Gold Medal Horse (8 page)

“I saw a candied apple stand when we were driving in,” Stevie said.

“Right between the show-jumping ring and the main park buildings,” Dorothy said, nodding her head. “That’s it. There’s a circle of food vendors, a big tent, and a lot of little tents. Everything that’s for sale—except for the food—has something to do with horses.”

Carole’s eyes lit up. “That sounds fun,” she said. Maybe she could find something special for Starlight.

“I could really go for a candied apple,” Stevie added.

“Let’s all go!” Lisa said. “You, too, Dorothy—Nigel won’t be back for a while.”

Dorothy shook her head. “I have a few things to do for Nigel,” she admitted. “You girls go ahead. But why don’t you wait for Eddy? Drew said he’d be here any minute, and he’s hardly seen you all week.”

Lisa didn’t know what to say. Eddy hadn’t seen them
once
all week, and they hadn’t seen him. Operation Duck Dready Eddy had been a roaring success.

“I
really
need a candied apple,” Stevie said. “I’m going to get sick if I don’t eat something soon.” She clutched her stomach and tried to look faint.

Dorothy smiled but shook her head. “Eddy is a really sweet boy,” she said. “I think you girls would like him.”

“I know we would,” Carole said, “but I don’t think we should wait if it means making Stevie sick.” She took her friend’s arm solicitously. “Come on, Stevie. We’ll take care of you.”

Dorothy rolled her eyes and laughed as they walked away, Lisa and Carole clutching a staggering Stevie. “I think she’s on to us,” Lisa said. “She knows we’re avoiding Eddy.”

“Well, we haven’t exactly been subtle about it, have we?” Carole asked. “Stevie, I think you can walk normally now. Dorothy isn’t looking.”

“Good,” Stevie said. She walked faster. “I do want a
candied apple, and maybe some onion rings to go with it.” She glanced at her friends. “We’re being as subtle as we can,” she said at last.

“Which means not very subtle,” said Lisa. “It’s hard to be subtle and stay away from Eddy.”

Stevie grinned. “You want to bring him along to the fair?”

“No. I really don’t. Every time Dorothy calls him sweet, I remember my mother telling me how much I’d love my ‘really sweet’ cousin Larry. He came to spend a week with us when I was seven.” Lisa shuddered. “He had a rock collection! All week long he dug around the sidewalk, looking for ‘specimens.’ Weird!”

“Rocks don’t make me think about Eddy,” Carole said. “They make me think of Simon Atherton.” This time they all shuddered.

“Doesn’t Simon collect stamps?” Stevie asked.

Simon was a geeky boy who rode at Pine Hollow. Lisa knew she didn’t want to spend time around him. She was glad they’d stayed away from Eddy.

The fair was terrific. Stevie got her candied apple and onion rings, Lisa had pork barbecue, and Carole ate an Italian sausage. They all had lemonade. Then they wandered through the tents, admiring breeches, horse books, new types of horse fencing, boots, brushes, show halters, and more.

“You could buy everything for a horse here except the horse,” Carole said admiringly. After some thought, she picked out a new soft face brush for Starlight. Lisa bought a hot pink nylon halter with green hearts on it, and Stevie tried on a pair of riding tights that had neon horses galloping down the seams. They walked through the display of new horse trailers and sat on some new saddles. Finally they all bought matching “Kentucky Rolex Three-Day Event” sweatshirts.

When they walked back to the stables wearing their new sweatshirts, Drew said, “Here comes the terrible trio,” and gave them a grin. Nigel had just dismounted and was loosening the girth on Southwood’s saddle. Nigel’s hair was wet with sweat beneath his hard hat, and he looked a little ruffled. Southwood had his ears back.

“Eddy’s just gone off to the trailer,” Drew said. “He’ll be back in a minute if you girls—” He broke off when Nigel motioned for his help. Southwood didn’t seem to want his saddle removed. Nigel lifted it from his back while Drew held Southwood steady, murmuring, “Easy, boy, easy.”

“Whew!” Nigel slicked his damp hair back from his forehead as Drew led Southwood into the barn. “That was a bit of an invigorating ride.” He dropped onto a straw bale that was sitting outside the stables. Earlier Carole
had seen a woman use it as a mounting block to get onto her very tall horse.

“Perhaps we’ll just go back to the fair,” Stevie said, making vague motions to Carole with her hands.

“You
know
,” Lisa said, adding emphasis to Stevie’s motions. Eddy was on his way!

“Just a minute,” Carole said. “I wanted to ask Nigel something.”

“Shoot,” Nigel said, looking up from his seat on the bale.

“Is Southwood a good show jumper? And what makes a good show jumper, anyway?” Carole, who loved show jumping, had been wondering about this ever since she’d seen Southwood’s elegant dressage test and his enthusiasm for cross-country.

“The answer to your first question is yes,” Nigel said. “As for your second, a good show jumper needs to be able to shorten and lengthen his strides so that he can take off from a good spot in front of the fence. He needs to be agile so that he can land, turn, and jump quickly.” Nigel smiled. “Most importantly, he needs to not want to knock the fences down.”

“Not want to knock them down?” Stevie repeated, intrigued despite her desire to get out of Eddy territory. “You mean he wants to leave them up?”

“That’s right,” Nigel answered. “Show jumping is one
phase where some event horses have an almost critical failing. They never hit the solid fences on cross-country day, but it doesn’t seem to bother them when they hit the flimsy show-jumping rails.” He laughed. “Wait till Sunday and you’ll see. I happen to know that one horse here is exactly like that. He’ll probably do well on cross-country, but he’ll be lucky if he hits less than half a dozen jumps on the show-jumping course. He makes a mess!”

“I didn’t think three-day event show jumping was supposed to be all that hard,” Carole said. “The fences aren’t as big as the cross-country ones.” She had always been told that the true purpose of the show-jumping phase in an event was to prove that the horse still had stamina left after cross-country day.

“That’s what I mean,” Nigel said. “In many cases, event horses that do poorly at show jumping aren’t bad jumpers or even tired, they just aren’t bothering to be careful. Good show jumpers need to be careful all the time.”

They watched a horse leave the stables. This one, like Southwood, was full of energy and ready to go. “How about Southwood?” Lisa asked. “Is he careful?”

Nigel laughed. “Very,” he said. “He seems upset whenever he touches a rail, even if it doesn’t fall down. He really loves to jump, too.”

“Does he get tired?” Carole asked.

Nigel shook his head. “I know how to get him in good shape and keep him there, but beyond that, Southwood’s really an exceptional athlete. You know, he’s never had a single fault in show jumping—never a single rail down.”

Carole thought about this. To Carole, Southwood sounded—and looked—like a natural. “I don’t understand,” she said quietly.

“Meaning,” Nigel asked, “that you still don’t understand why I’m not trying for the Olympics?”

All three of the girls nodded. Nigel sighed. “I know it’s hard for you to understand,” he said. “It’s a tough decision to make. I think, though, that I’m making the right choice in saving Southwood for future events. Southwood is only seven years old. That’s the minimum age a horse can be and still compete internationally. Because he’s so young, he hasn’t gotten much exposure to difficult events. The fences here are going to be a step up for him. The Olympic course will be even harder. Like I told you earlier, I do want Southwood to have a chance at the Olympics—just not this Olympics.”

“I know you’ll do what you think is best,” Carole said, “and I know you know what you’re doing, so I can’t argue with you. It’s just that we want Southwood to have a chance, too. Drew says that his Prospero never got a chance. And I keep thinking that Ghost, the horse we rescued the other day, maybe never got a chance, either.”

Nigel nodded. “I want Southwood to have a chance, too,” he repeated. “How is Ghost?”

“The trail guide had said that maybe she could find him a home,” Lisa reported. “But today she said that she couldn’t after all. Her friends with a farm don’t have room for another horse.”

“We went back to the hospital this morning,” Stevie said. “Ghost looks great, but Dr. Lawrence says he can’t keep him there much longer. They’ve gotten in three more horses that are really sick, and they need the space.”

Carole sighed. “Dr. Lawrence is going to bring Ghost here in a trailer this afternoon so that Mrs. Harrington can see him when she’s done with her meeting. If we can find a place for quarantine, Ghost might be able to go to Blue Hill.”

Nigel nodded. “Quarantine can be hard to arrange,” he said. “Dorothy and I will do what we can, and you girls keep looking, too. All horses deserve good homes. They can’t all be superstars, but they all deserve love and care.”

The girls nodded. They couldn’t agree more.

Nigel looked into the crowd. “Here comes Drew!” he said pleasantly.

“Run!” Stevie whispered. “It’s Eddy!”

“D
UCK
! T
HERE HE IS
!” The Saddle Club crouched behind a parked car. It was late afternoon. After successfully dodging Eddy that morning, they’d returned to the stables only to find him and Drew lying in wait.

They weren’t actually lying, thought Lisa. They were playing cards on the same bale of straw that Carole and Nigel had sat on earlier. Eddy’s back was to them.

“He’s got blond hair,” Lisa said. “I didn’t know that. I thought it would be that funny mouse color, like Drew’s.”

“I wish we could see his face,” Carole whispered.

“We’re about to,” Stevie said gloomily. “Mrs. Harrington and Dr. Lawrence will be here any minute, and it
doesn’t look like Drew and Eddy are going to move.” She shrugged her shoulders. “We fought a good fight,” she said.

“We’ve been lucky,” Carole said resignedly. “I didn’t think we’d be able to go this long.”

Lisa’s eyes lit up with an expression of mischief more usually seen on Stevie’s face. “Stevie, I’m disappointed in you!” she said to her friend. “I’ve got the greatest idea! Wait here!”

Carole and Stevie watched as Lisa dashed toward the tents. “She’s got an idea?” mumbled Stevie.

In a few minutes they heard the show PA system crackle to life. “Would Mr. Edwin Gustafs please report to the business office,” a voice droned through the speakers. “Ed Gustafs, to the business office.”

Stevie’s jaw dropped. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Carole was laughing so hard that she had to sit down on the ground. “I can’t believe she did that! And look—it’s working!” They watched as Eddy got up and shuffled off. Drew gathered the cards and went into the stable.

Lisa came running back. “How was that?” she asked.

“Success!” They gave each other a high fifteen. “And not any too soon,” added Carole. “Here’s Dr. Lawrence.”

A battered old trailer pulled up next to the stable entrance. The Saddle Club ran to open the back door and
let down the ramp, and Dr. Lawrence gently led Ghost out.

As the horse walked down the ramp with his elegant head held high, Stevie felt a shudder go through her. He looked more like a Ghost than ever—a ghost of a truly great horse. Despite his scarred legs, his unkempt coat, and his scrawny body, Ghost stepped out as though he were a champion in his prime. He looked as though he expected to find himself in the stabling area of Kentucky Rolex. He looked as though he belonged there.

Mrs. Harrington pulled up in her white four-wheel-drive. She got out with a smile for The Saddle Club and Dr. Lawrence and walked up to Ghost, holding out her hand. “My,” she said, “isn’t he a handsome animal?”

Drew came out of the stable, whistling.

Ghost turned his head toward the sound. He stood transfixed for a long moment. Then he took a deep breath and let it out in a long, shuddering whinny. Drew looked up, startled, and stared at the tall, regal horse. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Is it you?” Drew whispered. He took one hesitant step toward the horse, then another. “Prospero?” Drew uttered increduously. Then louder, “Prospero?”

Ghost carefully lifted his hoof in the air and offered it to Drew.

“Prospero!”

Drew’s cry was part joy, part anguish. He launched himself at Ghost. He threw his arms around the horse’s neck. Tears streamed down his face. Ghost turned his head gently and nuzzled Drew’s sleeve, still waving his hoof in the air. Drew patted him, choking back sobs. “Oh, Prospero, you good boy,” he said, bending down to shake his hoof. “I don’t even have a carrot.”

The Saddle Club stood still, shocked and amazed. “Our Ghost is
Prospero
?” Lisa whispered.

“Drew?” Nigel rushed out of the stables. “Are you okay?” He slowed when he saw Drew hugging the gray-white horse, then stopped. He stared at Ghost—or at Prospero.

“It’s him!” Drew was laughing now. “It’s really him! I’d know him anywhere. And he knew me!”