Horse Care (6 page)

“I know,” Lisa said. “But I could catch a bus back to Willow Creek after Marguerite and I are finished riding. That way you wouldn’t have to worry about leaving your party to pick me up. You can stay all night if you want to.”

“Really, Lisa,” Mrs. Atwood said. “I thought we’d settled this.”

“No, listen, Mom,” Lisa said. “It makes perfect sense. Marguerite and I can have a nice long ride at her stable. Then I can catch the bus back to town and walk home.
That will be a lot easier for everyone.”
Especially me
, Lisa thought, but she didn’t say it. “Especially for the Millses,” she said instead. “We shouldn’t impose on them too much, right? This way Marguerite won’t have to worry about entertaining me all night.”
And I can be back in time to meet my friends at TD’s
, she thought hopefully. The local bus stopped at the shopping center, so she would be able to go straight there from Colesford. She held her breath and waited for her mother’s response.

Mrs. Atwood paused for a long moment. She still looked disapproving. “Is that really what you want to do?” she asked at last.

Lisa nodded wordlessly.

Her mother sighed. “Well, I suppose if you’ve already made up your mind I won’t try to change it. If you decide after your ride that you want to take the bus back, that will be fine. But your father and I will stop by the Millses’ house on our way home just in case.”

Lisa nodded. Her mother never gave up. “Thanks, Mom,” she said. “Maybe Marguerite and I will hit it off. You never know what will happen.”

“I’
M SO JEALOUS
,” Lisa moaned. “I can’t believe I’m going to miss it.”

It was early Saturday morning and Lisa was sitting on the floor in the upstairs hall talking on the phone with Stevie. Stevie was getting ready to leave for Horse Wise. Lisa was getting ready to leave for her day with Marguerite Mills. She had brushed her teeth and her hair and put on the new blue sweater. Unfortunately, she had discovered a big manure stain on her jodhpurs that she hadn’t noticed when she had worn them home from Pine Hollow the day before. There was no time to wash them before they left. Lisa hoped she would be able to convince her mother that everyone who was anyone at Fox Crest Farms probably wore jeans when they rode.
Otherwise, she had the funniest feeling they would be making a pit stop at the mall on their way to Colesford.

“You’ll probably have fun, too,” Stevie said. Lisa could tell she was trying to sound optimistic, but it wasn’t very convincing. “Riding at a new stable is always interesting. And maybe Marguerite will turn out to be nice.”

Lisa let out a snort. “Maybe,” she said. “But I doubt it. She sounds like a total drip. And Fox Crest is probably totally snooty. My mom keeps talking about how exclusive it is.”

“Hmmm.” Stevie didn’t seem to have an answer to that. “Well, anyway, at least your mom is letting you come home on the bus, right?”

Lisa nodded and twisted the phone cord around her finger. “Thank goodness,” she said. “I’ll definitely be at TD’s by five-thirty, six at the latest. You and Carole will meet me there, right?”

“We’ll be there,” Stevie promised. “If all goes well, maybe we’ll even have something interesting to report. You know, about Carole and her new boyfriend. I can tell she and Tate really like each other. But Tate isn’t showing any signs of making a move, and Carole is still being wishy-washy about the whole thing. I’ve got a few new ideas to encourage them both—it’ll be a lot easier once Tate is riding with Horse Wise. I hope he starts this week.”

Lisa sighed. Stevie had been plotting all week to get
Carole and Tate together. Normally Lisa would have been interested in hearing about her latest schemes, but this morning all she could think about was the horrible day stretching ahead of her. “That’s great, Stevie,” she said morosely, picking at the carpet. “I wish I could be there to see it.”

Stevie was silent for a second. “Listen, Lisa,” she said at last, her voice more serious than usual. “I know you’re upset about missing Horse Wise and everything, and I don’t blame you. I’d feel the same way. But don’t you think you should give Marguerite more of a chance? She might be nice, you know.”

Lisa shrugged. Then she realized that Stevie couldn’t see her, so she spoke. “I guess that’s true,” she said. “But I doubt it.”

“She might be more than nice,” Stevie went on. Now her voice sounded more the way it usually did—in other words, not serious at all. “She might be fantastic! She might be the coolest person you’ve ever met in your life. You might even decide you like her better than Carole or me, and that you want to start riding at Fox Crest, and transfer to the school in Colesford, and start some kind of Fox Crest Hoity-toity Club instead of The Saddle Club, and …”

By this time Lisa was laughing in spite of herself. Stevie could really get carried away. Then again, Lisa realized, so could she. She’d been so busy thinking about all the fun she would be missing that day at Pine Hollow
that she hadn’t really considered the possibility that she could have fun riding with Marguerite.
Or, at the very least, not be miserable
, she amended silently.

Aloud she said, “Okay, Stevie, I get the point. I’ll wait until I meet Marguerite before I decide whether I like her or not.”

“That’s all I ask,” Stevie said virtuously. “So anyway, getting back to Carole and Tate …”

At that moment Mrs. Atwood swept out of her bedroom wearing the fancy new linen suit she had bought at the mall. She was in the middle of fastening an earring in one ear, but when she saw Lisa sitting on the floor she stopped short.

“Aren’t you ready to go yet?” she demanded. “And why are you wearing those jeans?”

Lisa held back a groan. “Stevie, I’ve got to go,” she said. “I’ll see you this afternoon, okay?”

“We’ll be there,” Stevie said. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Lisa hung up the phone and stood up. The battle of the blue jeans was about to begin.

“I’
M STILL NOT
sure about those jeans,” Mrs. Atwood murmured, turning around to look at Lisa’s legs from the front seat.

Lisa sighed. Her mother had given in on the jeans issue when she had seen the manure stain on Lisa’s jodhpurs. But she wasn’t happy about it. She had been making
comments about Lisa’s outfit all during the drive from Willow Creek.

Luckily Lisa’s father spoke up this time. “Stop worrying so much, Eleanor,” he said, sounding irritated. “I’m sure all the kids at that stable will be in jeans, too. That’s all anyone Lisa’s age wears these days. Even in high society.”

Mrs. Atwood seemed ready to argue about that, but at that moment they passed a road sign reading
WELCOME TO COLESFORD
. “Oh, good,” she said. “We’re almost there. I don’t want to be late.”

Lisa leaned back against the car seat and sighed again. She glanced out the window at the sky, which was gray and cloudy. It matched her mood quite well, she decided.

A few minutes later her father was turning down a road that Mrs. Atwood had pointed out. Before long the car was pulling into a long, gently curving driveway leading to a large, whitewashed brick house.

“What a stunning home,” Mrs. Atwood murmured.

Lisa didn’t see anything stunning about it. It didn’t look much different from the houses in their own neighborhood. Just bigger. But she didn’t say anything.

As they stood on the front porch ringing the doorbell, Mrs. Atwood tugged at the back of Lisa’s sweater, straightening the hem. “I wish you had taken my advice and braided your hair, dear,” she whispered. “It would
look much neater and more stylish that way, don’t you think?”

The door opened before Lisa could answer. A girl about Lisa’s age was standing there. “Hello,” she said. “You must be the Atwoods.”

“And you must be Marguerite,” Mrs. Atwood said. She introduced herself, her husband, and Lisa. The whole time, Lisa could see her eyes traveling from the top of the girl’s French-braided hair to the toes of her polished high boots, taking in a stylish wool sweater and a pair of spotlessly clean buff breeches along the way.

“Nice to meet you,” the girl said. “Won’t you come in? My mother is expecting you.”

Lisa gave the other girl a weak smile as she trooped inside the house with the rest of her family. She was still trying to be optimistic. She really was. But it was getting harder every second.

“… S
O
I
TOLD HER
, I’m sorry, but I just don’t give money to causes like that,” Mrs. Mills said. “I donate to several respected charities on a regular basis, and I do quite a bit of volunteer work, if I do say so myself. I can’t be expected to support every cause.”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Atwood said emphatically. “You do so much for the community as it is.”

Lisa couldn’t help grimacing. She leaned over her sherbet dish to hide her expression. The “cause” Mrs. Mills was talking about was an elementary-school girl
selling candy bars door-to-door to raise money for new soccer uniforms. Lisa didn’t think it would have hurt the woman to have bought a few. And whether she had or not, the topic certainly didn’t seem to warrant a ten-minute discussion.

“Oh, let it go, Mother,” Marguerite said, dipping her spoon into her sherbet. “You’re just mad because that little brat’s mother turned out to be on the school board and she told everyone you wouldn’t contribute.”

Mrs. Mills shot her daughter a venomous look. “Mind your manners, Marguerite,” she said icily.

Mrs. Atwood leaned toward Lisa. “That goes for you, too, young lady,” she whispered. “Stop hunching over your food like that.”

Lisa sat up straight and glared at her mother. Would this lunch never end? Trying not to think about all the fun her friends were probably having back at Pine Hollow right then, she stirred her sherbet idly with her spoon and glanced at Marguerite out of the corner of her eye. Mrs. Mills had done most of the talking so far, so Lisa still wasn’t really sure what the other girl was like.

Just then Marguerite turned toward Lisa. “So I’ll bet you can’t wait to see Fox Crest, right?” she said with a smile.

Lisa smiled back tentatively. “Sure,” she said. This seemed promising. Maybe Marguerite was okay after all.

Mrs. Mills was nodding. “Oh, yes,” she said complacently. “You’ll love Fox Crest, Lisa. It’s really a high-quality
establishment. Marguerite tells me they have some beautiful horses, and, of course they cater to a very exclusive clientele.”

Lisa glanced at Marguerite, expecting to see her roll her eyes, just as she would have done if her own mother had made a similarly shallow comment. But Marguerite was nodding in agreement.

“Definitely,” she said. “I tried riding at another stable for a while, but it was awful. They let anybody who walked in off the street ride there, even if they showed up in ratty old jeans.”

Lisa blushed and tried not to look down at her own jeans. They weren’t exactly ratty and old. Compared to Stevie’s jeans, which Stevie tended to wear until they fell apart, Lisa’s looked practically brand-new. But Lisa had a feeling that the distinction would be lost on Marguerite.

Mrs. Mills cleared her throat meaningfully, and Marguerite suddenly glanced over at Lisa. She blushed, too. “Oops!” she said. “Oh, I’m sorry, Lisa. I didn’t mean anything by that. Really. Um, actually, I was just admiring your jeans a moment ago. Where did you buy them? I might get a pair myself.”

“I got them at the mall in Willow Creek,” Lisa said. “I don’t remember which store.”

Mrs. Atwood broke in. Her face was brighter red than either Lisa’s or Marguerite’s. “I remember, dear,” she
said, obviously trying to sound cheerful. “It was that little boutique, wasn’t it? Nouveau Style.”

“Um, maybe,” Lisa said. She knew very well that her jeans hadn’t come from the expensive store her mother had mentioned. But she also knew that her mother was trying to save face in front of the Millses.

“Well!” Mrs. Mills said, in a too-bright, too-loud tone that meant she was trying to change the subject. “It looks as though everyone is finished. Shall we move into the sitting room?”

I
T SEEMED LIKE
hours later that the adults dropped off Lisa and Marguerite at the stable. Actually, Lisa thought, they had probably sat in the Millses’ sitting room for only about twenty minutes.

By now, Lisa was sure that she and Marguerite Mills had very little in common. She had never met anyone as silly, shallow, and snobby as Marguerite—unless it was Marguerite’s mother.

Even Veronica diAngelo can’t hold a candle to those two
, Lisa thought as she climbed out of the Millses’ luxury sedan. Then she felt guilty. Marguerite might not be Lisa’s idea of a good time, but at least she didn’t seem mean and scheming like Veronica.
Probably because she’s not smart enough
, a little voice in Lisa’s head piped up before she could stop it.

Lisa pushed all such uncharitable thoughts out of her
mind as she followed Marguerite up a long landscaped drive toward a low, elegantly designed building.

“This is it,” Marguerite said, sounding pleased. “Fox Crest Farms.” She indicated the building with a sweep of her hand.

Lisa paused to take in the view. Just beyond the stable building she saw a gently rolling pasture where several sleek, healthy-looking horses were grazing. There was a mounting block near the front entrance to the building, and a man in formal riding attire was mounting a tall, strapping bay horse. Even with the sun still hiding behind the clouds, Lisa had to admit that it made a very pretty picture.