Pleasure Horse (11 page)

“When Mr. Grover gets here, I’ll want you to fill him in on the colt’s training so far,” Max continued. “As we’ve said before, you girls know as much as anyone about his progress.”

“Or lack of progress in a couple of areas,” Carole kidded, surprised that she could already joke about the dreaded stirrup problem.

“That, too.” Max laughed, turning on his heel.

When he was gone, the girls carefully wrapped Samson’s legs to protect them on the trip. Seeing the colt all ready to go, Carole felt a pang of sadness come over her.

“Hey, don’t forget—it’s only for a few months, not forever,” Lisa reminded her. “He’ll be coming back before you know it.” She put a comforting arm around Carole’s shoulders.

Carole nodded. “And when he does come back, he’ll be as well-trained and obedient as all of Max’s horses—a
real pleasure to ride, just like his sire was and his dam still is,” she said firmly, more to herself than to Lisa.

“Speaking of Delilah, do you remember the day he was born?” Lisa asked. “It was the first time I’d seen a mare foal.”

“How could I forget? I was completely obsessed with him then, too!” Carole recalled. Waiting for Mr. Grover to arrive, the two of them reminisced about all the times—fun, remarkable, and challenging—they’d had with Samson.

All too soon, the heavy trailer tires crunched on the driveway. Lisa and Carole looked at each other. It was time to say good-bye, if only for awhile. Together they smothered the colt in hugs. Then Lisa handed the lead line to Carole so that she could load him.

“Hey, look! It snowed!” Lisa exclaimed as the trio emerged from the stable. A light dusting of snow had covered the ground since the morning. Pricking up his ears, Samson rolled his eyes at the white stuff. The girls laughed at the startled expression on his face.

“It’s a send-off for Samson from Mother Nature,” Carole murmured.

Lisa nodded, dropping back to watch the colt walk forward with Carole.

As she led him toward the trailer, Carole felt her
heart swell with motherly pride. Against the white snow, Samson’s black coat looked even more brilliant. He was healthy and well-groomed, and, despite their setbacks, Carole knew that The Saddle Club had contributed immeasurably to his training.

“Is this the horse who wants to come to school at my place?” Mr. Grover inquired. He hopped out of the pickup truck that pulled the trailer to greet them. To Carole’s delight, he offered Samson a carrot from his pocket.

“This is the one,” Lisa spoke up. “Samson, by Cobalt out of Delilah.”

“Well, then, if he’s half as good a horse as his mother or father, he’ll be one in a million,” Mr. Grover predicted. Moving unhurriedly, he let down the ramp of the trailer.

Carole whispered fiercely to her charge. “You’d better load right, now. No funny business.” She gave a cluck, and Samson followed her up the ramp like an old hand.

“Nicely done,” Mr. Grover remarked. He, Max, and Lisa had gathered in the parking lot for a final word. When Carole joined them, Mr. Grover praised her for the good work she’d put in. “Max tells me you girls are to thank for making my job easier.”

Carole and Lisa brushed off the praise. “We’re not
being modest,” Lisa assured Mr. Grover. “We’ve had some real problems with him lately.”

“Yes, they started when we put stirrups on the saddle he wears …” With that, Carole was off and running with one of her notoriously long explanations. Luckily Mr. Grover looked rapt with interest in what she was saying. He countered with an even longer explanation about some possible solutions he would consider trying. Lisa caught the words “natural horsemanship” and smiled. Max couldn’t have picked a trainer whom Carole would like more.

When the trailer finally rumbled out of the driveway almost half an hour later, Carole turned to Lisa, a content look on her face. “Mr. Grover’s going to be perfect for Samson. But it just hit me—I wish Stevie could have been here to see him off, too. After all, she was there when he was born and through all our other adventures with him. It doesn’t seem right that the entire Saddle Club wasn’t here to bid him farewell.”

Lisa agreed. It really was too bad that Stevie had missed the send-off. She and Carole watched the trailer disappear and then headed wearily into the barn. “But you know what?” Lisa said. “We’ll all be together for a much more important moment—the moment when we welcome Samson back to Pine Hollow.”

S
TEVIE CREPT STEALTHILY
through the dining room and into the back hallway. She waited a split second outside the bathroom door before flinging it open. “Found you!” she yelled.

“Finally!” said one of the football players. “It was getting crowded in here.” One by one, nine people spilled out of the tiny bathroom. They were playing Sardines, and Stevie had been It.

“That’s because you’ve already eaten so much!” said Diane, a cheerleader.

“Did somebody say ‘eat’?” Alex asked. Everyone looked at one another and sprinted for the kitchen.

Although it didn’t resemble the one Angie had spent so much time planning, the party was finally in full swing. Instead of live music, the band was playing CDs. Instead of caviar canapés, the adults were munching chips and Slim Jims. Instead of a fancy entree, Aunt Lila had served three-foot hoagies. Angie, the reigning party princess, sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by friends.

Angie had been more upset than ever when she’d gotten a look at the Quickie Mart provisions. But then one of the guys from the band had yelled, “Cool! Nacho chips and Cheez Whiz!” Everybody else had followed suit. Even some of the grown-ups had professed addictions to various kinds of junk food. Since nobody else
seemed to mind—and once Angie saw that her guests were having fun in spite of all the mishaps—Angie started to have fun, too.

The funniest part about the party was that it was half elegant and half less-than-casual. Some people were in sweats and turtlenecks; others had managed to stay gussied up in dresses and suits. And even though they were eating Quickie Mart hors d’oeuvres, they were eating them with the Lakes’ good silverware. The boys had finally located the punch bowl, and Uncle Chester had filled it with Kool-Aid. The cheerleaders didn’t seem to mind, though: they let Chad and Alex continue to refill their paper cups.

As for Stevie, she was in heaven. She’d become a sort of master of ceremonies and was coming up with all sorts of games for the guests to play and awarding candy bars to the winners, whether young or old. They’d played Bobbing for Oreos, Pin the Lips on the Fashion Magazine Model, and elimination rounds of the card game Spit; and they’d had blindfolded potato chip taste tests. Then they’d played the killer game of Sardines, which had just ended. Meanwhile there was an ongoing Lake-family trivia quiz, with Stevie’s dad and Uncle Chester making up questions and keeping score. Looking around the loud, jammed kitchen, Stevie, for one, was sure that the snowstorm had been a blessing in disguise.

The evening flew by, and soon it was time for the birthday cake. They had to serve it before the guests started to trickle away. Unfortunately, “it”—a three-tiered lemon cake with vanilla icing—was miles away, stranded with the caterer. Stevie noticed her mother and Aunt Lila holding a whispered consultation. “Listen,” Stevie told them, “just get everyone out of here for a few minutes, turn out the lights, and get ready to sing. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The women looked doubtful but followed Stevie’s instructions, shooing everyone out of the kitchen to the living room. Stevie dashed around for a few minutes getting organized. Then she found a match and hastily lit the candles. In the dark hush, she paraded out and, with much flair, presented the “cake”: sixteen Twinkies, each with a candle stuck in the middle, carefully arranged on Aunt Lila’s best silver tray.

The whole party, including Angie, burst into applause at the sight of the improvised cake. Stevie inhaled loudly and began to sing. “Happy birthday to you, happy—”

One of the band members came forward, holding a hand up. “Stevie, you really should leave the singing to the experts,” he said. The rest of the band gathered around. “Okay, guys—one, two, three!”

Stevie noticed Angie’s jaw drop. Each of the boys had
found a makeshift instrument. One held a kazoo, one had Uncle Chester’s ukelele, and there was a makeshift percussion section of pots and wooden spoons. They launched into an enthusiastic version of the song and then did a reprise, yelling, “Everybody join in!”

Beaming with delight, Angie blew out all of the candles on her first try.

“Hey, do you guys know ‘When Johnnie Comes Marching Home’?” Chad asked.

“Yeah, that’s a great American Revolution song!” Stevie cried.

“Uh, that would be a great
Civil War
song,” Chad murmured. Stevie put an arm over her forehead and pretended to swoon.

Meanwhile, after a quick consultation, the band struck up the tune. The singing was so much fun that they played another—and another—until all the guests joined the impromptu sing-along. They did songs from musicals like
Oklahoma!
and
Guys and Dolls
, they did popular songs from the radio, and they even threw in a few Christmas carols in honor of the weather.

Angie joined right in, belting with the best of them. Stevie was overjoyed. Her cousin had finally lost her airs and settled back into her old self. And, Stevie had to admit, she’d been completely wrong about Angie’s friends. Maybe the cheerleaders would have been more
standoffish at an elegant party, but today they had been nothing but fun—not to mention the fact that they’d completely distracted Chad and Alex from doing anything else besides following them around.

As she was musing on the funny way the day had turned out, the music stopped. Stevie looked up expectantly, thinking someone would request another song. Instead, Angie and the three cheerleaders came forward. “Give me an
S
! Give me a
T
! Give me an
E
! Give me a
V
! Give me an
I
! Give me an
E
! What does it spell?” Angie yelled.

“Stevie!” the girls responded. In the space that they had, the four of them did a dance movement that ended in a split. Then they jumped up and surrounded Stevie.

“Three cheers for my cousin Stevie!” Angie yelled.

As the first “Hip, hip, hooray” hit her ears, Stevie thrilled with pride. That was another thing about cheerleaders she hadn’t taken into consideration: They could cheer for her!

I
T HAD BEEN
the longest long weekend that any of The Saddle Club members could remember. “So much has happened since you left, I don’t know where to start,” Lisa said to Stevie.

All three girls were lazing in the locker room after their Tuesday-afternoon lesson. They knew that Mrs. Reg would catch them any minute and give them tack to clean, but for right now, they just had to catch up. They were also waiting for Max’s wife, Deborah, who had promised to pick them up and take them over to see Samson settled in his new home.

“Or, you could say that only one thing happened: Samson left to go and be trained at Mr. Grover’s,” Carole said with a grin. “It’s just that so many things had to happen before
that
happened.”

“Right,” Lisa agreed. “Like we had to try ninety-nine ways to get Samson used to the stirrups before realizing that nothing we did was going to work.”

“Only ninety-nine? Lisa, that’s not like you,” Stevie kidded. “You’re such a perfectionist that I wouldn’t have expected you to quit before at least a hundred!”

“Actually, Lisa had the sense to quit, but I didn’t,” Carole said, more seriously. “I didn’t want to feel that I wasn’t doing everything I could for Samson, since I hadn’t been able to do enough to save Cobalt’s life. I was really getting paranoid—I thought Max was spying on us when he was only keeping tabs on Samson like he does on any other horse.”

“And I talked to Max yesterday. It really was a coincidence that we ran into problems at the same time that Max was planning to send Samson away. We didn’t realize that. To us it looked like we messed up and so Max was taking him away as punishment,” Lisa explained.