Gold Medal Rider (3 page)

As they drove, Dorothy told them a little bit about Southern Pines. “It’s a great place to train horses. Not only is the weather pleasant, but there’s lots of open land to train on. There’s a big national forest with open bridle trails, and you can reach it from our stable.”

“So many eventers come to this part of the country in the winter,” Nigel added, “that the last events of the fall and the first events of the spring are held right around here.”

The Saddle Club knew that “events” were a type of horse show that tested all of a horse’s capabilities. In a three-day event, the horse performed a dressage test on the first day, which showed off its elegance, beautiful movement, and perfect obedience. On the next day the horse galloped over a cross-country course of solid fences to prove its jumping ability, stamina, and speed. On the final day the horse competed over a course of show jumps, which would fall if the horse so much as brushed them.
This tested the horse’s jumping style, precision, and accuracy. Eventing was a complete test of the horse’s skills.

“Are there any events here this weekend?” Lisa asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Nigel. “One of the last horse trials of the year starts on Saturday, and we’re entered. You’ll get to see Campfire, one of my young horses, go.”

“What about Southwood?” Carole asked, remembering the beautiful young horse she’d ridden when she had visited Dorothy’s farm. “Will we see Southwood?”

Dorothy and Nigel exchanged uneasy glances. Nigel frowned.

“Maybe,” Dorothy said at last.

“I hope not,” Nigel added. “But probably you will.”

N
IGEL
TURNED
DOWN
a long gravel driveway. “Here we are!” he said. The pine trees thinned, and the girls could see a small white house and a very large barn. “Do you want to unpack first?” he asked them. “I can show you where you’re going to sleep. Or are you guys hungry? We could order a pizza.”

The Saddle Club exchanged glances. “Let’s go see the horses first,” Stevie said. The others nodded.

Dorothy roared with laughter. Nigel shook his head, grinning. “Five bucks,” Dorothy said to him. “Hand it over.” Nigel took out his wallet.

“I should have known better,” he said. To the girls he
explained, “Dorothy made a bet with me that you’d head straight for the stable no matter how late you got here.”

“And you thought we wouldn’t?” Kate sounded amazed. “I mean, I know you don’t know me very well yet, but you know them.” She nodded her head toward her friends.

“I know, I know,” Nigel replied. “Don’t rub it in. Follow Doro to the horses. I’ll do bellboy duty and toss your bags on the porch. I’ll be right with you.”

Dorothy led them through a small door in the side of the giant barn. “It’s not quite as big as it looks,” Dorothy said. “But we’ve got an indoor arena. See, the lights are on.” The Saddle Club could see a yellow glow spilling into the main aisle halfway down. “We share the stable with another couple, David and Karen. All of their horses are on the far side, past the entrance to the arena, and all of our horses are down here.” Dorothy snapped on the aisle lights.

“Wow!” Carole turned on her heel, looking around her. “What a lot of horses!” One by one, the horses stuck their heads over the tops of their half doors: chestnuts, bays, blacks, and grays—all beautiful horses, all in top condition.

“You’ve got almost as many horses here as there are at Pine Hollow!” Stevie said.

Dorothy smiled. “Not quite. But we do have quite a few. Happily, our business is growing.”

“Do they all belong to you?” Lisa asked. She couldn’t keep the wistful tone out of her voice. She knew she wasn’t
really ready to have her own horse, but she wanted one so much!

Nigel, coming into the stable, heard her question. “No, no,” he said, laughing. “Maybe half. And most of those are very young horses that we’re just beginning to train. Some of the others belong to students of ours, who’ll come down here to ride after Thanksgiving and Christmas, and the rest are owned by people who don’t ride but like to own show horses.”

“Like Lord Yawelkesleigh,” Lisa said, remembering the evil man whose horses Nigel had ridden in England. His name looked ridiculous, but it was pronounced simply “Yaxley.”

“Yes, like Yawelkesleigh, but not entirely,” Nigel said, a faint grin flitting across his face. “To the best of my knowledge, none of my current owners is a criminal.” Lord Yawelkesleigh had been sent to jail after plotting to kill his horse for insurance money.

“Aren’t any of your students here with you now?” asked Stevie. She could understand people wanting to be home for the holidays, but it was still a few weeks until Thanksgiving.

“Sure,” Nigel said, sending another grin in Dorothy’s direction. “One is. My very
fav
-or-ite student of all.”

“She’s in the indoor arena now,” Dorothy said. “Still practicing.” Lisa thought she could hear a note of disapproval in Dorothy’s voice.

“Beatrice,” Carole guessed, from the way Nigel made the word “favorite” sound about eighteen syllables long. Beatrice was Southwood’s stuffy, horrid, and, she had to admit, talented owner. When she wasn’t around, Nigel usually pronounced “Be-a-tri-ce” the same stretched-out way. He made it sound longer than “Mississippi.”

“The one and only,” Nigel said dryly. They continued down the aisle toward the entrance to the arena. “Most higher-level event riders give their horses a vacation at this time of year because there aren’t any competitions between early December and February. But not dear Beatrice. She doesn’t believe in vacations—at least not for her horse.”

Nigel dropped his voice as they reached the gate of the arena. Under the strong lights a horse and rider were trotting in perfect harmony. Nigel raised his voice again, and sounded cheerful. “Hullo, Beatrice,” he said. “How’s things?”

“Is she—,” Stevie began. Carole elbowed her into silence as Beatrice and Southwood swept past the gate.

“Shhh! Yes, she’s the girl I told you about.”

“And that’s
Southwood
? The horse you rode in a show?” Lisa’s voice squeaked. “He’s gorgeous!”

Carole looked at the horse in confusion. “Yes—I guess so—I mean, it must be him, his markings are the same. But he didn’t look like
that
when I rode him.” Carole remembered Southwood as a beautiful horse that jumped with enthusiasm, but that was gentle, almost sleepy. The sleek
dark bay horse Beatrice was riding now looked fiery and powerful. It
was
the same horse, Carole realized. Southwood had changed.

Beatrice turned Southwood down the center line so that he was trotting directly toward the girls. Slowly she shortened his stride until his trot was nearly vertical. Both Beatrice and Southwood were concentrating intently. When they reached the exact center of the arena, Southwood lengthened his stride and began to move diagonally.

“Half-pass,” Kate whispered. “He does it beautifully.”

Stevie nodded. She’d seen the dressage move performed before. “Incredible,” she whispered back. Southwood had world-class presence, and he and Beatrice moved in complete, total harmony. Stevie hoped that someday she could ride her own horse, Belle, that well.

“You rode this horse?” Lisa repeated, looking at Carole with astonishment.

Carole started to laugh. In the arena, Beatrice brought Southwood to a walk and loosened the reins. Southwood stretched his neck and snorted. Carole turned to her friends. “When I rode him he wasn’t like this, believe me,” she said. “He was sweet.”

“He’s still sweet,” Nigel said. “It’s just that he’s come a long way since you rode him, Carole. He hadn’t even evented then. Now Beatrice rides him at advanced level.”

“How many of your horses are that good, Nigel?” Lisa asked.

“Right now, he’s the only advanced-level horse I have,” Nigel said. “They’re very rare. Horses have to be incredibly athletic and have tremendous mental toughness and determination to make it to that level.”

“I remember,” Kate said, her eyes shining in a way the rest of The Saddle Club had never seen before. “Great event horses love jumping fences more than anything else in the world. They think they can do anything. The really great ones
can
do just about anything.”

“Heart,” Nigel said, summing it up. “The best horses are all heart.”

“I remember,” Kate repeated softly. She rarely spoke about her past as a competitive rider. She’d stopped competing when she realized that she’d lost sight of what was important—having fun. For a while, whenever Kate was in the saddle, all she could think about was winning—and not even winning, really, as much as beating everyone else. The problem was, beating everyone else wasn’t much fun. After a while nothing about riding had been fun. The Saddle Club had helped her learn to enjoy horses again. Kate was very grateful to her friends. She gave a small sigh. She was much happier now.

Carole and Stevie heard the sigh and exchanged glances. They’d never heard Kate talk so much about competitions as she had in the past hour. Stevie thought Kate’s sigh sounded like regret. That made perfect sense to Stevie—she loved to win, and she found Kate’s decision
not to compete hard to understand. Maybe this weekend would rekindle Kate’s competitive fire. After all, why should Kate let her talents go to waste?

“Pound Sterling,” Carole said out of nowhere, interrupting Stevie’s thoughts. “Lord Yawelkesleigh’s horse. He was an advanced horse, wasn’t he, Nigel? Are you still riding him?” Carole would never forget the silver stallion she’d seen Nigel ride in an event in England.

Nigel sighed. “No and no,” he answered. “Lord Yawelkesleigh’s in jail, as you know. I don’t ride for him at all now, and I heard that Lady Yawelkesleigh sold all the Yawelkesleigh horses to the New Zealand event team. Pound Sterling had a lot of heart and talent, and I think he’ll make it to the advanced level, but he wasn’t there yet. You saw him in a preliminary-level event.”

“Preliminary! That means beginner,” Lisa objected. “Those jumps were huge! They can’t have been for beginners.”

Dorothy rejoined them after filling a horse’s water bucket. “In eventing, ‘preliminary’ doesn’t mean beginner,” she explained. “There are six levels of eventing. Preliminary is in the middle, and advanced is the highest.”

“You can’t skip levels,” Kate added. “You’ve got to start your horse at the bottom and earn the right to move up. You aren’t allowed to rush your horse.”

Beatrice had gotten off Southwood and was walking to the gate. She overheard Kate. “We don’t have to worry
about that around here,” she said in a loud, rude voice. “The one thing I’ve learned for sure is that Nigel Hawthorne would never, ever, rush a horse.” She unlatched the gate and pulled Southwood through. “It’s too bad you aren’t more worried about winning,” she said directly to Nigel. “Then maybe there’d be a few more advanced horses in this barn.”

Lisa thought she could hear a thud as all The Saddle Club’s chins dropped to the floor. Never, ever, could they imagine talking to a riding instructor like that, especially one as good as Nigel. Dorothy looked unhappy.

Nigel, however, didn’t appear even to notice Beatrice’s remark. He stood back to give Southwood plenty of room and patted the steaming horse on the hip as he passed. Lisa couldn’t believe it. How could Nigel stand someone so obnoxious? Carole bit her lip. She remembered Beatrice’s unpleasant personality from before. Apparently Beatrice hadn’t improved with age.

Beatrice tugged on Southwood’s reins and began to move him past them. Then she stopped. Turning back to Nigel, she said in the same haughty, challenging voice, “You
will
ride him this weekend, won’t you?”

Now Nigel did look unhappy. Slowly, unwillingly, he nodded. “Good,” Beatrice snapped, with a humorless smile. Halfway down the aisle, she dropped Southwood’s reins to the ground. “Drew!” Beatrice shouted. “Where are you?”

The girls saw a tall, gawky young man come out of the
tack room. He stumbled over a bale of hay. “Golly, Beatrice, I was just cleaning your cross-country saddle,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were done.”

“Well, pay attention next time,” Beatrice snapped. She stood with her hands on her hips as the young man loosened Southwood’s girth and ran the stirrups up on their leathers. “And cool him out completely. If he colics it’ll be your fault!” Beatrice’s boots clicked sharply as she walked out the door. A moment later an engine revved, and through the glass window on the door they could see a sleek sports car, with Beatrice driving, tearing away from the stable, spraying gravel as it went. The young man murmured to Southwood and softly stroked his nose.

“Ugh,” Stevie said. “She can really ride, but ugh!”

“I told you so,” Carole said. “That’s exactly what she was like when I met her at Dorothy and Nigel’s farm on Long Island.”

Now Nigel looked downcast. Dorothy put her arm around him. “Don’t be upset,” she said to her husband. “I understand how you feel, but Southwood is ready. He’ll be fine.”

Nigel opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and shook his head. “I hope so,” he said at last.

“What’s wrong with Southwood?” Carole asked.

“Nothing.” Nigel began to walk down the stable aisle. The rest of them followed him silently. When they reached Southwood, Dorothy quickly felt the horse’s chest
to see how hot he was. Drew lifted the saddle from Southwood’s back. Without saying a word, the four girls began to help: Carole and Kate took off Southwood’s leg boots, Stevie replaced his bridle with a halter, and Lisa threw a cooler over his sweating back. Drew seemed flustered. “Thank you,” he said. “You don’t have to—I can get that—really—but thank you.” He fluttered his hands at them. “I can get it. Really.”