by Jessie Haas
“Will Missy mind? I mean, I’ve never ridden him.…”
“Missy won’t mind,” Sarah said. Whether that was true or not, she wasn’t exactly sure, but she did know that no harm would come of it, and she had been in charge of Barney for nine whole months last year. She thought she had the right to make a decision about him once in a while.
Barney decided that the bike was a great peril to him and spent a lot of the way home dancing and skittering. Jill rode out his antics well. She wasn’t the most stylish rider Sarah had ever seen, but she’d been galloping around bareback on Ginger, Albert’s pony, for years now. It took more than Barney’s current foolishness to unseat her.
Sarah was having a harder time. The bike was the one Pete had broken, and although the frame had supposedly been repaired, something was still very wrong with it. It was hard to steer, and on the dirt road it felt rough. Sarah was relieved when they reached the trail, and she had to get off and wheel it.
“Leave it there,” Jill said, looking back. “There’s no good biking up ahead anyway. I’ll just walk back to it.”
“Okay.” Sarah leaned the bike against a tree.
“You want to ride double?” Jill asked.
Sarah almost said yes. But she needed a moment to catch her breath, and in that moment she saw Jill on Barney, looking straight and strong and skillful.
“No, you go ahead,” she said. “There’s a great stretch for cantering, and you can jump that log.”
“You sure you don’t want to?”
“Yeah!” Sarah said. “Just wait for me at the other end of the trail, okay?”
Jill looked doubtfully down at her for a moment. Then Barney fidgeted. “Okay,” said Jill, turning him. “See you!” She urged Barney into a canter. A couple of things were wrong with how she did it, but the results were perfect.
It was amazing how much longer the trail seemed on foot, and what a plodding mode of travel walking was. Once Jill had disappeared, Sarah almost wished she’d agreed to ride double.
At least it was cool, and the day was beautiful. A breeze ruffled the leaves, which, after looking limp and brownish most of the summer, had now revived. They were crisp and green, and they made a lively rustling sound. As Sarah walked along, she saw mushrooms in strange colors, which looked as if they’d grown overnight. She saw a salamander, bright as a crayon on the brown trail, and she saw deer tracks.
Still, it took a long time, and it seemed quiet and lonely. So different from last fall or last spring. She’d had Barney, and Jill had been free to come over more often, and they’d gone riding with Albert, all together. This summer everything about horses—having, not having, wanting or searching or conditioning for a trail ride—seemed to push them apart. It would be easier when school started. It would be easier if it were clothes they were interested in, or boys, something they could enjoy over the telephone.…
When she came to the log, Jill was waiting on the other side.
“Jill! You should have kept going.”
“I did,” said Jill. “I went all the way, and then I came back. So now let’s ride double.”
Later, with Barney drowsing in the crossties, Jill and Sarah lounged on a hay bale.
“What a great jump that was!” Jill said when they’d been silent for a few minutes.
“Weren’t you scared?” Sarah asked. She hadn’t been scared, she suddenly realized—hey, wow! She hadn’t been scared! A little alarmed, for just a second, but that was all. The open, soaring feeling flooded back into her chest.
“I was scared,” Jill said, “but he didn’t want to stop. I just hung on and hoped, actually.”
“I wish you could have a horse,” Sarah said. “Are you sure you can’t?”
“Yes,” said Jill.
“But it isn’t fair! You’re such a good rider.”
“I’ll have a horse when I grow up,” said Jill. “I’ll have a little A-frame house just big enough for one person and a little barn out back with a horse in it—”
“But what about now? We’re supposed to be having fun now! How will we ever go riding together?”
“Sarah, quit it!” Jill sounded angry, but when she turned to face Sarah, there were tears in her eyes. “Nobody ever said we’re supposed to have fun just because we happen to be kids. Some of us do, and some of us don’t, just like regular people. But when I grow up, I will have a horse. Nobody can stop me! And if you still have a horse, we’ll go riding then.”
This was the most Sarah had gotten out of Jill all summer. She felt amazed and suddenly younger than Jill. Before, it had always been the other way around.
But she couldn’t help asking, “What if we don’t want to go riding then?” She couldn’t imagine it, but then, Missy’s friends had all stopped riding.
“I’ll want to,” said Jill. She was staring at Barney unblinkingly. “I’ll always want to.”
15
Confession
Sarah biked from Missy’s house straight to Albert’s. It was a long haul, and though the air was still fresh and cool, Sarah’s mood no longer matched it.
Jill must hate me! she thought. I’m such a lucky pig, and I’m not even grateful.
At least she hadn’t told Jill that. At least she hadn’t come out with any of her complaints—being scared, being bored, falling in love with too many horses. They hadn’t said anything more about horses at all.
Albert was out in the barn, saddling Herky.
“I tried to call you,” he said. “I can ride him myself this afternoon.”
“I don’t mind—”
“No, I’d better,” Albert said. “The ride’s only five days away!” He turned as he spoke, and Sarah saw how wide his eyes were.
“Are you scared?”
“I’ve gotta get my butt toughened up!” Albert hitched up his sagging pants. He needed another hole punched in his belt, Sarah decided—or really, he just needed new pants. “We’ve only got one more field to cut,” Albert went on, “so I guess I’ll only need you to ride him one more afternoon. We had hay get wet yesterday! First time all summer. I never thought I’d be glad to see good hay rained on.”
He put on Herky’s bridle and led the big red horse out into the yard. Sarah followed.
“How’s Goldy?” Albert asked. “All better?”
“Mostly. She still isn’t eating much.”
“Your mother was pretty mad when she came over for the medicine.”
“She’s going to be even madder,” Sarah said glumly. “She didn’t know I was looking at horses with Missy, and I’ve got to tell her soon.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Riding lessons. Swimming.”
Albert gave a long whistle, sounding all too impressed with the scale of Sarah’s problem. Then he said, “Hey, wait! Why does she ever have to know? Just start a new search, with her, and you never have to tell her.”
“That won’t work,” Sarah said. “I found the horse I want.” And standing in the farmyard in the cool, breezy sunshine, while Herky sighed and fidgeted, she told Albert all about the search, about Beau, and Roy, and Thunder.
She’d been wanting to tell somebody all this for what seemed like a very long time, and Albert, when not in a stupor of heat and exhaustion, was a good listener.
By the end he was shaking his head. “That’s crazy, Sarah. If this horse—whoa, Herk. If this horse is twenty years old—”
“Missy wasn’t sure! She said she didn’t know that much about telling a horse’s age—”
“She knows enough,” said Albert. “If he isn’t twenty, I bet he’s pretty close to it. Once they get some real age on ’em, it gets pretty obvious.”
“He didn’t look old at all! He was wonderful—just like Barney!”
“But how long is he gonna be wonderful? I mean, lovable, yeah. But how about rideable?”
“Well, how about this, Albert? If I don’t get him, he’ll probably get sold at auction, and he’ll end up in a dog food can!”
At t
hat Albert looked uncomfortable. He stood fiddling with the reins for a few moments until Herky, at the end of his patience, whooshed out a giant sigh and tried to walk away.
“Hey, wait a minute, guy.” He turned to face Sarah, with an expression that gave her a sudden stab of unease. Albert was a solid and thoughtful person, and the look on his face made her wish she hadn’t said anything to him. But it was too late. “You can’t buy a horse just to give it a good home, Sarah,” he said. “I mean, you don’t just buy a horse because you like it as a person. You buy it because it can take you somewhere.”
Sarah wanted to deny that, but suddenly she was seeing the Morgan jump the log again, she was watching the activity on the big green infield at the Morgan show, she was out at dusk with Herky, lifting a sap line so he could duck beneath. Fortunately Albert didn’t seem to expect an answer. After a moment, with a little, apologetic smile, he climbed into the saddle. “See ya!” He rode away, and Sarah got back on her bike and went off in the opposite direction.
It was late in the afternoon by now, and as Sarah trudged up their dirt road wheeling her bike, Mom drove up and stopped beside her. “Throw your bike in back and hop in!”
Sarah got into the passenger seat. Mom started the car moving again, and then she reached up and pulled her hair band off. She shook her blond hair loose. “Hasn’t this been a perfect day? And for icing on the cake, listen to this: My last student has learned long division, and I am free! We can start looking for your horse tomorrow!”
Sarah’s heart did a quick double beat. “Actually … actually, I’ve already started.”
“Oh, do you have some ads for me to look at?”
Sarah drew in a deep breath, extending for one more second this time when Mom was carefree and she was innocent. “No, what I mean is … I’ve been to see some horses. With Missy.”
They were at the top of the road now, turning into the yard. Shocked and disbelieving, Mom turned her head to look at Sarah. She parked the car automatically, without looking away.
“Oh, Sarah! I’ve been promising this to myself all summer.” Mom’s voice was almost a wail.
Sarah was dumbfounded. Promising this to myself? “I—I’m sorry.…”
“I was looking forward to this! I wanted to drive around and see some farms, and see a lot of horses—I haven’t done anything but work all summer.”
Mom sounded almost as if she were about to cry. “Well, we can still do that,” Sarah said quickly. “We can still drive around. Only … I think I already found the horse I want.”
Mom raked a hand through her loose hair, as if trying to comb her thoughts into order. “Sarah … Sarah, I think we’d better sit down together and have a little talk.”
Oh, no! A little talk! Sarah had imagined herself leading up to this gradually, tactfully, in some miraculous way that was practically unnoticeable.
“I—I should go check Goldy—”
“I can see her from right here,” Mom said. “She’s standing in the barn doorway chewing her cud.” To look at the barn, Mom’s eyes had to pass over the garden. Her face seemed to firm and tighten. “I want the full story,” she said. “From the beginning.”
It wasn’t the way Sarah would have chosen to tell it. In her mind she’d been laying it out more like an essay: State your conclusions, and then support them. The story told simply from start to finish allowed Mom to draw her own conclusions. But there was no way out of it now. Sarah began at the beginning, with Missy’s first suggestion, and ended a long time later with Thunder and what Missy had said about him.
While she was talking, Sarah didn’t look at Mom. She stared out the car window, across the ruined garden, to where Goldy chewed, and swallowed, burped up a new cud, and began again.
Mom didn’t say anything for a long time. Sarah watched the barn swallows swoop and dart until finally she couldn’t stand it. She had to turn and look.
Mom was smiling, in a way that seemed both amused and regretful, as she stared straight through her pitiful, naked tomato plants. “Sarah,” she said. “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. I can hardly wait until you have children of your own, and you can understand how complicated this is.”
Sarah opened her mouth and then decided not to say anything until she had some idea what Mom was talking about.
“My first impulse,” Mom said, “is to ground you for six months—and the only reason I’m not doing it is that you’ve been grounded, essentially, all summer, and I think that’s what led to this. All right?”
Sarah’s face went hot, and she looked down at her hands, gripping each other in her lap.
“Also, honesty compels me to admit that I probably wouldn’t have allowed this. I would have wanted to guide you, so from your point of view, I suppose you were right not to tell me. What I am going to do”—Sarah braced herself—”is something you should be able to appreciate. My riding teacher taught me this years ago. When a horse runs away with you, don’t let him stop. Keep him running till he’s darned good and sick of it.”
She paused, and Sarah’s heart sank. When Mom or Dad started thinking about molding her character, she was usually in trouble.
“So,” said Mom, “since you’ve started this process, I’m not going to take over. You do it. You’re on your own.”
“What do you mean?”
“You make the decisions. You make the phone calls. Just remember—this is a very important choice that will affect your life for years to come. When you get up in the morning ready for a ride, the horse you choose now is the one you’ll have waiting in the barn. Every morning. So I’m leaving it up to you, and I’m expecting you to choose well.”
As soon as she heard this, Sarah realized how much she’d been counting on Mom to bail her out. If Thunder was too old, or Beau too young, Mom would decide. Mom would be the bad guy. If Roy was the best horse, Mom would decide that, too. She’d make the decision, and it would be the right one.
Whatever happened to good old-fashioned spanking?
Mom was opening the car door now. Was that it? Wasn’t she going to say anything more?
Mom paused and leaned down into the car again. “I’m free all week, Sarah. Make any appointments you want.”
After a few minutes Sarah got out, too, and wandered into the barn.
“Meh!” said Goldy from the doorway. Sarah climbed over the gate, and politely Goldy swallowed her cud and reached up to sniff Sarah’s face. Her amber devil’s eyes looked mild and innocent.
“Hello, bad goat.”
Goldy pressed her neck comfortably against Sarah’s leg and produced another cud to chew. Looking out at the barnyard, Sarah listened to the steady, rhythmic grinding. She saw horses there—Barney and Beau, MaryAnne’s chestnut cement mixer, Thunder, and Roy. The horses jostled and crowded one another off the canvas of Sarah’s mind, but as soon as one disappeared over the edge, he reappeared in a new place, as beautiful as ever.
“Hey, Peanut!” Dad had gotten across the barnyard without Sarah’s noticing him. His eyes were bright and wide, taking in the day. “I haven’t done a lick of work today,” he announced, tipping Goldy’s feedbox up on end to sit on. “I didn’t even try!”
“Oh.”
“So,” Dad said, “I understand you’ve been showing a little initiative!”
“Is that what Mom said?”
Dad gave a short laugh. “Not exactly.”
“Is she mad?”
“Hard to say. It isn’t quite the reaction I’d have expected.…” Dad shook his head, as if he had given up hope of ever understanding his family. “A deep knowledge of human character,” one reviewer had said of his first novel. Mom and Sarah got a lot of use out of that line.
“Anyway,” Dad said, “I thought I’d better explain something to you. I’m not sure I’m supposed to, but I will. Did your mother ever tell you why she took that summer tutoring job?”
“No. I thought we just needed money.” Actually Sarah had never wondered about it at all. It was summer, and everybody worke
d. That seemed to be the natural order.
“No, we’re doing okay,” Dad said. “What your mother wanted extra money for was to be sure she could afford you a good horse.”
“But—but she kept talking about a horse like Barney! A horse like Barney wouldn’t cost very much!”
“I’ve had all this explained to me,” Dad said, “but I don’t pretend to understand it. A horse is a horse, so far as I’m concerned. But she was frustrated as a girl because that old horse of hers was pretty useless. She didn’t want you to go through the same thing.”
“But prices have gone down! I mean, you can get a good horse for a lot less now! There’s a ton of good horses for sale—” Tears pricked at the back of Sarah’s eyes.
“She probably doesn’t know that.”
“She would have known if she’d just started looking around! Why didn’t she say anything?”
That made Dad smile, for some reason. “God knows,” he said. “When you think how muddled things can get, just among three people who love one another, you can certainly understand why there are wars and lawyers. Can’t you?”
“But what am I supposed to do now?”
Dad shook his head. “I just thought you ought to know,” he said. “In an ideal world it wouldn’t be this complicated. You’d pick out your horse, and it wouldn’t matter what emotional baggage your mother brought to the process. Probably if we were ideal parents, you wouldn’t even know. But you do.” He stood up. “I guess what I’m saying is, this isn’t like picking an ice-cream cone. It’s a long-term decision, and it matters to your mother quite a lot. But don’t let that have an undue influence! Okay, Peanut?”
Sarah couldn’t manage even the breath of an answer. She just stood there, gazing at the barnyard dirt, and when she finally looked up again, he was gone.
16
Roy Again
That night Sarah slept out in the haymow.
She had to be alone, really alone, away from the books she’d been looking at all summer, the photographs of Barney on her wall, the drawings of Beau tacked up beside the desk. She needed to be away from the stale summer air still trapped in the corners of her room. And she needed to be far away from the sound of Mom’s and Dad’s voices.