“I bet they recycle them,” Stevie said.
“Sure,” Carole said. “Dorothy told me that every year they change part of the Rolex course, but they never change it all at once. It would be too much work.”
“This place is beautiful,” Lisa said. “If we can just keep away from Dready Eddy, I’m sure we’ll have a great time. But I do feel a little bad about what Nigel said. I mean, suddenly I don’t feel like we’re going to be able to change his mind. I’d been thinking we could make him a Saddle Club project.”
“I’m not sure we should try to change his mind,” Carole said. “Everything he said just now made sense. And he does know a lot about horses.”
“Yes, but so does Dorothy,” Stevie argued. “She thinks Southwood can do it, and remember, even if she doesn’t ride, she’s just as good a horseperson as Nigel. I understand Nigel’s point of view now, but I still think we should try to change it. Maybe,” she added as she remembered how convincing Nigel had been. “Anyway, we’ve got the whole week.”
“That’s right,” said Lisa. “We can think about it some more and decide what’s best to do.”
“A plan,” Stevie said, her eyes mischievous. “Nigel has a plan for Southwood. We’ll make a plan to change his plan.”
“If we decide that Dorothy’s right,” Carole said. “Since we can see both sides of the argument, it’s hard to know what to do.” Stevie and Lisa agreed.
ON TUESDAY MORNING Stevie woke, stretched, and then, looking around her, couldn’t help grinning. She was lying between crisp white sheets, under a white down comforter, surrounded by blue-and-white-striped walls. Next to her, Carole slept in a similar twin bed, and Lisa slept in nearly equal comfort on a folding cot. White lace curtains billowed in the breeze from the open window. By sitting up, Stevie could get a glimpse through the window of mares grazing peacefully with foals at their sides.
“Blue Hill,” Stevie said softly to herself. They were in the second bedroom of the guesthouse at Blue Hill, the most elegant farm The Saddle Club had ever seen. When Dorothy told them that she’d arranged for them all to stay at a friend’s house for the week, Stevie had imagined sleeping bags in the hayloft of someone else’s stable. She’d never dreamed of a Thoroughbred breeding farm and a mansion complete with a separate house just for guests. Dorothy and Nigel were staying in the guesthouse’s other bedroom. The house had two bathrooms and a cozy combination kitchen and living room, with leather chairs and a tiny fireplace. But they weren’t expected to cook—Mr. and Mrs. Drake Harrington III, who owned Blue Hill, told them that they were expected for dinner every night when they weren’t otherwise engaged.
“Otherwise engaged” had an elegant sound to it, and so did “expected for dinner,” but right now what Stevie wanted was breakfast. She woke up Carole and Lisa, and in fifteen minutes they were walking around the edge of the Harringtons’ pool, toward the kitchen of the main house.
“Do we knock or walk right in?” Carole asked. She felt a little in awe. At dinner the night before, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington (whom Dorothy and Nigel called “Stelle” and “Harry”) had been friendly and kind, but the meal had been served by an honest-to-gosh butler wearing honest-to-gosh livery, and a few of the things Carole had eaten she’d never even heard of before.
“Dunno,” Stevie said. “I hope they don’t serve capers for breakfast. What were those things, anyway? Ducks?”
“I think the chicken stuff was called ‘capons,’ ” Lisa said. “I think the capers were the little round green things.”
“Whatever.” Stevie sighed. “Dinner was fun, with all the china and the chandelier, and I did like the chicken, but right now I’d prefer a nice, hot cherry Pop-Tart.”
“Dinner was nice,” Lisa said with a giggle, “but the best part of Blue Hill so far is that Drew and Eddy are staying in the horse trailer at the park. I can’t believe we’ve managed to avoid them this long!”
“Beware the Dready Eddy,” Stevie intoned.
“Did you see Nigel’s big trailer?” Carole asked. “It’s got a little apartment in the front, like a camper. Nigel says he and Dorothy stay in it a lot.”
“I saw it,” Lisa said. “It’s neat. But I’m glad we’re here and the boys aren’t.”
They knocked, and the cook directed them into the same dining room where they’d eaten the night before. It looked only slightly less elegant in the daytime. Seated at the table were two small children wearing private-school uniforms and shoveling cereal into their mouths. The cook introduced them as little Drake and Tory, the Harrington children.
“Hi,” Tory said around a mouthful of cereal. She had brown pigtails tied with ribbons, and she looked about six years old. “Do you ride?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Lisa, smiling.
Tory looked at her appraisingly. “Do you have your own horse?”
“No.” She pointed at Stevie and Carole. “They do.”
“Do you want your own horse?”
“Of course,” Lisa said.
Tory smiled so suddenly that Lisa felt she’d passed some sort of test. “Okay,” the little girl said, and went back to eating cereal. The butler—in regular clothes this time, navy slacks and a white shirt—came in with a tray of orange juice for The Saddle Club and a basket of muffins, which he placed on the table. He offered them their choice of eggs, sausages, or cereal. Stevie, eyeing the muffins, decided she didn’t want Pop-Tarts after all. She asked for one egg and two sausages.
“We couldn’t stay up for dinner last night because you were late and we had school and because Dad said it had to be just grown-ups, but we wanted to, and we’re staying up tonight no matter what,” Drake said earnestly, all in a rush. He had short brown hair and dark brown eyes, and he looked about a year older than his sister. “We’ll show you our ponies.”
“We’d love to see them,” Lisa said. “This is the prettiest farm I’ve ever been to.”
“We’d love to see some of the foals, too,” Carole said. “We really like Thoroughbreds—the horse Lisa rides is a Thoroughbred.”
A tall, muscular woman wearing jeans and a cotton sweater walked quickly into the room. “Good morning,” she said briskly. “Sleep well?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Harrington,” The Saddle Club chorused. Drake and Tory waggled their fingers at their mother.
“I slept well,” Tory announced.
“I know that,” Mrs. Harrington said. “You’ve already told me so twice this morning. I was speaking to our guests. Carole, I heard what you just said, and I’ll make sure you get a grand tour sometime soon.” She smiled at The Saddle Club. “The little foals are delightful, but we’ll want to show you our riding horses, too. Now, Tory, Drake, hurry up! It’s almost time for the school bus!”
The little kids slurped the last of their milk, kissed their mother, and waved to The Saddle Club before they shot out the door. “Tory—don’t forget your lunch!” Mrs. Harrington called after them. She smiled and said, “Thanks,” as the butler brought her a cup of coffee.
“I’ll take you around Blue Hill soon,” she repeated. “This morning, though, I need to leave for the horse park right away, and I thought you’d probably want to come with me. Dorothy and Nigel went over a few hours ago, and I’m sure you’re eager to meet up with them.”
“And Southwood,” Carole agreed. “We hardly saw him at all yesterday.” It was the only downside to their game of Hide from Eddy.
On the way to the horse park, Mrs. Harrington explained that she volunteered during Kentucky Rolex. “I serve as an outrider on cross-country day,” she said. “My mare and I keep a certain section of the course clear and keep the spectators in line. Also, I can ride for help if anyone, competitor or spectator, needs it.” She dropped them off near the stabling area, and Lisa asked someone who was going into the stables to tell Dorothy or Nigel that they were there. Soon Drew came out to meet them. He had four bottles of horse liniment in his hands, and as he came out the door he tripped. A bottle of liniment sloshed dow
n his pant leg.
“Oh, gosh!” he said, ignoring the stinking liniment. “I can’t believe it. You just missed Eddy by five minutes! He and Dorothy drove into Lexington to buy a leather lead shank—we forgot to bring one.” Drew looked disappointed. Lisa almost felt sorry for him because he so much wanted them to like his brother, but then she imagined a younger version of Drew, with the same goofy wide mouth and uneven eyebrows. Ugh! Lisa shook her head.
“I can’t believe we keep missing him,” she said sincerely, because it was true. Lisa couldn’t believe their good luck.
“Where’s Nigel?” Carole asked.
“He took Southwood out for a long hack,” Drew said. “I just finished cleaning his stall. I need to put these bottles away, and then do you guys want to do something? We could take a trail ride—they have those on the other side of the park.”
Lisa thought about it. A trail ride would be on a horse, and it would be an excuse to stay away from Eddy. Both of those things sounded great. She looked at her friends, who nodded. “Let’s go!”
It was a long walk to the trail ride, and when they got there, the girls were disappointed. This was nothing like the trail rides they were used to, at home in Pine Hollow or anywhere else. This was a guided horseback ride along a smooth, flat trail—more like a road, really, Carole thought—and the horses followed one another nose-to-tail, at a walk, without needing any cues from their riders. Two other tourists were waiting for rides—an overweight man who could hardly climb into the saddle and a woman wearing shorts and sandals.
“It’s like a kiddie ride for grown-ups,” Carole whispered. The guide, a lithe young woman, let them pick any horses they liked from the dozen or so tethered at the start. Carole chose a bay, because that was Starlight’s color.
“It’s still a horse,” Lisa whispered back, but she felt sad. These horses probably never got a chance to do fun things, like gallop through woods. They had to carry people who wore sandals and knew nothing about riding. Lisa chose the saddest-looking horse in hopes that she could do something to cheer it up.
Drew chose a gray horse. “Like Prospero,” Carole said, remembering.
Drew stared at her. “How did you know that?” he asked. Carole explained about the photo she’d seen. Drew nodded sadly. “I miss him so much,” he said. “I just wish I knew that he was doing okay.”
Carole nodded sympathetically. She wanted to know more about Prospero, but the ride was beginning.
When they started off, The Saddle Club saw to their surprise that Drew did not ride well at all. Even at a sedate walk, he sat awkwardly and held the reins as if he was uncomfortable. His legs were jammed awkwardly against his horse’s side.
Stevie tried not to stare at Drew. Because he worked as a groom and knew so much about horses, she’d always assumed that he knew a lot about riding. Watching him sway crookedly with his neck and feet too far forward, she knew she’d assumed wrong.
“I love horses,” Drew said, catching her eye, “but I can’t ride at all.”
“You look okay,” Stevie said lamely. She didn’t think she should say she agreed. Drew looked worse than all but the newest beginners at Pine Hollow.
“No, I don’t. I’m really awful.” The truth didn’t seem to bother Drew. “I love horses, but I admitted to myself a long time ago that I don’t have any talent in the saddle. I tried hard, but I really can’t ride.”
“But you know so much about horses,” Carole protested. Like Stevie, she found Drew’s ineptitude hard to believe.
“I know about them from the ground, I love them, and I take good care of them,” Drew said. “I’ve got a good eye for horses—I can recognize good ones. Someday I’d like to combine all that and be a bloodstock agent, a person who buys and sells horses for a living. But I can’t ride.”
Drew sat back. His legs inched even farther forward, and his neck was still crooked. Lisa was momentarily glad that the trail horses were so quiet. She’d hate to see Drew get hurt.
“Someday I’ll be an agent,” Drew repeated dreamily, leaning back even farther. “For now, all I’d like is to see Southwood do his best this weekend. I’d like to see him be allowed to do his best.”
Drew straightened up. Lisa gave a sigh of relief; she’d been sure he was going to fall right off. “I don’t mean to be critical of Nigel,” Drew continued. “He takes a conservative approach to horse training, and I think that’s good most of the time. But I think Southwood is a truly great horse—and I’m not just saying that because I love him. Horses like Southwood are so rare, and so talented. I really want Southwood to get his chance at a gold medal.” Drew shrugged. “In four years, anything could happen. Southwood could get sick, or he could get hurt. This might be his best shot, and I think he should take it.”
The tour guide, riding in front of The Saddle Club and Drew, suggested a trot. She told them they could hang on to the horn of their saddles if they felt insecure. All the horses on the ride were outfitted in Western tack.
“As if I would do that!” Stevie said indignantly. The Saddle Club knew from riding at their friend Kate’s ranch out West that the horn on a Western saddle was not meant to be a handle. It was used for roping cattle. Besides, no good rider kept his balance by hanging on to part of his tack.
The guide smiled sympathetically. “I don’t mean you,” she said. “I can see you three know what you’re doing. I mean the others.” She showed the fat man and the sandaled woman how to hold on.
They set off at a sluggish trot, the horses all imitating the leader’s horse. Right away the sandaled woman started shrieking, “I’m bouncing! I’m bouncing!” She was bouncing, too. Her backside walloped against the saddle with every stride. Lisa, trotting smoothly, winced on behalf of the woman’s horse. The tour guide must have felt sorry for the horse, too, because she quickly brought them all back to a walk. The Saddle Club resumed their conversation with Drew.
“I understand what you’re saying,” Stevie told him. “But I also know that trying to make a horse learn too fast can really slow its training down or even ruin the horse in the long run, because it could get scared and nervous.”
“I’ve always thought that Dorothy and Nigel were two of the best trainers ever,” Carole added.
“Oh, I agree,” Drew said. “They are great, but even they don’t agree about Southwood. It’s hard to know what’s best in this case. I think Nigel’s concern for Southwood is wonderful, but I also think that Southwood really wants to win.” Drew smiled wistfully. “Southwood reminds me of Prospero in that way,” he said.
“Tell us about him,” Lisa said. They all wanted to hear the story.
“He had a heart of gold,” Drew said. “Talking about him brings back so many memories. He was the only horse I’ve ever owned.”
“Why did you have a horse if you didn’t ride?” asked Stevie.
“I did ride, I just gave it up,” Drew explained. “I took lessons for a long time. Prospero loved to jump, but he was also gentle and obedient. I competed him in preliminary-level events—and given how awfully I ride, that should tell you something about what kind of horse he was. He really took care of me, and he never, ever gave up. He had a champion heart.” Drew laughed suddenly. “I taught him to shake hands, too, for a carrot—just like a circus horse! I’d whistle and he’d hold his hoof up, then I’d give him a carrot.”
Lisa remembered the difficult event in England that Nigel had told them was “preliminary” level. Looking at the way Drew rode now, she could hardly imagine him galloping over solid fences on any kind of horse. “Prospero really must have been super,” she said. “Why did you sell him?”
Drew smiled another sad smile. “He was too good a horse for a rider like me,” he said. “He was capable of so much more than I was ever going to be capable of. I loved him, but I knew I was holding him back, so I sold him to a professional rider who could take him to higher levels of competition.”
“Then what happened?” Stevie said. “Where is he now?”
Drew looked anguished. “I don’t want Nigel to push Southwood,” he said, “but I want him to have a chance. What if something happens to him, like it did to Prospero? Prospero should have had a chance.”
Lisa looked at her friends. They all felt enormously sad for Drew, who obviously loved Prospero very much. He loved Prospero enough to sell him to a better rider, Lisa thought, realizing how much courage that had taken. She remembered when her old beloved lesson horse, Pepper, had grown old and sick. She had made the decision to end Pepper’s suffering, and it was one of the hardest and best decisions she’d ever made. Drew’s selling Prospero sounded like the same kind of choice.
“I’m so sorry,” Carole said softly. “Maybe Prospero’s doing really well in California. Maybe he’s a champion event horse.”
Drew shook his head. “I subscribe to a magazine that covers all the show results. They publish photographs of the winners. I’d recognize him if I ever saw him. Whatever he’s doing, he isn’t winning.” He tightened his reins involuntarily, and his horse tossed its head. “I don’t want that to happen to Southwood!”
They had ridden in a loop along the far fence of the horse park and were nearly back to the start of the ride. The Saddle Club was silent, thinking. Finally Stevie spoke.
“None of us knows more than Dorothy or Nigel,” she said. “But, Drew, what you say makes at least as much sense as what Nigel said to us last night. We’re willing to help you convince Nigel. We’d like to see Southwood do well.”
The others nodded. “It’s a Saddle Club project,” Lisa said.
Gold Medal Horse Page 3