by Toni Mari
Sometimes Mark helped brush and would stay to watch us ride, and then get bored. We would see him pacing by the car, cell phone glued to his ear, his deep voice drifting over the arena.
We ritually groomed Sunny and Shooter. We couldn’t ride them yet. They needed more time to get stronger but were looking and acting better every day.
On the morning of our departure for New Jersey, Mark and Mandy were both at the barn with me waiting for the shipper.
It was so big, it didn’t fit in the driveway. Tractor trailers don’t look massive until you are standing next to them with your horse, looking straight up the steep ramp to the murky interior. The slender, baseball-hatted driver finished fastening the tall, wooden sides that lined the sharp incline of the ramp. He unlatched a storage compartment in the trailer’s belly, and we loaded in the tack and equipment.
He lifted my suitcase and shook his head. “We don’t take extra baggage.”
“That’s not extra. That’s mine, I’m going with you.” I needed to monitor Windsong’s vitals as we traveled.
He shook his head again, stroking his dirty blond beard. “No human passengers.”
I pressed my lips together, putting my fists in my windbreaker pockets. “I need to ride with my horse. He has a medical condition.”
The bushy eyebrows drew together. “I can’t haul a sick horse.”
I dug through my tack trunk for the folder that held all of Windsong’s paperwork. I showed him the health certificate from the veterinarian that said he was okay to travel.
“Give me that. I have to call the office.” He got back in the truck.
Mark came up carrying Santos’s paperwork. “What’s happening?”
I threw my hands up. “He’s saying he can’t take Windsong because of his medical condition.”
“I thought the exam from the vet covered that.” Mark quirked an eyebrow at the cab of the truck.
“Me too. And he’s saying I can’t ride with him.”
Mark just looked at me. “Why would you? We bought you a plane ticket.”
“I have to keep an eye on Windsong, take his vitals, to make sure he’s handling the trip well.” I started pacing a circle, talking to myself. “I should have checked on this. I knew it was important. Now it’s too late. I can’t let him go on that truck alone. Maybe I can borrow Kate’s trailer. Or hire someone else with a trailer. I’m not putting him on there unless I can ride with the guy.”
The cab door opened and the little guy leapt down. “I’m sorry. I should have looked closer at the paperwork. I got confused when you said the horse was sick—”
“I never said he was sick,” I interrupted him.
“Whatever. The office said he was okay to go, so let’s load them up.” He handed me my suitcase.
“I have to go with you.” I refused to take the handle, crossing my arms.
A firm shake of the head. “Nope. No human passengers.” He poked the bag at me again.
“Go right back in that thing and call your office. If I don’t go, neither do the horses.” I matched his stare, squaring my shoulders and looking down at him.
Mark put a hand on my shoulder. “Now hold on. No need to get hostile. Let me make a call.” When I didn’t back down, he took the suitcase. “Okay, fella. Wait for me to make the call?”
With one hand on the bill and one hand on the back, the driver fine-tuned the fit of his hat. “Yes, sir. The name is Billy.” He held out his hand, immediately respectful to Mark.
Mark shook the proffered hand firmly and, with a nod, said, “Just give me a minute.”
I fixed Billy with a steely glare until I realized that, if Mark worked something out, I would have to ride in the truck with this guy for hours on end. I turned my back and tapped my foot instead.
Mandy finished giving apples to all of the horses and walked from the barn. She handed me the half-empty bag. “For Santos and Windsong, when you get to the show grounds.”
“Thanks.” I bumped her with my shoulder.
Keeping her face averted, she mumbled, “Good luck.” And then she threw her skinny arms around my waist, pressing her head on my chest.
“I’ll make sure Santos has a good trip. Robert is a really amazing trainer. Santos will be famous again.” I patted her back.
She jerked away from me when Mark strode back from his phone call, looking determined. In his best CEO voice, he pointed his phone at the driver. “I spoke to your office, and it’s all set. Jane can ride with you.” He picked up my bag, shoved it in the storage compartment, and slammed the door shut.
“C’mon, let’s get the horses on.” Mark hustled Mandy and me to the barn.
I led Windsong out first, and Mandy followed with Santos. Billy jumped in front of me, demanding I give him the lead. “I have to put the horses on, company policy.”
When I gave him the lead line and stepped to the side, Windsong planted his feet. Billy tugged and tugged. Windsong raised his head high, jumping up and down on his front legs. “Wave your arms behind him,” Billy ordered.
Suppressing a smile, I half-heartedly moved my hands. Windsong started marching in place, jerking the lead and inching Billy backward. Santos stood still where Mandy was holding him, watching from a few feet away.
“I can load him for you,” I suggested. “He’s used to me.”
“Can’t. Against policy.” Billy grunted. Windsong reared, his legs dangling and his head higher than the truck. Maybe he was trying to see what was at the end of that ramp, or maybe he was playing with the strange little man at the end of his rope. But when his hooves landed on the ground, he stopped carrying on.
“See,” Billy said, turning and starting up the ramp as if Windsong would follow. Windsong didn’t. He turned his chiseled black head to me. It was clear he wasn’t going to follow that man anywhere.
“I can put him on. It will take two seconds. No one else will ever know.”
Billy didn’t hesitate and handed me the lead. Windsong followed me right up the ramp. I backed him into a narrow stall, and Billy attached the trailer ties. Windsong whinnied for Santos, gave the hanging hay net a head butt, and pawed the air. Billy glanced at me as we got to the bottom of the ramp.
“You can handle Santos. He’s easy.”
Billy studied my face for a moment to make sure I wasn’t messing with him. I struggled to keep a serious look. He marched up to Mandy and held a hand out for the lead rope. He eyed the massive horse but then closed his eyes and started toward the trailer. Santos walked up the ramp like a baby lamb.
While Billy fussed around with folding up the sides and closing the ramp, Mark drew me to the side. In a whisper, he spoke quickly, “Hurry up. Get him in the truck and get going and try not to let him call his office. They never agreed to let you ride with him.”
“Seriously?” I gave him a quick hug good-bye and ran to the barn. I gathered up my purse and the messenger bag with my laptop and school books in it and was belted in the truck before Billy finished latching things in the back. I waved out the window as we pulled away from the farm until I couldn’t see Mark and Mandy anymore.
Chapter 33
After about two hours, we pulled into a rest stop, Billy bragging that state law required a rest after four hours but that his company was so conscientious that they required him to stop every two. He showed me how to open one of the doors on the trailer and then went in search of snacks while I pulled myself in to the horses’ compartment.
Windsong and Santos were quietly munching hay in adjacent stalls. I unscrewed the cap on the water can and poured some in a bucket. They both took a sip when I held it high enough for them to reach.
I listened to Windsong’s heart and lungs and was thrilled that his numbers were the same as at home. I stroked his neck. He bumped noses with Santos and pushed the hay net around, arranging it for better access. Santos ripped a mouthful through the mesh and chewed steadily. I rubbed his lightning bolt.
Billy slapped a hand on the side of the trailer.
“Let’s go.”
All three of us jumped. “Be good, boys. See you in a few hours.” I double-checked that the door was tightly closed and then jogged around to the passenger side. Billy handed me a soda and a bag of sunflower seeds.
“Thanks.”
Reading my textbook was putting me to sleep, so I scrolled through websites on my phone. I became absorbed in reading articles on the Festival, and time slipped by. One story mentioned me and Windsong. I read it again, looking up only when the air brakes hissed. Another rest stop.
I emailed the link to my father, tucked the phone in my pocket, and jumped out. Another good report on Windsong’s heart. He liked this big rig, and I’m sure having Santos The Solid, standing right next to him was helping, too.
When we were rolling again, I fell asleep, and Billy was parking the truck, shaking me awake in no time. I yawned and requested a burger before heading to the trailer for Windsong’s checkup routine.
“They doing okay back there?” Billy asked. We divided the food he had brought back to the cab.
I nodded. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Thank you. This trip is easy with you taking care of the horses.”
“No problem, as long as you don’t mind me napping in between. I don’t know how you stay awake.”
“Secrets of the job.” He fixed his hat, setting it back so it looked no different than it did before he touched it.
Sleeping sitting upright in the cab wasn’t so bad. I rubbed my stiff neck and bent sideways, trying to crack my back. Windsong pawed as I entered the trailer.
“Good morning, boys. Yes, even though it’s still dark out, it’s time for breakfast.” I unhooked the empty hay net and stuffed it full again. I let each horse take a bite before hanging it. I offered them a drink and unpacked my stethoscope to check on Windsong, though I could tell he was just fine.
I struggled back into the cab after visiting the restroom and brushing my teeth. I was thankful everything was normal in the rear of the trailer. I was too tired to deal with a crisis.
Billy got in and slammed his door. I buckled my seat belt and settled a blanket over my legs. The silence in the cab alerted me to a problem. I looked at the key. Billy’s hand wasn’t on it. He was glaring at me, his jaw clenched.
“I just got off the phone with my office. I check in before I start in the morning.”
Feeling the blood drain from my face and its icy absence spread down my body, I dropped the blanket.
“I see you know what I’m talking about. You lied to me.”
“I’m sorry, really. I worry about my horse and this is such an important competition and he’s a handful and nervous and the trip is so long—”
He interrupted the flood of words. “Hush. I am trying to figure out what to do. Luckily, I didn’t exactly admit you were in the truck. I should just leave you here.”
“No! Don’t do that.” Taking a deep breath, I hoped the oxygen would stimulate my brain. “I’m really sorry,” I repeated, unable to come up with anything else.
“Well, sorry won’t feed my kids when you make me lose my job. This place is pretty populated; you’ll be safe until someone comes to get you.” He pointed to the door.
“Wait. Let me just make a phone call. You can’t leave me here without knowing someone can come get me, can you? I’m just a kid!” I tugged out my phone, scrolled to Mark’s number, and hit the green call button before Billy could respond.
“Where are you?”
“A rest stop called Maryland House,” I repeated after asking Billy.
“Good job, you got farther than I expected. Put him on the phone,” Mark ordered.
I held the phone out to Billy, chewing my lip. “He wants to talk to you.”
Billy held the device to his ear. His expression went from fuming, to outraged, to skeptical, to interested. His response was punctuated alternately with “Uh huh” and “Seriously?” Finally, he said, “Okay,” and turned the phone and looked at the screen. “How do you turn this thing off?”
I took the phone out of his hands, wondering if I was getting out.
Billy started the noisy diesel, pulling levers and pressing buttons. The engine screamed to life, the air brakes letting out a loud hiss, and the radio blaring out the country music when he flicked the knob. He shifted into gear and we lurched forward.
I guess I was staying. I slumped into the stiff cushion, resting my head on the seat back until my muscles relaxed.
Within an hour, we were in New Jersey.
The only words Billy said to me after the phone call were, “We’re not stopping. It’s only two more hours.”
I nodded.
When we turned off the highway I pushed my books back into my messenger bag. My excitement grew. We wound through back roads and signs pointed to Hamilton Farm, home of the United States Equestrian Team. Trees lined the road closely because there was no shoulder and I secretly admired Billy’s negotiation of the twisting turns and low-hanging branches.
After one particularly tight turn, the truck squealed to a stop on an empty stretch of road.
Leaning forward, eager to arrive, I forgot about the silent treatment. “What’s the matter? Are you lost? The sign said it was just ahead.”
“No, I’m not lost,” came the scathing reply. “You get out here.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just around the bend and I’m not risking anyone seeing you get out of my truck. I could get in a lot of trouble, so you walk from here.”
“But I’ll duck or something. I promise not to say anything, ever,” I pleaded, not convinced he would really kick me out.
“Out. The extra money from that guy is still not worth losing my job.”
I started to lift the strap of my book bag, but he stopped me.
“You can leave that. I’ll wait for you at the stable and give it back.”
I slid out of the truck, hoping that “around the bend” meant a few steps, not a few miles. The instant I was out of the way, Billy put the truck in gear. So, it wasn’t my charming personality or apparent helplessness that made him keep me in the truck, but Mark’s generous bribe. I watched the big rig roll away with my hands on my hips.
I stayed on the macadam for easier walking and leaned forward, moving at a quick pace. It was beautiful in this area, with soft rolling hills and lots of trees. New Jersey was called the Garden State, and now I knew why. This time of year, in mid-April, everything was blossoming, and yards and pastures were full of color. I made it around the corner and a couple hundred yards ahead, a small but tasteful sign marked the shaded driveway to the show grounds.
I sped up. My chest heaved as I turned in the drive, and I stepped to the side as a car drove past. A few turn-offs led to parking areas, but the main barn was straight ahead. At least, I thought it was the barn. It resembled a quarried stone castle more than a modern steel-sided barn.
I walked through a towering atrium and asked the first official-looking person I saw where horses were unloaded. The gray-haired, fit, fashionable woman pointed me down an aisle and past a schooling arena. Horses were everywhere, being led in crisp show sheets, being ridden in shining tack, and pushing their noses against stall bars. Magnificent horses, every one of them beautiful and expensive looking. My stride slowed and my breathing became shallow. Trying not to be intimidated, I reminded myself of Cory’s advice: “Just think of you and your horse.” Boy, I wished Cory was walking beside me, although just this once, I might have made him stow the cowboy hat.
I spotted Billy and jogged the last few yards. Windsong whinnied and pawed and jerked on the trailer ties. Billy was standing with a slender girl in a red, white, and blue polo shirt and red ball cap.
“You have to unload the horse and get your truck out of here. You can’t stay in the loading zone for so long.”
“I’m waiting for the owner. Look at that thing. I’m not touching him.” Windsong flung himself against the divider, shaking his head and rattling the clips and ti
es.
“Until they show up, close the ramp and move your truck out of the loading zone.”
“Here I am,” I puffed, stopping in front of them.
Another loud scream came from the trailer, accompanied by hoof pounding.
The girl’s tight smile didn’t reach her eyes, and she waited for the noise to subside. She inspected my scruffy paddock boots and baggy sweatshirt. I guess two days in a tractor trailer hadn’t done much for my appearance. “Are you going to unload him yourself? I can get one of the professional grooms.” Her tone indicated she doubted I could handle him.
“He’s just nervous. Where’s Santos?” Knowing Windsong’s dependent personality, I would have unloaded him first, keeping Santos in his sight until Windsong was safely in a stall.
“Mr. Peterson’s groom already took him to his stall with Robert’s string of horses. Should I call someone?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” I pushed my aching legs up the steep ramp and frowned at the sad, empty stall next to Windsong. A low but desperate nicker greeted me, and I shook the picture of Santos, looking back over his shoulder as some stranger led him away, out of my head.
I rubbed Windsong’s cheeks and threaded the chain through the halter, murmuring encouraging words. I carefully stayed to the side of the coco mat, letting Windsong have all the room he needed to negotiate the steep ramp.
I watched proudly as he daintily inched down the slope instead of charging out like he usually would. But when he landed on solid ground for the first time in two days, he reared. I flicked the chain and he came right back down.
The girl pressed her lips together but tipped her head for me to follow her. Windsong left his walking manners at home; instead he jogged slowly beside me, his muscles bunched up tight. The ring of his horseshoes echoed in the cobblestone aisle like a woman’s high heels clicking on the terrazzo of a high-scale office building.
With each tap, the butterflies in my stomach woke and got crazier. Being at the home of our country’s equestrian team was an honor. Please don’t let me embarrass myself—or anyone else. I patted Windsong and grimaced, wiping his sticky sweat on my jeans.