Stagestruck

by Shelley Peterson

  She began cleaning the tack. She scrubbed the bit and polished the brass strip on his headband. She got the stirrups cleaner than they’d ever been. The leather martingale, bridle, reins, girth, and saddle were soaped with linseed and carefully wiped down. She oiled her saddle, then placed it on the saddle-rack. Tomorrow, she would pack it all in the tack box.

  Hilary’s clothes were hanging on the tack hook in a drycleaner’s bag. Jacket, breeches, white shirt, ratcatcher, black gloves, belt. Tall black boots stood polished on the floor under the clothes. Abby mentally checked the items off. She thought she was ready. Was she missing anything?

  Hilary James walked in. “Abby! Got everything?”

  Abby smiled. “Hey, Hilary! I think so, thanks to you. You’re great to lend me all this. Still, I can’t help thinking I’ve forgotten something.”

  “There’s a lot to remember, isn’t there?”

  “I’m so excited about tomorrow. I hope I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

  Hilary smiled. “I know how you feel, but even if you don’t get a wink it won’t matter. You’ll do beautifully, then sleep tomorrow night.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.” Hilary reached into her pocket. “I’ve got something for you to wear tomorrow. For good luck.” The young woman opened her hand.

  Abby’s jaw dropped. “Oh, no! I couldn’t wear that. What if I lose it?”

  “You won’t. I’ll pin it on you myself so if it falls off, it’s my fault.”

  Abby gazed at the antique fox-head pin with its ruby eyes. “You always wore that, didn’t you, when you showed?” she said in awe.

  “Every time. And it brought me luck. Every time.”

  When Abby cycled up her lane, she immediately saw her parents’ car sitting in the turnaround. They were home! She parked her bike against the wall and raced into the house.

  “Mom! Dad! Where are you?”

  “In here, Abby! The living room!”

  Abby turned down the hall and came to a halt. There were her parents, with Joy Featherstone, and Pete and Laura Pierson.

  “I don’t know who to hug first!” cried Abby. “I haven’t seen you for a long time,” she said to the Piersons.

  Laura laughed merrily. “Hug your parents first, dear. We can wait.”

  Pete put his arm around his wife and smiled in agreement.

  Abby embraced her parents at the same time. The three Malones held each other tight. “I missed you,” Abby said through the lump in her throat.

  “We missed you, too,” said Liam.

  “I love you, Abby,” Fiona whispered. “I hope you’ll forgive me. I know it’s been horrible for you.”

  Abby hugged her even tighter. “I’m just glad you’re home. We’ll talk later.”

  Fiona looked at her daughter. So mature. “We sure will.”

  Abby turned to Pete and Laura with open arms. “Now it’s your turn!” They all laughed and hugged.

  To join the fun, Joy made the three-way hug into a four-way hug. Fiona and Liam circled them, joking about the group hugs and touchy-feely sensitivity training at the spa.

  The doorbell rang. “Are there more people coming?” Abby asked her mother.

  “Answer the door and you’ll see,” she answered.

  Hilary, Sandy, Christine, and Rory stood on the porch.

  “Come in!” said a very surprised Abby. “Hilary, you didn’t tell me you were coming over!”

  “I was sworn to secrecy, and you don’t cross my grandmother. She organized a Welcome Home surprise party for your parents.”

  “You’d think I’d be let in on that,” said Abby, slightly confused.

  “You would have been,” piped up Joy, “if it wasn’t also a Good Luck Tomorrow party for you.”

  Abby was deeply moved. “Thank you,” was all she could say. She looked from face to face. Her mother, radiant and much younger-looking than when she’d left, dressed in a soft jade silk shirt with cream pants. Her father, handsome and charming, making everyone feel at home and comfortable. Laura Pierson, in a bright pink dress, the feisty, kindhearted, sweet old lady who loved a good laugh. Pete Pierson, who was always there for her through thick and thin. Hilary, her idol, who was allowing her to ride her magnificent stallion. Sandy, always sensible, humourous, and intelligent. Rory and Christine, both loyal friends and good people. Joy Featherstone, to whom Abby had grown truly close, with a moral compass pointing true north. These people were her support group, she realized. She felt extremely lucky to have them in her life.

  There was a knock on the door. Abby’s eyebrows raised.

  Joy winked at her and said, “There’s one more person coming to dinner, Abby. Open the door. Go ahead.”

  It was Sam. Abby looked back at Joy, whose face was crinkled up with sheer delight, and gave her the thumbs-up. “Thanks,” she mouthed across the noisy room. She opened the door and gave Sam a hug.

  “For you,” he said shyly, and handed her a small rectangular box.

  “Can I open it now?” Abby asked.

  “Sure. I hope they’re the right thing. They’re for good luck.”

  Abby ripped off the paper and lifted the lid, revealing a pair of black leather riding gloves. She gasped. “They’re fabulous!” She tried them on. “They fit like a glove!” She laughed and modelled the gloves for everyone.

  “Thanks, Sam. I’ll wear them tomorrow. I love them.”

  “Dinner is served!” called Joy from the dining room. “Come sit down. Your places are marked. Come, come, before dinner gets cold!”

  Through the kitchen door snuck Robert Wick, holding his forefinger to his lips. He kept out of sight behind Joy as she hustled around arranging dinner. Everyone had trouble not laughing aloud and spoiling the fun.

  “Throw another place on the table,” he finally shouted. “I’m not missing this party.”

  Joy spun around and faced him, grinning from ear to ear. “You said you were busy tonight! Who put you up to this, you old goat?” she cried.

  “Guilty!” admitted Rory, delighted with the game.

  “There’s enough to go around, isn’t there, Joy?”

  “Even if I go hungry myself, I’d never turn you away.” Joy wiped her hands on her apron and kissed him right on the lips.

  This caused a great uproar. Hoots and applause filled the room as Joy and Robert continued their embrace.

  The twelve dear friends sat down to a delicious, home-cooked meal. There was no shortage of conversation as plates were passed and appetites were sated. A happy glow filled every heart.

  An angry man observed the scene through the dining room window. This confirms it, seethed Samuel Owens. They’re all in it together. The Caseys, the Malones, the Jameses. And Robert Wick. They think they can appease me by throwing me a crumb. I’ll show them. I’ll show them all.

  Another pair of eyes, these ones steel grey, kept watch over the intruder. Prepared to fight tooth and nail to protect his loved ones, Cody bristled and snarled softly. One false move, and he’d be there.

  Owens slunk away as stealthily as is possible on crutches. Halfway down the lane, he whistled loudly. With the car’s headlights off, Walter, hunched down in the driver’s seat, rolled the Mercedes in neutral to meet him. Walter jumped out and silently opened the back door to usher in his boss.

  “Get out of here fast,” Owens barked to the cringing manservant. “This place makes me sick to my stomach.”

  Cody watched them go.

  15

  THE GRAND INVITATIONAL

  SUNDAY FINALLY DAWNED. As she’d expected, Abby hadn’t slept a wink. She’d spent the night practising every possible combination of jumps. She’d imagined every scary unexpected angle, and sorted out how to ride it. She’d used her leg aids, asked for leads, kept her pace. Again and again, she’d chastised herself for not sleeping, repositioning herself in her effort to slumber, removing blankets only to shiver and pull them on again. It had been a very long night.

  Through the paned
window over her bed, Abby watched the sun come up over the front field. It was pink and gorgeous. Shadows receded, taking with them the gloom of night and revealing a world filled with rosy light.

  Abby remembered what Hilary had told her. She’d ride today and get a good sleep tonight. Lack of sleep never killed anybody. That’s what Pete Pierson said.

  Abby felt horrible. Her head was full of cotton, her stomach in knots. The last thing she wanted to do was get out of bed. Her whole body seemed leaden. Gravity took hold of each of her bones, pulling her into the mattress. Could she call in sick? Fake an injury?

  No. She groaned and jammed the pillow over her head. No, she couldn’t. Everyone had made such a fuss over her the night before. She’d be embarrassed for her whole life if she wimped out.

  Slowly she crawled out from under the covers. Without bothering to get dressed, Abby stumbled downstairs for orange juice.

  Through the window on the landing, she saw Dancer grazing with Moonie and Leggy. “No!” she groaned. “Not again! And not today!” Visions of Owens shooting him as he ran home popped into her mind. Or Dancer caught in a trap.

  She ran outside barefoot in her white cotton pyjamas, hurdling the fence to save the time it would take to undo the latch. She called him. “Dancer, come here!” He looked at the fence, thinking of bolting. He looked at Abby, running through the field. He made his decision. Casually, he sat back and lifted his front legs over the four-rail fence, following through with a kick of his hind legs. For good measure, he gaily bucked before sailing away.

  “No, no, no, no, no!” muttered Abby. She opened the gate and ran for Moonie. Winding her fingers through Moonie’s mane, she jumped up and pulled herself onto the surprised mare’s back. “Let’s go!” she urged.

  Moonie snorted, then put herself into gear. She trotted out the gate, then picked up a canter as they turned right onto the gravel road. Abby looked back to see a panicking Leggy. She’d been grazing when her mother went through the gate, and now she raced back and forth looking for a way out. Finally, in desperation, the young mare leapt the fence. It took Abby’s breath away. She’s just like Dancer, she thought. She jumps like her old man.

  Cody followed Leggy, completing the unusual procession. Dancer galloped ahead along the road. Moonie and Abby were close behind. Abby was determined to keep him from cutting into Owens’ woods, the path he’d normally take. As the entrance to the path neared, Abby squeezed Moonie’s sides with her bare heels and steered him away. Luckily, Leggy flanked them on the inside, preventing Dancer from changing course and doubling back.

  Bareback riding requires constant use of the leg muscles, and Abby’s legs were getting tired. They turned up the road. Hogscroft was coming up on the right. Dancer picked up a burst of speed and cut up the lane. He was home.

  “Whew, Moonie,” Abby said with relief. She stretched her legs and wiggled her ankles and feet. Not trusting that Dancer would stay, she rode Moonie, with Leggy at her side, up the lane to the house. Christine was at the window, phone in hand. She waved with a large motion when she saw Abby. She put down the phone and opened the door.

  “Abby! That was your father. He’s on his way with Moonie’s tack.”

  “He saw us leave?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  Hilary James rushed out with a pair of rubber riding boots. “I got dressed the minute I heard. Here, wear these on the ride home. Do you want some pants, too?”

  “Thanks, but there’s no time. I guess I look pretty funny in my pyjamas.”

  Hilary nodded, giggling. “You sure as heck do.”

  “How’d he get out, Hilary? Was the electricity off?”

  “The electric fence wire kept him in for a while, but I guess he figured he could clear it without getting zapped!” As she ran to the barn she called over her shoulder, “Abby, I’ll look after bathing Dancer, you go get ready, and we’ll load at eleven. Okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks, Hilary! I’ll be back in time to braid him.” Abby patted her mare’s sweating neck. “Good girl, Moonie. Just like herding Mr. Pierson’s cows!”

  Liam arrived within minutes. Without a word, he put the saddle over Moonie’s back and tightened the girth. Abby yelled goodbye to Hilary and Christine as Liam gave her a leg up. Leggy followed Moonie down the drive along the road toward the Malones’ farm. A silvery flash in the bushes assured her that Cody was with them.

  “That was quite the stunt, Abby my girl,” said Liam sternly through the rolled-down truck window. “You might have gotten hurt. Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve helped.” He drove slowly beside them as they walked.

  Abby was stunned. “I didn’t think of it, Dad. It was an emergency. If Dancer had gone home his usual way along through the path, Owens would’ve killed him if he saw him, no questions asked.”

  “I could’ve achieved the same results with my truck, and you wouldn’t have risked breaking your leg or cracking your skull. That was foolish, Abby. Plus, you galloped an unfit pregnant mare. You put Moonie’s unborn foal at risk. And Leggy might have pulled something or gotten a shin splint, running hard up the road with her undeveloped joints.”

  Abby’s head was hanging. “I didn’t think of all that, Dad.” She felt bad. “But I had to solve the problem. And I’m used to solving problems on my own. I didn’t even think of calling for help. That’s the truth.”

  Now it was Liam’s turn to feel bad. “I’m sorry, Abby. Of course that’s true. We’ve been away for almost two months. I’m sorry.” Liam searched for a way to cheer his daughter. “I was worried sick when I saw what was happening. That’s why I sound so cross.” He smiled warmly at Abby. “And anyway, nothing bad happened, so we’re all right. It all worked out. Mission accomplished.”

  Abby smiled back, relieved that she was out of trouble. “Did you see Leggy jump, Dad?”

  Liam laughed. “Like a deer, Abby. Like a deer. She’s a good one, all right. Just like her father.”

  “She’ll be a good one if she turns out like her mother, Dad. Moonie’s a great girl.” Abby thought of the expert way the mare guided Dancer away from the path.

  Liam nodded. “That’s the only way to breed them. Good stock on both sides, or you risk the weak genes coming out in the foal.”

  Liam got home first and waited to help Abby with the horses. They walked up to the house in good spirits, and smelled bacon as they came through the kitchen door. Abby grinned. She was ready for the task ahead.

  The show grounds were busy. Spectators had come out in full force to watch the spectacle and enjoy the beautiful, warm, sunny day. Abby and her parents followed the Hogscroft truck and trailer past rows of temporary stalls and tack shops and food stalls. There was no shortage of activity. A young man at the gate looked at their pass and directed them to their parking spot. Liam pulled up beside the rig and stopped.

  “Abby!” called Hilary. “If you go in and untie Dancer, I’ll put down the ramp.”

  “Okay,” Abby called. She opened the small door at the front of the trailer and climbed up. She patted Dancer’s head. “There’s a boy. Did you have a good ride over?” He gently butted her with his nose. “Good, I’m glad. Today we have a job to do, Dancer. Let’s go get ’em.”

  Abby pulled the rope through the loop. “Ready!” she called to Hilary, who slowly dropped the ramp to the ground and unhitched the stall guard at the stallion’s rear. They backed the great horse off the trailer.

  Dancer’s head came up. His nostrils filled with familiar smells. He arched his neck proudly and blew through his nose. His front right hoof pawed the ground, and he spun around, challenging any takers.

  Christine and Hilary laughed. Christine said, “Just like always, right, Mousie? He’s ready.”

  Hilary nodded and laughed. “Hang on to your hat, Abby! Dancer’s back!” Hilary felt proud of her gorgeous horse, and loved the way people were throwing admiring glances his way.

  “Okay, folks, let’s get Dancer settled,” said Liam, taking charge. “Then we can figure
out how to get ourselves organized.”

  “Look!” exclaimed Abby. “Over there. The Piersons are here.” They all looked to see where she was pointing. Pete’s new green sedan was parked half a field away in a row of cars. Pete was gallantly helping Laura out of the passenger’s side. She wore a brilliant ensemble of yellows, pinks, and bright blues. Just as her large pink sunhat lifted with a gust of wind, Pete grabbed it and slammed it onto her head.

  Fiona chuckled and said, “I’ll go with them. I’ll meet you at stall thirty-three.” She strode across the field turned parking lot, happy to have a chance to visit with the Piersons while the others dealt with the details of the show.

  Two hours later, Abby was on Dancer’s back, surveying her competition. Her personal cheering section was settled in the stands. Liam had managed to secure her the number “97,” the same number that Mousie had always worn when she competed. Abby checked that the string was tied properly. Even though the day was heating up, Abby shivered with nerves. She forced her mouth shut to stop her teeth from chattering.

  They’d drawn their places. Ian Millar was going first on his newest champion, Beaverbrook. Jay Hayes was next on the brilliant Raven. Chris Pratt had pulled the gallant Davos out of retirement, and Jill Henselwood was riding Leicester Square. Dancer and Abby were the last of eighteen entries.

  Abby became more and more uneasy. What was she doing here? She couldn’t be more outclassed. What are they all thinking about me? she wondered. I should have a sign on my back, “Dancer was invited, that’s why I’m here.”

  Over there was Beth Underhill and the great Monopoly. There was Ainsley Vince. Gayle Greenough. Mac Cone. Hugh Graham with Secret Agent. Jennifer Foster with Zeus. Lisa Carlsen came back from Edmonton for the show, and the Spruce Meadows contingent was highly visible, with Jonathon Asselin and John Pearce on their powerful mounts. Mario DesLaurier and Nightingale trucked in from Quebec with hopes of winning the coveted Grand Invitational Trophy.