A Summer Without Horses (13 page)

“You’re being a very good friend,” Dad said.

“Stevie’s always been a good friend to me,” I reminded him.

“Okay, then if we can’t ride, we walk. Come this way.”

We went into the park. It’s almost odd to call it a park because on a sunny summer day, there were more people there than trees, but that’s the way New York is. It was only a short walk to the zoo and the first thing we saw there were the pony cart rides.

“My treat,” Dad said.

“Your
tease
you mean. Nope. I’m not going to do it.”

He knew I wouldn’t anyway. Those carts are teeny and meant for very young children.

“I understand there’s a camel ride at the Bronx Zoo. How about that?”

“Da-ad!”

I thought he had the idea then. We went through the rest of the zoo, looking at everything. Some people think zoos are cruel because they keep animals caged up, but that’s almost the same thing as saying that it’s cruel to
keep a horse in a stable and to ride him. As long as the zoo animals are well fed and gently tended, it’s all right with me.

“This way, honey,” Dad said, tugging my hand when we came out of the last “house” at the zoo. He took me upstairs, past the polar bears. We kept on going uphill, then crossed a road, and by then, I could hear a sound I knew. It was a calliope. We were right by the carousel.

“Dad!” I said, realizing that he’d determined to get me on a horse no matter what. “I can’t ride. And that’s that.”

“Even a carousel? What’s going to happen that’s so bad if you sit on a wooden horse for five minutes?”

“Veronica diAngelo could join The Saddle Club,” I said. “That’s what could happen.”

“I don’t see what Veronica has to do with Stevie’s unmentionable wound.”

“She’s the ‘or else’ in our deal. If any one of us gets on a horse before Stevie’s underside is better, that person has to invite Veronica to join The Saddle Club.”

Dad sat down on a nearby bench. It was more than he could take standing up. He knew what a totally horrid person Veronica was and knew that it was unthinkable for her to join The Saddle Club.

“I see,” he said. “You aren’t just good friends to Stevie, are you? Loyalty and friendship don’t begin to describe what’s going on here, do they?”

I sat down next to him. “We take it seriously when we
make a pledge to one another, just like you take your promises seriously, Dad.”

“I don’t know, honey. When I consider what Veronica means to you three—well, I’m not sure I ever took a pledge
that
seriously!”

He was teasing again and that was okay. It meant he understood. That’s all I wanted.

“Okay, Carole, now I understand why you
really
don’t want to ride. But I’ve got to say that I don’t think there’s anybody over the age of about three who would mistake a carousel horse for the real thing.”

I looked over at the carousel, spinning gaily, with little children perched on the wooden horses that went up and down as they went around. I knew I’d been acting a little silly. It wasn’t the same thing. Stevie and Lisa would surely agree.

“Okay, Dad. I’ll go if you’ll ride with me.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said.

We rode three times. It was great!

T
WO
DAYS
LATER
, I took the train out to the town on Long Island where Dorothy DeSoto has her stable. She trains horses and riders for shows now that she can’t ride in them herself. When she got thrown from Topside at the horse show and fractured something in her back, her doctors told her she’d be all right, but she could never ride again. I don’t call that being “all right,” but I guess it’s better than being in a wheelchair, which is where she could end up if she ever hurt that part of her back again.

Dorothy is a great trainer for both horses and riders. This trip I’d have a chance to watch her working with some excellent riders. Dad was worried that it would be temptation for me since I couldn’t ride. I wasn’t worried about that; Dorothy couldn’t ride, either. What it was going to be was pure inspiration. Imagine having the
chance to watch one of the finest trainers in the world in action.

Another thing Dad worried about was my getting there. He shouldn’t have. It was easy. The train left more or less when it said it would and it got to Dorothy’s stop more or less when it said it would and Nigel, Dorothy’s husband, was right there waiting for me. He gave me a hug and before he was finished hugging me, he said, “We’ve got to find a phone!” He made it sound like an emergency so I asked him what was up.

“It’s your father.”

“Dad? What’s the matter?”

“Matter? Nothing. He just wants you to call him the minute you arrive so he can stop worrying.”

That was just like Dad and although it was a little annoying, I didn’t mind. He’s been overprotective of me for some time. It’s just a way of showing his love.

“I got here safe and sound,” I promised him.

“And was Nigel there to pick you up?” Dad asked.

“Of course he was. That’s why I called, Dad. Now you go off on your retreat and do the things you Marines do together and don’t worry about me at all. I’m in good hands.”

“I know that, honey. I just like to be careful.”

“Thanks, Dad. Good-bye.”

“Bye.”

Nigel was waiting for me outside the phone booth. “Is he okay?” he asked.

“He’s okay. He’s just always super-cautious. It’s because he loves me.”

“I could tell,” Nigel said. “Dorothy and I love you, too, and we promised your dad we’d take very good care of you. In fact, I’m supposed to stop at the pharmacy and pick up some extra vitamins for you.…”

It took a little doing, but I talked Nigel out of the vitamins. I was in too much of a hurry to see Dorothy and her horses to worry about my B-complexes!

“There’s no need to hurry to see Dorothy,” Nigel said. “She’s giving a lesson now and shouldn’t be interrupted.”

“I wouldn’t interrupt. I’d just watch,” I said.

“Not with this student. Anything counts as an interruption for her.”

“Who is she?” I asked. “Are there some sort of secret training rituals that nobody’s supposed to see?”

“Not exactly, but I suppose it’s close. She’s a fourteen-year-old girl named Beatrice Benner.”

There was something about the way Nigel said “Beatrice” that made me know this wasn’t any normal fourteen-year-old girl. Ordinarily, I pronounce that name with somewhere between two and three syllables—between Bee-triss and Bee-uh-triss. The way Nigel said it, I swear it had four or five syllables and sounded sort of like this: Bee-aaah-tuh-reeeaaass. It wasn’t just because Nigel’s English. The look on his face as he uttered that name said worlds.

“Difficult student, huh?”

He held his lips tightly together and then mimicked zipping his lips shut. I giggled. That’s the sort of thing I love about Nigel. At first, you think he’s this proper stuffy English rider and then he’ll do something silly like that.

“Ms. Benner is working with a new horse named Southwood. Southwood is pure Thoroughbred. His bloodlines are better than hers—oops, I shouldn’t say stuff like that.”

“It’s okay, Nigel. I’m good at forgetting stuff like that. Go ahead. Talk freely. It’s going to be easier on both of us.”

“Thanks, Carole. You probably understand this as well as I do. We rely on Dorothy’s students, both the horses and the riders, to sustain us. Some of them are difficult. That holds for both the horses and the riders. Dorothy can train manners into the horses, but it’s not so easy when it comes to the riders and we’re stuck with them because they are her clients and they are the ones who tell their friends how good a trainer Dorothy is.”

“I know about that kind of thing, Nigel. After all, Max has been putting up with Veronica diAngelo for a long time just because her father is a very rich and important man in the town and her mother talks a lot to her friends.”

“But isn’t she a good rider, too?”

I had to stop and think about that for a second. Most of the time, I’ll notice the way a person rides long before I notice anything else about them. In Veronica’s case, I
usually made an exception because she is so obnoxious, but the fact was Nigel was right. Veronica
was
a pretty good rider.

“Not good enough to make up for all the rest of it,” I said. That was true, too, as far as I was concerned.

Nigel nodded knowingly. By then I’d spotted the sign for the stable and I knew we were near. Nigel turned into the long drive that curved through the hills of Long Island before coming to a turnaround in front of a big old white house. It wasn’t the white house I saw first, though, it was the even bigger stable out back and the paddocks containing a schooling ring, a jump course, and open spaces for some of the horses. One of them was out there right then. He was a sleek dark bay gelding with white stockings on three legs.

A
S
SOON
AS
Nigel brought the car to a stop, I jumped right out and ran over to the paddock where the horse was playing and prancing. I held out my hand in greeting. He came right over to me.

“He’s a beauty!” I said to Nigel, who stood nearby, watching.

“Meet Southwood,” he said. I was only too happy to do so. Nigel said he’d see me in a minute and then turned to carry my backpack into the house. I gave Southwood a cheek rub and then patted his neck. He nodded his head just as if he were trying to tell me how much he liked what I was doing. He wasn’t just beautiful; he was smart. I was having such a nice visit with Southwood that I never saw his owner arrive.

“Excuse me!” It was the voice of a young girl. I turned
and saw someone about my own age wearing riding clothes and striding toward me. I guessed it was the infamous Ms. Beatrice Benner and began to introduce myself.

“Hi, I’m—”

“That’s my horse,” she interrupted.

“I know and he’s wonderful!” I said.

“He’s
mine.
Please don’t touch him.”

I couldn’t believe my ears, but I withdrew my hand immediately. I recalled what Nigel had said about Southwood and Beatrice being important to Dorothy so I didn’t say
any
of the things I wanted to say. I just said, “Sorry.”

“Quite all right,” Beatrice said to me, as if she were forgiving my unpardonable offense.

“You must be Beatrice Benner,” I said. I made as many syllables out of Beatrice as I could, but I had nothing on Nigel. Three was max for me. It was at least nearly enough for her. She smiled, ever so faintly, as if to acknowledge the truth of my statement.

“I’m Carole Hanson,” I said. “I’m a friend of Dorothy and Nigel’s. I’m staying here for a couple of days.”

“How nice for you,” Beatrice said. I don’t know how she managed it, but the message she conveyed was more like “Aren’t you lucky, you underprivileged child, to have the opportunity to stay with people of the caliber of Dorothy and Nigel?” It gave me the shivers. It also made me react strangely. I started sort of blurting out things as if I had to impress her.

“I’m from Virginia,” I began. “I study there with Max
Regnery at Pine Hollow Stable in Willow Creek. That’s where Dorothy got her early training, you know. We have the same teacher. Max is just wonderful and he’s very proud of everything that Dorothy’s accomplished. I was at the horse show with my friends when Dorothy had her accident. Now I’ve been in New York with my father—he’s a colonel in the Marine Corps—but I’m staying here while he’s on a retreat.”

“Oh, you’re
that
Carole,” Beatrice said. How many Caroles was she expecting?

I gave up. This one was worse than Veronica diAngelo. I would be civil to her because it was important to Dorothy, but I wouldn’t spend any more time with her than I absolutely had to, and since I wasn’t going to be permitted to touch her horse, there wasn’t any reason to stand there.

“I have to see to my luggage,” I said. I turned on my heel and walked into the house.
Luggage.
Isn’t that good? I gave her the impression that my Louis Vuitton-matched luggage was waiting until the upstairs maid could unpack it for me—instead of the government-issue backpack I’d borrowed from Dad. Over the years, I’ve learned a couple of things about snobbery from Veronica diAngelo. I thanked her under my breath as I entered the house.