Silver Stirrups

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Have you girls been riding?” the waiter continued.

  Lisa found her voice first. “Uh, sort of. How’d you guess?”

  The man pointed to his nose. “Sensitive sense of smell—at least when it comes to horses.”

  Stevie and Lisa grinned sheepishly. They were used to hearing their friends, parents, and siblings complain about the horsey smell that clung to them after Pine Hollow afternoons. Luckily, the waiter didn’t seem annoyed. “Shall I come back in a few minutes?” he inquired.

  “Oh, no—I think we’re ready. I’ll have a small chocolate chip on a sugar cone with sprinkles,” Lisa said.

  “And for you, miss?”

  Stevie thought for a minute. “A strawberry sundae on coffee ice cream with caramel and blueberry toppings, marshmallow, and two cherries,” she said. Both she and Lisa glanced up at the waiter, expecting him to show some reaction to the unusual order.

  “Very good, miss,” said the man. He jotted it down and left the table.

  Stevie watched him return to the counter, her curiosity piqued. “He seems too polite to be working here,” she observed.

  “Yeah. Strange, isn’t it?” Lisa said.

  When the man returned with their orders, something about his manner seemed almost sad to Stevie. To be friendly, she asked if he ever rode.

  The waiter smiled. “Not anymore,” he said ruefully. “Not since my wife died last year. She and I used to ride together, and, well …” His voice drifted off momentarily.

  Stevie shifted in her seat, sorry that she’d touched on such a sensitive topic.

  “But my daughter rides,” the man continued. “When she lost her mother, she threw herself into the sport.” The man sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if it makes Andrea happy, though …”

  Andrea? Lisa thought.

  “Andrea!” Stevie exclaimed. “You don’t mean Andrea Barry, do you?”

  The man turned his attention to Stevie at once. “Why, yes—yes, I do. Do you know my daughter?”

  “We just met her. We ride at Pine Hollow,” Stevie explained as she and Lisa introduced themselves.

  “How wonderful! I was worried there wouldn’t be anyone Andrea’s age,” said Mr. Barry, looking pleased.

  “Oh, there are lots of junior-high kids at Pine Hollow,” Stevie informed him. “We hang out at the barn all the time.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that,” Mr. Barry said. “Riding is Andrea’s whole life, so it might be hard for her to make friends at school.” He sighed again. “I know this move has been hard on her.”

  “Why did you move?” Stevie asked.

  “Stevie!” Lisa whispered, kicking her under the table. Lisa was appalled. Sometimes Stevie’s nosiness was really out of control.

  But Mr. Barry seemed glad to talk. “I got transferred. I could either stay and keep the job I had for less pay, or move down here and make a little more. Staying would have meant selling Doc. And I could never do that to Andrea. He’s all she has, really …”

  “You mean, Tastee Delight transfers people?” Stevie asked. “Wow, I didn’t know working at an ice cream parlor was that—”

  This time Lisa’s kick hit home. “Ow!” Stevie said, wincing.

  But her comment had actually brought a smile to Mr. Barry’s lips. “This is just my weekend job,” he said, laughing. “I’m a computer salesman during the week. It’s harder than it used to be to make ends meet. Of course, I’m not complaining. I’d do anything to make Andrea happy. And speaking of jobs, I ought to get back to work. But I’m very glad to have met you both. And enjoy your ice cream, all right?”

  Stevie and Lisa waited until Mr. Barry had gone back behind the counter. Then they began talking in hushed tones. Now that Stevie knew that Mrs. Barry had died, Lisa could express how sorry she was for Andrea. Stevie sympathized immediately. So much was clear now. Stevie knew Andrea must still be devastated about her mother. And moving only a year afterward must have been traumatic, to say the least. It was no wonder riding was Andrea’s “whole life.” But there was another element of the story that both Stevie and Lisa had picked up on: The Barrys were far from rich. Mr. Barry was working two jobs to pay for Andrea’s riding. Haltingly, Lisa described the scene at Andrea’s house the night before.

  “So nobody was home to let her in?” said Stevie. “On a Saturday night?”

  Lisa nodded. “And when I called a half hour later, her dad had come home and gone right to bed.”

  Stevie let out a long breath. “I wish I’d known. I would have invited her to my house for the night.” Saturday nights at the Lakes’ were always fun. Stevie’s parents would cook dinner for her and her three brothers and then they would watch TV together or play games. Stevie couldn’t imagine coming home to a dark, empty house.

  “The sad thing is, it probably puts a lot of pressure on Andrea, knowing her dad is sacrificing so much for her,” Lisa pointed out.

  “Gee, I’ll bet you’re right,” Stevie said. “I never thought of that.”

  The girls ate in silence for a few moments. Then Stevie said, “Obviously, there’s only one thing to do.”

  “What?” Lisa asked, though she was fairly certain she knew what Stevie was going to say.

  “Simple: make helping Andrea a Saddle Club project,” Stevie replied. “We can’t make her life perfect, but at least we can be her friends.”

  “Right. But what about the fact that the Saddle Club member we need most thinks Andrea has a perfect life already?”

  “Yeah, but Carole will change her mind once she hears about Andrea’s mother,” Stevie said.

  “I guess so,” Lisa said tentatively.

  Stevie raised her eyebrows. “You sound skeptical.”

  “I did promise Andrea I wouldn’t say anything,” Lisa said.

  “Right. And you didn’t.”

  “But what if Carole said something and—”

  “Carole’s not going to say anything. But if she knows what Andrea’s been through—and is still going through—she won’t be as competitive with her.”

  Lisa didn’t respond right away. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there still seemed something wrong about calling up Carole and telling her very private details about Andrea’s life. Lisa tried to imagine the conversation: Hi, Carole? Lisa and Stevie. We just wanted you to know that Andrea’s mother died a year ago and the Barrys don’t have much money.

  And what if it backfired? What if Carole thought they were trying to force her to be friends with Andrea out of pity? Or that they were suggesting that Carole not try her best at Briarwood? Carole was so hypersensitive about the Silver Stirrups Trophy right now that she really wasn’t herself. There was no telling how she would react.

  Lisa voiced some of her doubts to Stevie, but Stevie still thought they should tell Carole what they’d learned.

  “If only Carole had been here!” Lisa wished aloud.

  “I know.” Stevie glanced at the clock on the wall. “I guess she’s not coming, huh?”

  “No. She would have been here by now,” Lisa said. “I’ll bet she stayed at the barn all afternoon.”

  Before Stevie could respond, Andrea’s father appeared at the booth. “Can I get you anything else?” he inquired.

  Lisa and Stevie shook their heads. They both felt a little guilty about the discussion they’d been having. “No thanks!” they said in unison.

  “All right then, here’s the check. Have a good day, girls.”

  Normally The Saddle Club were fair but not big tippers. Today, however, both Lisa and Stevie tipped generously. They smiled when they realized they’d had the same idea.

  “Oats for Country Doctor?” Lisa inquired, pointing at Stevie’s pile of quarters.

  Stevie shook her head. “Entry fees for Andrea.”

  IT WAS STILL early, so Stevie and Lisa decided to sit in the sun for a while. Lisa thought they ought to discuss the other Saddle Club project.

  “What’s there to discuss?” Stevie said glumly. “The show’s a we
ek away and Red doesn’t have a horse.”

  Lisa had to admit that Stevie was right. She had racked her brains, but for the life of her she could not come up with an appropriate mount. “I keep thinking about how excited Red looked yesterday when he got his ribbon,” she said.

  “Heck, he even looked excited when Kismet acted up and he got two refusals,” said Stevie. “I think he’s finally realized how much he’s been missing by not showing.”

  “And now he’s going to keep missing it,” Lisa remarked.

  None of the stores the girls visited cheered them up, so a half hour later they left the shopping center, despondent instead of psyched as they normally were after a trip to TD’s. “This time next week, the Silver Stirrups winner will have been decided,” Lisa said.

  “Hey, you’re right,” said Stevie.

  “I wonder whether it’ll be Carole or Andrea,” Lisa mused.

  Stevie stopped. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, ‘I wonder—’ ”

  “I heard what you said,” Stevie interrupted. “I just didn’t like it. In the first place, Briarwood is a huge show. Junior riders come from all over. Half of them are capable of beating Carole and Andrea on any given day. In the second place, you and I are capable of beating Carole and Andrea. And don’t you forget it, Lisa.”

  Lisa grinned. “You know, I had forgotten. Thanks, Stevie.”

  Briefly, the girls discussed the classes they were entering. Lisa thought Prancer was ready for the three-foot hunter division, but she was going to stick to two-foot-six just to be safe. And despite her success at the schooling show, Stevie was going to enter Belle only in junior jumper classes—to be safe and, more importantly, to have fun.

  “Okay, so I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lisa said.

  Stevie didn’t respond. She was staring over her shoulder. Lisa turned and followed her gaze. Mr. Barry was coming out of the ice cream parlor. At first Lisa was glad to see that he had changed out of his TD’s uniform. He was probably on his way home. But then she looked closer. The Tastee Delight outfit had been replaced with a second uniform. With a sinking feeling, Lisa recognized the rust and yellow of the local fast-food Mexican restaurant.

  “Country Doctor’s oats,” she murmured, averting her gaze.

  “And Andrea’s entry fees,” Stevie added quietly.

  CAROLE GOT TO the stables very late Monday afternoon. Her plan was to avoid Lisa and Stevie as much as possible. She didn’t want anything to break her concentration in this crucial last week. She especially didn’t want discussions about Andrea Barry to distract her. Briarwood was Carole’s big chance to prove that she was better. It was that simple. Lisa and Stevie couldn’t understand her singleness of purpose. To them, riding was a pastime; to Carole it was much more.

  As Carole groomed Starlight, she kept up a running monologue. “You’re not afraid of any old fancy junior hunter from New England, are you, boy? So what if he cost thousands of dollars? You could beat him in your sleep, couldn’t you?”

  “Looking forward to the show?” said a cheery voice behind her.

  Carole spun around. It was Mrs. Reg, Max’s mother—the second-to-last person Carole wanted to see. The older woman was known for her rambling stories. Right now Carole didn’t have the patience to listen to one of them. “Hi, Mrs. Reg. Uh, yeah, I guess so,” she said.

  She hoped her tone of voice would convey her lack of interest in talking. To her relief, Mrs. Reg moved on down the aisle. “As long as you learn something and have fun …,” Carole heard her murmur. “That’s what I always say.”

  “Great, now she’s started talking to herself,” Carole muttered.

  When Starlight was ready, she led him from the cross-ties to the indoor ring. There was one other horse working in the ring. Carole recognized Kismet. Red was riding him. He waved when he saw her.

  Maybe something had changed, thought Carole. Maybe Mrs. Murphy was going to let Red ride Kismet at Briarwood after all. Carole mounted and rode over to say hello.

  “Hey, Carole!” Red called.

  “Hey, Red! Doing some practicing?” she asked.

  Red cocked his head. “I guess you could call it that,” he said. “At least, I’m making Kismet practice. He’s got a big day Saturday.”

  Carole felt terrible. So Red was only schooling Kismet for Mrs. Murphy.

  “Say, are you feeling better?” Red asked.

  “Huh?” said Carole. Did Red know she’d been upset about Andrea?

  “Max told me you had had a pretty bad stomachache.”

  “Oh, right,” Carole said. She was ashamed of the lie. Her father always told her that the problem with lying wasn’t the initial lie, but all the other lies you had to tell because of it. “I do feel better,” she said reluctantly.

  “Good, because Max was worried about you.”

  “Really?” Carole said, trying not to sound too interested.

  Red nodded. “Yeah. He was worried Andrea wouldn’t have anyone to train with this week.”

  “Oh,” said Carole. “I see.” She felt as if she’d been slapped. Red couldn’t have made it any clearer. Andrea was Max’s top priority. Carole had been reduced to the status of a helper! She was like a stablemate—a—a workhorse! She was supposed to train with the champion, challenge her a little, all the while knowing that she wouldn’t be able to keep up!

  Carole reined Starlight away from Kismet. “I’ve got to get going,” she told Red abruptly.

  “I’ll tell Max you’re up and at ’em!” Red called after her.

  “Fine!” Carole said. To herself she added bitterly, “Tell him the workhorse is all warmed up and ready to go.”

  DESPITE CAROLE’S BAD HUMOR, Starlight was in fine form. He was fit and responsive. Carole forced herself to shake off her doubts, fears, and anger and to concentrate on the job at hand. First, she walked on a loose rein to let Starlight stretch. While he stretched, she did several minutes of limbering exercises herself. She took her feet out of the stirrups and rotated her toes. She leaned forward and touched the headstall of the bridle, then leaned back and touched Starlight’s croup. She rolled her shoulders several times. Now they were both relaxed.

  The next part of the warm-up consisted of trotting, both rising and sitting. Sitting to the trot was never easy. The two-beat gait could be jarring. Carole worked on keeping her back straight, her seat deep, and her elbows close to her sides, not flopping all over.

  At the canter, Starlight had more to work on. Cantering was the gait next to galloping. Starlight was a half-Thoroughbred, a horse bred for racing. Occasionally, Starlight tried to keep speeding up at the canter until he was galloping. Carole had to make sure that didn’t happen.

  After twenty-five minutes, Carole was done with the flat part of her warm-up. Riding “on the flat” simply meant not jumping. No responsible rider would ever take her horse out and start jumping right away. That was how horses got injured and riders fell off.

  Carole now shortened her stirrups two holes to make it easier to get up into jumping, or “two-point,” position. She picked up a trot and headed Starlight toward the cross rail in the middle of the ring. Max usually left at least one cross rail up for the riders to school over. It was a good jump to start with because the X shape had a natural low point in the middle; horses automatically knew where to take the jump. Starlight was no exception. He pricked up his ears, jumped neatly, landed cantering, and let Carole slow him back to a trot on the other side. Carole took the cross rail a few more times straight on. Then she switched her approach, coming in at more difficult angles, similar to the ones they might meet in a horse show course.

  Carole had now been working forty minutes. She might have continued, but she decided not to. She didn’t want to tire Starlight out by jumping too much the week before the show. Nor was she having any major problems that she needed to work on. And finally, she thought, loosening her reins again, if there was one thing she knew about horses, it was that it was always better to quit while you were ahead
. If she kept schooling with no real purpose in mind, Starlight would think up some major problems fast enough!

  Carole had been so preoccupied by her thinking—worrying—about Andrea and Briarwood that she hadn’t enjoyed riding lately. This afternoon had reminded her what it felt like to ride for the sake of riding. As she cooled out her horse, Mrs. Reg’s words came floating into her head: “As long as you learn something and have fun.” Then Carole remembered what Max had said—what Max always said: “Challenge yourself and your horse.” Even her father had reminded her that she could always learn something—even from a bad ride. Although she wasn’t going to admit it to anyone else, Carole realized something. It wasn’t exactly a new thought, but it came back and hit her full force: The way she was looking at Briarwood, Carole doubted she was going to have fun, learn anything, or challenge herself. Fixating on one competitor prevented all those things from happening.

  To be perfectly honest with herself, Carole thought, she was actually dreading Briarwood. It wasn’t that she was worried about messing up—at least, not that worried. She knew what had gone wrong at the schooling show—how she’d warmed up too quickly, lost her concentration, then lost her nerve. But her newfound determination to win would definitely help her concentrate. And yet, what was the point? The whole day was going to be a grueling, ultracompetitive, exhausting fight to the finish. The horsewoman in Carole recoiled from that scenario. In her heart of hearts, she knew that the purpose of riding was what Mrs. Reg had said. If she won at Briarwood, what would it prove? Would Max go back to thinking she was his best student? Or would she have to keep beating Andrea, at every show, every Pony Club event, every everything? Would she have to try to “beat” her in lessons, too? Besides, even if she did win the trophy, it wouldn’t change the fact that Andrea was a year younger. If Andrea won it next year, did that make her just as good, in retrospect? And what if, in the worst case, Andrea did beat her? How could she look Max and Stevie and Lisa in the eye?

  Carole’s head began to ache at the questions buzzing in her mind. She took her feet out of the stirrups and hopped off.