The Long Ride (14 page)

They reached the ring. Carole signaled him to stand still while she mounted, and he did. He tried to take one step while she swung her right leg over his back, and she tugged firmly on the reins. He stopped fiddling.

She walked him over to the good-luck horseshoe, touched it, and began walking him in circles around the ring. He did what he was told. He shook his head a bit, but he stopped that when she tugged, not yanked, firmly on the reins. She signaled him to trot. He trotted.

He was like a different horse. He had all his power and fire, but he was much more obedient than he had been earlier, at least as well behaved as he had been when Callie rode him.

Max, in his usual reserved manner, just said, “Nice work, Carole.”

Half an hour later, still pleased by her success with Fez, she returned the horse to his stall, untacked him, and gave him a quick grooming.

As she worked on him, she wondered at the transformation. It wasn't that this horse hadn't been trained. He had. But she had been allowing him to get away with bad behavior, allowing him to ignore his training. That made it her responsibility to remind him what was okay and what wasn't. She'd done it. She now had a horse that, while not as enjoyable for her to ride as Starlight, was a horse she could manage. Now maybe she wouldn't hate herself so much for the foolish promise she'd made to Callie.

Carole shrugged. If she could transform Fez's personality, maybe she could do the same with Callie. No, that wasn't right. She had to take some responsibility for Fez's problems. She'd let him get away with murder because she'd been treating him like eggshells. She hadn't done that with Callie. Or had she?

She'd definitely gotten off on the wrong foot with Callie, just as she'd gotten off on the wrong hoof with her horse. Maybe she should do something to change that.

Well, if Callie was big enough to make an effort to square her mistake with Emily, Carole thought she should be big enough to square her own mistake with Callie.

In the meantime, she thought she owed Fez a little more reward than she'd given him so far. She decided to turn him out in the paddock. He'd been cooped up in the van and then in his stall long enough. He could use a chance to run free for the afternoon. She got Max's permission to let him stay out until she returned from the airport. Carole walked Fez through the gate, took the lead rope from his halter, and gave him a gentle slap on his flanks to tell him it was okay to run free. He didn't have to be told twice.

Carole glanced at her watch. It was noon. Lisa's plane took off at four. The hard work Carole had done with Fez had used all of her riding time. Now she had to get home, shower, and change her clothes for the trip to the airport.

Her heart ached. Lisa's departure was going to change everything. Just four hours to go.

FOURTEEN

Four hours later, everything in the world had changed.

Stevie listened dully to the rhythmic
slap, slap, slap
of the windshield wipers for a few seconds before she realized what the sound was, where she was, and how she'd gotten there.

“Carole?” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. What about you?”

“Me too. Callie? Are you okay?” Stevie asked.

There was no answer.

“Callie?” Carole echoed.

The only response was the girl's shallow breathing.

“What happened?” Carole asked, trying to remember the last few minutes. It was all a blur.

“We hit something—a horse, I think. We spun, rolled, and landed. I think we're at the bottom of the hill by Janson's farm across from Pine Hollow.”

Carole looked in the backseat. Callie lay still, her eyes closed.

“Callie? Callie? Wake up!” There was no answer. “She's breathing, but she's unconscious,” Carole said.

“Can you move all right?” Stevie asked Carole.

“I think so,” Carole said. She did a quick inventory. She could feel a throbbing in her wrist, which must have hit the dashboard when they rolled over. She was aware, too, of a dull ache in her arm. She wiggled her toes and her fingers. Everything worked. “Yeah, I'm okay,” Carole said. “What about you?”

“I've got an awful ache in my belly where the steering wheel hit me, but everything moves. I'm hurt, but okay.”

“Well, we can get out, but we'd better not move Callie. We've got to go for help.”

Stevie peered through the windshield, which was still being mediodically cleaned by the wipers. She could see lights at the top of the hill.

“No, I think help has come for us,” she said.

Carole and Stevie opened their doors. Carole stood up. Rain pelted down on her. In spite of her aches, it made her feel incredibly, wonderfully alive.

She and Stevie looked at the top of the hill, where more flashing lights were gathering. Several people were looking down at them. The girls waved.

“Are you okay?”

“We are, but there's another girl in the car and she's unconscious!” Stevie called back.

“Don't move her!” an emergency medical technician yelled.

Stevie and Carole waited for help to arrive. It didn't take long. Within minutes several EMTs skittered down the hill, carrying a stretcher and medical bags. As soon as they were sure Stevie and Carole could walk, one of them helped the two girls up the hill, while the others turned their attention to Callie.

Carole started to shiver. It seemed strange to be shivering in the warm rain. “It's shock,” the ambulance driver said. He gave her a blanket and settled her in the back of the ambulance. He made her lie down and gave her an oxygen mask, though she didn't think she needed it.

As she lay there, Carole began to drift off into a pleasant, painless sleep. Stevie sat beside her, holding her hand.

“Stevie! What happened to Carole? Are you okay?”

It was Max, climbing into the shelter of the ambulance. He'd run all the way from the stable when he heard the sirens.

Carole opened her eyes and nodded to Max. “I'm okay,” she said. “Just shook up.”

“Me too,” Stevie said. “But Callie's hurt. She was unconscious in the car. We didn't try to move her.”

“Good,” Max said. “The EMTs are down there now. But how did it happen?”

Stevie explained. “The rain just came out of nowhere, pelting down so hard I could barely see, and then something came at the car. I tried to get out of the way, but I slammed into it. Was it a horse, Max? Did I hurt a horse?”

“It was,” Max said. “The police called Judy. She's with him now.”

“Who was it?” Stevie asked, her voice rising hysterically.

Carole didn't need to hear the answer. She knew exactly which horse it was. She knew which horse had been in that paddock, and she knew which horse would be seriously spooked by thunder, which horse had the strength and endurance to jump or smash down one of Pine Hollow's high fences and flee.

“Fez,” she said quietly.

“Right,” Max confirmed. He put his arm around Stevie comfortingly.

“Is he okay?” Stevie asked.

“He was hurt badly,” Max said. “Judy will save him if she can. Look, you two are going to go to the hospital. I'll go back to Pine Hollow and call your parents. They'll meet you over there. I'll come over later. Okay?”

“Okay,” Stevie agreed. “Max, I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean to hit Fez.”

“I know that,” Max said. “Everybody does. Don't worry about him. Worry about making sure you're all right.”

Stevie and Carole nodded glumly. Max left them.

An EMT climbed into the back of the ambulance as a second ambulance drew up behind theirs. The rain that had started so suddenly was tapering off. Through the crowd, Stevie and Carole could see a gurney being rolled up to the other ambulance. Callie was strapped flat onto it. Her eyes were closed, and she had an IV bag suspended above her head. The EMTs who were pushing the gurney looked grim.

“Callie?” Stevie called out. “Is she okay?”

The EMT pulled the doors of the ambulance closed. “They're doing what they can,” he said. “Now, let's get you two to the ER.”

All her life, Stevie had thought it would be fun to ride in an ambulance, lights flashing, siren wailing. What she'd never fully absorbed before that, however, was that a ride in an ambulance meant something was wrong, really wrong. The thought made her shiver. She pulled a blanket tightly around her.

The siren wailed, the lights flashed. Ahead of them traffic pulled aside to give them the right of way. They drove right up to the hospital door and walked off the ambulance into the emergency room. There were nurses there, offering them wheelchairs, and they were taken to an examining room.

Nobody would tell them anything about Callie.

“It was my fault. I was driving,” Stevie said.

“You couldn't help it,” Carole consoled her. “You did what you could. The horse ran right at us. I saw it happen.”

“There must be something I could have done,” Stevie said. She didn't even want to say what was in her heart. Anybody could have an accident. They happened. It wasn't the accident that upset her. It was the consequences of that accident. Callie and Fez, but mostly Callie.

“I never told her I was sorry,” Carole said. “I wanted to. I wanted to tell her about how I rode Fez today, but, but …” She choked on her own thoughts. Tears streaked down her cheeks.

“Carole! Are you okay?” It was her father. He hurried into the examining area and ran over to her. “And you, Stevie? Are you okay?”

The two girls nodded. “We're both okay, Dad,” Carole said. “I mean, we got some bumps. The EMT thinks Stevie might have broken a rib, but we're basically okay. What about Callie? Did they say anything?”

“Not yet,” he said. “They're examining her. She's still unconscious.”

Stevie's parents arrived then. Once again she and Carole promised that they were okay. Once again they asked for news of Callie. There was none.

Outside the curtain that surrounded them, they heard the congressman arrive. “Where's my daughter?” he demanded, his voice filled with uncertainty.

“This way, Congressman, Mrs. Forester,” a doctor said.

The next few hours were a confusion of questions, X rays, questions, pain pills, and even more questions. Stevie did have a broken rib from the steering wheel. Carole's injuries were limited to scrapes and bruises. Everybody who talked to the girls told them how lucky they were and how smart they were to wear their seat belts. Neither of them felt lucky or smart.

The police asked them questions about what had happened. Stevie and Carole each described the events over and over again. Each time was more painful than the last. Stevie could still hear the awful silence in the car when Callie didn't answer.

Outside, they could see the flurry of activity around the trauma room where the doctors were working on Callie.

Finally, when the doctor said they could go, Stevie stood up weakly and walked over to the plastic-covered couch where Congressman Forester and his wife were sitting with Scott, talking in hushed tones.

“Is Callie going to be okay?” Stevie asked.

“We hope so,” said Mrs. Forester. “She's in a coma. The doctors say she hit her head and got a bad concussion. There was some bleeding. They have to operate. They keep saying we're going to have to wait.”

Stevie gasped involuntarily. It was so utterly frightening.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I don't know what or how, but if I could have—”

The Foresters just looked at Stevie. The usually garrulous Scott was out of chatter. And so, for once, was Stevie. She didn't know what to say anymore. There were no words to make it better. The best any of the Foresters could do was the nod of acknowledgment that Mrs. Forester gave.

“Come on, Stevie. I think it's time to go home,” Mr. Lake said, putting his arm around his daughter. She took strength from his warmth and walked meekly to the car.

It was still raining when they left the hospital. Stevie sat in the backseat of the car, listening to the windshield wipers all the way home.

FIFTEEN

What followed were the longest two weeks of Stevie's and Carole's lives. Every time Stevie breathed, moved, spoke, or laughed, her broken rib reminded her of what had happened. Medicine could help with the pain she had in her body, but it couldn't do anything to repair the agony she felt in her heart. Even the comfort of her daily conversations with Carole and Lisa couldn't ease her pangs of guilt.

Fez was getting the best care veterinary medicine could offer. Most horses hurt that badly would have been put down because the cost of healing would be so great and the chances of a successful recovery so slim. The accident had left Fez with cuts and scrapes, which would leave him scarred, and a broken leg, which might have rendered him totally incapacitated. Judy Barker didn't have to spell it out. Everybody knew that a horse bore half its weight on its powerful, muscular rear legs and half its weight on its slim and fragile front legs. Horses asked a particularly heavy task of their forelegs, and weaknesses there were particularly troublesome. The accident had broken Fez's foreleg.

Judy had kept Fez at her clinic so that she could watch him closely. He was suspended in a sling. It wasn't for Fez's leg but for his body, holding him up in a standing position so that his legs just touched the floor. He could reach his grain, water, and hay, but he couldn't walk around at all.

It wasn't easy on Fez. In spite of everything Carole had learned about controlling him, the horse was as enthusiastic about being immobilized in his sling as he had been about being in a van. He flailed and fretted all day long, and every attempt to loose himself from the sling brought a scream of pain caused by his broken leg. Judy gave him as much pain medicine as she dared, hoping to spare him a fate that was worse still.

Stevie and Carole took turns visiting him, anticipating his needs, calming and soothing the fretting horse. By the end of a week, he had learned to trust them just enough that he didn't kick and fuss constantly—merely most of the time.