seemed to have any other words of wisdom for her. She waited.
Soon she saw that the horses were all being put into the starting gate. It would be only seconds now. Prancer went into her little slot without any complaint. Carole could barely see from where she was, but she thought Prancer’s ears were perked up and turning rapidly. That was a good sign. It meant that Prancer was alert to everything that was happening around her. She’d run a good race.
The bell rang.
“And they’re off!” the public-address system blasted out. The words that followed were a blur. So much of Carole’s attention was centered on what she was watching that she couldn’t possibly take in the announcer’s words.
Prancer burst out of the gate, immediately taking the lead. But that wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Stephen was supposed to hold her back until the last part of the race, when he’d been told to make her go as fast as she could. Carole watched Prancer carefully, and the look of the horse told her that nothing was going to stop her. The horse who loved to run fast by herself, alone on the practice track, wanted the utter joy of running by herself, ahead of the rest of the field on the racetrack. Prancer’s legs flew back and forth so fast Carole couldn’t even see them land. Stephen had sensed the urgency in the horse’s gait and had given her all the rein she needed to run wild and free, ahead of everybody else.
Even from across the track, Carole was sure she could hear the pounding of Prancer’s hoofbeats, so rapid as to be a single throbbing sound.
And then something happened. Prancer stumbled. Her right foreleg bent gruesomely under her body. Stephen’s arms flew up in protest, and the reins jerked away. Prancer’s other three legs tried to carry the burden, to continue the race, but then all four legs seemed to collapse at once. To Carole’s horror Prancer stumbled a final time and fell forward, as awkwardly as she had been graceful just a few seconds before.
Stephen was thrown so completely off balance by the sudden forward and downward pitch of his mount that he flew into the air, off Prancer’s right side.
Then, suddenly, Prancer wasn’t alone. A crowd of racing horses bore down on her, each rider desperately trying to avoid hitting the downed horse and equally desperately trying to avoid her rider. Stephen rolled away from the path of the oncoming field of racers as fast as he could, just barely escaping the deadly hooves.
The second the other horses had passed the downed Prancer and Stephen, many things happened. An ambulance rolled onto the track, headed for Stephen. The track vet hurried toward Prancer. Judy and Mr. McLeod broke out of the grandstand, running for the horse and rider as well. The crowd called words of encouragement and concern.
Carole saw and heard none of this. All she could see was Prancer, lying in the dirt, crying out in pain. Without knowing what she was doing, Carole kicked her pony to action. The horse sprang at her touch, dashing across the track to where Prancer was lying and unable to move. Images flashed through her mind, images of horses who had to be destroyed because of injuries; images of horses who had died because of carelessness; images of horses who wouldn’t live to ride again. She saw death and pain. And she saw Prancer.
Carole was the first person to arrive at the horse’s side. Stephen was pulling himself up and seemed okay. Carole dismounted and turned her attention to Prancer. As soon as the horse saw Carole, she stopped crying so loudly. Carole didn’t think she was in any less pain, it was just that she seemed to feel comforted by Carole’s presence. Her cry turned to a whimper.
Although she didn’t want to, Carole automatically reached for the filly’s right leg. It was the one that had collapsed under her. It was almost certain that was where the trouble lay, and Carole was terribly afraid of what she would find. A racehorse with a broken leg was useless on the track. No matter how much an owner loved it, he might not be able to keep it. Many severely injured racehorses met the same sad end. Carole didn’t even want to think about it.
She didn’t feel any breaks in Prancer’s leg, though she wasn’t sure she would have known one if she had. She was more sure that if she touched a place where the bon
e was broken that Prancer would call out again. The horse remained still and quiet. Then Carole’s hand felt the hoof. It was hot. She checked Prancer’s left front hoof. It was not hot.
“How is she?” Judy asked breathlessly.
“It’s in her right hoof,” Carole informed her automatically. “Here, feel.” She stood up and stepped back to allow room for Judy to examine the horse. The instant Carole was out of Prancer’s field of vision, the horse began crying loudly again.
Carole stepped closer and then sat down cross-legged on the track, holding Prancer’s head on her lap. She stroked the horse’s cheek and neck calmly, talking all the while.
“It’s okay, girl,” she said. “Judy’s here. She’ll take care of you. She’ll find out what’s wrong, and she’s going to know what to do to make you better so you can race again and lead the field again and cross the finish line again. And I’ll be there with you, cheering and calling your name, and I’ll hold your trophies and then I’ll hug you in the winner’s circle.”
“What’s the story?” the track vet asked Judy when he arrived.
Judy stood up, and the two of them walked a few steps away to talk about Prancer’s condition. Mr. McLeod joined them. The three talked in low voices. Carole couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she was afraid she knew.
“Prancer, my beautiful Prancer,” she said, hugging the horse, hoping that the love that flowed through her arms would heal the filly and save her life.
“She’s a good horse, you know,” Stephen said.
“I know,” Carole said, lifting her head from Prancer’s cheek. She noticed the cheek was moist with her own tears. She hadn’t even known she’d been crying.
“I never saw her run like that, you know. Mr. McLeod was right. You were a good omen for her. She was running for you. She was going to win the race or die trying,” Stephen said.
Carole glanced at him sharply. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Do the horses have to sacrifice themselves to win?”
“No,” he said. “But it happens. And when it does, often it’s because the horse wanted it that way.”
“Prancer wanted to die?”
“No,” he said. “She wanted to win.”
Carole looked down at the beautiful white-faced bay who rested her head so peacefully on Carole’s lap. When the next tear landed on the rich brown fur of the horse’s cheek, Prancer blinked, then nodded calmly, as if she were trying to reassure Carole and tell her it was all right.
“Let’s see if she can stand now,” Mr. McLeod said to Carole. “Want to help her up?”
Carole realized he was speaking to her. Very gently she stood up herself. Then she took Prancer’s reins and began to encourge the horse to rise. The act of rising from a lying position could be awkward for even the most agile and healthy horse. Horses had very long and slender legs compared to the heavy weight they were each expected to carry. When one of those legs didn’t work properly, the procedure was agonizing—at least it was for Carole.
She helped Prancer balance, encouraging her to put weight on her left foreleg, rather than on the damaged right. There was not a sound from the spectators. They all knew, just as Carole did, that the next few seconds were going to be critical to Prancer’s life. If she couldn’t even stand, they might decide to put her out of her pain right then and there. Carole didn’t want that to happen. She couldn’t let that happen. No way!
“Come on, girl,” Carole said. “First this one. That’s the way.”
She talked, she coaxed, she soothed. She even sang. It didn’t seem odd to her that she was surrounded by adults, all horse professionals, each of whom had many times the experience with horses that she did, and each of whom was waiting for her, Carole Hanson, to perform the miracle they hoped for.
Prancer shifted her weight and brought her hind legs directly under her. That was what she had to do first. Now she had to get the left foreleg where it could carry the necessary weight.
“I don’t know about this.…” the track vet began.
Mr. McLeod shushed him. “This horse loves this girl. That can be a powerful medicine,” he said.
Carole concentrated on what she was doing and how Prancer was doing. Prancer’s hind legs lifted her flanks. Then she stretched her left foreleg and braced it against the soft earth of the track. Slowly, awkwardly, the horse rose and was, at the end, standing on her three good legs.
The grandstand erupted in a wild ovation.
“They’re all cheering for Prancer!” Carole said elatedly.
“No, Carole,” Judy corrected her. “They’re cheering for you.”
Carole looked up at the people who waved and clapped for her. She saw Lisa and Stevie there, too, standing by the rail, crying just as she had been, but smiling and waving in spite of their tears. Mr. and Mrs. Lake beamed proudly and waved as well.
“Let’s get Prancer back to the stable,” Carole said. “I don’t want her to be frightened by all this noise.”
“I think she likes it,” Mr. McLeod said. “Look at her.”
Carole turned and took a look at the horse she was leading so slowly. Prancer whimpered with pain at every step she took, but her ears were perked straight up and twitching alertly. This was a horse who was driven by success, by winning, by the roar of a crowd. This was a horse who wanted to live. But, Carole wondered, what did she have to live for?
ONCE PRANCER WAS back in the stable, Judy took charge, calling for the portable X-ray machine. Dozens of people hovered, watching and asking questions. Stewards and judges watched every move that Judy made. The track veterinarian assisted Judy. Nobody needed Carole anymore.
She drew back from the crowd. She was frightened when she realized that most of the people were there to see if it would be necessary to put Prancer to sleep. Mr. McLeod watched silently. Carole could tell from the look on his face that the same thing was on his mind. He excused himself for a moment then, saying something about having to call his insurance company.
Carole fled. She couldn’t take any more. She loved horses so much, and she thought Prancer was such a wonderful horse, that she couldn’t bear the idea that Prancer might not make it—that that very special horse might have to be traded for mere insurance money.
There were three more races to run at the track. Beyond the confines of Mr. McLeod’s stalls in the stabling area, racetrack life seemed to be going on in very much the same way that it had been before. The lead riders rode their ponies with the racehorses. Trainers delivered last-minute words of advice to jockeys. Spectators studied horses, studied programs, studied the lines in their hands, and the formation of clouds, hoping to find a good way to pick a winning horse to bet on.
But for Carole everything had changed. All she wanted to do was get away from the track and be alone. Finally she found a place where nobody else was. It was the feed-storage shed for the stables. She opened a door and entered, finding herself in a vast room stacked with bales of hay and barrels of grain. The sweet and familiar smell of the hay welcomed her. She sat on one bale, plucked a piece of hay from another, and chewed on it.
So much had happened in the last couple of weeks. First she’d had to deal with Starlight’s injury and Pepper’s growing old. While working with Judy she’d also found out about lots of other illnesses and injuries that horses could get. And then she’d discovered for some people horses were mainly a business, one that would continue even though a beautiful racehorse had just been seriously injured. What will come next? Carole wondered. When will I have learned enough of the lessons of life and death? Right now it seemed as if she were being forced to learn them again and again.
The tears came then, trickling at first and then streaming. She cried for Prancer, for her owner and rider and how much they loved the little filly. She cried for Cobalt, another horse she’d loved who had had to be destroyed. She even cried for her mother, now gone over two years, but still a painfully wonderful memory. She cried because she felt sadness and grief. She cried because
she was afraid.
The shed door cracked open, letting in a stream of light that fell across the bales of hay.
“Carole?”
She looked up. Stevie and Lisa had found her. Without a word her two best friends ran to her and hugged her. They understood. They understood everything, and they were there to help her—or were they there to give her bad news?
“Prancer?” Carole asked, uttering the whole question with a single word.
“Judy’s reading the X ray now.”
“I can’t stand it,” Carole said.
“We know,” Stevie said, hugging Carole some more. “But I think Prancer needs you.”
That was the one thought that could get Carole back on her feet. If Prancer needed her, she’d be there for her.
“We saw her and she seemed glad to see us,” Lisa explained. “Except she kept looking over my shoulder.”
“I think she was looking for you,” Stevie said.
“She’s an amazing horse,” Carole said, smiling for the first time in a while. It made her smile to remember how much Prancer seemed to like her and her friends. Horses didn’t usually become attached to one person or another, but Prancer had become attached to Carole immediately. She recalled the first time she’d seen the filly in her stall at Maskee Farms, when she’d reached right over to Carole and nuzzled her. “A truly amazing horse,” Carole repeated.
“All the more reason to be there for her now,” Stevie said, offering Carole a hand.
Carole took it. She also took the tissue that Lisa offered her. The three girls left the feed shed and returned to the stables together.
Carole was very frightened as they approached Prancer’s stall. The filly was still completely surrounded by official-looking people jotting notes on clipboards and talking into recording devices. At the center of it all were Judy, the track veterinarian, and Mr. McLeod. They were holding a large X ray up to the light to study it. Carole didn’t want to know what they were saying. She just wanted to be with Prancer. She walked past Judy, straight to the horse. Lisa and Stevie followed.
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