The Trail Home

by Bonnie Bryant

  “What’s up?” Stevie asked.

  “It’s always like returning to reality,” Carole said, sharing her feelings about the woods and the field.

  “No, I mean over there,” said Stevie, pointing to Pine Hollow.

  Something was up. There was a knot of people at one end of the schooling ring. That wasn’t normal. Usually there were hardly any people who weren’t on horses.

  “Something’s wrong,” Carole said. Simultaneously they brought their horses to a canter and sped across the fields, constantly watching the crowd in the distance, trying to see what was happening.

  It was an accident, that was for sure. Somebody had been hurt—otherwise there was no way that clump of people would remain. Then the riders saw the blinking of an emergency light. An ambulance?

  It was, and it had been there for a while; it was leaving now, speeding along the driveway and then disappearing along the road that ran next to the stable. The knot of people had almost completely dispersed by the time Carole and Stevie reached the paddock.

  Max was there, along with Emily. They stood talking. PC waited patiently beside them. They looked up when Carole and Stevie reached them.

  “What happened?” Stevie asked.

  “It’s Callie,” Emily said. “She fell off PC. She hurt her other leg and they’ve taken her to the hospital again. I didn’t mean to let it happen.”

  “You didn’t let it happen,” said Max. “She fell. People fall off horses all the time. It’s just that Callie’s balance was more affected than any of us, including Callie, realized. She’ll be okay.”

  “I hope so,” said Emily.

  The sharpness in her tone reminded Carole of the conversation they’d had earlier that day. This day was too full of serious conversations for her taste.

  Ben appeared out of the shadows of the stable. “I’ll walk ’em for you,” he said, reaching for Starlight’s and Belle’s reins. Carole and Stevie readily relinquished their horses to his care.

  “Come on. I’ll drive you guys home,” Carole said to Stevie and Emily. For once they were both ready to leave Pine Hollow for the day. Even Carole, who had to come back later to keep her promise to Max, suddenly needed some time away.

  EIGHT

  “I have to go see her.”

  “Stevie, are you sure that’s such a great idea?” Phil asked. The two of them were sitting in Phil’s car, parked in Stevie’s driveway. Phil had come over to see Stevie, but before he could get out of his car, she’d gotten in and asked him to take her to Callie’s house.

  “Well, you don’t have to drive me or anything. It’s just a couple of blocks away and I can walk.”

  “It’s not that and you know it,” Phil said, taking her hand. “You’ve been torturing yourself over what happened—not that that isn’t a pretty natural thing to do. But you don’t have to rub salt in your own wounds, do you?”

  “I have to go see her,” Stevie repeated. “She’s home from the emergency room. Her mother said so. I just want to check in. I feel like …”

  “Like you have to?”

  “Yeah, like I have to,” Stevie agreed. “So it’ll be better if you’re there with me, okay?”

  “Okay,” Phil said, relenting. He shifted his car into gear and backed out of the driveway. As long as he’d known Stevie—and he’d known her a long time—she’d always been the most stubborn person he’d ever met. When she got an idea into her head, no matter how wrong it was, it was almost impossible to get her to change her mind. It wasn’t that she never changed her mind; she did that all the time. She just never let anyone else change it for her. Or if they did, she wouldn’t let them know they’d done it. It wasn’t Phil’s favorite aspect of Stevie’s personality.

  In this case, though, he thought he understood it. Because Stevie had been behind the wheel when Callie had gotten hurt, he knew she felt responsible at some level for the accident. But now, even more simply, she felt responsible for seeing that everything possible was done for Callie.

  This wasn’t easy. She had no problem with the idea of Emily’s and PC’s working with the girl; it was such a good idea that she might even have convinced herself it was her own. The hard part was interacting with Callie and with her family. Every legal document in the world exonerated her. Every logical argument pointed to the obvious conclusion that she had taken all the appropriate steps to minimize the damage in the crash. Yet every beat of her heart told her there must have been something more she could have done, and she was convinced that everybody else felt the same way—most especially Callie’s family. Phil thought that, in the case of Callie’s brother, Stevie was right.

  “Okay, here we are,” Phil said, pulling up in front of the Foresters’. Stevie reached for the car door handle, but Phil caught hold of her hand. He looked right into her eyes. “I’m with you now, and I’ll be with you when we leave,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips.

  She kissed him back and thanked him. Then she opened the car door. She had her courage.

  When Mrs. Forester came to the door, Stevie explained that she’d just wanted to stop by to see how Callie was doing.

  “Well, come see for yourself,” said Mrs. Forester, inviting them in.

  Callie was ensconced in what was obviously her father’s recliner. Her crutches were propped on the armrest, and her left leg was swathed in bandages.

  “Oh, Callie!” said Stevie, distressed at the sight.

  Callie immediately sat up in the chair and used the bandaged leg to lower the footrest.

  “Don’t take this too seriously,” she said. “It’s just a bruise, really. The doctor said something about how the hospital was having a special on elastic bandages, so he gave me two. Believe me, it looks a lot worse than it feels.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Stevie asked, settling onto a nearby chair.

  “I’m kidding about the special on elastic bandages,” Callie said. “But I’m not kidding that it looks worse than it feels. It’s really not a big deal. No brain damage. In fact, the only thing that really got damaged was my dignity. Like, I wanted to be carted out of Pine Hollow in an ambulance? Trust me, though, the good-luck horseshoe was true to itself. This is not a serious matter.”

  “Promise?”

  “Scout’s honor,” Callie said. Stevie suspected that at some level Callie was just trying to make her feel better, but she was also pleased to note that it was working.

  Mrs. Forester appeared then with a tray of homemade cookies and a bottle of soda. Callie’s father and Scott walked in, following the scented trail of cookies. Congressman Forester greeted Stevie and Phil warmly. Scott shook Phil’s hand and nodded a cool greeting to Stevie. They weren’t fooling one another. The charming and charismatic Scott Forester was unable to display his usual warmth and openness to the girl who had been driving when his sister got hurt.

  “So, the way I see it, this is kind of a good news/bad news situation,” Callie said.

  “How’s that?” asked Phil.

  “Well, for a couple of weeks, I’ve been complaining about how difficult it is to manage when one side of me works and the other doesn’t. Those days are over. Now neither side of me works. I know I’m joking about it, but it might actually make it a little easier to ride—when I can ride again, which I think will be tomorrow—to get back up on the horse and all that. PC is so willing and so easy to manage that I could probably ride him if I were completely paralyzed. Which I’m not. And, anyway, the important thing is that the doctor said I’d be able to swim, and we’re going to need to do that at the party.” She turned to Phil. “Stevie told you about it, right? And you’re coming, right?”

  “Right on both counts,” he said. “I’ll be here. Thanks for including me.”

  Phil stood up, and so did Stevie. They’d done what they’d come for—made sure Callie was okay. Now it was time to go.

  “See you on Saturday—if not before,” said Stevie. She and Phil thanked Callie’s parents, thanking Mrs. Fo
rester specially for the cookies, said good-bye to Scott, and left. When they got back into Phil’s car, he squeezed Stevie’s hand.

  “You were right,” he said. “It was the right thing to do.”

  “I know,” said Stevie. “She has a way of making me feel better no matter how bad I know she feels. If only her brother …”

  “He’ll get over it eventually.”

  “I hope eventually is soon.”

  Carole shook her head in annoyance and glared at the computer screen. Bright colors and cheerful-looking prompts weren’t going to make this onerous task any easier. The file had to be set up just right before information went in or the data would be useless.

  She was no genius when it came to the computer. She was merely better at using it than Max was, and that had been enough to earn her the right to tackle the task that now faced her. She’d been using computers at school and at home since she was a little girl. The machine sitting on her desk was the first one Max had ever used.

  “Okay, look,” she had said to Max. “We’ll need to have data files …”

  “As opposed to what other kind of files?” he had asked.

  Not only did she have to figure out how to do it, but she’d had to figure out how to explain it. “Let me start again,” she’d said.

  It had taken her an hour to explain to Max what it was they needed to do, and then it had taken her another hour to do it—or at least to set it up. She was beginning to think she’d made a bad deal when she’d let Max do paperwork while she and Stevie went for their trail ride.

  Finally, when the files were set up the way she and Max wanted them, she began entering information. That was the easy part. Max sat across from her at the desk, shuffling papers and paying bills.

  On the other side of the door, the stable was settling down for the night. Red and Denise were long gone. Ben was bedding down the horses, checking their water and seeing to it that they had hay and that their stalls were clean for the night. When he was finished, he came into the office to check out.

  “See you,” he said, chatty as ever. Then he was gone.

  Carole worked for another hour. The first file they were creating was a simple address file, including all the riders, owners, suppliers, and employees. The bigger task would come when they started creating files for each horse, replacing the notebooks that now filled the office shelves. It was a lot of data. Tonight’s address list was a modest beginning, and once Carole was simply entering data, it wasn’t very challenging. She and Max could chat while she worked.

  “I stopped by Fez’s stall earlier today,” said Max.

  “What do you think?” Carole asked.

  “I think it’s a miracle he’s made it this far,” he said. “I’ve talked to Judy about it. We both agree that we have to prepare for any eventuality here.”

  “But Ben’s done so much!” Carole said.

  “Ben’s been doing good work with the horse,” Max said. “No question about it. And Fez has benefitted from it, I’m sure. I don’t like to think what would be happening with him if Ben weren’t putting in so much effort. I just hope his good work comes to a good end.”

  “Well, Ben’s made it a real project,” said Carole. It occurred to her that this could be a good opportunity to ferret out more information about Ben and his plans for the future.

  “Hmmm,” Max said noncommittally while he licked an envelope.

  Carole decided to try another tack. “Oh, did you get that message from that man—Mr. Waller?—something about a reference?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Max. He picked up another bill and checked the calculations on it.

  “Was that about a scholarship or something?” she asked.

  “Something,” he answered.

  Carole could tell she was being shut out. She knew when to stop asking questions, but the very existence of the unanswered questions made her all the more curious. What was it about Ben Marlow that was so mysterious? Why was he so secretive? Why wouldn’t he ever talk about himself? Why wouldn’t Max ever talk about him? This made her recall Stevie’s absurd assertion that Ben was interested in her. Ben, sullen, quiet, withdrawn—the guy who could talk to horses but not to people. Carole smiled, thinking about that. Maybe she could understand it. In her life, no horse had ever disappointed her, let her down, or lied to her. When times were bleak, whether it had been during her mother’s illness, tough periods in school, or any other hardship, she’d always found comfort in being with horses. Maybe she and Ben weren’t so different after all.

  “That’s it for me for tonight,” said Max. “I’ve pretty much emptied out the bank account, so I have to stop paying bills, and I’d better let you get home or your father’s going to be after my hide for working you too hard!”

  Carole laughed, then stretched. She got achy when she sat at a computer for long periods, and she was definitely feeling achy now. Max was right. It was time to stop for the night. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

  “I’m just going to check on Fez before I turn out the lights,” he said. “Care to go with me?”

  “Sure,” said Carole. She saved her work and printed a single record for herself, then closed the files and turned off the computer. She followed Max down the aisle to Fez’s stall.

  The horse was little changed. He was lying on the straw, his head resting and his ears limp. He opened his eyes when Carole and Max stood at his door, but he didn’t lift his head or show any particular interest in them.

  “I know Ben was working with him today,” Carole said. She was trying to sound encouraging, though it wasn’t clear whether it was for Ben’s or Fez’s benefit—or for that of both of them. “He’s been working very hard with him.”

  Max shook his head, looking at the ailing horse. “I hope it’s worth it,” he said.

  “Me too,” said Carole.

  She and Max finished turning out the lights, and he saw her to her car, closing the door securely.

  “Thanks for all your work, Carole. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Bye,” she said.

  She watched Max amble to his house, then started her engine as he went inside. Before shifting the car into gear, she turned on the interior light and reached into her pocket for the record she’d printed.

  Marlow, Benjamin, 273 Winn

  Road, Willow Creek, VA

  Winn Road. Carole was trying to remember where that was. It definitely wasn’t in the neighborhood of Pine Hollow, nor was it anywhere near her own house. Carole and her father lived on the edge of town, several miles from Pine Hollow, far enough that she’d taken the bus or been taxied by her father in the days before she could drive.

  Winn Road. Carole thought she recalled seeing something like that over by the old elementary school. She was curious and almost convinced herself that she was more curious to test her memory about where Winn Road was than to see where Ben lived. You can learn a lot about a person from their house, she reminded herself. She remembered how it felt to be in the Foresters’ comfortable, welcoming house. Even from the outside, she’d liked it. How would she feel about Ben’s?

  She shifted the car into gear and pulled out onto the dark, quiet street that bordered Pine Hollow. This was the street where she and Callie and Stevie had had the accident. It was so different now. The summer sky was bright with stars. A fingernail moon shined softly. There was no threat anywhere.

  Carole was right about Winn Road. It was a long way from Pine Hollow, perhaps two or three miles, and she knew enough about the local buses to know that none went near there. It probably took Ben more than half an hour to get to and from work each day, yet he’d refused a ride. What a curious person he was.

  When Carole drove toward Winn Road, she had to relinquish any notion she’d been harboring of simply testing her knowledge of the local geography. She knew that she wanted to see where Ben lived. Winn Road was off Barlow Street. On Barlow, the houses were modest tract homes, close to one another. Each seemed to be very much like the on
e next to it, some with the front door to the right of the picture window, some to the left. Kids from the neighborhood were playing a game of basketball around a hoop on one of the small garages. Families sat on folding chairs in their front yards, enjoying the pleasant summer evening.

  Carole turned onto Winn. This was an older street. The houses were small, filling cramped lots. One house had car parts scattered in the dirt that passed for a driveway. Another had a rusted jungle gym in the small front yard. A nondescript mutt barked loudly in his yard, where he was tied to a tree with a frayed rope. It was hard to see the numbers on the houses. A tilted mailbox in front of one home read 251. A little farther down, she found the number 263. She slowed down. Ben’s house was near. This was Ben’s street, with broken cars, rusted toys, untended dogs, and tilted mailboxes. Did she really want to know this?

  Carole pulled to the curb across the street from the unnumbered house that had to be Ben Marlow’s home. No one saw her stop. No one saw her turn off her engine and douse her lights. But she noticed a lot. She saw a house that was no better than its neighbors. It needed a coat of paint, and the front yard had long since relinquished its claim to grass. It was nearly bald dirt. There was no garage, but there was a rocky driveway. In it was a ten-year-old car with a broken taillight patched with red tape. To the side of the house was a laundry line, filled with clothes that must have been out there all day and were now getting wet all over again from the humid night air.

  The windows of the house were covered by shades, but Carole could see there were lamps on downstairs and there was a dim welcome light on the porch, surrounded by curious insects. Somebody was home. Somebody was expected.

  The front door opened, casting a beam of light across the empty front yard. Carole sat up, suddenly alert and wondering if Ben would be there.