Crown Prince (2 page)

“Do you expect everyone will be here today for the lesson?” Sarah's mother asked, changing the subject.

“I'm not sure about Paige. Quarry was a little lame last week, and Paige had to ride a school horse. Tim would never miss a jumping school for Rhodes if he could possibly help it. I know Kayla will be here with Fanny, and of course Rita will show up with her big-bucks horse in her fancy van driven by her
groom.”
Sarah emphasized the last word. “Maybe today they'll bring the maid to serve her lemonade when we have a break.”

Sarah's mother looked at her sharply. “That wasn't very kind, Sarah. Rita's father does give her a whole lot of support, but in many ways she doesn't have the greatest life. Richard Snyder is all the family she has, and I hear he's away on business a lot. I don't like it when you knock someone just because she has more than you do. So you don't have your own horse. But you do have a lesson with your friends every week, and some kids who love horses don't get to ride at all.”

Sarah stiffened. Why did her mother make her feel guilty? Rita was doing well enough without having Sarah's mother on her side.
It doesn't seem fair,
Sarah thought.
Rita's father will buy her anything in the world she wants, but I'll never have my own horse, the one thing I want most.

They rode in silence as the car dipped into a hollow before rumbling over the wooden bridge that crossed the brook at its narrowest point. Water, which a few months before in early spring had roared under the bridge, now moved serenely along the banks. A slight hill brought them to the quaint bungalow where Jack and Kathleen O'Brien lived, the only house on the entry road.

“I'm afraid I won't see you ride today,” Sarah's mother said. “I'm going to watch Abby's softball game, so I'm not sure what time we'll be back to pick you up. It's the last game of the season.”

“No problem. I don't mind hanging out at the barn. Maybe Jack will let us take the horses for a walk on the woods trails after the lesson to cool them out. Sometimes we go up to the old orchard on the ridge.”

At the crest in the road by the bungalow and its attached carriage shed, a large double-aisled gray barn came into view. An indoor riding arena was attached to the westerly side of the barn, and just beyond it horses grazed in a series of white-fenced paddocks. Even from this distance they could see a bulging hay wagon hitched to the farm's John Deere tractor parked close to the barn. A crew was at work grabbing bales of hay from the wagon and tossing them onto a moving conveyer belt that whisked them up to the loft.

The SUV coasted down the hill toward the barn office, approaching the area where Rita Snyder's late model horse van with the green Pyramid Farm lettering on its side was parked. The Snyder's ruddy faced and balding hired man, Judson, was sweeping the van's ramp, but there was no sign of Rita.
She must already be warming up Chancellor in the indoor arena,
Sarah thought.

A pickup truck attached to a silver horse trailer was parked near the van. Sarah's best friend, Kayla Romano, had tied her Quarter Horse to the trailer and was tacking up for the lesson. She lifted her saddle onto her mare's back as they passed. Kayla's curly, auburn hair so closely matched her horse's coat color that Paige got a lot of laughs when she referred to them as “the twins.” The mare's registered name was Fanfare, but the red chestnut with a white diamond on her forehead was better known as Fanny. Her high white markings on all four legs made her a flashy head-turner. “Lots of chrome,” Kayla liked to say.

Sarah waved as they passed. She and Kayla had known each other as long as Sarah could remember. They were finishing up their freshman year at Yardley High where they were in the same Spanish and math classes. Since they lived only a few miles apart on Ridge Road, they also rode on the same bus. It was their love of horses that had first brought them together, but now they could talk to each other about anything.

When the SUV came to a stop by the main entrance, Sarah grabbed her tote bag and sprinted for the stable's office to check the ride board. She bounded up the cement steps, pushed through the entry door, and turned from the foyer into the office. Lindsay, one of the farm's assistant instructors, was seated at a large oak desk doing paperwork while she waited for her class of beginners to arrive. Before Sarah could check the board, Lindsay greeted her.

“Hi, Sarah. You'll be riding Gray Fox today. Don't forget he goes in a standing martingale. Not everyone can do as nice a job with him as you do.”

Sarah's heart sank. The wily old school horse that had been at Brookmeade Farm from the beginning was the last horse she would have chosen. Everyone said Gray Fox could size up riders the minute he felt their weight in the saddle. He was easygoing with small children and beginners, traveling slowly and taking his cues from the instructor's verbal commands, but with experienced riders he had a whole bag of tricks. You had to be on your guard with him. If he wasn't guided straight to a fence, at the last minute he might run out to the side. Sometimes he would “quit dirty,” putting on the brakes right in front of a jump, a move that had pitched more than one unlucky rider over his head. He also tended to be slow and lazy, which was fine for beginners, but not for the more demanding work Jack O'Brien expected of the students in his classes.

Sarah had felt badly for Paige in their class the week before. With Quarry a little off, Paige was forced to ride Gray Fox, and he'd been especially difficult, repeatedly breaking from canter back to trot. This was a switch for Paige, because her own horse, Quarry, was a Thoroughbred, sensitive and quick. The farm owners, Mr. and Mrs. DeWitt, had been watching the lesson that day, too. Paige had been embarrassed when Jack had to repeatedly remind her to insist Gray Fox be more forward.

“Thanks, Lindsay,” Sarah replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. “I only hope he won't be as stubborn as he was last week. He was a real jerk for Paige.”

“Paige is riding Quarry today. But you'd better scurry along. I expect Jack will be back from his schooling session soon.”

Sarah rushed to the tack room to pick up a saddle and the bridle with the martingale strap Gray Fox always wore to keep him from throwing his head in the air. Stepping inside, she was immediately aware of the strong aroma of saddle soap and leather as she scanned the bridles hanging on the pine paneled wall. On the bottom row she spotted Gray Fox's bridle with the fat snaffle bit and the martingale attached to the noseband. Grabbing it off the hook, she turned to the racks on the opposite wall and picked up the all-purpose saddle and pad she'd used on Gray Fox before. It was good for both flatwork and jumping, and fit him well.

Sarah started for the door with the tack over her arm, but hesitated by the wall cabinet. Jack's words came back to her:
Better to have a crop and not need it, than to need it and not have it.
She pulled a sturdy black crop off the rack, stuck it in her tote bag, and hurried out the door. Sarah was glad she had brought her spurs—with Gray Fox, they'd probably be needed. She quickened her pace down the aisle. After riding at Brookmeade almost two years, she knew where every horse's stall was located in the big barn, and she headed for the back side where most of the school horses were stabled. She noticed the barn was unusually quiet, which meant Tim and Paige were already warming up in the ring. She hurried even faster.

The place seemed deserted except for the DeWitts' two Jack Russell terriers, Taco and Spin, who came running to meet her. There was no sign of Mrs. DeWitt near her mare's stall, but if the terriers were around, she couldn't be far away. The brown-and-white dogs were excited to see Sarah and wanted to play, their short tails whipping furiously.

When Sarah stopped by Gray Fox's stall and placed the saddle on a collapsible saddle rack pulled out from the wall, Spin jumped up on her leg, asking to be petted. She nudged him aside. “No time right now, Spin.” Not giving up easily, both dogs persisted in jumping up, fully expecting their usual playtime with Sarah. “No!” She spoke sharply, and then was sorry to see the terriers turn and start back down the aisle, Taco with his head low, dejected, and Spin almost slinking away. But it couldn't be helped. She'd make it up to them later.

Sarah rummaged through the wooden box of grooming tools by the door to pick out a hoof pick, curry comb, mane comb, and a stiff brush before sliding the stall door partly open and easing inside. Gray Fox was standing on the far side of his stall near the window with his eyes half closed, his tail lazily swishing off the occasional fly. He turned his almost white head to gaze at her nonchalantly.

“Come on, boy. No more dreaming. Time to go to work.” She offered the horse a carrot before attaching a stall tie to his halter. She quickly picked the packed bedding and manure out of his hooves before currying and brushing his flea-bitten gray coat. Not much dust and dirt appeared as she brushed him—thank goodness he hadn't rolled in his paddock that morning! She hastily ran a comb through his mane and went over his face with a soft brush.

Gray Fox stood quietly for grooming, seeming to enjoy it. When Sarah had finished, she lifted the saddle and pad onto his back, and ran the girth through the martingale loop before tightening it. He obligingly opened his mouth to accept the bit when Sarah put on his bridle. So far the old gelding was being cooperative; a good sign.

Sarah put on her helmet, picked up the crop, and was about to lead Gray Fox out of his stall when she remembered her spurs. She quickly strapped them to her boots, but on this warm afternoon, she left her riding gloves in the tote bag. Gray Fox's hoofs rang on the cement floor as she led him down the aisle toward the side exit. Cutting across the courtyard would be the quickest route to the indoor arena.

Once outside, Sarah began jogging, not easy in her tall boots, and she was relieved when Gray Fox willingly trotted beside her. The arena's large entrance door was open, with only the wooden swing gate closing off the opening. She looked in to see if the coast was clear. Taking a deep breath, she called out, “Gate!” to the riders inside and led her horse into the arena.

THE AIRY INDOOR RIDING ARENA
was brightly lit from the afternoon sun filtering in through the skylights when Sarah led Gray Fox inside. She was relieved there was no sign yet of Jack O'Brien. The other four riders in her class were mounted and warming up their horses, all wearing helmets, riding breeches, and tall black boots.

These four teens were experienced riders, the best of the young equestrians at Brookmeade, and they took their riding seriously. They hoped to do well in competition and knew Jack O'Brien would help them achieve that goal. Sarah had felt honored when she was invited to join the class, even though she had to ride a school horse while they all owned their own mounts. Jack said she deserved to be challenged along with his top riders and shouldn't be held back. “To be sure, there's much good that comes from riding many different horses,” he'd added.

Paige Vargas was riding Quarry near the ingate and came closer when Sarah entered. Quarry, an eye-catching dappled gray Thoroughbred, turned his head to Gray Fox, who pinned his ears. Fox wasn't friendly with most horses; the barn crew was careful to turn him out with only the few he tolerated.

“You're late,” Paige said. “What's up?” A few strands of blonde hair escaped from under her riding helmet as the girl with the perfect complexion and violet eyes halted her horse.

“My mother's appointment ran late, that's all,” Sarah said. “I'm glad Quarry is okay now.”

“We think he was just footsore after being shod last week. You know how brittle his feet are. He had a few days off and now he's fine.”

Paige glanced at Sarah's mount as she asked Quarry to move off. “I'm glad it's your turn to ride Gray Fox,” she called over her shoulder as Quarry broke into trot. “Be prepared to work hard!”

As Sarah walked Gray Fox to the center of the arena to mount, she saw Kayla trotting Fanny in a circle at the far end. She caught Kayla's eye and gave her a thumbs up—Kayla and Fanny looked great. Sarah knew Kayla was a little nervous about jumping Fanny today, as things hadn't gone well in their last lesson. Fanny had stopped in front of a triple bar jump, something she'd never done before.

“It was my fault, not Fanny's,” Kayla admitted later. “Jack said Fanny needed more impulsion. If I'd ridden her stronger to the jump, she wouldn't have refused.”

On the far side, Paige's boyfriend, Tim Dixon, was doing walk-canter-walk transitions. His horse, Rhodes Scholar, was mostly Thoroughbred except for a Cleveland Bay grandfather, which accounted for his large frame and generous bone. A rich blood bay, his only marking was a white stocking on his left hind leg. Tim sat tall in the saddle, a good-looking guy on a striking horse. When Rhodes took a few trotting steps before cantering, Tim brought him back to walk and asked again. After a few tries, Rhodes seemed better in tune with what Tim wanted, and finally went directly into canter.

As Sarah prepared to mount Gray Fox, Rita Snyder trotted briskly by on her elegant Dutch Warmblood, Chancellor. She was spotlessly neat, wearing full seat breeches, a polo shirt mono-grammed with her Pyramid Farm logo, and highly polished custom boots. “You're late!” Rita called out as she passed, without slowing to hear a response.

Chancellor was a splendid horse, standing well over sixteen hands with a gleaming jet-black coat. His head was large, like the rest of him, as were his long somewhat heavy ears. A white ring in his left eye contrasted sharply with his dark coat, and an irregular star on his forehead trailed down to a snip on his muzzle. For a big horse, he was light on his feet, and with each stride he pushed off with elegance and power, his luxurious black tail swinging from side to side. Although Chancellor could be irritable at times, Rita never complained. Instead she took every opportunity to brag about her horse.