by Jane Smiley
Colonel Hawkins did not ride like a soldier, which surprised me. His stirrups were long and his feet were pushed pretty far into them. His knees were pretty straight. He also kind of bent his back instead of doing that soldier thing, which is spine straight, chin up, shoulders down, yes sir. But even so, he went right along with Onyx on a light rein, quiet in the saddle. In the meantime, Pie in the Sky was enjoying himself, and kicked up now and then. I didn’t mind that. I knew it would loosen his back. It is funny how every horse feels completely different from every other horse. Just watching Onyx, I remembered how Black George had felt—smooth and solid and steady. He was happy to do his work and always willing, but he wasn’t catlike or loose. You could sense froom the way he used his body that he was thinking and planning. That’s why jumping big jumps was not as hard as it might seem—he always knew where he was, and because he was big and solid, where he was was where he was going to stay. He was reliable, and also talented. We got a lot of money for him because those two things don’t always go together.
Pie in the Sky felt different. The power he had was not steady and solid power, but whooshing and energetic. Sometimes the power felt disorganized and sort of outside of him, and then sometimes, like when I started galloping with Colonel Hawkins, that power arranged itself and just came through him from back to front; you were sitting on it and going with it. There was not a solid thing between me and Pie in the Sky’s feet—I felt his feet, each stride, come up through him and enter me. My hips opened and closed, my shoulders and elbows followed his stride, he loosened me up. I could not say which horse felt better, just that they were entirely different, and different, too, from Blue, who was not as powerful as Pie in the Sky, but more floating, as if with each stride he was in the air a little longer. After our gallop, which didn’t last nearly long enough, I did what Colonel Hawkins did with Onyx, and brought Pie in the Sky down to a walk. We walked around Jane and Sophia while Jane gave us our first course.
There is no horse, even a champion, who doesn’t need a warm-up, so she pointed us to a vertical a little off by itself, with canter poles in front of it, and we cantered that three times, then we went around the end of the arena and came back toward the center over a small gate. Then we did those two again, adding a right turn to a small oxer, and so on, building a course jump by jump. The jumps started about 2′9″ and went to about 3′3″. The horses seemed to enjoy it—they maintained a good pace, and all I really had to do with Pie in the Sky was keep him level in the turns. Over one oxer he jumped me out of the saddle—his arc was so high that I felt bounced, but then he came down straight, so I just came down with him and galloped on. I lost a stirrup, but found it on the turn.
Colonel Hawkins never lost a stirrup—his feet and legs were as steady as if he were just standing there. But he didn’t go very far forward over the top—he sort of curled but stayed fairly deep in the saddle. Jane must have seen me looking at him, so she walked over and put her hand on Pie in the Sky’s shoulder and said, “You didn’t know that Colonel Hawkins was a three-day rider, did you?”
“No. What’s that?”
“Oh, it’s an old army thing, but it’s in the Olympics. The first day is dressage, the second day is cross-country, which is sort of like foxhunting, though more technical, and the third day is show jumping, with pretty high jumps but not really high jumps. Anyway, the horses and the riders have to be all-around athletes, so it’s very demanding.”
“Is that why he doesn’t ride like the pictures in the book?”
“Which book?”
“That cavalry manual with the drawings I saw at the show.”
“Probably. In cross-country people tend to sit back a little more and ride defensively. The jumps are often quite intimidating.”
“Like on our outside course?”
“Oh, except for the water, those are very tame. Someday we’ll go down toward the ocean, through the woods, and you can see the big ones.”
“Do we have to jump them?”
She laughed. I took this as a no.
In the meantime, Colonel Hawkins was doing his course, kind of a serpentine with an in-and-out and then a wall at the end. Black George made it look easy, and Sophia just stared at him. She did not join in our conversation or even look in our direction.
Now it was my turn. I felt no stiffness in Pie in the Sky, but I did a little figure eight anyway, pushing him to the outside with my leg so that he softened and bent in each direction before approaching the jump. They were all about 3′6″. I eased from the figure eight into a circle and headed for the first fence. I thought all the right thoughts: look up, aim for the center, sit up, look beyond the jump, stay level. As we got near the first jump, I looked for the second one, which was off to the left. Pie in the Sky leapt, then landed and eased into the turn. His strides were big but bouncy. He galloped to number two, and I was staring at number three, a solid coop. But when we got to three, it was like Pie in the Sky was saying, “Show me something I care about.” He was also galloping like he was on a railroad track—no question about the turns or the line to the jump, everything put together as if it were one single thing, not a bunch of things, or maybe one single thought, not a bunch of separate thoughts. I saw and I felt that for Pie in the Sky getting over the jumps was automatic, but making a course of it was the challenge. If one thing led to another, then he was fine and happy. For this course, one thing led to another to another and to another. It was not like any course I had ever ridden. Black George had always made it simple, but Pie in the Sky seemed to take it very seriously, and to want to do it just right. He did it just right. I sort of felt my hair standing on end, if that is possible when you are wearing a hard hat.
Jane was smiling, and Sophia was staring at us. Colonel Hawkins said, “Well, let’s walk these boys out. They did a good job. Let’s take them over to the outside course.” Colonel Hawkins put Onyx on a loose rein; I didn’t feel quite comfortable doing the same with Pie in the Sky, because he was looking around with his ears pricked. As he followed along behind Onyx, I started to wonder how it was that I could do so well on Pie and so badly on Blue. If you are a good rider, you are supposed to be able to ride everyone; if your horse is a good horse, he is supposed to be good for everyone. We walked along behind Onyx as Colonel Hawkins did what grown-ups do. He walked up to each of the jumps and gave it a once-over, just to see what needed to be fixed. He didn’t say anything to me. Pretty soon, both horses were cooled out and ready to be put away. We went back to the barn, where Rodney cross-tied Onyx, and then came and held Pie in the Sky while I dismounted. Sophia was nowhere to be seen. I handed Rodney the two dollars, and he said, “Well, that’s a kind remembrance, lass.”
Jane came out of one of the stalls a little way down the row and said, “Ah, Abby! I think you’ve got time to have a little chat. Come on to my office.”
“What time is it?”
“Eleven thirty.”
“That didn’t take long.”
“The colonel likes a brisk half hour better than a lazy hour. But these are trained horses, and the show season is over. We need to keep them in moderate fitness, but not to drill them.”
I followed her around the end of the barn. When I was sure no one was nearby, I said, “Why didn’t Sophia ride Onyx?”
“Oh, me. She’s not saying.”
“Is she afraid?”
“I would not have ever thought she could be, and if she is, she isn’t acting like it. She comes out dressed to ride, and watches Colonel Hawkins, every step, then goes home. He doesn’t know what’s going on, either.”
“Does he ride Pie in the Sky, too?”
“Yes, or Rodney takes one or the other of them on a trail. A ‘walkabout,’ he calls it, which is Australian—don’t know why he would use that word, but he puts us on.”
“I thought Rodney didn’t ride anymore.”
“Oh, he does what we call riding—he gets up on the horses and takes them out. He doesn’t do what he calls riding, w
hich is go hell-bent for leather over large obstacles in a state of inebriation. In England they call it steeple chasing, but I just call it madness. You did a good job on Pie in the Sky. He’s not an easy horse.”
“It was kind of amazing.”
“Yes, when he is good, he is very very good, but when he is bad, he is horrid.”
“Jem Jarrow should work with him.”
“That’s your friend.”
I raised my voice just a tiny bit, in order to be emphatic, because Jane just seemed to be talking idly as if none of this really mattered. “Jem Jarrow could help him get himself organized. That’s what I was thinking when we had our round. All the parts came together. He’s not playing. Black G—I mean Onyx—is playing. But Pie in the Sky worries too much to play.”
Jane looked at me, then said, “Well, that is an intelligent analysis.” She smiled.
I said, “Is Pie in the Sky so good because he was expensive?”
Jane made a little quick smile, and then said, “Talent is always expensive and he has a good show record.”
“Was he from the East, like the mare?”
“No. He was from LA.”
“Was he more than five dollars and sixty cents?”
Jane grinned. “Wasn’t that thirty-five cents? I was sure there were two nickels in there. Abby, dear, the circumstances of your purchase of True Blue do not reflect his potential. But, yes, Pie in the Sky was a lucky fellow—he was bred to jump, and then he was taught to jump, and he jumps. His trainer is a bit of a legend, and it isn’t always the case that a new owner can get the same thing out of one of that trainer’s horses that that trainer got out of him. But everyone was aware of that going in.”
I didn’t know how to ask for the price—and Mom would have been horrified if I had—but I did say, “Maybe more than Onyx?”
Jane said, “Maybe.”
They had paid ten thousand dollars for Onyx, though I wasn’t supposed to know that.
We stood there.
For the first time in all the times I had come into Jane’s office, I noticed that there was a row of books on a shelf above her desk. I remembered that cavalry manual, so now I looked around for a moment and said, “Please, could I look at your books?”
“The riding books?” She glanced at them.
I nodded.
“Help yourself. But it’s chaos.” She pulled one down and said, “The Littauer is good. The colonel knows him. He’s very down to earth.” She handed me a rather thin volume, with a blue and tan cover, Schooling Your Horse—one of those books I’d seen in the tent at the show. “But look at the others, too. Now I have to go get ready for another lesson. It’s ten of twelve.”
She went to the door and opened it, then she turned and said, “You were good on that horse. Maybe you should write Mr. Jarrow’s number down for me.”
“I don’t have it, but Danny does. I’ll call you.”
Jane nodded and went out.
I have to say that I walked slowly to the parking lot. First I went by Pie in the Sky’s stall. I petted him on the right cheek and on the left, then I tickled his forehead around his swirl. He seemed to enjoy it. But I was not going to start liking this horse, because he would never be mine. As Daddy always told me, some people buy horses as a business, and some people buy horses as a luxury, and you should never get the two mixed up. Everything about Pie in the Sky, from his color and his looks to his jumping ability, was pure luxury goods. And what about Onyx, right beside him? Well, that was why we had to sell him: once we knew how good he was, it would have been purest luxury to keep him. But the main reason I was walking slowly and wandering here and there was that I wanted to see Sophia. She was nowhere to be found, though.
Mom had a new haircut—with bangs! I sort of couldn’t believe it, but she looked good. The bangs were pretty long, down over her eyebrows. When I said this, she said, “Two weeks and I won’t be able to see a thing.”
“What is Dad going to say?”
“Well, let’s bet on whether he says anything. I’ll give you a dollar if he says anything, and you can give me a dollar if he doesn’t.”
She looked young, like one of the senior girls at the high school, not the surfers, but not the science whizzes, either. I kept glancing at her as we drove home, and it did take me that long to get used to how young she was. Really, since she was only nineteen when Danny was born and twenty-four when I was born, she was probably the youngest of all my friends’ mothers. And when we got home, Dad said, “Oh, you look good,” but that wasn’t the same thing as noticing bangs, so we called it a draw.
That night, I looked at Jane’s book, and I did it the wrong way—I looked at the pictures first, and as I leafed through it, I looked at the pictures of jumping more than I looked at the pictures of hacking and riding out. There was a wonderful picture of a woman on her horse galloping through a field. Even though it was black and white, I could look at the thick grass she was galloping on and imagine how green it was. Galloping out was something we rarely did—too many gopher holes and ground squirrel holes. After I looked at the jumping pictures, I read about teaching the horses to jump, and that was fine until I came to the section called “How to Correct Jumping Defects.” I read about the rushers and “apathetic galloping toward fences” without any problem. And then I got to “refusing and running out.” The very first sentence read, “If you are not abusing the horse with your shifting weight, swinging legs, and hard hands, if the horse has no sore feet, if you are not asking the horse to jump higher than he knows how to, if you are not asking him to jump too much, and still your horse as a tendency to refuse (even when the approach is comfortable), then probably he is just ‘chicken hearted,’ and the wisest thing to do is to get rid of him.” After that I read on, but I didn’t really pay attention to what I was reading. I read for maybe fifteen minutes, then put the book under my bed and turned out the light. I lay there in the dark and listened to the music. It was turning out that the record player was really good for helping me not think about things that I didn’t want to think about.
Chapter 8
ON MONDAY, DANNY STAYED FOR SUPPER AFTER WE RODE Blue, Oh My, and Nobby. He also helped me work Jack, and he did a funny thing: as we groomed him, Danny put his arm over Jack’s back several times, at first just standing there, but then kind of leaning on him. I knew what he was doing—he was getting him ready to be ridden, but we still had not heard from Mr. Matthews, who owned the other half of him. I didn’t think there was any rush, myself.
We had fried chicken, and tried to pretend that having Danny for supper was not a special occasion. The apple pie? Well, there were some apples in the store, cheap because it was fall now. All through the meal, Daddy and Danny talked about Happy, the horse Daddy had sold Danny, and who was now getting to be a good cow horse, and then about the fact that Danny had taken her to a branding. It had been pretty interesting, because they did it as slowly as possible, not as quickly. The horses were never to get out of a trot, and there was no running around for the hands—they were to approach the calves slowly and easily. Danny had liked it in some ways, but it was hard to get used to. He said, “Now, Russ Jarrow is totally opposite Jem in looks, he’s got to be six-four, and he would just jog over to where the cow and the calf were and the rope would slip out of his hand and around the back end of the calf, and the calf would ease to a halt, and then just lie down, or that’s what it looked like. I mean, whatever part of the calf Russ wanted to rope, the rope would go there.”
“Must have taken forever.”
“Well, it was slow, but it was smooth. I mean, if the guy never misses a toss, then that saves time.”
Mom said, “If you drive your car at eighty all the time instead of sixty-five, you’re still only going to get there a few minutes before your appointment.”
Danny pretended that he didn’t understand this. He said, “The other thing is that the horses are never running past where they’re supposed to be, because they are completely not ex
cited. They pay attention, though.”
Daddy said, “I wouldn’t mind seeing that.” He pushed his plate away, and I finished my mashed potatoes and gravy. Everyone was quiet as Mom brought over the pie and the plates. I don’t know why that is, but it happens every time. She said, “I found some pippins. They make the best pie, I think.”
Daddy and Danny were staring at the pie like they were going to plop their faces in it. She cut the slices and passed them around. When we had all taken our first bites, Danny sighed and said, “Well, I guess I’m going to work at the ranch where they had the branding. It’s called the Marble Ranch.” He said it just like it was no big deal.
Mom said, “Where is that?” and Daddy said, “What’s your job?”
“About half shoeing and half looking after the cows. They have a few colts to work with, too. I guess Jake told them they might like the way I go about things. It’s kind of a famous place—they have a big arena and they put on rodeos every so often, but it’s really famous for the house, which is a beautiful hacienda that some rich people built in the twenties. Movie stars used to come up from Hollywood and stay. Legendary parties.”
Mom and Daddy exchanged a glance.
“But they don’t have those anymore. It’s just trying to be a plain old cattle ranch these days.”
I said, “What about Happy?”
“My guess is they like her better than they like me.”
We all laughed.
“There’s an apartment that goes with the job. Two rooms.”
And so supper ended and I went up to my room and started my homework, but not without putting on my new album, Sounds of Silence. The songs were kind of sad, but that was good for doing homework. I was already thinking about how much it might cost to buy another album, but I hadn’t decided which one I wanted yet. The thing to do was to get Danny to drive me somewhere, and listen to the radio the whole time.