Bold Beauty (14 page)

Catman stopped rocking. He and Dad stared at me.

“You bet! Bold Beauty and I have a hedge to jump.”

Saying it didn't make me feel like hurling this time. All week long I'd lied to myself, thinking that was how I'd get the confidence I needed. But this was different. I knew I wasn't in the boat alone.

They didn't say anything.

“Don't worry,” I said. “That hedge might be too big for me. But God made the hedge, right? How could it be too big for him?”

Before Dad could object, I dashed inside to change. As I sat on the bed and pulled on boots, something crunched inside my left boot. I reached inside and pulled out an index card. On it was printed:

In your strength I can crush an army; with my God I can scale any wall. He makes me as surefooted as a deer, leading me safely along the mountain heights.

—2 Samuel 22:30, 34

With my God I can scale any wall.
Leave it to Lizzy to come up with the perfect verse. I stuck it in my pocket and ran out to the barn.

I'd just finished saddling Beauty when I heard Spidells' trailer drive up and a car just after it. Doors slammed as Summer and Richard climbed down from the trailer and the Howards got out of their car. Lizzy's voice floated across the yard as she stalled them.

By the time they made it to the barn, I'd led Beauty all around the hedge, letting her sniff and study it while I stroked her and promised everything would be all right.

I swung myself up into the saddle as the Howards walked over. When I waved to Adrianna, she waved back. I knew she'd be rooting for Beauty.

Richard's smile faded as he turned to me. “Winnie, ride the mare over here! We need to load her.”

“Not quite yet!” I shouted, cantering by them. My heart was galloping, but not from fear . . . from excitement.

Only a few hours had passed since I'd tried the hedge, but nothing felt the same. This time I was riding double. God was there in the rhythm of the hoofbeats, the breath of Bold Beauty.

We cantered the loops, taking the cross jumps with no effort. I felt Beauty gather her muscles, anticipating the big jump. We looked at it straight on. But neither of us tensed or stiffened.

Beauty had her lead as she stretched into a gallop and aimed for the hedge. As if we were in a ballet, I heard nothing but the muffled hooves in dirt, the horse music pounding strong and confident.

I saw the hedge framed between her ears, and it rose green and full of life, not too tall, not for us.
With my God I can scale any wall!
We closed in on the hedge.
Thu-dump, thu-dump, thu-dump.
And there it was.

My heart sailed over, and so did Bold Beauty's. Then we followed, soaring, as if flying heaven-bound, carried by God.

Beauty landed on the other side without so much as scuffing a hoof on the hedge. She kept cantering, looking for more. I gave her more. We circled back and took the hedge again. And again.

Finally, I turned her back toward the paddock, reaching down to stroke her neck. “Good girl, Beauty!” I whispered.

“That was marvelous!” Adrianna shouted, rushing out to us and throwing her arms around her horse's neck.

Lizzy cheered. Dad clapped. Catman snapped his fingers.

Red-faced, Summer looked like she might cry.

“That's still a temperamental horse,” Richard insisted. “Just because she got over the hedge a few times—”

“Beauty could do it a million times,” I said quietly. “Would you like us to go again?”

“That won't be necessary.” Adrianna looked from her horse to me. Something passed between us, like two horses reading each other without words, like horse lovers sharing something nobody else could understand. For a second I felt sorry for Summer and Richard. They'd never have what we have with horses. They'd never feel what we feel.

“Winnie,” Adrianna said, “you have a gift.”

“And you have a gifted horse,” I replied.

“I have to go home,” Summer muttered. When her brother didn't respond, she raised her voice. “Richard, I said I want to go home!”

Mr. Howard shook Richard's hand. They talked a minute. Then Richard and Summer left in their empty trailer.

The Howards congratulated me again, then drove off with the promise to return for their horse after I'd worked with her for another week—long enough to give Beauty
real
confidence.

Catman walked up and straightened Beauty's forelock. “Groovy.” Then he turned and walked away.

“Thanks, Catman! For everything!” I hollered after him.

He made the peace sign and kept on walking.

I turned to Lizzy and Dad.

“You did it!” Lizzy cried, throwing her arms around me.

I hugged her back. “Thanks, Lizzy. And thanks for the verses.”

Lizzy stepped back. “What verses?”

“In my boot? Especially the one about scaling any wall. It went over and over in my head when we jumped.”

Lizzy frowned. “I didn't give you any verses.”

“But you—” I stopped and turned to my dad. “Dad?”

He shrugged. “I found it when I was hunting up some confidence for myself. Thought you might like it.”

I walked over and hugged him awkwardly. He fiddled with the keys in his pocket and looked away.

A picture flashed into my mind—Dad sitting back in his rocker, talking about God's breeze. And he'd put that verse in my boot? Something told me I had a lot to learn about my dad.

Dad broke the silence between us. “Am I wrong, or do you have a debate to go to today?”

The debate!
I may have just jumped a huge hurdle. But an even bigger one was still out there.

It took Lizzy so long to wrestle my tangled hair into a French braid that I was the last debater to show up at middle school. I took my seat at our team's table, between Sal, dressed in a neon green shirt that matched the streak in her hair, and M, wearing his all-black uniform. A few feet over, Ms. Brumby and her team—Summer, Kristine, Brian, and Grant—looked relaxed, laughing as if they had the debate already sewn up.

“They go first with opening statements,” Pat explained. “After their team captain gives his statement, Barker gives his. Then we'll go back and forth until all statements are presented. After that, Ms. Brumby opens the floor for rebuttals. Remember, don't let 'em get your goat—no offense!”

My stomach tried to push up everything in it. I glanced out at the gym floor. Chairs were filling fast. The Barkers, with Dad and Lizzy and Catman, took up the whole front row.

Then in strolled Hawk with Peter Lory on her shoulder. She'd made it! Hawk waved at Summer and squinted toward us. When she saw me, she shouted, “Good e-mail! I told them!”

Thanks, God,
I prayed, again feeling him in the boat with me.

“Here, Winnie!” Barker handed me an information sheet on the development of an unborn baby. “You can read from it for your opening statement.”

“Time to turn in notes!” Ms. Brumby stood over me, her hand out.

I gripped the page with both hands.

Ms. Brumby turned to me. “Don't you know that notes are not allowed? It's in the manual.”

“Well, I was thinking . . . since we haven't had much time to practice. . . ,” Pat began. Then she took the sheet from me. “But you're right. Rules are rules. We'll do just fine without it.”

Right.
If I couldn't read it, I'd never say anything that made sense!

Note to self: Switch sides so you can ruin Summer's team instead.

Ms. Brumby welcomed everyone. Then Grant launched into his opening statement about abortion being legal and women needing rights over their own bodies.

But Barker defined abortion as destroying the life of a developing child. He didn't say it like he was accusing anybody, but like he was your best friend helping you understand something important. He finished by squarely facing the other team. “From the moment that baby is created, he or she has everything needed to be an individual—with DNA unlike anybody ever born! God made each person unique.”

“He said
God
in the school gym, Ms. Brumby!” Summer cried, standing up. “Can he do that?”

Grant pulled Summer down by her sleeve.

Kristine looked nervous as she gave her statement, but her voice didn't shake. “This is a hard question,” she admitted. “But I keep thinking about women who just can't do a good job raising a child. What about someone who's been raped? Should she have to raise that baby? Wouldn't the child have a sad life? That's why I think the mother should choose.”

It was the best argument so far from their side. I knew Barker would have something to say in rebuttal about how few pregnancies resulted from rape and about doing what was right no matter what. But you had to hand it to Kristine. I didn't know her at all, except as Summer's sidekick. But she sounded sincere, like she'd wrestled with stuff.

Sal came next. I had no idea what she'd say.

“I'm definitely for choice!” Sal announced.

“Sal!” I whispered. “You can't change sides now!”

Sal continued as if she hadn't heard me. “That unborn baby should get to choose. Poor little kid can't make you hear him. But you know what he'd choose, right? Life! Who wouldn't?”

“Way to go, Sal!” I whispered. I hardly heard Brian's statement, knowing I was up next.

“Winnie?” Ms. Brumby turned to me.

“I . . .” There were so many things I should say, but my throat closed and my tongue had turned to velcro.

Summer snickered.

I stared out into the gym. Lizzy's eyes were as big as a draft horse's. But Dad just grinned, like he wasn't worried one bit.

And then I remembered:
With my God I can scale any wall.
In that instant, my mind flashed me a perfect photo image of Barker's fact sheet. I could read it word for word. I opened my mouth and prayed that God would kick the words out. “Abortions usually aren't done before seven weeks.” My voice sounded hoarse but loud enough. “By then, the baby's heart has been beating for almost four weeks. She has her own blood, maybe a different type from her mom's. He's got arms and legs you could pick out in a photo, eyes and hands, brain waves. Sometimes you can make out fingers, eyelids, toes, a nose.”

I thought of something from a news report Dad and I had seen when we lived in one of the
I
states. I looked over and smiled at Kristine. She smiled back. “If Kristine were pregnant and I shot her, I could be found guilty of two murders—hers and her unborn baby's.”

“No fooling?” Sal asked.

“Some of you remember when your little brothers or sisters were born,” I continued, not reading the sheet any longer, trusting God and myself.

Kids mumbled from the gym. Even Summer seemed to be listening. Kristine said she remembered.

“Your folks named the baby, felt kicks, and waited. All of you knew—that was a person in there.”

Summer interrupted. “Time's up! My turn. We're too young to remember what people called ‘back-alley abortions,' the dangerous things women had to do to their bodies before abortions were legal.” She gave her statement, filled with statistics and facts, without a single
uh
or
um.
She finished strong on abortion as a woman's right. “I'm a woman. And if I were pregnant
, I'd
be the one who'd have to take care of the child. So, if I wanted an abortion, I'd have one.”

I felt sorry for M when Ms. Brumby told him to give his statement. He mumbled, “Don't do it.”

Ms. Brumby tried to cover for him and moved on to open rebuttals. “Would anyone like to address an opponent's argument at this point?”

So far in the debate, M had stared down at our table, showing no emotion, no sign he'd even heard the arguments. So when he turned to Summer and uttered one word, it had the force of a shout. “When?”