Horse Wise

by Bonnie Bryant

  “You’ve already had three,” Stevie’s twin brother, Alex, argued, reaching across Stevie to grab the biscuits for himself.

  “There’s a meeting,” Stevie began.

  “No, I want the meat first,” Chad interrupted.

  “What’s the meeting?” Mrs. Lake asked.

  “At Pine Hollow,” Stevie began again. “It’s on—”

  “Oh, here we go with good old Pine Hollow,” Alex teased.

  “Sounds like Marsh Mallow to me,” Chad added. “Hey—do you think that’s Stevie’s favorite food because it reminds her of horses?”

  “No, I thought she liked to take pills because they remind her of her boyfriend, Phil!” her little brother, Michael, piped in.

  Stevie sighed, but she didn’t let it show. Phil Marston was her boyfriend from riding camp. He lived about ten miles away and she didn’t see him often. She did, however, hear about him a lot from her brothers! It wasn’t easy living with three brothers. It was made harder by the fact that she was the only one in her family who cared about horses and horseback riding. Chad had tried it once, but it wasn’t because he liked horses. It was because he’d had a crush on Lisa and wanted to get her attention. Now, all three of her brothers seemed to be ganging up on her to keep her from telling her parents about the meeting. As far as Stevie was concerned, that was just the inspiration she needed to persist.

  Stevie raised her voice a notch. “I said, there is going to be a meeting next Tuesday at Pine Hollow, after riding class.”

  “You can go as long as your homework is done,” her mother said.

  “If that includes her book report on Silas Marner from last spring, she’ll never make it!”

  “Shut up,” Stevie said. Only a creep like her twin brother would remind her parents about that book report at a time like this. “I know I can go to the meeting. What about you, Mom?”

  “Me?” her mother asked, taking the bowl of potatoes out of Chad’s hands before he could empty the entire dish onto his plate. “Am I supposed to go?”

  “And Dad,” Stevie said, looking at her father, who was studying the pattern Michael had made with his squash. Michael often tried to make his food look as though he’d at least tasted it by spreading it around his plate so he wouldn’t have to eat any more of it.

  “Tuesday, dear, can you make it?” Mrs. Lake asked Stevie’s father.

  “That’s my soccer game,” Chad said before his father could answer the question.

  “You weren’t invited,” Stevie said.

  “Yeah, but Mom and Dad were invited to the game.”

  “To watch you warm the bench?” Stevie asked.

  “I scored two points last game!”

  “Yeah, for which team?” Alex snorted.

  “So, I kicked it the wrong way, so? You want to make a federal case out of it?”

  There was a second of stunned silence at the table. Then everybody burst into laughter—including Chad, though he had the good grace to blush as well.

  “Who are you playing against this time?” Michael asked.

  “Same team,” Chad said. “Coach said they begged us for a rematch!”

  “I’m not surprised,” Mr. Lake said.

  “Next Tuesday?” Mrs. Lake asked. Stevie nodded. “We’ll be there.”

  Stevie felt a rush of relief. Things had to be much easier for only children.

  “NEXT TUESDAY?”

  “Yes, Dad, next Tuesday,” Carole said.

  She and her father, a Marine Corps colonel, were in the kitchen of their house on the outskirts of Willow Creek. It was the home the two of them had shared alone since the death of Carole’s mother when Carole was eleven. She and her father both missed her mother terribly, but were glad to have each other to share their sadnesses and their joys. In spite of a few weird habits and hobbies, Carole thought her father was probably the greatest guy in the world.

  “That’s Navy-Bean Soup Night at the Officers’ Club,” he said.

  Navy-bean soup was one of his weird habits.

  “Dad,” Carole said with a touch of exasperation in her voice.

  “Well, what’s this meeting about, hon?” Colonel Hanson asked.

  “I don’t know, Dad. If I knew, I promise I would tell you. All I have is this letter that Max gave us. It says we should be there, with our parents.”

  “Well, I’m not—” He was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. He swept it off the hook and spoke into it smartly. “Colonel Hanson!”

  That was another one of his weird habits. He never could seem to remember that when he wasn’t in his office on the base, he didn’t have to answer the phone that way.

  At first, Carole thought the call might be for her, but it was clear that the caller wanted to talk to her father. She turned her attention back to fixing dinner. They were having tacos, and Carole was in charge of making the beef filling. Her father was in charge of preparing the toppings. Carole checked the beef, which was done and staying warm in the electric frying pan. It was time to set the table.

  Without thinking about it, Carole took three place mats out of a drawer and put them on the table. When she saw what she’d done, she moved the third mat into the center of the table to use as a hot pad. It was a mistake she made often. The sight of the third mat at the table somehow made her feel as if her mother were still with them.

  “Oh, I know that one!” she heard her father say into the phone. “It’s an elephant with wrinkled panty hose!”

  “Is it Stevie?” Carole asked. The colonel nodded. Carole shook her head. Stevie was her best friend, but you’d never know it by the way Stevie and her father chatted on the phone. Both of them loved old corny jokes, and once they got started, there was no stopping them. Carole lowered the heat on the beef filling and began chopping lettuce.

  “All right. So what’s green and goes slam! slam! slam! slam!” There was a brief silence. “Give up? It’s a four-door pickle!” Colonel Hanson chortled.

  That was as much as Carole could take. Besides, she nearly sliced her finger as well as the lettuce. “My turn,” she announced, wresting the phone from her father. He relinquished it gracefully and took over the chopping. “What’s up?” Carole asked. She wrapped a paper towel around a small cut.

  “I can’t believe it, but both my parents are coming! I could just about kill my brothers—in fact I may still do it—but at least my parents will be at the meeting. They can sit with your dad.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Carole said. “I still haven’t convinced him to come.”

  “Listen,” Stevie said, “if I could talk my parents into it, you can definitely talk your dad into it.”

  “I just wish I knew what ‘it’ was,” Carole said.

  “Whatever ‘it’ is, it’s important,” Stevie said. “So go for it!”

  “You have the most amazing way of seeing everything as a contest,” Carole observed. “Like everything can be solved by winning one for the Gipper.”

  “Not everything,” Stevie conceded.

  “Such as?”

  “Well, not science projects,” she reminded Carole.

  “True. Listen, I have to finish getting dinner together,” Carole said. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  Stevie wished her good luck and they hung up.

  “What was that about?” Colonel Hanson asked.

  Carole decided to let Stevie be an inspiration to her. “Oh, she was mostly calling to tell me how excited her parents are about going to the Pine Hollow meeting next Tuesday, and how glad they are to take time out of their busy lives to do something with their daughter, since it’s something that matters a lot to her. Sure, it’s a sacrifice. I mean, her father has to skip the annual Lawyer of the Year dinner, and he was supposed to receive the award, and her mother was scheduled to present a case to the Supreme Court the same day, but she told the justices they’ll have to reschedule. It’s a good thing they’ve got such flexible schedules, and nothing as critical as Navy-Bean Soup Night at the O-Club. Din
ner’s ready.”

  Carole filled the taco shells, served the rice and beans, and handed her father a dish.

  “Pretty important, huh?” Colonel Hanson asked Carole while he sprinkled his tacos with cheese and olives.

  “To me it is, Dad,” Carole said. “I mean I really don’t know what it’s about, but it has to do with riding, and anything that has to do with riding is important. Can you come? Please?”

  “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll come to your meeting and then you and I can have dinner afterward at the Officers’ Club.”

  “Gee, what an interesting idea,” Carole said, pleased with his solution. It meant she’d have to wear a skirt to the meeting to be dressed properly for the O-Club dining room, but more importantly, it meant her father would be there. She felt giddy. “Do you suppose they’ll be serving anything special that night?”

  Her father grinned. Carole wondered if he’d known from the beginning that he would come. It didn’t matter. He’d be there.

  LISA WAS WORKING on algebra in the study hall when the door to the room opened. She didn’t even notice.

  X squared times X cubed equals X to the fifth, plus Y cubed times 7 times Y to the eighth power equals—she chomped on her eraser. It tasted terrible and didn’t help at all.

  “Lisa Atwood?” the study-hall monitor called. Lisa looked up. “There’s a message for you.” The monitor brought her the note. She didn’t think she’d ever gotten a message in the middle of a study hall before—or in the middle of anything, for that matter. It made her a little nervous.

  “Please meet your parents in front of the school at the end of the day,” the note read. It was signed by the vice-principal of her school.

  Lisa stared at the note, reading it again several times. The message didn’t become any clearer on re-reading. Why on earth would her parents come to the school to pick her up? Their house was only a few blocks from school, a short walk that Lisa did by herself two times a day.

  She remembered when one of her classmates had gotten a note like this. Her mother had been very ill. Perhaps one of Lisa’s grandparents was ill? They’d all been very healthy when the family had visited them over the recent holiday weekend. But even if something had happened to one of them, why would her parents pick her up at school? It didn’t make sense.

  Lisa was a very logical person. It was one of the characteristics that helped her be an A-student. She applied all her logic to the situation, but nothing suggested itself as the answer. Logic wasn’t going to work, she realized. She decided to return to algebra.

  Y3 times 7Y8 …

  “Why would anybody want to multiply Y times itself three times, then multiply that by 7 and that times Y times itself eight times?” she asked herself. It was clear logic wasn’t going to help her on that one either.

  The bell rang. Lisa folded the note, put it into her algebra book, and headed for her history class.

  “Hey, Lisa, is something wrong?” It was Carole. Although the two girls went to the same school, Carole was in the grade below Lisa and they rarely saw each other. If ever there had been a time when Lisa wanted to talk to Carole, this was it, but she had only three minutes between classes.

  “Something’s up with my parents,” she explained quickly as they walked toward their next classes. “They’re picking me up after school, but I don’t know why. I’ll call you tonight, if I can.”

  The look of concern on Carole’s face was unmistakable. Lisa realized Carole probably had gotten notes at school about her mother.

  “It’s probably nothing to worry about,” Lisa said. “After all, the note said they’d both be here.”

  “Oh, yeah, right,” Carole said. “Well, call me tonight.” She waved and headed for her English class.

  Lisa was glad she’d been able to make Carole feel better. She just wished she could do the same for herself. Who could concentrate on the Wars of the Roses when she had gotten a note from the vice-principal? She felt in her pocket. It was still there. It was real.

  The rest of the day was almost a total loss for her. She got three wrong answers on her history quiz and ended up telling her algebra teacher she didn’t care what Y3 times 7Y8 was, surprising both of them with that announcement. Usually Lisa cared very much about Y cubed.

  At last the final bell rang. Lisa didn’t even stop to think about what books she needed to take home. She grabbed all of them out of her locker and dashed for the front door of the school.

  Both of her parents were standing at the curb, looking healthy and happy. What was going on?

  “Oh, darling, we have such a wonderful surprise for you!” Mrs. Atwood announced, barely glancing at the colossal stack of books Lisa was carrying. Her father opened the trunk and Lisa dumped her lockerful of books into it. Then he opened the rear door of the car for her. Lisa slid into the backseat.

  “Wonderful?” Lisa asked. “Tell me. I’ve been worried sick ever since I got your note!”

  “We thought you might be,” Mrs. Atwood said. “It was sort of a little joke.”

  What kind of a little joke was that? Suddenly Lisa didn’t care what their wonderful news was. She was annoyed with their sense of humor.

  “Well, aren’t you going to ask?” her mother demanded as they pulled the doors shut on the car. “Don’t bother, I can’t wait to tell you. Your father and I have decided to buy you a horse! When I learned that the diAngelos were buying a new horse for Veronica, it just made sense that you should have one, too. So I spoke with Veronica’s mother and she mentioned a horse she’d heard about.”

  Lisa wondered if she’d heard the words right. A horse? Her parents were going to buy her a horse of her own?

  Her father started the car and drove them away from the school. Lisa hardly noticed. She was thinking about a horse—her horse. She could see it in her mind’s eye. He was a sleek gray, tall, with slender but strong legs. His name was Silver. She’d whistle for him in the mornings and he’d come galloping across the paddock, nuzzle her shoulder, and stand still while she slid onto him, bareback.

  She could almost feel the dewy grass tickle the bottoms of her bare feet and brush against her legs, the wind on her face, and the strength of the animal beneath her. Her horse—her very own horse.

  Lisa sighed.

  “Is something wrong, dear?” her mother asked.

  “Oh, no. Everything’s great. Really great. Tell me again about the horse we’re seeing.”

  Mrs. Atwood fished a slip of paper out of her purse and read from it. “It’s a gray mare named Streamline. She’s belonged to this farm all her life and she’s supposed to be very gentle. That’s what the lady kept telling me on the phone.”

  Lisa had learned a few things about horses in the time she’d been riding. A horse that one person found gentle, another might find uncontrollable. She decided to reserve judgment about the animal until she was actually on her back. Still, she had a feeling that a horse named Streamline had to be wonderful.

  Mr. Atwood turned into a drive marked by a hand-painted sign that read Horse for Sale. Lisa could feel her pulse quicken. As soon as the car pulled to a stop, she was out of the door. She waited impatiently while her mother knocked on the farmhouse door, and barely noticed as her parents introduced themselves and chatted with the owner. When the owner, Mrs. Brandon, led them to the paddock, Lisa could hardly speak. She stared excitedly, waiting for Streamline to appear when Mrs. Brandon called her.

  Nothing. There was no sign of Streamline.

  “She usually likes to graze on the other side of the hill, where there’s a little stream. Want to walk down there?”

  Mrs. Atwood looked dubiously at the muddy ground and her suede pumps. She and Mr. Atwood decided to wait by the barn. Lisa and Mrs. Brandon would walk across the paddock.

  Mrs. Brandon gave Lisa some carrots for the horse, and they started across the field. Mrs. Brandon led the way.

  “She’s a real sweet horse,” Mrs. Brandon said, repeating her earlier statements. Lisa fel
t a little uneasy. Of course she wanted a sweet horse; she didn’t want a wild, uncontrollable animal. But it seemed that all anybody could say about this horse was how sweet and gentle it was. There was a limit to sweetness, even in a horse.

  Mrs. Brandon whistled. “Streamline!” she called. “We’ve got some juicy carrots for you!”

  Nothing.

  At last, Lisa and Mrs. Brandon reached the top of the hill and there, just as Mrs. Brandon had predicted, was Streamline. She was a big, tall gray horse whose coat had whitened with age. Lisa stopped and watched her while Mrs. Brandon approached. The horse didn’t move. She continued munching contentedly on the sparse grass in the muddy paddock. When Mrs. Brandon clipped a lead rope on her, she obediently stopped munching and followed her owner.

  “She’s a good horse for a young rider, you know,” Mrs. Brandon said when she and the horse reached Lisa. “Very gentle and sweet.”

  “Can I ride her?” Lisa asked.

  “Of course. Her saddle’s in the barn. Would you like to lead her?”

  “Yes, but can I ride her now, I mean bareback?” Perhaps it was silly of her, but Lisa still had that picture in her mind of riding her own horse bareback in the early morning. It was something she’d done when she’d been at a dude ranch belonging to Kate Devine, an out-of-state Saddle Club member. They had all gone for a bareback ride at sunrise with their new friend, Christine Lonetree. To Lisa, it was part of what having her own horse would be like.

  Mrs. Brandon shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said. “The horse is gentle enough.”

  Mrs. Brandon gave Lisa a lift onto the horse. Lisa thought it might not have been necessary. She was beginning to suspect that Streamline was so gentle that she could have hauled herself up by the horse’s tail and Streamline wouldn’t have protested. And that was a problem. This horse seemed to have no spirit to speak of.

  Lisa nudged Streamline with her heels and the horse began walking on signal. It was a smooth gait, but most walks were.

  “Can I take her to a trot?” Lisa asked.

  “If you can stay on,” Mrs. Brandon said, handing Lisa the lead rope.