by Jane Smiley
Jane said, “Rodney, don’t you have some tack to clean?”
Rodney laughed and didn’t move a muscle.
Daddy said, “Black George did it easy.”
I nodded. But those words, four feet, made my heart pound in spite of everything. Once again, I was having two things happen at the same time. One thing was going around the course on Black George, easy and happy, and the other thing was knowing how big the course was and being scared through my whole body.
It was Rodney who noticed, or at least Rodney who said something. He said, “Give the girl a dram, miss. That’s how we make up our minds to do the big courses, ya know.”
Jane took her whip and smacked him, and said, “Go, please!”
He left, laughing the whole time, and she turned to Daddy and said, “Colonel Hawkins is crazy about Rodney, and he’s a good horseman, but he goes too far at least once a day.”
“Why is he crazy about the fellow?” said Daddy.
“Oh, Rodney makes him laugh. He takes him foxhunting, too. I guess he’s good with the hounds. Drives me crazy, though. Sometimes I think it would be easier to do the work myself. So. Abby! Very good, dear. Do you want to do some more?”
Daddy looked at me. Right then, it was up to me, and there was part of me that had had enough (though I might not have said that if they hadn’t told me how high the fences were), and there was part of me that was ready for another round. I sat there for a moment, then I said, “Don’t you think he’s had enough?”
Daddy said, “We can come back Saturday. For a short time.”
And Jane said, “Let’s do that, then,” and that was the worst thing we could have done.
Newmarket Boots
Sawcow
Row of Stables
Chapter 11
I SHOULD HAVE FELT GOOD ABOUT OUR SESSION, AND I DID, IN A way. Daddy was proud of me, Jane gave me a little hug, and I knew that teasing was Rodney’s way of being impressed—with me or the horse, but what was the difference? After we got home and were eating a late lunch, Daddy told Mom, “Well, Sarah, these two are getting better and better, thank the Lord.”
“Of course they are,” said Mom, but she gave me that look that said there was no “of course” about it. Then, while she was rinsing the lunch dishes, she started whistling. But everyone around me was feeling good—including Black George—and I wasn’t. That number, four, was stuck in my head, and I knew we would do that again on Saturday. No big deal, just like Rodney said, at four feet, you’re only starting to be a jumper. Even a regular working hunter jumps four-six.
After lunch, the weather got nice, so Mom and I took Sunshine and Jefferson up the hill, and then we took Lincoln and Sprinkles down to the crick. Daddy spent some time roping the sawcow from Happy’s back, while I rode Effie in the arena, because a friend of Mr. Tacker’s was going to come try Effie sometime soon, either tomorrow or next Monday. Mr. Hacker had bought two horses from us in the spring. The whole time we were riding in the arena, Rusty sat in the middle, keeping an eye on us. She was a funny dog. Sometimes, she came to the window and looked in, and when she saw Mom, she wagged her tail, which was long and bushy. But she knew she couldn’t come inside, and she never asked to. Once, Mom said, “I don’t think we’ve taken Rusty in as much as she’s adopted us as her charges.” That seemed about right. The funny thing was that late that afternoon, when Daddy went into town and Danny and Jake Morrisson showed up to shoe Sprinkles and Effie, Rusty walked right up to Danny and offered him her paw. She seemed to read Mom’s mind, really.
After they were finished shoeing, Jake went into the house for a cup of coffee (and, I’m sure, to give Mom the latest on Danny), and Danny asked me to get out Jack and show him how he was doing. “He’s doing fine,” I said.
“Don’t you want to get him out?”
“It’s almost five o’clock and I’m bushed. I had him out yesterday.”
“Let me get him out, then.”
I shrugged. Danny gave me a look, but then he went and got the training halter and went to the gate of the gelding pasture. Jack didn’t come to him, but Danny didn’t care about that. He just walked into the pasture and stood quietly, and when the others came over, Jack came with them, and Danny patted him a few times along the side of his neck and stroked around his eye, and Jack dipped his head, and Danny slipped the halter on him. Then he turned and walked toward the gate. Jack walked right after him like a good boy.
I followed them to the pen.
Danny went into the center and sent Jack first to the left and then to the right, on the rope. Then he had him step back a few times, and then step under in both directions. Jack was good, but not perfect, because he was curious about Danny. He kept wanting to sniff his hands, then his chest, then his hair. Finally, Danny laughed, took off his hat, and bent his head, and Jack snuffled around his forehead and down over his ear.
I said, “Why does he want to do that?”
“Just being a baby, I guess.”
Then they did some more stuff—picking up Jack’s feet and dropping them, getting him to stand there quietly on a loose rein. Once he had been allowed to satisfy his curiosity about Danny, he behaved himself a little better.
Danny held the end of the rope out to me. It made me a little irritated. I shook my head.
“What is the matter with you?”
“I said I was tired.”
“What did you do that made you so tired, then?”
“Well, we took Black George out to the stables and jumped him around everything. That was a day’s work right there, but then we had to come home and do everyone else.”
“Hmmp.”
“What do you mean, Hmmp?”
“Can’t I say Hmmp if I want to?”
I turned around and walked away, mostly because I was getting mad, and I didn’t know why. I went in the barn, but I peeked out and watched Danny work Jack for a few more minutes, then walk him over to the gelding pasture and turn him out again. I stayed in the barn until I saw him drive away with Jake Morrisson. By then it was dark, and time to feed the horses, so I carried out the hay and checked the water.
When I went into the house, Mom was pulling a baked chicken out of the oven. Daddy drove up right then.
Over supper, we were all a little gloomy, I would have to say. I was mad because I was mad because I was mad. Didn’t know why. Mom was always quiet after seeing Danny, and I was sure she had plenty to tell me about what he was doing, but she wouldn’t tell me in front of Daddy, and Daddy knew Danny had been there and that Mom had a lot to tell, but he was too proud to ask her.
It had been a year now since Danny left after he and Daddy had a big fight at supper about whether Danny could go to a worldly movie (about space monsters). Daddy still expected him to come in remorse and ask to move back, but Danny was in the habit of living his own life, and Mom and I knew there was going to be no moving back, and therefore no apology.
Once, in the summer, he had even told Mom that moving out was the best thing he ever did in his whole life, and that night, Mom cried and Daddy marched around alternately saying, “Fine, good for him,” and “The Lord knows what he is doing.” The next day, which was Sunday, Daddy read a lesson about the Prodigal Son, and everyone at the service got dead quiet, and then, all of a sudden, Mr. Hazen started a long prayer, and frankly, I thought it was embarrassing.
But tonight, I didn’t care about that. I was just mad. I went upstairs to my room after dinner and read an old book I liked, not about horses, a Nancy Drew where Nancy has to climb out of someone’s chimney in order to save herself, and I fell asleep. But of course I knew why I was mad. I was mad at myself because I had been scared of those jumps, and I was still scared of them. Usually, like after the horse show, I liked to lie in bed with my eyes closed and imagine my way around the courses I had taken that day. If I really thought about it, it seemed like I could remember every stride and every jump and every turn, and it was both fun and comforting. The jumps in my mind were beauti
ful, and I could even see Black George’s ears right in front of me, pointing at them. The feeling of the strides was smooth and easy, and more often than not, I got partway round the course and fell asleep.
But now that I knew those numbers, thinking of the course was like poison. It did put me to sleep, but a bad sleep, not a good sleep. All night long, the jumps looked huge and I was scared. When I got up in the morning, I had to give myself a little talking-to while I was brushing my teeth, about how I was being silly and it was no big deal and I must be crazy to think like this. The jumps were ones I had jumped. It was one thing to be scared of something I had not done, but it was another thing entirely to be afraid of something I actually had had no problem with. But this argument was depressing, too.
Finally, I made myself not think about those jumps, and when it was time to ride Black George, I took him up the hill and rode him along the fence line, looking at the cows. The calves were big now—it’s amazing how fast they grow—and they were jumping around and playing while the cows ate their hay.
All day Friday, I made myself not think about those jumps, or the fact that Saturday we were going to go back and do it again. At one point, Mom said, “You’re awfully quiet,” but I didn’t say anything. Daddy was around, too, so she didn’t tell me anything about Danny. In the afternoon, I tried to clean tack, but sitting there rubbing the leather gave me too much time to think, so I stopped that. Only when the man came to look at Sunshine did I sort of forget about it, and that was because the man fell off, and I had to run and catch Sunshine and then listen to Daddy trying to persuade the man that Sunshine hadn’t “bucked” him off. And she hadn’t. He had been holding tight to the rein, and she had put her head down, and he just fell over her shoulder. Of course we were glad to see him go, but there was not going to be a sale that weekend.
The thing about school was that you were always looking forward to the days off—they were going to be so great—but then sometimes they were very long and seemed to be sort of a waste of time. When I had finished my work on Friday, I couldn’t believe that it was mid-afternoon and I was looking for a book to read and having no luck—all of my books were about horses, except for that Nancy Drew. Another irritating thing was that Stella had invited me and Gloria to spend the night Friday night, and I had turned her down without even asking Mom, just because I didn’t think I would have the patience to sit around reading Seventeen and watching The Man from U.N.C.L.E., which was a show they loved, all the time talking about Stella’s diet, which had been very successful—she had lost twelve pounds and now was the same size as one of those Seventeen models, though how she actually knew that, I didn’t understand.
Finally, I went to bed early. I thought it would be good to get to sleep, but it wasn’t. I dreamt of Jack getting his hock caught in barbed wire, up by the calves and the cows, and in the dream, Mom kept saying, “How’d he get up there? I can’t figure out how he got up there. Did he open the gate? Where are the other horses?” and I couldn’t understand why she just kept talking about that when he had blood running down his leg.
So, Saturday morning we had all the horses fed and watered, and Black George loaded up by eight. I was yawning and yawning.
Daddy said, as we were pulling out of our driveway and turning onto the road, “The next show is in two weeks. Miss Slater is wondering if you might take half a day off Friday afternoon and go in a couple more classes.”
I said I could do that.
“Will you have any tests that day?”
“I don’t know. That’s two weeks away!”
“I can’t say that I like your tone.” His own tone was low but meaningful, and I knew what it meant, but I said, anyway, “Well, what am I supposed to say? I can’t predict the future!”
Daddy knew just how to drive a trailer—you do everything smoothly, and you are always aware of the horse in the back—so, although he took a deep breath, he looked for a spot and then carefully pulled over, came to an easy halt, put the truck into neutral, and turned to me. He said, “Ruth Abigail, I am going to give you one chance to change your disrespectful attitude.”
I sat there. Although he was not counting to ten out loud, I knew he was counting to ten in his head—I was, too. Around the time that we both got to eight, I said, “I’m sorry for being grumpy.” This was just on the edge of being the right thing to say. I would have gotten in more trouble for saying “Sorry!” and he was looking for something like, “Daddy, I am really, really sorry I have been disrespectful and contrary.” The edge was about all I could manage. He sighed and then, after a moment, looked in his sideview mirror, and pulled onto the road again. Back in the trailer, Black George whinnied. We had gone at least another five miles in silence when Daddy said, “Well, try to find out, and set it up ahead of time.”
I said, “Okay.” That was all we talked about on the way to the stables.
It was Saturday morning, so the stables were busy—lots of horses going in and out of the barns. It was a nice day, too—one of those days in autumn that are warm and sunny and calm, no fog, and the air bright, so trail rides were going out along with everything else. I saw Ellen running around, and I saw that girl Sophia Rosebury having a lesson with Colonel Hawkins. She was on the chestnut, who seemed to be doing fine today, but I didn’t have time to watch because Jane came running up to us. She said, “Oh dear, the rings are jammed today! It seems like every single boarder suddenly remembered what they’re spending to keep these animals. Look at Rodney!” She gestured toward the mounting block, where Rodney was holding a small black horse while a woman at least Daddy’s age struggled to get on. Jane said, “The colonel has put Rodney absolutely in charge of Mrs. Jackson, who started out life as Miss Gould and has married railroads, airplanes, and hotels with equal lack of success. The colonel thinks Rodney can procure himself a sinecure.”
I didn’t ask what this was, because I could tell by the look on Daddy’s face that it was something bad.
“Anyway,” said Jane, “we will have to do the best we can under trying conditions.”
We now had the tack on and adjusted. Black George’s ears were forward, and as Daddy hoisted me up, Black George almost walked out from under me in his eagerness to get to the arena. But he was nice. He was like Alexis and Barbara weaving their way down the hall at school—excuse me; sorry; I don’t even see you because I see my destination over there, but I am a nice horse, so I won’t run over you or knock you down. We went on the light rein—we did not go to the farthest ring, where we had gone the first day (there was a group lesson in there) but to the one next to it, which was smallish but didn’t have any trees in it. As I entered the gate, I heard Jane say, “Goodness, Ellen! Have you been following us? Hasn’t your mother picked you up yet?”
“She’s coming at noon.”
I turned to look. Jane had her hands on her hips. “Noon! That’s almost two and a half hours from now! What are you going to do until then?”
Ellen shrugged, but I could tell what she was going to do—be a pest. Daddy said, “Ellen, you stand here with me while Abby has her lesson.” When she went over to him, he picked her up and sat her on the top board of the fence. I wandered to the end of the arena and then made a circle, shortening my reins and asking Black George to soften and gather himself together. He was so eager to get started that I hardly had to ask him. That’s the way it is with a horse who has lots of energy—he feels ready to go and it’s easy to organize him, but it’s also easy to ask for too much and get a buck or some kicks.
But none of that with Black George—he picked up a courteous and willing trot, and we trotted all around the jumps, which Jane was arranging. When we passed Daddy, I heard him say to Ellen, “No, you have to be quiet and still. If you get excited, you can scare the horse. Don’t you know that by now?”
I didn’t hear what she said in reply.
Once Jane had the jumps set the way she liked them, she went to the far end of the ring and set a crossbar with a pole on either side.
I was to trot over the first pole, canter the crossbar, and canter over the second pole, making sure to be in the exact center of every pole. I did this twice in each direction. Then she made the second pole into a small vertical, and I was to trot the first pole, canter the crossbar and the second pole. Finally, she made three jumps—crossbar, vertical, oxer, all one stride apart. Black George thought this was wonderful fun, trot, canter, jump, canter, jump, canter, jump, canter away—what could be easier, it was like doing three push-ups for him. Then she gave me my first course. There were no weird jumps in this arena—all standards and poles, white and natural-colored. The course made a big S curve, then a long loop, with the triple in-and-out second to last, just before a big oxer down the long side. The jumps weren’t very high, so I sat up and made Black George gather his stride and go straight down the middle of every jump and very neatly around the corners. He was good, but bored by the jumps.
She put them up one hole, and we did it again.
I was having a good time, and it was funny to watch Daddy and Ellen. When she said, “Get me down!” he said, “Excuse me?” And she stared, or rather glared, at him for a second, then said, “Please, Mr. Lovitt, I would like to get down,” so he took her down. I saw Jane smile at this.
But then she put the jumps up. It was like I had an eagle eye, even though I was having a good time, and when she put the jumps up, my temperature rose, too. I took off my sweatshirt. This time, I only barely remembered the way around. It was like my knowing the fact that she had put the jumps up got in the way of the course, literally—I kept seeing in my mind that the poles were moving and I couldn’t remember anything else. But I only missed one jump—I cantered right past the one before the in-and-out, a white vertical. When I finished the course, she said, “That’s okay, you can get that one the next time around.”
And she put the jumps up.