Bewildered and frightened by this unexpected turn of events, Lily crossed herself and murmured a rapid prayer in Russian.
Papa’s eyes bulged. “This girl is a Christian!” he gasped.
“And a Russian!” Mama shrieked.
“Haf you forgotten, Lena, vat those villainous cossacks did to our people?” Lena’s shocked father demanded.
“My father was stationed on the steppes, far from the Jews,” Lily protested.
“Oh, Creator of the Universe, vat haf I done that mine own flesh and blood should bring a cossack’s daughter into our home?” cried Mama.
Now Papa turned to Lily and began, “I vish upon you that you should find yourself living in a mansion with a thousand rooms, and in each room a thousand beds . . .”
Lily smiled at this unexpected friendliness.
“. . . and may you be found dead in every one of those beds, you cossack’s daughter!”
Lily reeled at the cruel, yet clever, conclusion to the curse, while Lena leapt to her defense. “This is America, we are not in Russia any longer,” cried Lena. “There are no cossacks in America. Here it does not matter who is Jew and who is Christian! What is important is that Lily is my friend, and we are all Americans!”
Lena’s father shook his finger angrily. “Alvays vith these new ideas! So is my daughter now a freethinker? Do you vish to end up like Shmuel?”
Again with Shmuel, Lena thought. Her father continued ranting.
“The great Rabbi Gamaliel said, ‘Do His will as if it were thy will, that He may do thy will as if it were His will.’ It is not for a girl to defy this visdom. You try to set the vorld upon its head, acting as if horses and women are equal vith men.”
Horses! Suddenly Lena remembered Johnny Apple and his impending fate—there was no time now for a Talmudic debate! She raced out the door, dragging the frightened Lily behind her. “Come! We must save Johnny Apple!”
It was not difficult for Lily to distract the stable boy while Lena led Johnny Apple out of his stall, but once the trio was on the street, they did not know what to do next. They had no one to turn to, and soon the police would be after the two girls for theft. They must leave the Lower East Side, but to go where? Where could a clever horse who knew some tricks, a disobedient Jewish girl who only wished to study the Talmud, and an orphaned Christian girl who was always hungry find their place in the world?
“Ooof!” Once again, Lena had tripped over the Pretzel Woman. “Does she never go home?” Lena wondered. “Again, I ask your pardon, Pretzel Woman,” she said politely.
The Pretzel Woman’s bright eyes, buried deep in her wrinkled face, took in Lily’s tears, Lena’s defiant air, and the presence of Johnny Apple. She hummed a little Yiddish tune, swaying back and forth, while Johnny tapped his hoof in time. “So!” she said at last. “You did not listen to the Pretzel Woman. You did not keep hidden what should be kept hidden. And so evil has befallen you.”
The girls hung their heads. Lena wondered if perhaps the wisdom of the old Pretzel Woman could help them with their current difficulties. “O Pretzel Woman,” said Lena, “we are three friends who wish only to stay together, though the world tries to drive us apart. Do you have any advice for us?”
The Pretzel Woman’s voice took on a tender, crooning tone. “Is it wisdom the girl wants, or information? Wisdom I give you freely, with maybe a stale, two-day-old pretzel.” She pulled a pretzel out from the depths of her shawl, and Lily pounced on it with her usual appetite. “Johnny Apple is a horse with some talents and you girls are a mismatched set that fits together. You must find a place where the strange is ordinary and the ordinary strange.”
Lena and Lily stared blankly at each other, then back at the Pretzel Woman, who spoke again, “Wisdom I give freely, but information will cost you three cents.”
The girls pooled their pennies, and were able to meet the Pretzel Woman’s price with a penny to spare. When the money was safely in her hand, the old woman cackled and coughed for some minutes before uttering two words, “Coney Island.”
Coney Island! The two girls stared at each other, as understanding dawned. They had heard of this fabled land of amusements and delights across the waters. Minnie had gone with her factory friends, and Miss Taylor had promised to take the settlement children one day, but neither Lily nor Lena had ever been.
“How will we get there?” queried Lily worriedly. But the Pretzel Woman seemed to have gone to sleep.
Lena thought hard. Minnie had taken a ferry, and Miss Taylor had promised they would ride on the cars, but neither of these would be possible with Johnny Apple.
“We must walk,” she said firmly.
And so began their weary trudge, downtown to the Brooklyn Bridge, then across the bridge and into Brooklyn, always keeping close to the water, for they knew Coney Island was on the shore. Lena led the trio and Lily cheered all their spirits by talking about the good things they would eat in Coney Island. Johnny Apple helped as well, kicking the sailors who stumbled out of waterfront taverns and tried to pinch the girls, and nipping at the boys who jeered, “Whyncha riding yer old nag?” Though it might have eased their own journey, neither girl could bear to ride their weary friend. Soon there were no more houses and they passed only warehouses, and the occasional soap factory. As night fell, these too disappeared, and the road was bordered only by empty fields.
They had fallen silent, each secretly thinking they were hopelessly lost, when Johnny whinnied urgently. The two girls looked up, and saw a distant glow in the sky. Johnny broke into a shambling trot, and the girls ran after him. Soon the glow became the electric lights of an amusement park, and the sounds of music and laughter reached the girls’ ears. Looking up, they saw cars racing down the steep slopes of a roller coaster, and heard the delighted screams of the passengers. They passed dance halls and beer gardens, and saw signs promising even more wondrous sights—a village populated entirely by midgets, a girl with a thousand eyes, incubators holding tiny premature babies! Lily’s eyes were like saucers as she looked around at the vendors selling chowder, fried clams, and a special sausage on a bun called a red hot. They drifted along with the happy crowds until they came upon beautiful white buildings with towers and minarets outlined in a thousand electric lights, which spelled out the word “Dreamland.”
“We made it, we made it!” they cried, realizing finally that their ordeal was over. The two girls joyfully embraced while Johnny Apple capered about like a colt. The three friends were about to enter Dreamland, but stopped abruptly at a sign that said “Admission 25 cents.” Even in this wonderland, Lena realized, her heart sinking, cold hard cash was still necessary. She wondered if there were shirtwaist factories, or laundries where she and Lily could find work.
“Never mind, Lena,” Lily said gently. “I know we will go to Dreamland, someday.”
Lena knew that if Lily, who hadn’t had a solid meal in months, could bear up under the disappointment, she could too. “Well, we still have a penny,” she said. “Here! Why don’t you buy yourself one of those red hots?”
“Oh Lena, I could not spend our last penny,” Lily replied.
Lena surveyed her beloved and said candidly, “My beautiful Lily, you are as thin as a dried-up herring. Nothing could please me more than to see you grow as plump and round as a delicious piece of gefilte fish. Now go, buy the red hot.”
Lena’s talk of food had left Lily unable to resist any longer. She darted away to the nearest stand, and while she paid for her purchase, Lena and Johnny idly watched a nearby sideshow.
“See Sammy the Sword Swallower, who has entertained the crowned heads of Europe. Watch him swallow rapiers, knives, and sabres of all description . . .” The man’s patter went on, and he held back the tent flap to display the sword swallower, a tall handsome man in an embroidered cape, holding up a small sword. Then—
“Uncle Shmuel!” Lena screamed.
The sword swallower started in surprise, and tossing his sword aside, he leaped off the stage
and gathered his niece in a warm embrace. Johnny Apple caught the sword and balanced it on his nose, as the crowd applauded both the heartwarming reunion and the talented horse.
“Can this be my little Lena?” cried Uncle Shmuel, gazing at his niece.
“This . . . this has been your fate?” Lena exclaimed wonderingly, looking around the gay boardwalk. She had pictured something much worse. Lena bubbled over with questions. “Why did you leave our family? How did you come to be here?”
“Ah, my Lenalinke, still with a thousand questions.” Uncle Shmuel laughed gaily. “How sad I was to leave you, but my father could not understand that I did not wish to be a rabbi, I wished only to entertain the common people.” A distant sadness passed like a cloud through Uncle Shmuel’s eyes. “When he found out that I had apprenticed myself to a sword swallower, he cast me out of my home, and cautioned me never to return.”
“My troubles, Uncle, are perhaps not so different from yours,” Lena explained. “My father could never understand that all I wanted was to study the Talmud, and be with my friends Johnny Apple and Lily.”
“And is this your Lily?” Uncle Shmuel asked.
Lily was standing a few feet away, politely letting the uncle and niece become reacquainted, while she gulped down her red hot.
“Yes,” Lena said proudly, “this is my Lily.”
“Ahhh, what a shayna maidel. You have chosen well, my niece,” said Uncle Shmuel as he looked kindly at the pretty blond girl.
“Ang oo,” said Lily, her mouth still full of the red hot.
“And this is Johnny Apple.” Lena pointed to the horse, still balancing the sword. Again Uncle Shmuel started in surprise.
“Why, this is Herschel the Wonder Horse!” he cried. “The most talented horse in the world! We were on the same bill in Odessa. How often I have wondered what became of him!”
“He is ours now,” said Lena, “but I do not know how I will provide the oats he needs, or these red hots for Lily.” She looked worriedly at Lily, who was licking her fingers.
Uncle Shmuel clapped his hands decisively. “Worry no longer, little one! Herschel—that is, Johnny Apple—will have a part in my act! Why, with his talents, I can double my money! And perhaps this little maid might sell these red hots, of which she is clearly so fond.”
“God bless America!” cried a rapturous Lily.
Uncle Shmuel then turned to Lena. “And you, my dear, you shall study the Talmud and earn money too! Here in Coney Island, the visitors like to look at the babies in their incubators. Why should they not also pay to see a young girl studying the Talmud?”
Lena grew concerned. “But would it not be wrong to use the Talmud in this way for earthly gain?” She was surprised when the response to her question came not from Shmuel or Johnny, but from Lily.
“But did not the great Rabbi Gamaliel say, ‘Comely is study of Torah with worldly occupation, for toil in both makes sins forgotten’?”
Shmuel and Lena stared in amazement at the blond girl, who offered, “Johnny Apple has been teaching me as well.”
“So he has.” Uncle Shmuel laughed. “So he has. But enough talk of work—for your first night in Coney Island, we must celebrate!” And so saying, he paid the four entrance fees and led the three friends through the gates of Dreamland.
LADY SNOW
Julie Creighton stood in the corner of the sunken living room, holding her Shirley Temple and looking out the window as if she were fascinated by the view of Palm Beach. In reality it was too dark to see anything more than her own reflection—an average-looking girl with brown feathered hair and anxious eyes.
Nervously she smoothed her new Jordache blue jeans, hoping no one would guess how out of place she felt. They’d looked great in the motel room, but she stood out like a sore thumb in the snowstorm of white Guess jeans everyone else was wearing. She just didn’t belong in this fancy, ocean-front condo. She didn’t belong at this party. Why had she come?
Julie bit her lip and her reflection did too. They both knew why she’d come—she’d come for Brittany.
Brittany was the top rider on the show jumping circuit and had been for years. Sure, there’d been rivals from time to time, riders that looked as if they might unseat Brittany from her throne, but they never seemed to have her staying power. They might start strong, but by the end of the season they always fell apart, making stupid mistakes while Brittany maintained her calm perfection. Pressure never bothered Brittany. She was the girl who had everything—wealth, talent, beauty—and winning was in her blood.
This was Brittany’s party, to celebrate the opening of the Citrus Classic, the final show of the Florida circuit. Julie had never ridden the winter circuit before, having only graduated from high school the previous June, but even so she’d heard about the notoriously lavish parties that Brittany threw at her cousin Blaine’s condo, where she stayed every winter.
Julie glanced covertly around the room. No Brittany so far, but everyone else who was anyone in show jumping was there. Owners, trainers, riders, and even track officials mingled on the deep-pile carpet. There were the de Cuysters and their new trainer Lance; there was Jillian, who used to ride for that Virginia couple, but now rode for the Lilienthalers. And there was Ashley Morgan at the bar, talking to a trainer and looking like a pale imitation of Brittany.
Last season Ashley and Brittany had been inseparable. It had been Ashley and Brittany having drinks at the Hunt Club, Ashley and Brittany arriving at the shows in Brittany’s Porsche, Ashley and Brittany sharing a condo in New York. The word had been that it was going to be a breakout year for Ashley and her horse, Stardust. But though they’d started the season with a string of victories, by the time the Grand Prix rolled around, Ashley appeared pallid and jumpy and Stardust looked even worse. They hadn’t even placed.
Julie turned to peer at the group of people by the fireplace. No Brittany there either, but wait—was that Caro Carmichael, sitting and staring at the flames? Yes, it must be her, because there was a set of crutches leaning against her chair. Two years ago she’d seemed a sure thing to beat Brittany—until that terrible accident. Julie shivered a little, remembering, and turned back to the window.
Now there was serious talk that Julie might be the one to end Brittany’s Grand Prix winning streak—her, Julie Creighton! She stared at her reflection. Was this really the girl who would beat Brittany Fairchild? This ordinary girl with average looks and no money, just an honest determination to do the best with what she had? And what she had was her horse, Lady Snow. Julie smiled just thinking of her. And then there were the years of training she’d gotten from Liz Halstead—one of the best riders around and Julie’s best friend. That is, Liz had been her best friend—before The Incident.
Julie shuddered. Her reflection shuddered too. Neither of them wanted to think about that again. Instead, she thought about Brittany. The way she’d suddenly appeared at the stall door that afternoon, while Julie was grooming Lady Snow. Julie had never been so close to Brittany before, close enough to see how blue her eyes were and how even her tan was, close enough to smell the mixture of hay and Opium that clung to her. Julie had stood there, staring at her idol in wonderment.
And Brittany had smiled, a dazzling, perfect smile. “Julie. Party at Blaine’s tonight. Be there.” That was all Brittany said. That was all she needed to say.
Suddenly, cries of “Hi, Brittany!” “Brittany, hey, where have you been?” brought Julie back to the present. She turned around. Her reflection turned around too, but she wasn’t watching it anymore. Because Brittany was standing in the doorway, surveying the party with a small smile on her lips. The lights picked up the gold in her hair, which fell in smooth waves on her cream-colored cashmere cowl-neck sweater. She wasn’t wearing Guess jeans. Instead she wore wide-wale cords in a vivid shade of pink. In a week, everyone else would be wearing them too.
Her eyes met Julie’s, and she came straight to her, ignoring the partiers who tried to catch her attention. Without asking permis
sion, she picked up Julie’s drink and took a sip. That was Brittany. Taking what she wanted. And no one ever minded, because she was Brittany. Her eyes sparkled at Julie over the rim of the glass. “Where’d you get this, the kiddie table?” She laughed, a silvery laugh. “Let’s get you a real drink.”
Julie followed Brittany toward the teak wet bar in the corner, a little uncertain. The truth was, she hadn’t ever had a real drink. And she was thinking about what Liz had said to her, the morning she’d left for Florida. She’d been loading Lady Snow into the trailer when Liz had appeared. They’d been avoiding each other for weeks, and Julie’s heart had jumped with hope when she saw Liz walking toward her. But Liz had only come to deliver a brusque warning: “Stay away from alcohol and drugs and from . . . from the people who use them. They can make you do things—things you thought you would never do.”
Brittany looked up from the drink she was mixing, and smiled. “I’m going to make you my favorite drink, okay?”
“Okay,” said Julie. Liz’s warning seemed silly. How could a drink make her do something she didn’t want to? And it had hurt—the only time Liz had spoken to her since The Incident and it was just to give her the same old sermon Julie had been hearing since sixth grade! Well, Julie decided, she was sick of Liz and all her preaching—after all, Julie was eighteen now, an adult, whether Liz realized it or not!
Brittany handed Julie a glass filled with a clear liquid, a little sliver of lime perched precariously on its edge. Julie sipped tentatively. She had tried beer once and hadn’t liked it. But this—this didn’t taste too bad at all. She took a bigger sip, smiling at Brittany. Brittany laughed her silvery laugh again. “Looks like gin and tonic is your drink!” she said with pleasure. She raised her glass. “Here’s to those blue ribbons you’ve been winning!”
Julie felt a warm glow spread through her. Brittany was so nice! Not that Julie was surprised—Brittany never let rivalry get in the way of friendship. Actually, many of her top competitors were also close friends. No one was sorrier than Brittany when they fell apart.
Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories Page 14