High Hurdles Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I know. Congratulations.” His horse swirled his tail as Tony ordered a canter.

  Coming in near the top wasn’t as exciting for Tony as it was for DJ. He’d been there before—many times. DJ handed Joe the ribbon and, leaning forward, draped her arms around Herndon’s neck. “Horse, we did it.”

  “You sure did, and with class to spare. You could have gone another round just fine.”

  “I’m glad we didn’t have to. That brush jump looked like a monster to me, but Herndon never hesitated.” DJ straightened up and looked down at her grandfather. “I never dreamed it could feel like that. Talk about power.” She patted Herndon’s sweaty neck. “Oh man.”

  Bunny, Bridget, and Hilary clustered around when Tony joined them. “You two were awesome.”

  “Except DJ’s more awesome than me.” Tony put the red ribbon against the black of his coat. “Looks good, huh?”

  “Hers is better.” Hilary grinned up at DJ. “Ya done good, buddy.”

  “I still can’t believe we did it.” DJ shook her head. “That was the most awesome—I mean, I thought the round before was incredible, but this … Those jumps looked like giant trees.”

  “And they get bigger. And it’s timed when you move up to the next division.” Bunny shook her head. “When the jump is taller than I am, I begin to panic.”

  DJ smiled down at her petite friend. “Of course, being bigger than you isn’t hard.”

  “Hush your mouth, young pup.” Bunny nudged DJ with her shoulder.

  “Now you know how the big jumps feel,” Bridget said with a smile. “And you loved it. That is good.” She patted Herndon’s neck. “You two make a good team.”

  DJ accepted the congratulations of people walking by, all the while stroking Herndon’s neck. The big horse beside her took the extra pats and compliments as if he played the celebrity every day. Joe stood on his other side, like DJ, one hand on Herndon’s bridle. When two girls who looked to be about ten stopped to admire Herndon, he snuffled one girl’s hand and bobbed his head.

  “Look at him.” DJ nodded at her horse. From highflier to back to earth, there was none of the snobbishness she’d felt in him before. Could a horse understand honors and a job well done?

  “I have something for you,” Joe said on the way home. He reached for a package behind the seat and handed the bag to her. “What?” DJ felt the hard sides. “Open it, for pete’s sake.”

  DJ let out a whoosh of air when she pulled out a video. She looked at him with shining eyes. “My jumping?”

  “Yours and the others—your whole class. That way you can see what the others did wrong, too.”

  “Ah, Joe, you are the best.” She unbuckled her seat belt so she could kiss his cheek. “You are so good to me.”

  “DJ, darlin’, you are easy to be good to.” He cleared his throat and sniffed, as did she.

  Telling her family about it that night was almost as good as doing it over.

  “Sure wish we had been there.” Lindy looked up at Robert, who was standing right behind her with his hands on her shoulders. “Next time we plan the company picnic around the horse shows.”

  “Then we better have it in January.” Robert smiled at DJ. “Sure hope you got good pictures.”

  DJ shrugged. “Amy wasn’t there, so I don’t know. I think Bunny had a camera along. I can ask for the one they took on presentation. That’ll be something.” She leaned over and mischievously pulled a flat package out from beside the cushion. “Of course, Joe did get this for me.” She waved the video in the air. “I just thought you might like to see it, but it can wait for another time if you want.”

  “If we want?” Robert grabbed the video and crossed the room to insert it in the VCR. By the time it finished running, the boys were cheering, and DJ again felt the ecstasy of the moment.

  Robert and Lindy stared at her, shaking their heads. “And to think you are our daughter,” Robert said.

  “Thank you, heavenly Father,” Lindy whispered. She wrapped an arm around her daughter and hugged her close. “You were magnificent.”

  With the videotape to review, DJ hoped she could keep the picture and feeling fresh in her mind. She’d do replays like Bridget talked about. Replay what she did right and preplay doing it right again. Now she had a real event to replay and preplay. They’d done it right, that was for sure.

  “Maybe if there’s a good shot of you jumping, you could do it over in pencil and we could frame it like the one of Stormy. That would be a real treasure.” Robert sat down between DJ and her mother and put an arm around each of them, drawing them close to his sides. “Of course, we could always take it off the video if we need to. Might get the best one that way.” The twins had calmed down again and now lay on the floor watching a Veggie Tales video. Their feet waved in the air in time with the excitement of the video.

  DJ almost called them to join the rest on the sofa. What a cool family she had.

  “I better go call Brad. They’ll want to know about this, too.” She kissed Robert on the cheek and slid to her feet. “Don’t go away. I’ll be back.”

  The next morning at 7:00, Robert dropped DJ off at the Pleasant Hill BART—Bay Area Rapid Transit—station so she could take the train into San Francisco.

  “You know what bus to catch now, right?”

  DJ stopped in the act of opening the truck door. “I do, and where to get off and how to get back to BART and—”

  “Okay, okay, I get the point. But you can’t blame me for being a bit protective. I never had a daughter before, especially one old enough to get around San Francisco on her own.”

  DJ didn’t tell him about the butterflies that were going at their stir-up-her-insides act. Granted, she and Gran had taken the route one day in June, but things could still go wrong. “You told me I had to learn to trust God to take care of me, remember?”

  Robert grimaced. “Hung by my own tongue, right?”

  “Huh?” Her eyebrows pulled her eyes wide open.

  “Nothing. See you this evening. Call when you—”

  “Get back here to the station, I know.” DJ blew him a kiss and, tucking her drawing case under her arm, slammed the truck door behind her. She dug the twenty-dollar bill out of her pocket and inserted it in the slot on the front of the silver-toned ticket machine. After she punched the ticket button, her ticket clicked its way out another slot. Taking the white card stock ticket that would last most of the week, she walked across to the turnstiles, stuck her ticket in the arrowed slot, and when the ticket popped up, walked through the turnstile. She was on her way.

  She’d brought a book to read on the train but found watching people more interesting as more commuters filled the car with each stop. Herndon had earned the day off, that was for sure, and Joe promised to take care of him every morning just like during school. Truth was, she’d been going to school every morning all summer. But such fun schooling. First Diablo Valley College, and now the San Francisco School of Art.

  DJ thought of the pots she would pick up after the final firing. If the one for her mother turned out like she hoped, she’d be really pleased. Mr. Charles had talked about her taking another class, but that wouldn’t be until next summer. Instead, she now had a week of drawing with renowned artist Isabella Gant.

  The little bounce she gave on the seat drew the gaze of the woman beside her. DJ settled back in her seat. Strange how the ride seemed so much longer when she was by herself.

  DJ exited from the BART train at the Montgomery Street exit like she and Gran had practiced so she could catch her bus. After riding up the long escalator, she followed the commuter crowd out into the courtyard and then up the stairs to Montgomery. Waiting in the sun, DJ glanced across Market Street at the Sheraton Palace Hotel, where she and Gran had gone for tea in the Garden Court room. She remembered how the arched ceiling made of millions of panes of glass and crystal had taken her breath away and how the music flowing from the harp had brought it back. One of these days, maybe they could go back there—
and she’d take a sketch pad.

  The sound of a cat crying made her look down and behind her. There sat a mound of rags, the woman inside them looking older and more worn than the antique streetlamps that lined the curb. A stocking cap that was more holes than cap covered stringy gray hair and half covered one eye. The black-and-white cat on a leash and harness arched its back and rubbed against DJ’s leg. A brisk wind funneled down the skyscraper canyon and made DJ glad she’d worn jeans and a Windbreaker. One could always pick out tourists in San Francisco during the summer because they froze to death in their shorts and tank tops.

  “He likes you.” The mound moved, and the woman’s smile showed missing teeth.

  “Can I pet him?” DJ knew her mother would have a fit, but then, her mother wasn’t here.

  “Sure, dearie.” The woman cuddled a younger, half-grown yellow cat under her chin. “He never can get enough loves.”

  DJ bent down and stroked the black-and-white cat’s back. He looked up at her. His Charlie Chaplin mustache, one white ear, and one black ear gave him a quizzical look. “Most cats aren’t this friendly.”

  “I know.” The woman chuckled and bobbed her head again. “That’s why he’s my best friend. Calls him Charlie, I do.”

  A bus pulled up, and DJ straightened to see if it was hers. She bent down to pat the cat again when it wasn’t. I wonder if she’s had anything to eat today. The cats look better off than she does. Charlie sat and, tail twitching at the tip, batted at DJ’s leg.

  Another bus arrived. This time it was hers.

  DJ dug in her pocket and pulled out a dollar. She patted the cat once more and handed the money to the lady. “Here, I hope this helps.” What a stupid thing to say.

  “Why, thankee, dearie. That’s right good of you.” The woman, her hands covered by gloves with no fingers, took the dollar and tucked it into her coat. “You have a nice day now, hear?”

  “I will.” After pushing her way onto the bus, DJ bent over to look out the window where the street woman now had Charlie cuddled up against her, a cat in each arm. I wish I’d given her all my lunch money. Maybe if she’s there tomorrow...

  Thoughts of the homeless woman plagued her all the way to her bus stop. Her fingers tingled, a sure sign they wanted to draw the homeless woman. She’d been so friendly, not at all like the homeless people portrayed in stories DJ had heard. Where does she get food for her cats? I wish I’d brought a camera.

  When the bus reached her stop, DJ stood and walked to the door.

  “Hi, DJ.” Sean stepped up to greet her when she got off the bus.

  “How’d you know when I’d get here?” A familiar face looked even better than usual right about then.

  “Just figured it out.” He swung into step beside her. “How was the show this weekend?”

  DJ spent the entire walk to the art room telling him about the horse show.

  “I go to sleep remembering that incredible feeling of … of power and control and …” She paused and closed her eyes for just a second. “And flying. I’ve always wondered what the astronauts feel like in space with no gravity, and I think jumping is about the closest I’ll ever come. Sean, you’ve got to try it sometime.”

  “I’d have to learn to ride first.” He shifted his portfolio from one arm to the other. “Let’s get seats and I’ll show you my drawing. Horses aren’t the easiest to draw, you know. And someone taking a header off one isn’t easy, either.”

  DJ groaned. “I bet.” But she studied the picture when Sean flipped it open. “Part of the problem is you have Major’s neck too short.” She shook her head. “Boy, that’s a great one of me. I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am. But this I couldn’t resist. So, okay, if I lengthen his neck, what else?”

  DJ studied the drawing some more. “His legs aren’t quite right.” She closed her eyes to think how a halting horse would look. “See, put him back more on his haunches and his head up more. I hate eating dirt, and that’s what happened next. Felt like an idiot.”

  “Thanks.” Sean flipped the pages back in place as two friends from the spring session joined them at the high table. They caught up on all their news while the others trickled in.

  By the time the classroom was full, there were people of all ages. Gran could have come. DJ looked around and returned several smiles. She hooked her feet over the rungs of the stool and faced forward when Ms. Gant blew into the room. Like the twins, she was energy in perpetual motion, her long, more pepper than salt hair woven into a knot near the top of her head and anchored with what looked like two black chopsticks. She was dressed in black straight-legged pants and a black turtleneck. The shawl she wore held every shade of purple and pink, its threads of silver shimmering with her every move. As usual, her necklace of stones and beads and coins made DJ’s fingers itch to sketch it.

  How would she capture the energy that swirled about and through Isabella Gant? DJ studied her teacher through slitted eyes. The eyes, that’s what it was—the eyes needed to be the central focus.

  After greeting the class and calling the roll, Ms. Gant flung her shawl over the back of her chair and whipped the cover off a still life. “We will start with this. I want to see what you do before I tell you what I want you to do.”

  DJ and Sean exchanged glances. They’d heard that before.

  DJ laid out her pencils and flipped open her drawing pad. Did she dare cheat and draw the teacher instead?

  Chapter • 6

  “Ah, so you know better than the teacher?”

  DJ froze. “N-n-no. I just … ah …” The drawing had happened almost of its own volition. “I … I … ah, thought to hurry with this one and then do the still life.” The words came in a rush.

  “I see.”

  DJ felt like crawling under the stool, but instead she chose to freeze like a bunny caught in a flashlight beam. She wanted to keep drawing. She wanted to look at her teacher. Her fingers shivered and DJ dropped the drawing pencil. The lead broke.

  “I think the hair is not quite right yet, a bit out of proportion to the face and body.” Ms. Gant tapped the drawing pad as she spoke. “And what did you plan to do with the shawl?”

  “Lace in bits of pink and purple, and catch the light with silver.” DJ studied her drawing through squinted eyes. “The eyes aren’t right yet, either.” She looked at the woman who stood beside her, wishing she dared ask her to return to the front of the room and hold a pose like one of the models she’d brought in last spring.

  “But this was to be done in pencil.”

  “I know. But you asked what I would do, and I would do the shawl first in pencil and then add the color. It needs that bit of color to be what I see.”

  “Ah.” Her eyebrows winged higher. “There are many things wrong with it, but as usual, you have caught the spirit. I have been called a ‘first cousin to a whirling dervish,’ and you have captured at least a hint of that kind of energy.” She walked around DJ and studied the drawing from another angle. “I did say to do as you like first, didn’t I?”

  DJ half shrugged. “Sort of.” She wanted to ask, “When holding a drawing pencil, do your fingers have a mind of their own?” But she didn’t have the courage. After all, she was supposed to be drawing a still life, not the teacher.

  “You will fix this?”

  “If it’s all right.”

  “It will be better than all right when you are finished.” Ms. Gant whirled on to the next student, leaving DJ gasping for air.

  That night at home, DJ told her mother about the class, but she didn’t mention the homeless woman and her cats. “You should see the picture Sean drew of me taking a header off Major at the show.” DJ shook her head. “I can still taste the dirt.”

  Lindy shuddered. “Don’t remind me.” She flipped the drawing pad to the picture of Ms. Gant. “Darla Jean, this is really good.”

  DJ cocked her head and studied the drawing. “I still don’t have her eyes just right. She’s hard to draw ’cause she’s never
still. Not for a minute.” She almost mentioned the homeless woman and how she wanted to draw her, but she stopped herself. She knew her mother would tell her not to stop again, but DJ couldn’t get the woman and the cats out of her mind.

  The next morning DJ started pulling things from the refrigerator.

  “What you doing?” Maria asked.

  “Making a sandwich.”

  “For lunch?”

  “Umm.” But not for me. DJ made two sandwiches, bagged some peanut butter cookies, and added a bag of chips. After thinking for a minute, she got out the block of cheese and cut two chunks, one for herself and one for the lady. The bag was pretty full by the time she put in two juices, but when Maria cocked a questioning eyebrow, DJ just shrugged.

  “Ah, you make lunch for that nice boy, too, eh?”

  DJ could feel the heat surge up her face. “Maria!”

  “He nice on phone.” She pointed to the table. “You sit, I bring breakfast.”

  DJ sat. Robert tipped his paper down enough to wink at her.

  She probably won’t be there, DJ thought as she followed the crowd up the stairs at Montgomery. Then Sean and I really will have a picnic. Not that he’d understand the dog kibbles I put in for the cats.

  Charlie greeted her like an old friend. DJ leaned down to pet him, then smiled at the woman. “Is it okay if I brought you something?” There, she’d gotten it out. What if the lady was offended? DJ handed her the sack of food and the plastic bag of kibbles. “I … I just thought maybe you … you …” It wasn’t the wind that made her cheeks hot, she knew that.

  “Ah, dearie.” The woman opened the sack and after studying the contents looked up at DJ. “You be one good person, little girl. Me and my cats, we thank you.” The woman opened the plastic bag and poured a bit of the dried food into an empty tuna can for the cats to share.

  DJ squatted down and ran her hand over Charlie’s back while he ate. The bus pulled up and DJ stood. “See you tomorrow.” Backpack flopping with the lighter weight, she joined the throng all trying to get on the bus at the same time. She looked out the window in time to see the woman giving one of her sandwiches to a man who looked to be in the same shape as she. DJ resolved to bring more in the morning.