Prize Problems (6 page)

When I woke on Wednesday morning, I felt more tired than I had the night before. I'd tossed and turned all night thinking about Catriona caring for Drummer. Why did it have to be her? Why couldn't it have been anyone, anyone else? Dee-Dee, James, Leanne—even ancient Mrs. Bradley with Henry would be an improvement on Cat. Katy had obviously been desperate. It wasn't until I'd eaten breakfast that I realized Katy must be missing her hunter trials. How selfish was I, worrying about Drum when poor Katy was ill in bed and missing the competitions she and Bluey had been so looking forward to? I hadn't even asked her about them, I'd been so distracted by the thought of Cat looking after Drummer.

I'd have to be grateful to Cat, I thought. I'd have to thank her! Drum would probably enjoy being taken out to the field and brought in again with Cat's skewbald mare. Drum felt the same way about Bambi as I did about James.

But why did it have to be Cat? And why did she volunteer? I kept thinking. And thinking. And I couldn't even call her and find out about Drummer, which was just the worst thing. No, the worst thing was imagining my beloved pony being cared for by Cat. What if he liked her? What if she poisoned his mind about me? What if they got on so well together, he didn't want me to come back home? I couldn't get it out of my mind, not even with the exciting promise of today's mystery activity. It went around and around in my head, driving me nuts.

And there wasn't a thing I could do about it. I was miles away from home and unable to do anything but think and worry and worry some more.

The Wednesday mystery activity had been given a big build-up. Lots of winks and dramatic eye-widening by Annabelle and Sharon whenever it had been mentioned or asked about, so big things were expected by everyone. I hoped it was good—it needed to be to take my mind off the disturbing news about Cat. But the mystery event wasn't scheduled until after lunch. This morning, we had the daily lesson.

Sprout was almost friendly when I got him in from the field.

“Hello,” he said gruffly as I offered him an apple I'd snitched from breakfast.

“Thanks,” he said, munching thoughtfully. “Golden Delicious,” he mumbled, dribbling apple foam over his chest and on to my arms.

“Yes,” I agreed, trying to brush the sticky stuff off and only spreading it about instead.

“I prefer Granny Smiths,” he said.

“Sorry, that's all they had,” I told him, putting on his harness and leading him in to his stable and trying, unsuccessfully, to stop thinking about Catriona doing the same thing with my pony at home. Bean had gone all wide-eyed at me when I told her who Katy had got to care for Drummer.

“How do you feel about that?” she'd asked me.

“How do you think?” I'd replied, dramatically. “But it's not like I can do anything about it, not from here. But then…”

“What?”

“Well, do you think James would look after Drum for me, if I asked him?”

Bean had pulled a face. “Yeah, I guess he would, but how do you think Cat would feel, being usurped?” she'd said.

“But you know she hates me,” I'd replied. “She can't want to look after Drummer. She'd probably be relieved to get rid of the responsibility.”

“Didn't Katy say she'd offered? She might think you're making a statement about her ability to care for your pony, she could be extending the olive branch to you—you know, being friendly,” Bean had pointed out. “And besides,” she'd continued, “Cat's OK—you two just hit it off all wrong to start with and now neither of you can forget it.”

“She almost got Drummer stolen, have you forgotten that?” I'd cried, remembering how Cat had struck a deal with one of the travelers. “What if she gets someone else to steal him while I'm away?”

“You're over-reacting,” Bean had said soothingly. Only she hadn't said it quite convincingly enough.

Oh pooh again, I'd thought. I'm stuck with it. Drummer's stuck with it. How would I feel if Cat said she didn't want me to look after Bambi, especially if I'd offered, put myself out, even? I knew I would feel offended. Like I wasn't good enough, even though I'd look after Bambi like she was my own. Things were bad enough between Cat and me. If I replaced her with someone else, things could only get worse. I didn't really think she'd be horrible to Drum. What really worried me, and I hated to admit it, was the thought of Cat getting close to Drum, of sharing with him special moments like I shared with him. I was in agony imagining it.

“Pooh!” I'd said with feeling.

“That's mature!” Bean had remarked.

Despite having other things on my mind, the morning lesson was fantastic. I managed to get my act together in the first half when we did flatwork, and got Sprout to go at exactly the pace I wanted all the time, by using my half-halts and by concentrating really hard on correcting any changes of pace he put in—both faster and slower. Annabelle was gushing with her praise and I got two ‘very goods' and a ‘well done, Pia'!

Sharon put up a course of jumps for the second half of the lesson, telling us that a gymkhana was planned for Friday and it would include a jumping class. (Annabelle didn't do much to help, just pointed to where she wanted the jumps to be while Sharon huffed and puffed and dragged wings and poles about). The course was nothing big, but it was still tricky. First to go was Amber who, determined not to let Sorrel dump her, rode very strongly, proving that she was a good rider when she could be bothered. Sorrel approached each jump in a zigzag way, grumbling about having to jump, but Amber kept her rein contact and legged on so the chestnut mare had nowhere to go but over. Everyone cheered (even Zoe) as she flew over the last jump and Amber let out a whoop of delight. Sorrel said nothing, which made a change.

Sprout and I almost managed a clear round—but a run-out at the second-from-last jump gave us three faults. I was to blame as I'd let Sprout run on instead of keeping him between my leg and hand. I had to remember that! The faster we went, the easier it was to for Sprout to go around the jump, not over it, Annabelle reminded me.

Cherokee's complaint-of-the-day concerned his back. He kept saying he had twinges and that he shouldn't be jumping, but because no one could hear him but me, he wasn't excused from anything and Bean made a good job of getting him round the small course without any mishaps. Used to Tiffany's eccentric way of jumping, Cherokee was a piece of cake by comparison!

Ellie was still looking messy on Harry but he carried her round without her having to do much work, gaining eight faults. Harry made a couple of comments about being all heart, and I had to agree with him. He could have run out at each jump, Ellie's reins were so long, but he gallantly jumped each one, just rolling a couple of poles. Grace, on the other hand, her confidence in her pony sky-high, had morphed into a budding show jumper on Shadow—she tackled the whole course with a huge grin and Shadow rose to the occasion. When the gray took a hard look at the last jump, Grace determinedly used her legs and urged him over, earning another loud cheer from everyone watching. And under Zoe's guidance, even the inexperienced Dot-2-Dot managed a clear round.

“You've all been wonderful!” gushed Annabelle, as we lined up and patted our ponies. “You're really getting to grips with your mounts and improving in leaps and bounds.”

As we walked the ponies in, I noticed Bean's hands were bare.

“Forgotten your beloved new gloves?” I asked her, patting Sprout's neck.

Bean looked worried. “I can't find them,” she replied. “I put them on the bench in the yard, together with my hat, when I came back from riding yesterday, but when I went back for them, I could only find my hat.”

“Are you positive you had them?” I asked her. “You know what you're like.”

“Yes, I know, but I remember because Ellie was being useless with Harry and she practically backed him into Cherokee as I was putting my hat on the bench. I distinctly remember stuffing my gloves into my hat as I put it down.”

“So how could your gloves disappear if they were in your hat?”

“Exactly!”

“Have you asked Sharon? She checks around the yard at night.”

“Yes, I asked Sharon and Annabelle, and neither had seen them. It's like they just disappeared and I
know
they were there.”

“Perhaps someone else picked them up,” I said without thinking.

“Yes,” said Bean, “that's the conclusion I reached.”

We looked at each other.

“You mean…” I said.

Bean frowned. “I just know they were definitely there.”

“You do sometimes, er, forget things,” I said as tactfully as I could. Bean was off in her own world a lot of the time, so she could have been mistaken.

“I'll have another look,” Bean said quickly. “But if I can't find them, I'm going to ask everyone else whether they know anything.”

“Mmmm, OK,” I replied, a sinking feeling nagging at my stomach. I felt worried for Epona without really knowing why and I curled my fingers around the tiny stone statue, safe in my pocket. What if Epona went missing, too? It didn't bear thinking about.

We turned the ponies out for the afternoon and watched as they wandered off to graze, chatting to one another. Dot rolled and rolled and rolled. Harry and Sprout stood next to one another, chewing each other's withers in a mutual groom and Shadow ground to a halt just inside the gateway and did his favorite thing—sleep. Sorrel and Cherokee swapped grumbles under a tree. Sorrel was still indignant at having been made to jump and Cherokee insisted she was lucky she didn't have a bad back, like he had.

Of course, we had to clean tack before lunch but everyone did it in record time—we were all looking forward to the mystery activity.

“What do you think it will be?” asked Zoe, wiping Dot's stirrups dry.

“A rodeo!” exclaimed Amber. “Or maybe trying vaulting, or visiting a racehorse stable!”

“Wow, you've got a vivid imagination!” said Grace. “I can't think of a single thing it might be.”

“Perhaps we're going to a horse rescue stable,” suggested Bean. “The one Cherokee came from. Annabelle told me he only went there because his owner couldn't afford to keep him anymore. He hadn't been mistreated, or anything.”

“Or an Olympic training yard—or someone famous!” Zoe said, rubbing saddle soap like crazy into Dot's browband.

“Got any suggestions, Ellie?” said Amber, looking over to her. “You've been very quiet since we got back.”

Ellie just shrugged her shoulders without saying anything. We were getting used to Ellie. If she wasn't quiet, she was bragging about something or other. We were all getting a bit fed up with the bragging, so we tended to switch off whenever she started up, which probably prompted her silence.

“I bet it won't be anything as spectacular as visiting anyone famous,” I said, putting Sprout's bridle back together. “It might be a tour of a feed mill or a saddle maker, or something like that.”

“Nah!” said Amber as she threw her dirty water down the drain. “I bet it's much more exciting after Annabelle's big build-up. Like trying western riding—or side-saddle. That would be soooo cool, I've always wanted to try sitting sideways.”

“Well, why don't you?” asked her sister. “Just sit sideways on Sorrel. I'd love to see how that works out.”

Amber laughed. “I might!” she cried. “Anyone wanna try it with me?”

“No,” Grace replied. “I have enough trouble riding astride. I hope it
isn't
side-saddle.”

I thought of Epona, sitting sideways on her horse. Copying her would be cool.

“Has anyone seen my new riding gloves?” asked Bean. I held my breath.

“No,” said Ellie.

“Sorry, no,” replied Grace.

“Can't say I have,” added Zoe.

“What do they look like?” asked Amber.

“Leather, brown, soft, supple, gorgeous,” said Bean with a slight edge to her voice. “Expensive,” she added.

“Where did you lose them?” Zoe asked.

“I didn't say I'd lost them,” said Bean.

“Oh, I thought you said you couldn't find them,” said Amber, concentrating on putting all the straps on Sorrel's bridle into their runners and keepers so that they didn't flap around.

“I'm saying that yesterday they were on the bench in the yard, and today they're not. So I wondered whether anyone had seen them,” explained Bean.

Everyone shook their heads. No one seemed to pick up on Bean's implication that the gloves had been taken, not lost. As my heart thumped I looked from face to face, wondering whether anyone knew more than they were letting on, but no one looked guilty. It was horrible to think that we suspected one of our fellow vacationers of theft, but Bean was certain that she'd left her gloves with her hat.

“If I go to hell when I die,” mused Amber, as Annabelle approached with her clipboard, “it will be full of Annabelles all making me clean tack. And the funny thing is, if Zoe goes to heaven, she'll be met with exactly the same thing!”

“Lunch is ready, girls,” announced Annabelle, “and we don't want to be late for our exciting mystery activity, do we?”

“What is it?” asked Amber, for the zillionth time.

Annabelle just crinkled up her eyes and shook her head. It was very annoying. She did brandish her clipboard around, however, writing things down as she tweaked and inspected our tack.

“This,” Bean grumbled under her breath, “is not fun. It is not as billed in the
Pony
mag comp. Win a riding vacation, it said. A va-
ca
-tion! This is boot camp!”

Bean just hated cleaning tack.

Lunch was punctuated at regular intervals by Amber asking Annabelle to reveal the mystery activity.

“Is it side-saddle riding?” she asked.