IT WAS ONLY WHEN WE WERE DRIVING TOWARD THE STABLE that Mom asked me how my night had been. We were both a little bundled up, because the morning, which had started out fairly bright, was now foggy, and getting foggier with every mile. But there had been enough rain (sixteen inches since December, according to Daddy, who checked the rain gauge on one of the fence posts of the arena every time it rained, and wrote it down), so that the hills were a bright, appley green and the oaks looked dark and wet. I was just beginning to tell Mom about the ghost story and ask her what she thought when we started to see more and more wildflowers. The shooting stars were out, and as we got toward the coast, there were lupines. Mom kept saying, “Oh, look at that. So beautiful coming straight up out of the green of the grass. I love the fields of lupines so much! Remember last year when we rode around the mountainside, when was that, maybe the second week in April, and there were so many lupines and they smelled so good it seemed like we were going to pass out from the fragrance?”
I did remember that. Mom just sat on the horse she was riding at the time and took deep breaths and smiled. It seems like every year, someone says, “Oh, the lupines are better this year than ever!”
I said, “What do you think about ghosts? I know Daddy says they can’t be, but—”
“Oh, some people can’t help but believe in ghosts.” She was still in a good mood from the flowers. “My grandmother swore that the ghost of her father came to her at sunset the day after he died, and said he was fine, and she shouldn’t worry about him. I think she was thirty at the time.”
“Did you believe her?”
“Heavens, I don’t know. She always swore it happened, but she also said she was napping, and the ghost woke her up, so your grandma Lillian and my aunt Claire said she was dreaming. But it was a vivid dream. At any rate, whatever it was, it seemed to reconcile her to her father’s passing.”
We turned left, onto the main road toward the stable. She said, “Why?”
“Alexis told a ghost story. But it wasn’t about castles in Scotland or Julius Caesar or anything. It was about LA.”
“A ghost in LA? There might be a few in those movie mansions.” She chuckled, and I was going to ask another question, but then we drove into the stable, and there was the actual nightmare—the groom, Rodney Lemon, holding Gallant Man, and on one side of the pony was Melinda Anniston and on the other was Ellen Leinsdorf. Ellen was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, and Melinda looked like she’d been crying. When Mom pulled up and I got out of the car, Rodney said, “Ah, here’s the lass that will solve all our problems. Mornin’, miss. Welcome!” And he patted me on the head (and since he wasn’t much taller than I was, he had to reach up to do it) and he handed me Gallant Man’s reins. He sang out, “Good luck to ya, lass!” and turned and walked away.
Ellen spoke up. “We called and said that we had to be first, because we have to drive to San Francisco to see my aunt, but then she was here already.”
“He’s my pony,” said Melinda. “I get to—”
I looked at Gallant Man. He was watching the other pony who lived at the barn, a pinto. His ears flicked, then he put his head down and scratched his nose on his knee. He was being like the horse I had ridden in the fall, the one we called Black George. One of the ways that he was a good horse was that however big a deal I thought some of the jumps were, for Black George they were just a fun way to pass the time. The more I paid attention to his mood, the easier it was. So, Ellen was mad, and Melinda was upset, but Gallant Man was just waiting to see what was going on over in the arenas. I patted him and said, “So, girls, what was the main thing we practiced last week?”
Melinda said, “Jumping?” She sniffed.
“Nope.” I patted the pony again.
“Heels down!” asserted Ellen.
“Nope.” I patted the pony again. Then I said, “Don’t you see the clue?”
Both of them looked around. I patted the pony again.
Melinda said, “What clue?”
Now I held up my hand, and then I patted the pony.
Ellen said, “Patting the pony!”
I demonstrated a long stroke down the pony’s neck and said, “We aren’t going to do anything until you’ve each patted the pony ten times—ten nice times, like you’re really glad to see him. I’ll hold the pony, and, Melinda, you stand on this side and, Ellen, you stand on this side, and you pat and count, and then we’ll decide what to do.” They counted to ten, and I made them count to twenty. Melinda said, “He’s really soft.”
Ellen nodded.
Well, at least they could agree on something.
I looked around for Jane Slater and didn’t see her anywhere. I figured she must be hiding. Ellen had stopped patting Gallant Man and was staring at me. I said, “Do you know how to pick up his feet?”
She shook her head.
“I do,” said Melinda.
I said, “Then show Ellen.”
Melinda did so, standing next to the pony’s left shoulder and facing backward, running her left hand down his leg and then picking up his hoof. Her whole body was saying, “Nyah nyah nyah,” but she smiled a little bit as Ellen came around and she showed her how to hold the pony’s hoof, her left hand cupping its horny exterior. Ellen said, “I want to hold it,” and Melinda placed Ellen’s hand around it. When Ellen had had it for a few seconds, I said, “Now let it drop,” and she did. We went all around the pony, four legs, four feet. I guessed we were now about six minutes into the lesson.
They stood up. Now they were both looking at me. Ellen said, a little orneriness creeping into her voice, “Who’s first?”
Melinda’s face fell.
I said, “Both of you.” I bent down and unbuckled Gallant Man’s girth and lifted off the saddle. There was a fence nearby. I gave the reins to Melinda, hung the saddle on the fence with the saddle pad. When I came back, I said, “Ever ridden bareback?”
They both shook their heads.
I said, “Now’s the time to start.”
I walked the pony over to a mounting block. Melinda climbed the two steps. She looked at the pony for a moment, then grabbed his mane and threw her leg over his back. She was a little scared, but she picked up the reins in one hand and a clump of mane in the other. I would have lifted Ellen on, but I couldn’t with my broken wrist. It didn’t matter, though—if Melinda was going to be on the pony, then Ellen was, too. She took my right hand, walked up the steps, and grabbed Melinda around the waist, then slithered her leg over the pony. In about two seconds, she had her cheek pressed up against Melinda’s back. I said, “It’s not all that different from riding in a saddle. You just have to make sure you’re in the center. Ellen, if you pull Melinda off, then you’re going to go off, too. You understand?”
She nodded. Then I thought maybe I shouldn’t have said that, because of the way she’d thrown herself off Gallant Man the time before, but, of course, her mother wasn’t around, so there wasn’t anyone to impress, was there?
Gallant Man snorted away a fly, and both girls started, but when he didn’t do anything, they sighed. I said, “I’m going to lead him to the little arena. Just relax and feel his back underneath you. I think it’s easier to ride some horses without a saddle, if you sit up and stay in the middle. Don’t try to keep your heels down, but don’t point your toes, either. Just relax your legs from your toes to your hips.”
I grasped the left rein, gave the pony a pat, and started walking. After I was sure they were both sitting up, I didn’t look back. Maybe that was a bad idea, but I wanted them to feel it out on their own without me telling them what to do. If worse came to worst, it wasn’t very far to the ground, even for Melinda. Gallant Man, of course, walked along beside me as if nothing in the world was going on.
I did hear Ellen say, “Hey, I—” but then she fell silent. Melinda said, “Ouch.” I didn’t turn around. We came to the gate of the arena, and I led them through. Only when I turned to close the gate did I look at them. Ellen was no longer pr
essed against Melinda—she had a hand on each side of her waist, but she was holding herself up. Melinda was staring straight ahead, as if Ellen weren’t even there, which was the best thing, I thought. I said, “Now I’m going to let you girls ride around the arena. Melinda, I want you to steer in a loop around every jump, like you were weaving something. Ellen, your job is to feel how the pony’s back feet are moving and say ‘one two’ as you feel them.”
She hesitated for a moment, then started saying, “One two one two one two.”
I shouted, “Don’t stop saying that no matter what happens.”
She said, “Okay.”
“You stopped saying it.”
She laughed, and started again. “One two one two.” I thought a laugh was a good sign. Melinda was sitting up straight, and steered in a very responsible manner. I hadn’t told her she was the boss, but she knew she was, which meant that when the pony slowed down or felt like he might wander off, she gave him a little kick and straightened him out.
Four poles were set in a grid in the middle of the arena. I walked over them and saw that probably the pony could walk through them without stumbling, so when Melinda had looped around the brush fence and was heading toward a chicken coop, I pointed toward the grid. She turned the pony and walked straight toward it. I didn’t even have to tell her. I wasn’t far away from them, so I heard Ellen say, “Are we going to jump?” and Melinda say, “Sort of,” and Ellen say, “Good!” They walked through the grid. The pony picked up his feet very nicely. Of their own accord, they did it again, and I didn’t stop them.
They walked toward the railing. I went up to them. “Do you want to trot?”
Melinda shook her head, and Ellen nodded. I said, “You sure?” Both were sure, so I helped Melinda slide off. There was a lunge line hanging over a jump standard. I picked it up and snapped it onto the pony’s bit ring. Melinda stood with me in the middle. Ellen sat on Gallant Man with an eager tenseness that indicated that she was about to start in the Kentucky Derby. I clucked to the pony, and he began to trot.
Well, she bounced and she started to slide, and Melinda said, “Ohh!” but Ellen grabbed the pony’s mane and pulled herself back into the center, and the pony just kept trotting. I called out, “Relax your leg and make yourself really heavy!” She trotted around the circle without bouncing too much. Fortunately, the pony had a firm back, not bony, but not slippery. Melinda said, “I want to try it.”
I thought that I would see if she would say that to me three times. I would not say, “Do you really?” or, “Are you sure?” which was what I was certain people always said to her. Ellen kept trotting, and pretty soon she looked happy, and not long after that, she looked triumphant, and then I went over to her and switched the clip to the other bit ring, and they went the other way. Finally, Melinda said, “I want to try it. Please, Abby, can I try it?”
I let Ellen go two or three more steps, then said, “Melinda wants to try it.”
Ellen’s eyebrows begin to lower and a pout started to form, so I said, “Do you have any advice for her?”
Ellen pulled a little bit on the pony’s reins, and he stopped. Ellen stared at Melinda. Then she said, “It’s easier if you make him go a little.”
They took turns until Jane showed up at the gate, looking as though she’d been watching the whole time. She was smiling, but walking a little fast. Ellen had just gotten back on Gallant Man, and Melinda was standing by his head, holding the reins. “Very good,” exclaimed Jane. “Ellen, your mother just pulled in,” and Ellen understood perfectly. She leaned forward, brought her right leg over the pony, and slid to the ground. Jane said, “Melinda and Abby can walk the pony back, okay?”
Once again, Ellen understood—some things were better done in private, and one of them was riding bareback.
Instead of getting on the pony, Melinda brought the reins over his head, and when I went up to her, she took my hand. My bad wrist was throbbing a little from the various bits of work—not lifting the two girls, but supporting them now and then. In the course of giving the lesson, I had done more than I realized. I pressed it against my chest, wishing that I hadn’t left my sling at home.
Melinda said, “She thinks she’s really good, but she’s not.”
“Well, she hasn’t ridden as much as you have, that’s true.”
“She pinched me once.”
“She did?” I hadn’t seen that.
“Right at first, when I was walking past her. She pinched me on the arm.”
Melinda looked up at me, then she said, thoughtfully, “But she was okay at the end. She isn’t a BAD child.”
This made me grin and I looked away. We walked along, then stopped. She let go of my hand and gave me the reins. Then she started stroking the pony’s neck and said, “I learned my lesson.”
“I think you’ve learned lots of lessons today, Melinda. Riding bareback is an important lesson, and you trotted. That’s hard.”
“Ellen is braver than I am.”
I said, “Why do you think that is?”
Melinda said, “Because I don’t think she knows what might happen.”
I took Melinda’s hand again, and we walked back to the barn.
After Rodney took Gallant Man and Melinda went home in the backseat of the black car, I sat on a hay bale waiting for Mom. I was worn out. I was hungry, too, and I was wondering what Mom would have to eat. Oranges, probably. She loved oranges. Crackers. Jane sat down next to me. As always, she looked extra neat, with her hair in a bun on her neck and the bun in a hairnet. Her boots were polished. Looking at them made me think of those boots in the trunk in our barn. Jane held out her hand. There was a ten-dollar bill in it.
I said, “You paid me for last time.”
“I did. This is all for this time. There’s five dollars for giving them their lessons, and there’s five dollars as a thank-you gift because I didn’t go crazy.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” I thought for a second. “Though Melinda did get pinched on the arm.”
“I’m sure if she’d fallen down, she would have gotten kicked in the head. Ellen is a street fighter if ever there was one. But you did a good job. As much as I hate to seek the approval of a headstrong child, I did ask Ellen how her lesson was, and she said it was, and I quote, ‘Excellent.’ ”
“It was sort of fun.”
“And how is True Blue?”
I sat up. I said, “I wish I knew.”
“He’s not working out?”
“Well, he’s hardly been ridden, though Danny did fine on him. He’s spooky. He seems like he’s—he’s always looking for—something.”
“Or someone.”
I nodded.
“He was like that here, after she—”
“How long did she have him?”
“No one knows. No one knows anything about her or him. They just appeared out of nowhere one day.”
I thought just then about Freddie and Larry and Mary Lynne. I knew that was a story, didn’t I?
“Did I tell you I went to her apartment?”
I shook my head.
“The landlord called us. This was the number she put as her reference, you know, when you need someone to say you’re good about paying or something like that. It was me who told him what happened to her, so he said would I come over and get her stuff. I could have said no, and he would have had it picked up by the Goodwill, but I was curious.”
After a moment, I said, “What was there?” but I really didn’t want to know.
“Nothing. Nothing in the refrigerator, some clothes in one of the drawers. Some sheets on the bed and on top of those a couple of surplus army blankets. A toothbrush and a hairbrush. A couple of books and an old easy chair that looked like it had come from the Goodwill in the first place.”
“What were the books?”
“Let’s see. One was called We Have Always Lived in the Castle and the other one was Wuthering Heights. Have you read that one? We read that one in eighth grade at the Linden Hal
l School in Lititz, Pennsylvania.”
“Is it a ghost story?”
“Kind of. It’s a mysterious stranger story. A ghost appears.”
“Is it a real ghost?”
She looked at me. “Is any ghost in a story a real ghost?”
I said, “I don’t know. I hope not.” I saw Mom’s car pull into the parking lot and then start to turn around. We stood up. I said, “What did you do with her stuff?”
“I took it to the Goodwill. There weren’t even any pictures. I guess she spent all her money on Blue.”
“But Daddy and Danny say he doesn’t know anything.”
“Abby, sweetheart, what other people think a horse needs to know is always always always a conundrum to me.”
Mom pulled up not far from us. I could see her lean forward and look at me with a big smile. I said, “What’s a conundrum?”
“A riddle.”
I stood up, put my ten dollars in my pocket, and said good-bye to Jane. In the car, Mom had oranges and saltines and a bag of licorice. That was fine with me.
Western Cinch
Lunge Line
Chapter 15
AT HOME, THE GOLDEN RULE WAS WORKING, IN A WAY. DANNY was ignoring Daddy as he would have had Daddy ignore him, and vice versa. When I got out of the car to open the gate for Mom, I saw that Daddy had Amazon up on the hillside, riding along the fence between our place and Mr. Jordan’s place. Rusty was galloping ahead of them, ranging up and down the slope, and sometimes, where the grass was especially tall, disappearing altogether. Daddy and Amazon were walking, and every so often, he stopped and leaned out of the saddle and pushed on a fence post to see if it was still secure. The Brahmas had broken through the fence in the fall, and because the ground got so hard in the summer, you had to do fence-mending in the spring. And there had been plenty of rain. A fence post can always rot in the winter.
Danny was in the arena, on Blue. He waved as Mom drove through, and after I latched the gate, I ran over. My arm was still throbbing and I knew I had to go up to my room to find my sling, but I wanted to see Danny and Blue more than I wanted my sling. I sort of hooked my fingers over my shoulder. That helped a little.