by Jane Smiley
Da said, “Tell her how big the biggest one was.”
“Well, it was a wall. It was five feet six, as I remember.”
I said, “Taller than your horse! How could he see over it?”
“He couldn’t until he leapt. He was willing, and also very sure-footed.”
And I did gasp. So did Abby. I heard her.
Abby was now back on Gee Whiz, and then she and Da and I rode out across the hillside. The horses had had plenty of work, so they walked along on a loose rein. I watched Da’s mom and Colonel Dudgeon wander around. They stopped and looked at every horse, front, side, back, other side. I could see that they just couldn’t help themselves. I could also see another thing—our car, Mom at the wheel, pulling in through the gate and stopping by the house. I realized that my horse vacation was over.
Mom seemed to be in a hurry. She said that the pot roast was in the oven, so that meant we had to get home before—and then I forgot what time we had to get home before. I did untack Tater, wash him down, and put him in his pasture, where, because he was totally wet, he rolled back and forth in the dirt and got himself completely dirty again. Da was somewhere, and Abby was hurrying to tack up Mordecai, so she waved good-bye, and that was that. It took me half the trip home to remember what day it was—Saturday. And Mom and Dad had gotten a babysitter, because they wanted to go to a music concert at the fairgrounds, and so it was rush rush rush, and then, boom, our early supper was eaten, they were gone, Alice, the babysitter, was yawning in front of the TV, Joan Ariel had gone to bed early, and it was still daylight, so I decided to take a walk and let all the things I had learned over the past two days wander around in my mind until I could figure out what I felt about them. I shouted to Alice, “Taking a walk!” and closed the door before she could say anything. Then I went once around our little park and over toward the school, and maybe because I wanted to think about things, the next thing that happened was, I ran into Ruthie, and I mean that I ran smack into her, because I was looking down the street and she was backing up, and bump, there we were. She turned around, and good for Ruthie, she had the world’s biggest grin on her face. We were across from the park, so I said, “Let’s go over in the shade,” and she followed me.
In some ways, all I needed to know was that she was smiling and happy and here. But of course I said, “What’s going on?” and she told me that a man who owns an art gallery in the town near ours where all the galleries are (my grandmother took me there once, when she was looking for extra-special Christmas presents) had told her he was going to hang two of her sketches—one of a condor and an oak tree and one of three blue jays and a rosebush. He wasn’t going to tell anyone how old the artist was, and he didn’t promise that they would sell, but he wanted to see what customers might think, and he had a lot of customers. Ruthie put her hands on my shoulders, stared at me for a moment, and said, “I don’t know what to think!”
I said, “Think about making another picture.”
She said, “First, I’m going to think about jumping up and down,” and she did—ten jumps down the sidewalk along the park until she sort of collapsed on the grass under one of the trees and lay there with her hands behind her head, looking at the sky through the branches and smiling.
I went over and sat down next to her. I said, “Are you a genius?”
But I shouldn’t have asked that, because her face went blank and she looked sad again, so I said, “I didn’t mean that.” And then I was honest with Ruthie. I said, “I only meant that I don’t know anyone like you, and that is the most interesting thing about you. You do everything your way.”
Ruthie said, “That’s you! That was how I got the idea to do what I wanted, keeping my eye on you. Remember when you got caught holding the lid of your desk up and looking at something, and then Miss Cranfield startled you and you let go of the lid and banged your head?”
I said, “Kind of.”
“Well, I couldn’t stop wondering what you were looking at, so one time after that, when everyone was going out to recess, I stayed back and looked in your desk. I saw your drawings. In fact, I leafed through them and decided that you were as bored with school as I was, and that drawing was a good way to pass the time.”
“You never drew before that?”
“Off and on. But I would leave my pencils around and lose them and forget where the paper was, so I stopped. But then, when you were reminding me about pulling up my socks and buttoning my sweater, I decided always to put the pencils in the same place, on the windowsill by my bed, and then I started drawing every day, and my aunt liked it, so she bought me more pencils and more paper.”
I said, “And the more you did it, the more you liked it.”
Ruthie sat up and laughed. “The more I did it, the more I had to do it. I didn’t like it every day, but sometimes when I didn’t like it, I wanted to do it even more.”
One thing that is really strange is spending a lot of time watching someone, and not realizing that they might be watching you, too.
Ruthie said, “Once you start looking at things and drawing them, then there are more things that you look at and want to draw. I drew this bird that was perched on a branch outside my window. I had to do it fast, because after a few minutes, it flew away. I looked at my picture, and realized that I didn’t know what kind of bird it was, so I showed it to Mom and she said, ‘Well, maybe a woodpecker or a flicker,’ so then I talked her into buying me a book with pictures of birds, and there were so many!”
I said, “Colonel Dudgeon knows all about birds.”
“Who’s that?”
“This leprechaun at Abby’s place.”
“A leprechaun has moved into Abby’s place?” She looked confused.
I said, “You come with me Wednesday and you can see him for yourself.”
We got up and went around the park, pretending to be horses—walk, trot, canter, jump—and it was fun. I’d never talked with Ruthie that much before, and it seemed totally normal.
Pretty soon, the sun was sitting on the trees to the west, and I knew I had to go home. I didn’t know whether to tell Ruthie to go home, too, so I looked at my watch and said, “Uh-oh.”
She said, “What?”
“It’s eight o’clock.”
“Do you have to go home?”
I nodded. So I did go home, and Ruthie did, too. And when I got there, Alice was still watching TV and didn’t seem to know that I’d been gone. Just to be sure, I peeked into Joan Ariel’s room. She was waking up, but she wasn’t crying. I went back downstairs and walked over to Alice and said, “Boo!”
Yes, she jumped.
On Sunday, right after we got back from dinner at Grandma and Grandpa’s, the phone rang, and it was Abby. Since Abby never calls on Sunday, I got scared, but the first thing she said when I answered the phone was that Tater was fine.
I said, “How about Ned?”
“He is, too. Sissy’s taking good care of him. Can you come for your lesson tomorrow?”
“I don’t see why not.”
I asked Mom, who said yes, and then Dad said he would drive me because he had a one-year-old used Cadillac to test-drive. Cadillacs are very fancy, and I’d never been in one, so I thought that would be fun. I spent the rest of the evening sitting up in bed, reading a book I found in the bookcase, The Trumpeter of Krakow. I didn’t understand a thing in the book, including what “Krakow” meant or what was going on, but I read it anyway because after every page, I would figure something out. So it was like The Hound of the Baskervilles, except that I was the detective, not Sherlock.
In the middle of the night, I woke up and wondered how I would tell Ruthie that I was going on Monday rather than Wednesday, but then I “resolved that difficulty,” as Sherlock might say, by deciding to insist that I would also go on Wednesday.
The Cadillac was parked on the street in f
ront of our house. It was bright red, about a hundred feet long, everything edged in silver, and a convertible. Mom doesn’t like convertibles. Dad says that’s because she doesn’t want to mess up her hair, but Mom says it’s because of things flying through the air, and when she says this, I imagine a flock of birds swarming around the top of the convertible like a big, sparkly black cloud. When I was putting on my riding clothes, Mom stopped by the door to my room with Joan Ariel in her arms, and said, “Don’t forget to fasten your seat belt,” and then she sighed. By the time I’d gotten the carrots from the refrigerator, Dad had put the top down and was grinning. Just by looking at him, I knew he didn’t care about his hairdo, but he also didn’t wear a hat, because that might fly away, too.
The red Cadillac zipped along, smooth and fast. Dad made a couple of detours, just to check how it took corners, but I didn’t mind. I liked the things I saw, the sunshine, the things I smelled. I figured Dad would drive it all over the place before taking it back to the dealer. I said, “Is a Cadillac a Ford?”
“No, it’s General Motors, but we can sell any brand of used cars.”
“What did the owner trade it in for?”
“A red Mustang.”
I entirely agreed with the owner, except I would have traded it in for a chestnut mustang.
The thing was, Dad didn’t leave as soon as I got out of the car (hoisted myself over the side). He got out, too, and here was the colonel. They shook hands, and walked away over toward the pasture, but they didn’t get all the way there—they walked back and forth, talking, and while I was watching them, Da ran up to me and said, in his Colonel Dudgeon voice, “Sell me that pony!”
I said, “You! Why would you want Tater?”
Da said, “I don’t, but the colonel does. He’s got some girl up in somewhere who needs a safe pony, and they’re willing to pay.”
And that was the very moment when I realized that I did love Tater, maybe without even knowing it.
Da said, “Your mouth is hanging open.”
Well, maybe. I closed it, but I knew exactly what I was going to do. I stared at Dad and Colonel Dudgeon, and just like I was calling them, they walked toward me, Dad with his hands in his pockets and a serious look on his face, and Colonel Dudgeon hopping here and there, smiling.
I didn’t say anything, and neither did Da. He was standing behind me, so I imagined him doing backflips. Dad said, “Well, Ellen, something has happened, and of course you should be the first to know. The colonel, here, has a client who wants to buy Tater. I don’t know what you think….”
I said, “Only if I get to buy Ned.”
The colonel’s face popped in my direction, and I could see right there something Grandma would say: “Why in the world?”
I said, “I love Ned.”
The colonel’s head shook a little. I could read that, too: “Silly girl.” And yes, Abby’s dad had owned Ned for a long time and had never been able to sell him. But I’m not a silly girl. I know what I want and I know why.
Dad took the easy way out. He said, “Well, we’ll see.” Then he looked at his watch and told the colonel that he had to get to work, so they walked over to the Cadillac and talked another minute while Dad was getting in, and then Dad drove off. I watched him. You could see that Cadillac from miles away.
The colonel didn’t say anything to me, but he did pat me on the shoulder and walk toward the house. I said to Da, “When do you have to go home?”
Da said, “They say tomorrow or the next day. It’s a lot cooler here, or at least, down by the ocean, where they’re staying, so I think they’re putting it off a little.”
“Why aren’t you staying there with them?”
“I like it better here, and Abby’s mom doesn’t mind. I guess the dad is getting home late tonight.”
“He’ll make you behave.”
Da said, “We’ll see.” So there were a lot of things we were going to see.
Abby came out of the barn, and we walked over to her. Tater, Mordecai, and Gee Whiz were already in the barn. Tater was in the cross-ties, and he did nicker, very softly, when he saw me. I kept the carrot in my pocket, went over, and petted him down the side of his face and along his neck. His ears were relaxed, so I knew he was enjoying it. I did wonder what he would think of a new place. “Up north” for Da isn’t very far up north—less than a hundred miles, Da says—but maybe I would never see Tater again. I brushed him all over with the soft brush, admiring his red-and-white coat, how it changes from the front to the back and the top to the bottom. The good ponies keep moving because we outgrow them, so maybe Tater was a world traveler, as much as Gee Whiz. But of course, Tater would never tell Gee Whiz off, and so Gee Whiz would never know.
Then, as we were riding, I heard Da say to Abby, “Did he offer you a good price?”
Abby nodded.
“What’s your dad going to say?”
Abby said, “Take a guess.”
Da said, “My guess is he’s going to ask for more.”
Abby said, “They’ll work something out.”
I trotted a little to catch up with her and said, “Are you talking about Gee Whiz?”
Abby said, “Yup,” and went up into a canter and looped around the far end of the arena.
Da said, “The colonel thinks he could be an event horse. I’m sure he’s got a buyer in mind. Gee Whiz would jump everything, because good Thoroughbreds do, but Abby’s also got him moving very nicely, so he could do the dressage, too.” Then he said, “And he’s big enough for a man, so that helps.”
I was thinking of the look on Abby’s face, and I said, “Did you ever have a pony that you didn’t want to sell?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to sell Hollister. I had him when I was seven. He was a palomino. I had a tantrum when Mom sold him, and she didn’t say a thing, she just let me have the tantrum, and then she put me on a pony she’d bought, named Ridgemark, who was a little bigger, and Ridgemark was so comfortable that I enjoyed him instantly. And then, when I got off and was leading him into the barn, Mom said, ‘If we hadn’t sold Hollister, you wouldn’t have Ridgemark, so you think about that.’ That was the only thing she said about my tantrum, so I learned not to have tantrums anymore.”
“But didn’t you miss him?”
“I learned not to. I like trying them all out. They’re all different. Look at the kids at your school. They’re all different, right?”
I thought of Ruthie, and of Jimmy Murphy. I said, “Yes.”
“Well, horses are like that, and don’t let Colonel Dudgeon tell you they aren’t. They notice different things, they like different things, and they understand things differently, but the main thing is that they feel different. As soon as you get on, you know that pony or that horse is just himself, and that’s the best part.”
I thought, “No, the best part would be getting to know one really really well.” Like Ned, for instance. I thought of something my grandma says: “Well, you can’t have it both ways.” I wondered if that was true.
Now Abby came trotting back and we had our lesson, nothing new, just enjoying ourselves, practicing the patterns and movements that we’d been working on. We didn’t jump, and I knew why without Abby telling me—if you’re about to sell your horse, then you have to be careful that he doesn’t hurt himself, even a little bit. Then, when we were riding along the hillside, in order to keep myself from staring at Ned the whole time, I asked Da what event horses had to jump. He said, “In the last part, it’s just like a horse show, but the part I like the best is the cross-country. There are all kinds of jumps made of logs and brush. You have to gallop through water and jump onto banks and then off of them. There are chairs and coops. They aren’t terribly high. It’s fun.”
I said, “I saw those types of jumps outside the show arena at the stables.”
“They do eventing there
.”
“Do you gallop into the woods?”
“Of course.”
I took a deep breath, thinking about the piney fragrance. I said, “Gee Whiz can jump high.”
Da said, “He loves to gallop. I think he would like eventing more.” And, I kid you not, just then Gee Whiz shook his head (he was about twenty feet in front of us) and let out a loud whinny.
I was thinking about what Da had described—galloping and jumping and galloping, over the hills and through the woods. I said, “What do you think, Ned?”
And Ned said, “We’ll see.”
We caught up to Abby. She still wasn’t saying much, but I saw her look down the hill at Jack So Far, and I could read the look on her face—now that Gee Whiz would be leaving, she could think about Jack more, decide what was next for him, start riding him. And he was her darling, no two ways about that, as Grandma would say, because she’d known him since the day he was born. And maybe, if the other horses got trained and sold (including the ones her dad bought in Oklahoma), then she might never have to sell him.
I did a good job untacking Tater and cleaning him up and giving him a few bits of carrot. All three of us—Abby, Da, and me—were pretty quiet. I knew that not only would Tater soon be gone, but Da would, too. I let that thought circle around in my mind. I knew I would miss him, but I also knew that things would calm down, and maybe, just maybe, I would be a little relieved. Then I was going to read some more of The Hound of the Baskervilles to him, but just when I opened my mouth to suggest it, there came the red Cadillac. I asked Abby if, when I came back Wednesday, I could bring Ruthie, and she said, “Well, of course. She should draw a picture of Gee Whiz.”
“Is that a commission?”
“Let’s say it is.”
“I’ll tell her he’s gray. Is Colonel Dudgeon going to be here?”
“All day, I’m sure.”