“Leave me alone.”
“We just want to help,” Stevie tried.
“Then leave me alone from now on,” Alice retorted. That was the last word she said to us. I was kind of worried about her, and I thought maybe we should go after her. But Stevie reminded me that we ought to move that tree trunk off the trail first. Besides that, I think she was a little hurt by Alice’s reaction to what we’d thought was a good deed. I know I was.
We talked about it as we cleared the path. “We were just trying to help,” I mused sadly. “Why is she so angry with us?”
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided she’s probably not all that angry,” Stevie said. “It’s just that we surprised her. Maybe she’s really angry with herself for letting so many jumping opportunities go by without trying it before now. The way I figure it, by the time she gets back to Pine Hollow, she’ll be really glad we tricked her and ashamed she rode off alone.”
“Maybe,” I said, though secretly I couldn’t help thinking that Stevie, with her naturally optimistic nature, was getting a little carried away. Alice had looked really angry as she rode off. She had looked really angry at us.
“I bet she’s waiting for us right now so she can apologize,” Stevie went on. “She’s probably talked to Mrs. Reg and signed up for a zillion jump classes for the rest of the time she’s here.”
“Maybe,” I said again.
But Stevie was wrong. When we got back to the stable, there was no sign of Alice. And when we tried to call her, she didn’t want to talk to us. In fact, just about the only thing she did tell us was that she was going to quit riding!
We definitely weren’t expecting that. For the next couple of days, I couldn’t get Alice out of my mind. By Tuesday, the day of our next riding lesson, she was all I could think about. The one thing that bothered me even more than the idea that Alice was angry with Stevie and me was the idea that she might actually have meant it when she’d said she wasn’t going to ride anymore. Horseback riding is the most important thing in the world to me, and I couldn’t bear the idea that somebody else might never do it again because of something I’d done—even if I’d meant well. I felt positively terrible.
Finally I called Stevie to talk about it. She was having the same sorts of thoughts as I was.
“I can’t believe she means she’ll never ride again,” she said.
“But what if she did mean it?” I asked. “That means we caused it even if we don’t know why.”
“Then maybe we ought to know why,” Stevie said.
“Maybe the why is none of our business,” I suggested. It was something I’d been thinking about a lot that morning.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. One of the strongest parts of Stevie’s personality is her insatiable curiosity. She tends to forget that some things just aren’t her business to know. But I was starting to see that we might have made a big mistake. We’d just assumed that Alice’s reasons for not jumping weren’t important and needed to be overcome. What if we were wrong? What if Alice had serious reasons for not wanting to jump and serious reasons for not wanting to talk about it? I explained what I was thinking to Stevie.
“But what kind of serious reasons could she have?” Stevie asked.
“None of our business,” I replied.
Stevie finally seemed to catch on. “You mean we were just meddling?”
“I guess that’s the word,” I agreed.
“How soon can you get here?” Stevie asked.
I was used to Stevie’s quick changes of direction. She’s a girl of action, and it can be a little hard to keep up with her sometimes. But I just answered the question. “Fifteen minutes,” I said. “I have to get changed and pack my stuff for riding class.”
When I rang Stevie’s doorbell fifteen minutes later, she was waiting for me. “We have to talk to Alice,” she announced. “We have to get her to come to class today. If she makes good on her threat and misses just one riding class, it may take a lot longer to get her back into the saddle.”
I agreed wholeheartedly with that. We knew we had some major apologizing to do, and we had to do it fast, before it was time for class. We walked over to Alice’s grandmother’s house.
Alice answered the door. “What are you doing here?” she demanded through the screen door.
“We came to say we’re sorry,” I began.
“You should be,” Alice said.
“We are,” Stevie chimed in.
“We thought we were being helpful,” I said.
“You weren’t.”
“We know,” Stevie said. “We were just meddling.”
“It isn’t any of your business whether I want to jump or not,” Alice told us.
“We know that now,” I said, and Stevie agreed.
“But if you don’t ever ride again and we caused it,” Stevie went on, “then it is our business. You don’t have to jump and you don’t even have to talk to us. But we know that you love riding just as much as we do, and we can’t stand the idea that you might not ride because of something we did that we shouldn’t have done.”
“Even though we were just trying to be helpful,” I added.
“We’re sorry,” Stevie said sincerely. “Really, we are.”
Alice didn’t say anything for a long time. She just stood there behind the screen door. Then, as we watched, her eyes brimmed with tears.
I wasn’t sure what to say. Luckily Stevie spoke up. “Class starts at two,” she told Alice.
“Please come,” I added softly.
Alice stepped back and closed the door, and there was nothing for us to do then but go to Pine Hollow, catch up on some chores, and hope that Alice would show up for class.
She did, thank goodness. We didn’t have time to talk to her before class, but she caught up to us afterward.
“I—uh,” I stammered. Stevie and I had both been dying to talk to Alice, but now that she was there, neither of us knew what to say.
Alice spoke up and saved us from trying to figure it out. “I just wanted to thank you two.”
“Thank us?” Stevie sounded surprised. “For what?”
“For making me come back,” Alice replied with a small smile.
This time I knew exactly what to say. “You’re welcome,” I said, meaning it with every fiber of my being. It was nice to know that we’d finally done something right.
And that was that. Alice left at the end of the week, and we still don’t know why she doesn’t jump. I guess we’ll never know. But that’s okay, because it really is none of our business. Some things just need to stay private, and no matter how curious we are, we need to respect that.
Yikes! I just realized I’ve been writing for ages. And I haven’t even gotten to the scary stuff that happened to Carole while she was in Florida. I guess I’ll have to put that off for another day, though. Mom will be home from the mall soon, and I really want to start thinking about my writing project before it’s time for dinner.
To help remind me that I still have to write about Carole, I’m going to paste in the postcard she sent us from Florida. Unfortunately Stevie left it sitting on the edge of Topside’s stall, and I barely saved it in time—I had to yank it out of his mouth. That horse loves to taste absolutely everything! It got a little blurred by his slobber in the process, so I’m not sure if the picture on the front is supposed to be Mickey Mouse or a horse and buggy on Main Street. Knowing Carole, though, I’m betting on the horse and buggy …
Hi, guys!
This place is fantastic. And tomorrow may be even better. I’m going riding on the beach with Sheila. Can’t wait. And can’t wait to see you!
Love, Carole
FROM: LAtwood
TO: HorseGal
SUBJECT: A favor …
MESSAGE:
Hi, Carole! I just tried to call, but your line was busy. I need to do an assignment called “People Helping People” for my writing class, and I was wondering if you’d mind if I used the st
ory of what happened to you in Florida. I think it would be the perfect example of PHP, don’t you? So would you mind? Can I write about you? Pretty please?
FROM: HorseGal
TO: LAtwood
SUBJECT: Favor granted
MESSAGE:
Of course you can write about me for your project! I’d be honored. If you want to talk to my relatives, just let me know and I’ll give you their phone number.
I can’t wait to read your assignment when you’re finished! Although if you ask me, the title should be “People and Ponies Helping People.” Just a thought!:-)
People (and Ponies) Helping People
an essay by Lisa Atwood
I believe it’s important for people to help other people however they can. Sometimes this means explaining homework to someone who doesn’t understand. Or it could mean volunteering at a soup kitchen or reading to younger kids or unloading the dishwasher without being asked.
But sometimes helping can be even more important than that. Sometimes it can literally mean the difference between life and death.
My friend Carole learned about that firsthand recently. She was visiting relatives in Florida, and one day she and her cousin Sheila decided to ride their horses along the beach and have a picnic. It was a perfect afternoon, and they had a lot of fun riding, eating, and napping on the warm sand.
Then they decided to go swimming. As they waded out through the gently lapping waves, Sheila gave Carole a warning that she will always remember: “Never turn your back on the ocean.”
The two girls frolicked in the surf for quite a while before Sheila decided to go back to shore and bring out a flutterboard. As she watched her cousin return to their picnic spot, Carole noticed that it seemed to have moved about fifty yards down the beach. But she didn’t think much about it.
She started to swim out toward the place where the waves began to crest. She wanted to be ready to use the flutterboard as soon as Sheila got back with it. A nice-sized wave came. Carole jumped up into it, enjoying the frothy lathering she got as the crest passed her by. But the next wave broke so quickly that she didn’t have time to take a big enough breath, so she ended up with a noseful of salty water. She coughed and tried to clear out her nose, and she rubbed her eyes, which were stinging from the ocean water.
She was so busy with the problems the last wave had caused that she never saw the next wave coming. Only instinct caused her to take a deep breath when it hit.
In an instant Carole was completely submerged in the surf. This time, instead of propelling her upward and toward the shore, the water pulled her down, tugging fiercely at her feet, dragging her down toward the sandy bottom.
Carole had never felt a force like that. It was mightier than a team of horses, stronger than anything she’d ever known. Her body scraped the bottom, and the rough sand scratched her skin while her lungs screamed for air.
Carole didn’t know how far she traveled or how long she stayed underwater, but finally she found herself near the surface again and was able to fight her way up to the precious air. She gasped with relief, coughing and sputtering. For a second she was so glad to be able to breathe again that she didn’t notice what else was happening to her.
Then she looked around and realized that she was out beyond the line where the waves broke. And she was being pulled farther away from the shore at every second! She could breathe all right, but she could still feel the water pulling at her feet. If it pulled her under again, she wasn’t sure she would have the strength to fight it. She was totally exhausted.
She looked toward the shore, hoping to spot her cousin. When she saw her walking down the beach with the flutterboard tucked under one arm, Carole waved at her frantically.
Sheila waved back.
Carole cried for help, but Sheila was too far away to hear. When Carole waved again, Sheila just held up the flutterboard. It was obvious she had no idea that Carole was in trouble.
Carole realized she wasn’t going to get help from Sheila. What could her cousin do, anyway? If she came out to help, both of them might be killed.
Carole tried swimming toward shore. It took all of her might to pull her feet up a bit and begin kicking. She moved her arms, though it felt as if they had lead weights attached to them. Carole was a good swimmer—she’d been swimming all her life. But she’d never had to swim like that. No matter what she did, how hard she tried, with each stroke she found herself farther from shore.
Soon Sheila reached the water and waded in. When she looked at Carole again, she finally saw what was happening. Carole wasn’t playing in the waves. Carole was caught in a riptide, and she was being carried out into the ocean, out where there was nothing but danger for swimmers.
Sheila was terrified and panicked. “Help!” she cried, but there was nobody else close enough to hear her. The lifeguard tower was empty at the moment, and all the other beachgoers had left the area.
Sheila looked around desperately. All she saw was the peaceful beach where they’d had their picnic and where their horses were now enjoying the shade of a coconut palm. Her own pony, Maverick, looked up when she looked at him.
Maverick, her beloved pony. Could he help? Sheila didn’t know, but she knew there was no other possible answer. She dropped the flutterboard and ran to her horse. Unhitching his lead rope, she leaped onto his bare back.
“Let’s go, boy,” she said. And they went.
Meanwhile, Carole was still struggling against the current. Every inch of her body told her she must not allow herself to be dragged out into the ocean. She kicked, she used her arms, she kept moving … and she kept going farther out.
Suddenly there was a tug at her feet as the water tried to suck her under again. She filled her lungs with air just before she went under. Again, she was relentlessly pulled by the force of the water, down and out. She was swirled around as if by water going down a drain. Then, as suddenly as she’d gone down, she popped up. She gasped for air and looked around. The beach was very far away now, the few people farther down the beach looking very tiny in the distance.
There was one figure that was bigger, though. Carole squinted against the glare, trying to figure out if she was seeing right. Someone was entering the water. Not just a person; a horse. It was a horse she’d seen before, she was sure of that, but just at the moment she couldn’t remember where. And the rider—she knew the rider. Definitely. But who was it? Before she could remember, the water tugged again, and she took another deep breath as it pulled her under once more.
On the beach, Sheila urged Maverick forward. The brave pony entered the water fearlessly, trotting straight into the powerful surf. He didn’t flinch when the water was at his knees or splashing on his chest. Sheila gripped tightly and prepared for the onslaught as they approached the area where the surf might grab at them, too. She spoke to her pony with her legs and he answered with his heart and all his strength. Soon he was jumping against the oncoming waves just as Sheila and Carole had been doing only a few minutes earlier. This time, however, it wasn’t for fun.
Sheila sat as tall as she could on her pony’s back and searched the deep blue water ahead for a sight of Carole. At first she couldn’t find her. But finally she spotted her, bobbing helplessly almost a quarter of a mile away.
While Maverick moved forward toward Carole, Sheila considered the circumstances. She knew what was going on, though she suspected that Carole did not. Carole was caught in a riptide, an incredibly strong surface current that was pulling her down into the ocean and away from shore. There was no way a single swimmer could defeat the force of the riptide. Fighting it would surely only lead to exhaustion, and exhaustion led to a place Sheila didn’t want to think about.
The only way to defeat the riptide was to get out of its force. Since it could be a mile or more long, straight away from the beach, the only option was to move parallel to the shore, beyond the section affected by the riptide. Somehow Sheila had to convince Carole to stop swimming toward the beach and start s
wimming parallel to it.
Carole saw Sheila then. She knew who it was. It was her cousin Sheila and Sheila was riding a horse. It was her horse. It was … She couldn’t remember the horse’s name. He had a name, she was sure of that, but she just couldn’t remember it. But she knew she wanted to reach them. She lifted one arm, put it in front of her, and kicked weakly. Her arm didn’t really feel much like her arm anymore, though. It was more like some sort of very heavy attachment to her body. It just fell back in the water and hung limply by her side.
Sheila was waving at her. Carole wanted to wave back, but her arm weighed too much. What did she want, anyway? It didn’t look like she was waving hello. It was more like she was waving at Carole to go away.
Carole wasn’t sure, but she thought maybe she was going away. Far away. She started thinking about her mother, who had died a couple of years earlier. The water tugged at her feet again. It was cold, but so was she.
Sheila could tell that Carole didn’t know what she wanted her to do. Carole just had to swim sideways. It was the only way—unless Maverick could get to her, and then all three of them would go sideways together.
She shifted Maverick’s direction. They had to go down the shore beyond where Carole was. They would have to be beyond the force of the riptide and make Carole swim toward them. She urged her horse on faster, and he obeyed. When the water got too deep for him to stand and walk, he simply swam, strongly and bravely, as she sat on his back.
With every stroke, Maverick brought her closer to Carole. Sheila didn’t know what would happen if she and her pony got caught in the riptide, but she knew what would happen if they didn’t reach Carole, so there didn’t seem to be any choice. They swam on, Maverick never faltering as he swam and swam and swam, snorting now and then to get the water out of his nose.
Suddenly Carole didn’t feel any more pulling. The torturous tugging stopped. She was vaguely aware of the motion of the ocean around her, rocking, reassuring water everywhere. But no more tugging. Carole rolled over on her back, laying her head on the water and looking up at the blue sky above. She closed her eyes. She was tired. Very, very tired. She thought she might sleep now.
Lisa Page 12