High Hurdles Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  Gran shook her head. “He couldn’t forgive himself. The next night he had the heart attack and died before the ambulance could get there.”

  “So you’re saying I killed my grandfather.”

  “Darla Jean Randall, that is not what I’m saying at all! Your getting burned was an accident, pure and simple, and had nothing to do with his heart attack. Besides, it wasn’t your fault he couldn’t forgive himself.” Gran leaned forward and tilted DJ’s chin up with one finger. “That reaction is exactly why I’ve hesitated to tell you the story before now. You have a tendency to think everything that goes wrong is your fault.”

  “But could something like that cause a person to have a heart attack?”

  Gran kept on shaking her head. “DJ, when God says it’s time for someone to go home to heaven, there is nothing we can do to stop that. Even if the paramedics had gotten there sooner, it wouldn’t have helped. His heart just quit. The heart trouble had to have been building for some time—we just didn’t know it.”

  DJ stared at the scar in her hand. “And that’s what makes me turn into a zombie when I see fire? I mean, it wasn’t like the end of the world or anything.”

  “The human mind is a mystery. A doctor I asked about it said that the pain of the burn, the fire, and your grandfather being so upset probably all combined to affect you this way since you were so little. But I know that God can heal minds as well as burns, so we will keep praying.”

  “I guess.” DJ kept her thoughts to herself. How come He hasn’t done anything so far? We’ve been praying. “You s’pose the voice I hear screaming is really me back when it happened?”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

  DJ leaned her head on Gran’s knee and relaxed under her grandmother’s ministering fingers.

  “Darla Jean, darlin’, listen to me and listen carefully.” Gran leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees.

  DJ turned so she could see her grandmother’s face.

  “God’s timing isn’t our timing, and He isn’t there to give us everything we ask for right when we ask. He will heal you, inside and out, in His time. Our job is to be faithful in prayer and thank Him for all He has done and will do. Do you understand?” She cupped DJ’s cheeks in her gentle hands.

  DJ nodded. “I guess. But it’s hard to keep praying for something when nothing happens.”

  “I know, but that’s how faith grows. Like a muscle, it has to stretch with use and get stronger. God is in the faith-stretching business so we can become the people He wants us to be.”

  DJ could feel the sigh start down about her toenails and work its way up. “But it’s so hard.”

  Gran chuckled. “I know, darlin’, I know.”

  I wish I knew what it would take to get over this, DJ thought later. I just wish I knew.

  Chapter • 3

  “Thanking God for something that hasn’t happened yet feels dumb.” DJ continued their discussion from the evening before on Wednesday morning.

  Gran chuckled and turned her blinker on for the turn into the Diablo Valley College parking lot. Their final pottery class started in fifteen minutes.

  “I’m sure He has already put things into motion for you. You just can’t see the results yet. One of my favorite verses says something like ‘Before you call, I will answer.’ ”

  “Huh?” One eyebrow quirked toward her hairline.

  “I’ve seen it happen many times. I will ask for something, but for me to receive what I’d asked for, He had to have started the process long before. Like for you now with Herndon. How old is Herndon?”

  “Twelve.”

  “And how long has Jackie had him?”

  “Five, six years, somewhere in there.”

  “See what I mean?”

  DJ nibbled on her bottom lip. “How can He do that?”

  Gran shrugged. “He’s God, that’s how.”

  “But …”

  “But what?” Gran swung the car into a parking slot and turned off the motor. She turned her head to watch her granddaughter.

  DJ studied the ragged cuticle on her right thumb. Normally she would want to chew it off, but this time she wasn’t even tempted. She looked from her thumb to her grandmother. “I didn’t want to chew it.” She held up her thumb. “Gran, I didn’t want to chew it!” Her voice rose along with the words.

  “And how long ago did we start praying for you to quit chewing your fingernails?”

  “I don’t know. A long time—last fall I think.” DJ continued shaking her head, all the while staring at her thumb. “You have any hand lotion?”

  “Um-hum. And a bitty scissors that can snip that skin off so it doesn’t tear further.” Gran dug in her purse and brought out both things.

  DJ cut off the skin and handed the scissors back. “You have a hammer in there, too?”

  Gran raised one eyebrow. “No, why?”

  DJ tossed the now closed tube of hand lotion back to her and grinned. “Just checking. I was beginning to think you carried everything in there.” She pointed to the straw tote taking up most of the seat between them.

  “Smart aleck.” But the smile on Gran’s face said far more to DJ than the words. Together they walked up the concrete walk, around the corner of the building, and up the stairs.

  “I hope that vase I did for Mom turns out as nice as I see it in my head.”

  “The form was lovely. Mr. Charles told you that himself.”

  “I know, but sometimes the glazes do funny things.”

  All the students were gathered around the pieces that had been through the latest firing. Mr. Charles, the instructor, was making comments about each piece. He pointed out both flaws and good points, keeping people laughing while he spoke.

  When he got to DJ’s two pieces, he held up the vase. “Now, this is the first piece that DJ was able to get above flat or slightly rounded. Not for lack of trying, mind you.”

  Everyone groaned along with DJ.

  “However, she did make some nice flat platters, if you recall.”

  One of them had blown up in the kiln, so DJ shook her head.

  “But this one is lovely.” He turned it carefully so everyone could see, using his finger to trace the pattern she’d cut into the damp clay. “And the glaze turned out well, too. Only a bit of bubbling here at the bottom but not something that detracts too much from the piece. Good job, DJ.”

  Next he picked up Gran’s bowl. When he held it up, everyone could see the slight sag on one side. “More work on the wheel will overcome this, but the coloring is good. It should be, considering this lady makes her living as an illustrator of children’s books. There is real art in this family’s gene pool.”

  After he’d handed out all the pieces and identified which ones he thought might sell in the show, he came over to where DJ and Gran were glazing their last pieces to be fired later and picked up when done.

  “You know, DJ, you’re about the youngest student I’ve had.” He studied her choice of glazes and nodded. “For one so young you have a great deal of patience and a good eye for form. Your grandmother says you are an exceptional artist, mostly with pencil.”

  “She’s prejudiced.” DJ studied the bowl in front of her. “Guess this could make a good dog dish if it doesn’t turn out like I want.”

  “What if you added an overglaze that drips down the sides just a bit?”

  DJ did as he suggested and wanted to clap her hands for joy. She didn’t think she’d use it for a dog dish after all.

  DJ glanced up at him. “Thank you.” As he went on to the next student, what he had said at first finally sank into her mind. Mr. Charles had given her a compliment, a really good compliment.

  And she’d been so focused on what she was doing, she’d almost missed it. Ah well, maybe she’d learned something about focus after all.

  Now if she could just apply such intense concentration to Herndon.

  But I do, she said to herself. I really do.

  “You look like the cat th
at ate the canary,” Gran said when they returned to the car after class.

  DJ gave a hop and a skip. When she told Gran what Mr. Charles had said, Gran nodded.

  “I thought he was a good teacher, but now I know he’s an exceptional one.”

  DJ stopped in the motion of opening the car door. “Why?”

  “Because he recognized great talent in the making, that’s why.” Gran winked and slid into her seat.

  “Gr-a-a-n.”

  “You hungry?” Gran asked as they turned onto Contra Costa Boulevard.

  “Starved.”

  “Good. So am I. I’ll call Joe and tell him we’re stopping for lunch, then you can call your mother.” Gran reached for the cell phone plugged into the cigarette lighter. “On second thought, you call Joe. I hate to use the phone while I’m driving.”

  DJ made the phone calls and hung up. “We can’t be too long. Shawna is grooming Major, and then they’re going to lunge him. I promised I’d be there to watch her ride this first time.”

  “Fast food it is. Take your pick; there’s about every kind imaginable along this strip.”

  “Mexican.”

  By the time they ate and arrived back at Gran’s, Joe and Shawna were just saddling Major. DJ got out of the car and whistled. Major answered her with a whinny and tossed his head.

  “Easy, fella.” DJ trotted out to the pasture gate on the other side of the garage. “Sorry, Shawna. I hope he didn’t break your eardrums.” Major shook his head and nosed her pockets, then looked at her like something was wrong. He snuffled again and nudged her with his nose.

  “Sorry, old man, but I just came from class. I didn’t need carrots there.” She stroked his nose and rubbed up around his ears, turning so he could drape his head over her shoulder. “He likes to be petted like this. This is his favorite spot.” DJ showed Shawna the spot inside his ears, almost at the tip. “Feel that little nub?”

  Shawna nodded. “I never knew that before. He sure does like horse cookies, though. Dad says we ought to buy stock in the feed company.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out a couple of large crumbs. “Here.” She dribbled them into DJ’s hand. “Now you have something for him.”

  Major whiskered her hand for more and lipped a trail up her arm.

  “Eww, horse slobber. Thanks a bunch.” DJ rubbed it off on his neck. “You ready to ride, old man?” Major blew in her face and rubbed his forehead on the front of her T-shirt. She petted him a bit more, then looked at Shawna. “You ready?”

  “Am I ever.”

  DJ checked the saddle girth and turned to her cousin. “Up you go, then.”

  Shawna gathered her reins and, taking hold of the pommel and cantle of the saddle, put her foot in the stirrup and swung aboard. Major turned to sniff her boot, then looked at DJ as if to say, “What are you doing on the ground? I thought you mounted.”

  DJ swallowed quick and blinked more than once. Major was no longer her horse. He belonged to Shawna now and had to start becoming her friend. She stepped back. “Are your stirrups all right?”

  Shawna rose in the saddle. “Uh-huh.”

  “Good, then just walk him around the fence line.”

  Major looked at her one more time before responding to Shawna’s signal, then walked out like he’d never been injured at all, his stride as free-swinging as ever.

  Maybe I gave up on him too soon. The thought felt like an arrow in her heart.

  “You did the right thing.” Joe came to stand beside her.

  “How did you know what I was thinking?” She blinked back the tears that burned behind her eyes.

  “Your face is easier to read than a book—with big print.” Joe laid a hand on her shoulder. “He can’t jump again. The strain might cripple him permanently. You know how many times that shoulder heated up on you. You need a horse that can go where you want to go, and Herndon can.”

  “I know, but Major … Major is really special.”

  “You think I don’t know that? He was my horse first, remember. For six years he carried me about the streets of San Francisco. I know what a trooper he is, and if I’d had to sell him to someone I didn’t know or leave him with the police force, why …” Joe shook his head. “That doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  “Thanks, GJ.” DJ stepped closer to the fence. “Come on, Shawna, don’t let him go to sleep on you. Shorten your reins and squeeze with your legs.” After they’d gone a few more paces, she added, “That’s right.”

  Shawna rode Major around the field several times, her smile about to split her face. “Isn’t he awesome?” She stopped in front of DJ and Joe.

  “He sure is.” DJ stroked the white blaze on Major’s face. “But that’s probably enough for this first time. Ride him only at a walk each day, and after a week, if there is no heat in that shoulder, you can trot him.”

  While Shawna dismounted, Joe whispered in DJ’s ear, “She might just as well move in with us, much as she’s here. Major hasn’t been brushed this much since you first got him.”

  DJ nodded. “Good. That’s the way it should be.” She explored Major’s injured shoulder with gentle fingers but found no sign of heat or swelling. “I better get on home or the Double Bs will be out looking for me. Today Bobby’s riding lesson is first. They take turns, and I better not forget which day is which or I’m in deep trouble.”

  “Not that they wouldn’t let you know.” Joe swung the gate shut behind Major as Shawna led him back to his stall.

  “At the top of their lungs. See ya later.” DJ jogged out the driveway and up the road to her house. With only three houses in between, it wasn’t far enough to even make her puff. She continued on through the silent house to the backyard, where she realized the shrieking was coming from the barn. Even Queenie wasn’t around. DJ let herself out through the redwood gate and strolled down the path to the four-stall barn Robert had built. It opened onto a fenced pasture with more grass than one pony could keep grazed down. As it was, General had put on weight, but with the boys riding more, DJ knew that would wear off.

  She turned the corner of the barn to see her mother dodging spray from the hose held by two laughing twin boys. Lindy’s hair hung in wet strings, and her T-shirt clung to her body as she dove for the boys. She tickled them until they dropped the hose and ran off, Lindy in hot pursuit until she was jerked to a stop by the end of the hose. Queenie leaped and barked after the boys until they fell giggling in the knee-deep grass.

  General stood over at the fence line, watching the crazy humans like a spectator at a ball game.

  “Hi.” DJ strolled out to where her mother was taking a drink from the hose.

  “Hi, yourself. How was class?” Lindy pushed her hair back behind one ear.

  “Great. Mr. Charles said I had a good eye for form and worked well with clay.”

  “Wow! That’s neat.”

  The boys jumped in place and waved hands at their mother, coming closer one step at a time.

  Lindy brandished the hose at them, and they ran backward till they fell down again. Gran could probably hear their screams and laughing all the way over at her house. “You look hot.”

  “Sure. It’s hot out, and I ran home so I could be here for the boys’ lessons.”

  “Ah.” Lindy got a gleam in her eye and glanced down at the hose in her hand.

  “Oh no, don’t you do it.” DJ backpedaled but not nearly fast enough. Like a snake striking, Lindy pointed the hose at DJ, thumbing the end of it so the spray followed the retreating girl.

  “M-o-t-h-e-r!”

  “Get DJ, get her again!” one of the twins squealed.

  With a dive, DJ cranked the hose bib and shut the water off. She shook the water from her hair and backhanded the streams running down her face and onto her shirt. She pulled the shirt out from her body, all the while shaking her head. “I can’t believe this. Drowned by my own mother.”

  The boys ran to her side, laughing up at her. “You’re wet.”

  “You’re all wet,” said the
other.

  “We were giving General a bath.”

  “Looks to me like you are wetter than the horse.” Now that they mentioned it, DJ noticed the pony’s mane hung in damp strings. “And so is Queenie.” DJ looked again at her mother. Shaking her head was getting to be a habit in regard to her used-to-be perfectly groomed and reserved mother. “And me.”

  “Now I know that the tales you used to tell about water fights on the wash rack are all true.” Lindy dug in her pocket and pulled out a scrunchie. Smoothing her hair back from her face, she bound it in back and took in a deep breath. “They say that laughing is one of the best forms of exercise, and I tell you, we got our share in today.” She gathered the boys to her sides and shrugged. “Must be good for the baby, don’t you think?”

  “I guess. You two go on up and put on dry pants so you don’t stick to the saddle, okay? I’ll get General tacked up.”

  The boys ran to the house yelling “Race you” and “I won” and “No, I did.”

  Lindy rolled her eyes. “Wish I could bottle all that energy. We’d be wealthy beyond measure.” She strolled with DJ out to General and took hold of his halter. “He sure is a good-natured creature, not like I’d heard ponies were at all.”

  “People tend to think all ponies are like the bad-tempered, stubborn Shetlands. General has enough Arab in him to be more like a horse. Welsh ponies have a good disposition, too. Besides, he’s been well trained.” DJ took a lead shank from a nail on the wall and snapped it to General’s halter. She headed into the barn for the tack and a grooming bucket, returning moments later.

  “Here.” She handed her mother a brush and a rubber curry. “You want to learn how to groom him?”

  “I guess.” Lindy looked at the equipment in her hands. “Why do I need two?”

  “You have two hands. You can work much faster and more effectively with both tools.” DJ took them back and slipped her hands under the straps. “Like this.” She began running the rubber curry down the pony’s shoulder, followed by the brush. “You do that, and I’ll get the knots out of his tail.”

  By the time the boys returned, the pony was groomed and tacked up.