Gee Whiz (26 page)

I left the letter lying on my desk, folded, but not yet in an envelope. I was one step closer to making up my mind, but only one step.

That night, I lay awake for a long time. I knew the horses were out there. I could have watched them in the pasture from my window, and there was moonlight. But I didn’t want to look at them—grown-ups always said things like, “Well, you can’t have everything, sometimes you have to choose,” and just because they always said it didn’t mean that they were wrong. Maybe in a way, I’d known for months that I would have to choose between Jack and Blue. It was only
thanks to Mr. Matthews that we still had Jack, and Dad had always seen Blue as a project, just like Lester, his favorite, whom he’d sold; just like Black George, stroke of luck, was sold to Sophia; just like all the others. If I went into Mom and Dad’s room right now and said, “I’ll never sell Blue,” Dad would start shaking his head in amazement before I even finished talking.

I decided to close my eyes and lie perfectly still. Supposedly, that was a good way of getting to sleep, but as soon as I had settled myself and was no longer rustling around, the room got quiet, and what came into my mind wasn’t Blue’s face, his ears pricked; it was the sensation of riding Gee Whiz—of how that big white horse lifted up under me and shot forward, his forelock floating, his mane fluttering, and his ears pricked, of how his hind legs seemed to fold under him and launch us, of how every muscle in his body seemed to know exactly what it was doing, of how he so easily carried me with him. How a horse feels when you ride him is a very strong sensation, but even though I’d ridden Pie in the Sky many times during the fall, when I thought of him, what I remembered was how he looked with Sophia on him, not how he felt underneath me. And here is what I thought—I loved Blue because I knew him and trusted him. I did not know Gee Whiz, but I felt something in him that was exciting and, maybe, irresistible.

In the morning, there was the letter to Mr. Matthews, folded on my desk. I picked it up and reread it, then I slipped it into an envelope and carried it downstairs. I set it beside my plate at breakfast—Mom saw it when she served me my
scrambled eggs. She said, “I can take that to the post office.” She’d already put it into her purse by the time Dad came in from haying the horses. That afternoon, I called Jane and accepted her offer.

All she said was, “The girls will be so happy!” I thought of riding down the trail at the stables—wandering among the fragrant trees, Blue’s hooves quiet in the bed of pine needles, me saying something to Sophia and watching the birds, then there it would be, the Pacific Ocean, brilliant and cold and loud and strange.

I said, “I think it’ll be fun, really.”

Two weeks later, Mr. Matthews sent me a contract, detailing my “investment” in Jack So Far’s racing career. My payment was a thousand dollars and “other consideration.” My potential portion was one-third of all winnings over and above expenses, and at the end of his career, Jack would return to me. I stared at the contract, then looked out the window, wondering how he would get along with Gee Whiz.

I
T
’
S EARLY—ABOUT SIX-THIRTY—BUT VERY LIGHT
. M
OM, IN
the front seat, is staring out the window as we go over the mountain. We saw a few lupines before we started up the grade, so she’s looking for more—last year there were fields of them, just like in Alexis’s painting, purple flowing down the mountainside. Even from the road, you could smell them. We don’t see any, though—not quite time yet. But the hillsides are still deep green. We’ve had pretty good rains this winter—fifteen inches, according to Dad’s little chart.

We’re on the way to Vista del Canada to see Jack go for his first gallop. I haven’t seen him in over a month. We turn left at the bottom of the mountain and drive past all the houses and farms. Even though there are no lupines yet, there
are other flowers everywhere, including a field of irises Dad says are being grown for their bulbs. They are tall and dark purple. Mom says, “We should try to get some of those bulbs for next year. They’re a beautiful color.”

Danny is parked at the Vista del Canada gate. Mom and Dad and I know that he is leaving for boot camp in a week, but now is not the time to think about that. When we pull up behind him, he waves, then pushes the button. After a moment or two, the gate opens. We follow him down the long road, then up, past the upper barns, then past the fields with mares and their new foals, then down again. The track is brilliant in the morning sunshine. I can see Encantado in his usual spot, staring at the horses who are galloping or trotting or standing. He whinnies, then trots along his fence, then halts and stares again. We go around his barn and stop beside the gate of the track.

Danny jumps out of his truck. We get out more slowly. Here comes Ike, leading Jack. Wayne is beside the gate, readjusting his helmet, then his gloves. He says, “Hey there! Big day today!”

“A little big,” says Ike. “Not too big.”

Danny nods, Mom smiles. I try not to get ahead of myself—this isn’t a race, just a day’s work.

Wayne jumps on, as always. Jack stands, but he is champing his bit and picking up his front hooves and putting them back down. His ears are arrowed toward the track, and he’s watching one of the other horses. As soon as Wayne has picked up the reins and put his toes into the stirrups, Ike lets go, and Jack heads out onto the track. They walk along the
outside railing. Mom takes my hand. Dad says, “Well, he’s behaving himself, at least.”

“He ain’t bad,” says Ike. “Just a tad impatient, is all.”

They pick up the trot. Jack is a real two-year-old now—his birthday was six weeks ago—and at the moment, he looks rather grown-up. Wayne lets Jack lengthen his trot. Mom and Dad shade their eyes with their hands and stare down the track. Jack’s trot is sinuous and smooth, with big strides. Thanks to Gee Whiz, I can almost feel it. They go around the far end of the track and start up the other side. When they’re almost to the second turn, I can see Wayne let out a little more rein, and Jack rises into the gallop as if he’s been waiting for this all along, maybe for his whole life. Wayne holds him a little, but not too much—Jack doesn’t toss his head; instead, he speeds up. He comes around the turn and passes us, dark and dedicated, enjoying himself, balanced and elastic, his strides huge and airy. Dad, Mom, Danny, and I, we can’t help ourselves, we all take deep breaths and let them out slowly. Dad says to himself, “Wow.”

Wayne and Jack continue down the track, again to the turn, and on the turn Jack comes to a trot again. Wayne lets him have a little more rein. Ike says, “See? Not very excitin’. Don’t want anythin’ to be excitin’ till he wins a race. That’s the way of it. We may feel however we do about it, but they got t’ feel that it’s all in a day’s work.”

Even so, Ike is grinning, and he gives me a little slap on the back. Jack So Far has been a very good boy, and that is enough for now.

Jane Smiley is the author of many books for adults, including
Private Life
,
Horse Heaven
, and the Pulitzer Prize–winning
A Thousand Acres
. She was inducted into the American Academy of Arts and Letters in 2001. She is also the author of four other novels for young readers in the Horses of Oak Valley Ranch series:
The Georges and the Jewels
,
A Good Horse
,
True Blue
, and
Pie in the Sky
.

Jane lives in Northern California, where she rides horses every chance she gets.