Now, remembering the times that Veronica had made fun of her, Lisa felt a little wicked thrill of satisfaction. Veronica has no clue about Samson, she said to herself. She probably thinks I’m riding Prancer, and that I’m just doing the show for the experience.
Unlike Carole and Stevie, Lisa didn’t own a horse. Her parents had offered a few times to buy her one, but she had declined, preferring to wait until she had gained more experience as a rider and could better select a horse that complemented her personality and riding abilities. Not having a horse had never presented her with a problem—she rode Prancer, a Pine Hollow Thoroughbred, so often that the mare almost seemed like her own. At times during the past couple of weeks, Lisa had almost felt guilty for not wanting to take Prancer to the Macrae Valley Open. But Samson’s natural talent over jumps made him an obvious choice for the event.
What made the discovery of Samson’s talent so special was that The Saddle Club had watched him grow from birth, when he was a leggy, awkward colt, to a sweet-tempered, high-spirited, sleek black horse. And his ability and training had been their secret and their project, although they had eventually let Red and Mr. Grover, a local horse trainer, in on their plan.
Once Max found out about his training, he helped The Saddle Club with tips and advice such as exposing Samson to a lot of different jumps to prepare him for the open. But he had let the three girls continue to work with Samson as much as possible over the last few weeks. Samson had taken every obstacle with ease and enthusiasm. He was clearly born to jump, and he knew it.
Veronica, on the other hand, was born to brag. She hadn’t let up on her boasting about the Macrae Valley Open and how she was going to win the junior jumping event.
“Did you say blue, dear?” Mrs. Atwood asked, breaking into Lisa’s thoughts. “Blue or green for your jacket?”
They pulled up to the tack shop. Lisa anxiously checked her watch. The shop was only five minutes from the stable, but she was due at Pine Hollow in half an hour for her last lesson before the open. She really needed to hurry with trying things on …
“STARLIGHT’S BEEN IN a terrific mood lately. I really think he knows he’s going to a show,” Carole said, fitting a bridle over her horse’s head. As if in agreement, the bay gelding nodded his head. Then he nuzzled her neck while she fastened his bridle.
“Well, if anyone can read a horse’s mind, it’s you,” said Stevie. She tightened the girth of the saddle on Belle, her bay mare. She spoke only half jokingly. Besides being the most experienced rider of the three of them, Carole also knew more about horses and stable management and could talk about them day and night.
“Are you disappointed about not competing?” Carole asked delicately. She still couldn’t get over the fact that Stevie had volunteered to be tack manager for the show. During the early days of their Macrae campaign, Stevie had even offered to scout out Samson’s competition, heroically spending time with Veronica to study her strengths and weaknesses. The three girls had once seen a war movie in which the commanding officer had advised, “Know your enemy,” so Stevie had grimly started angling for invitations to spend time at Veronica’s house. Despite her good intentions, Stevie had eventually given up on hanging out with Veronica. It had just proved too painful for both of them.
“Nah.” Stevie shrugged in answer to Carole’s question. “I really want Samson to make his big debut, just as much as you guys, and Lisa was the one who discovered his talent. And you’re definitely the most experienced rider from Pine Hollow. If Veronica hadn’t taken over the other two stalls in Max’s trailer, well, then I really would’ve put up a fight to go to the Macrae with Belle. But as things turned out, we’ll just wait for the next big show, won’t we, girl?” She gave Belle an affectionate pat on the nose and the mare nickered in response. “And then we’ll take the blue ribbon in dressage.”
Carole nodded, agreeing with Stevie’s last comment. Carole, and everybody else in the world, never ceased to be amazed that Stevie, the zaniest and most disorganized member of The Saddle Club, was a star performer in the demanding, technical, intricate sport of dressage. In fact, Stevie’s high standards and organizational skills for dressage—and her nonstop energy—made Carole and Lisa believe she might actually make a good tack manager for the open, and a good tack manager was extremely important. Max referred to the job as the “glue that holds together a good horse show performance.” The tack manager was required to keep track of all the equipment, help people tack up for their events, and help care for the horses. In addition, the tack manager had to be prepared for every emergency from a missing button to a broken stirrup leather.
Just then Veronica sauntered in, leading Danny. Lately Carole and Stevie had seen Veronica around Pine Hollow more than usual—and more than they cared to—because she had been putting in a lot of extra time getting ready for the Macrae. Although Max was one of the best riding instructors around, Veronica’s father had hired a battery of professionals from all over the country to prepare her for the open. And today the girls had watched her work with Johannes Wendt, a former member of the German Equestrian Team who was now a well-known instructor.
“Hi, Veronica,” Carole called. “Has Danny been cooled down enough? He still looks hot.” Like most people at Pine Hollow, Carole disliked Veronica, but she was unable to let that dislike get in the way of her concern for horses. Danny looked tired and was still breathing hard from the lesson. His coat was shining dark with sweat.
Veronica paused. “Oh, does he? Maybe I’ll get Red to rub him down and throw a blanket over him,” she said carelessly. She always fobbed her chores off on Red, who, because of the extra money Veronica’s parents paid to board and care for Danny, had no choice but to comply.
Veronica cast a scornful glance over Carole and Stevie with their horses; then a smug smile appeared on her face. “My, that Johnny is just the best instructor in the world!” she trilled. “He taught me things about jumping today that no amateur”—she looked meanings fully at Stevie—“would ever understand!”
“I thought that Johannes,” Stevie said pointedly, emphasizing the rider’s correct name and its pronunciation, “was an expert in dressage. That means you’re probably wasting his time. He’d be better off working with someone like me.”
Veronica laughed lightly. Sometimes Stevie’s wit was too quick for her, but today Veronica’s snobby armor seemed impenetrable. Money and the best riding instructors, Carole thought cynically, could do that for you.
“Oh, Stevie,” Veronica said with a false smile, “you’re so full of talk, talk, talk. We all know why you’re not entering the Macrae. You’re just scared, and you know you wouldn’t have a chance on that backyard horse of yours. She may have some slight talent in dressage—no thanks to you—but as for jumping, well … better stick to trotting over the cavalletti with your little mare.”
Stevie flushed with anger. Insults from Veronica were easy to match when they were directed at her, but when Veronica started insulting Belle, Stevie’s wonderful, sweet, perfect horse, it made her so mad, she couldn’t think of anything to say. In fact, she didn’t want to say anything. She itched to push Veronica’s face into a hay bale.
Getting no response from Stevie other than an angry frown, Veronica turned to Carole. Graciously deferring to Carole’s experience as a rider, she said, “You and I can handle the big leagues, right? Obviously, we’re Pine Hollow’s only chances at the open.”
Veronica knew that Lisa had entered the Macrae, so her comment got Stevie even more steamed. The implication was all too clear: She was completely dismissing Lisa. Well, Veronica didn’t know about The Saddle Club’s secret weapon, but she’d find out soon enough. Stevie smirked. In fact, she might even find out now.
Stevie was getting ready to charge out of Belle’s stall and give Veronica a piece of her mind, but she caught Carole’s eye. Carole was flashing her an unmistakable “Keep cool!” look. When Veronica glanced away, Carole pretended to zip her lips shut.
Stevie
understood the gesture immediately. If she got into an argument with Veronica now, she was in danger of giving away their secret—Samson’s jumping ability. And anyway, Veronica never seemed to grasp that Lisa was not far behind the most experienced riders in Horse Wise and could keep up with the rest of The Saddle Club very well.
As difficult as it was to stay quiet, Stevie gritted her teeth and finished tacking up Belle. “Just you wait, Veronica diAngelo,” she said under her breath. “You’re in for a big surprise.”
Carole finished tacking up Starlight and answered Veronica’s last comment, “Yeah,” she said, “it would be great if Pine Hollow had its own jumping star.” Catching Stevie’s eye, Carole winked.
Veronica tossed Danny’s reins in Carole’s direction and said, “Can you hold him for a second? I must find Red and ask him to cool Danny down. Then I’ve got to get going. I’m already late for my manicure.” She vanished out the door.
Stevie rolled her eyes. “A manicure? How much do you want to bet that Veronica gets a full beauty treatment the day before the Macrae?”
Carole laughed. “I bet she gets the full treatment the day of the Macrae,” she said. “I bet she’s hired a stylist to follow her around and make sure her makeup doesn’t smear and her hair is perfect.”
Max appeared in the stable door. He looked cross and glanced at his watch. “What’s with all the chitchat in here?” he asked impatiently. “Isn’t it about time for our riding lesson?”
“Sorry,” Carole and Stevie said simultaneously. After securing Danny and giving him a few sympathetic pats, Carole led Starlight out of his stall and swung onto his back. Stevie followed on Belle. Both of them paused to touch the good-luck horseshoe before heading out to the ring. All the riders at Pine Hollow did this because legend had it that no one who had touched the horseshoe before a ride had ever been seriously hurt. And today’s lesson, the last before the Macrae Valley Open, promised to be an especially tough one.
“Where’s Lisa?” demanded Max. Max could be easygoing about a lot of things. Promptness, however, was not one of them—especially when it involved a lesson he was giving. The Saddle Club had noticed that lately Max had become even stricter about his rules. They knew why: He had put in a lot of extra hours with them over the past few weeks, helping Carole and Starlight and Lisa and Samson get ready for the Macrae. Stevie had been allowed to join as reward for all her hard work at the stable and her generous offer to be tack manager. The experience had been well worth it. With Max’s undivided attention—or at least with his attention divided only three ways instead of many—the girls had learned a tremendous amount about riding and jumping.
Even better, Veronica hadn’t participated in any of the extra lessons, since she was so busy with her “professional” tutors. This had enabled The Saddle Club to keep Samson a secret from almost everyone except Max, Mrs. Reg, and Red O’Malley. During the regular Horse Wise meetings, Lisa had ridden Prancer.
Stevie shot a worried glance at Carole. It wasn’t like Lisa to be so late for a lesson—it was much more Stevie’s style, in fact.
“Lisa stopped at the tack shop, I think,” Carole said smoothly. “She should be here any second now. We’ll tack up Samson and have him ready to go by the time she arrives.”
Max’s frown grew deeper. “Well, I don’t want to start without her,” he said. “Come get me when she’s ready. I’ll be in my office.” He turned and walked out.
Carole glanced at her watch. She and Stevie dismounted, tethered Starlight and Belle to the fence, and got to work on Samson.
LISA YANKED OFF the breeches, leaving the legs inside out, and reached for her old pair. She was hot, sweaty, and tired—and she hadn’t even started her riding lesson yet. “Mom, this pair is great,” she said impatiently. “Please, please don’t make me try on another pair. I just don’t have time.”
The tan breeches—the fifteenth pair she had tried on at the shop—had fit her perfectly, but Lisa was past caring about the fit. She put on her clothes and exited the dressing room.
Holding an armful of clothes, Mrs. Atwood gave Lisa a coaxing smile. “We’re not done yet, darling,” she said. She turned back to the salesperson. “We’ll take the breeches, that new shirt, the new hard hat, and—Lisa, are you sure? You don’t want the custom-made boots?”
Hearing this last remark, the salesperson smiled at Lisa with a hopeful look. He was a thin young man with slicked-back hair, wearing a formal gray suit and a maroon tie. When Lisa had first seen him, she thought he would have looked more at home in an office than he did in the tack shop. He had not left her or her mother’s side for more than a second, hovering over them and offering lots of unhelpful advice.
The Saddle Club had often frequented this shop to drool over new tack and clothes, and the group knew and liked the shop’s owner, Ivan Elwood, very much. Ivan wore casual shirts and breeches, and anyone could tell that he himself was a rider and loved horses. He often shared humorous or thrilling riding anecdotes with customers, punctuating his stories by happily pointing to photos on the wall of favorite horses from his past.
But today Ivan was nowhere to be seen, and this man in the suit had introduced himself as James Reeds, “Ivan’s nephew.” Ivan had been forced to go out of town that day on urgent business, and Mr. Reeds had somehow persuaded his uncle not to close the shop, offering to fill in for him and his other salesperson, who was off competing in a horse show. “I’m trying to learn about sales from the ground up,” he explained eagerly to Mrs. Atwood and Lisa. “I’m hoping to start working for this big water-heating company this year.”
Water heating? Tack? The two things were so unrelated that Lisa felt a wave of dread. Who was this man, and what was he thinking, selling riding clothes and tack?
But wait a second, Lisa told herself. She wasn’t a novice at riding, after all. She knew what a rider should wear to a big show, right? She could do this by herself, because, certainly, her mother wasn’t being much help. Her mother seemed to care about three things—price (the more expensive, the better), fit, and color—and had no clue what riders should or shouldn’t wear to a show like the Macrae.
Lisa suddenly remembered her mother’s last question. “No, Mom, I don’t need custom boots,” she said. “I really need to get to my riding lesson. Right now.”
“But, honey, Mr. Reeds said that Ivan could have them ready in two days, just in time for the Macrae,” pleaded her mother. “Think of how incredible you’ll look wearing those beautifully fitted new boots!”
Despite her anxiety about the time, Lisa was tempted by the custom-made boots. Wasn’t this part of her dream—a new level of competition with the Macrae and new riding clothes to go with it? Hadn’t she always pictured herself at a big horse show like the Macrae, wearing crisp new clothes and gleaming boots? Unlike the rest of her wardrobe, Lisa tended to wear her riding clothes until they were completely worn out. She had a secret reason for this: When she had first started riding, she had made the mistake of wearing a brand-new, overly fancy outfit to her first day at Pine Hollow. After some good-natured teasing from Stevie, who always liked to have fun with newcomers to the stable, Lisa had vowed to break her clothes in and earn her riding credentials the hard way—through lots of lessons and practice. She had noticed the same thing in the ballet classes that her mother insisted she still take. The best dancers in her class often wore the rattiest leotards and tights.
Her riding clothes definitely looked worn in, although Lisa was too careful to let her clothes be ruined. But were they right for the Macrae?
She desperately wished that Ivan Elwood were there to give her advice. Although Mr. Reeds was extremely attentive and polite, he had spent five minutes trying to persuade Mrs. Atwood to buy some breeches that Lisa knew were all wrong for the Macrae—a special pair of European dressage breeches, the kind worn by top-level international competitors on the dressage circuit. “I don’t need them for a jumping competition,” she had said, over and over again until Mr. Reeds had final
ly given up. Even worse, he had tried to sell them the “latest revolutionary new fly spray; we just got it in.” Puzzled, Lisa had kept on refusing to buy the fly spray. She eventually realized that Mr. Reeds didn’t even know the fly spray was meant for the horse, not the rider.
After wrestling with her doubts and urges for a few minutes, Lisa finally made up her mind. Things were getting out of control, and she needed to get to Pine Hollow—now. She could just imagine what Max would say if she was late for the last lesson before the Macrae, and she didn’t blame him. Between Carole and Lisa, Max had definitely spent a lot more time getting Lisa ready for the Macrae. His comments to her during lessons had been more pointed, and he had obviously paid more attention to her because of Carole’s much greater experience on the show circuit.
“No boots,” she said firmly. “I’ll just polish my old ones. They’ll be comfortable and they’ll look great.” She started walking toward the exit.
“Wait, wait!” Mr. Reeds called out. He sounded desperate, so Lisa stopped. He started pulling riding jackets off the rack. “You haven’t even tried on any jackets. Didn’t you tell me you wanted a whole new outfit?”
“Yes. Yes, we do,” said Mrs. Atwood. She beamed at Mr. Reeds reassuringly. “And you’ve been so helpful. Lisa’s just a little nervous about her lesson, isn’t that right, darling? Now,” she added firmly, “come back here and try on some jackets.”
“My tweed jacket is in fine shape,” Lisa answered tersely.
“Oh, come on, honey, let me treat you,” pleaded Mrs. Atwood. She held up a jacket. “Just try a few on,” she said.
Lisa was just about to sharply repeat her refusal when she looked at her mother’s face. Mrs. Atwood’s cheeks were flushed with excitement and her eyes were sparkling. Lisa realized that the clothes were just a part of her mother’s current state of happiness. Mrs. Atwood couldn’t get over the fact that her little girl was going to ride in the Macrae. It was obvious that she wanted everything—including Lisa’s appearance—to be perfect.
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