Schooling Horse (12 page)

“We’re so sorry,” Carole said. “I never really thought that you and Milky were a great match, but I did want you to have a horse of your own.”

“Me too,” said Stevie. “But don’t give up hope. I never thought my parents were going to let me get a horse, and then all of a sudden, I got Belle. So it could happen.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

“We’re glad you’re back to normal,” Stevie said. “I mean, not worried about Milky.”

“I wouldn’t call it normal yet,” Lisa said. “Next week, when I’m riding again, that might be normal.”

“Hey, I’ve got to go,” Carole said. “Sorry, but Dad invited dinner guests, and they just got here. I’m going to make them listen to my latest French dialogue.” She hung up.

“I’m glad The Saddle Club could help Carole, anyway,” Stevie told Lisa. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t be more helpful to you.”

“Don’t be.” Lisa twirled the phone cord between her fingertips. She looked out her bedroom window at the rising moon. “I don’t think anyone could really help me. I
was never going to make Milky into the horse of my dreams.”

“I know,” said Stevie. “I’m still sorry.” They said good-bye and disconnected. Lisa walked over to her window and pressed her face against the glass. Somewhere out there the horse of her dreams was waiting. Someday she would have a horse of her own.

“How
DOES IT
feel?” Carole asked.

“Wonderful!” Lisa’s face glowed with happiness. It was Friday afternoon, a crisp, clear, cloudless day. Her punishment was over: Lisa was riding Prancer at a brisk trot, and The Saddle Club was out on the trails once again.

“ ‘Back in the saddle again,’ ” sang Stevie, “ ‘Oh, back in the saddle again—’ ”

“It was nice of you guys to give up trail riding for this last week,” Lisa said. “You didn’t have to, but it did make it easier on me. Watching you ride in the ring without me was agony enough.”

“It’s never as much fun unless we’re all together,” Stevie said. “When you’re not with us because of piano or ballet, that’s one thing, but when you are at the stable
and you’re just not allowed on a horse, Carole and I would feel pretty rude if we abandoned you.”

“All for one and one for all,” Carole said. She felt as high-spirited as the rest of them. That day, her dialogue in French had received a solid B, and her teacher had commented on how much she’d improved. “We’re a team.”

“No, a club,” said Stevie.

“The Saddle Club!” Lisa waved her riding crop like a flag. Prancer began to prance nervously. Lisa put her crop back down and patted the mare. “Sorry, dear. I wasn’t going to hit you.”

“You and Prancer look like a team again,” Stevie said.

Lisa laughed. “Well, for one thing, she’s no longer in heat. But I think I’ll never again get quite as frustrated with her as I did before I met Milky. Compared to him, Prancer is a piece of cake.”

“Almost any horse is.” Carole slowed Starlight to a sober walk. “Did you ask Max what happened to him?” Milky had left Pine Hollow the night Lisa confessed everything to Max. Carole knew they’d never see the gray horse again. It wasn’t that she wanted to, but still …

Lisa slowed Prancer to match Starlight’s stride. Stevie rode Belle up along Starlight’s other side. “I did ask him,” Lisa confirmed. “Max said we’ll never know, because he’s never going to ask. He said Milky is the horse dealer’s business, not ours.”

Stevie whistled. “That’s harsh.”

“Not really.” Carole shook her head and sighed. “You
know, before last week, if you had asked me, I would have said any horse could be retrained out of its problems. I really thought that was true. And I would have said Max could ride any horse in the world.”

“But Max said he wouldn’t ride Milky,” Lisa remembered.

“That’s right,” Carole said. “I guess I know now that there are some horses that can never be trusted. I spent some time last night looking up training issues in some of my riding books and magazines, and I was amazed by what some of the professional riders said.”

“Like what?” Lisa wanted to hear it. She still felt a tiny bit guilty about Milky.

“Well, for one, almost all of them think that a horse’s temperament is the most important thing about it. They say you can train a horse to be afraid of something, for instance, but you can’t train it to be naturally brave. And you can’t train it to try hard.”

“To have heart,” Stevie interpreted, “like our horses do.”

Carole nodded. “That’s right. And they all said that some horses should be avoided at all costs—ones that kick or bite or rear. Take rearing, for instance—”

“Yes, please take it,” Lisa joked. “I never want that to happen to me again.”

“If a horse falls over backward, the way Milky did, it can get hurt,” Carole said. “Horses know this. So if a horse rears not because something startled him but because
he wants you off his back, then he’s actually willing to hurt himself in order to hurt you.”

Stevie and Lisa digested this. “That’s a pretty powerful statement,” Lisa said.

Carole looked grim. “One book said, flat out, ‘Horses who rear should be shot.’ That’s how dangerous the writer thought they were.”

Stevie shook her head. “Who wrote the book? Some crackpot?”

“No,” said Carole. “A former Olympic show jumper known for how well he dealt with difficult horses.”

“Wow,” Lisa said.

“And I read a Bruce Davidson column in an old issue of
HorsePlay
magazine about how to choose a horse,” Carole continued.

Stevie grinned. “What did he say? If anyone can deal with temperamental horses, Bruce Davidson can.” Bruce Davidson was an event rider who’d been to the Olympics five times. Stevie had a giant poster of him on her wall; he was one of her heroes.

“He said he doesn’t have time to deal with neurotic horses,” Carole said. “He won’t buy them.”

“Gosh.” Stevie was impressed. So was Lisa. The last flicker of her guilt over Milky disappeared. If Max and Bruce Davidson wouldn’t ride him, then clearly she couldn’t be blamed for not wanting to, either.

Lisa suggested that they trot again. The week she’d spent grounded had gone fairly quickly, since Max hadn’t
banned her from the stables and there was always plenty of work to do, but she loved being back on Prancer again. She sent the mare forward into the wind.

“I never knew horses like Milky even existed,” she said. She had to speak more loudly now that they were moving faster. “It’s so sad that they do. But it would have been even sadder if David had been hurt.”

“Or you,” Stevie said firmly.

“I guess that shows how lucky we are, not to have ever known a bad horse before,” Carole commented. “Max does such a good job finding horses for Pine Hollow.”

“Yes, he does, but probably it also shows just how few bad horses there really are,” Stevie said.

“I hope so,” said Lisa. “And someday I am getting a horse of my own, even if I have to wait until I can buy it myself.”

“Of course,” said Carole. “And when you do, it won’t be like Milky.”

Lisa looked down at Prancer’s silky black mane. “No, it won’t be. Hey, let’s gallop!” They’d reached an open field.

Carole held up her hand. “Wait just a minute. First I want to recite some French.”

Stevie suppressed a moan. “I didn’t think your next dialogue was due until Wednesday!”

“This isn’t part of a dialogue—well, it is, but it’s a line from an old one that I’ve adapted. My French teacher told me the word for
horse.
”

Carole stood in her stirrups and waved her hand with a flourish. “
Ces chevaux
,” she intoned, “
sont magnifiques!
”
She sat back in the saddle and signaled to Starlight. He shot forward over the grass.

Stevie and Lisa galloped after her. “What does that mean?” Lisa shouted.

Carole laughed. “ ‘These horses are magnificent!’ ”

Bonnie Bryant is the author of nearly a hundred books about horses, including The Saddle Club series, Saddle Club Super Editions, and the Pony Tails series. She has also written novels and movie novelizations under her married name, B. B. Hiller.

Ms. Bryant began writing The Saddle Club in 1986. Although she had done some riding before that, she intensified her studies then and found herself learning right along with her characters Stevie, Carole, and Lisa. She claims that they are all much better riders than she is.

Ms. Bryant was born and raised in New York City. She still lives there, in Greenwich Village, with her two sons.