Driving Team (4 page)

A little girl stood there. She wore a red wool sweater along with her jeans and had curly hair, almost as blond as Mrs. Davidson’s. Though she was standing as
if she wanted to be invisible, in her arms she clutched one of Carole’s all-time favorite books,
Misty of Chincoteague
by Marguerite Henry.

“Hi,” said Carole, barely above a whisper. “That’s a great book, isn’t it?”

The little girl nodded.

“I just adore it. Have you gotten to the race parts yet?”

“I don’t know.” The little girl shrugged. “I can only look at the pictures.”

Carole frowned. “How come?”

“Because I can’t read yet.”

“Oh,” said Carole. “I see.” She leaned against the bookshelf with a dreamy look in her soft brown eyes. It had been seven or eight years since she had learned to read, but she could still remember sitting on her mother’s lap, running her fingers over the words in her horse books. They had all seemed so wonderful and mysterious, and she’d hardly been able to wait to go to school so that she could learn to read the stories about these great animals whose pictures she loved. Now she couldn’t imagine not being able to read, especially about horses.

Carole smiled at the little girl. “How old are you?”

“Five.” The little girl held up all the fingers on one hand. “My name’s Cynthia and I just started kindergarten.”

“Hey, that’s great,” said Carole. “That means you’ll be reading in about a year. Then you can check out all these wonderful books about horses and read them all you want.”

“But I want to know what happens to the horses in this book now.” Cynthia’s lower lip stuck out as if she might cry. Carole moved closer and sat down beside her.

“Well, let’s see,” she said. “Maybe I can explain what’s going on.”

She thumbed through the book and smiled at the illustrations she remembered so well. “This is the fierce pony stallion the Pied Piper, who’s chasing the great mare Phantom back to the herd, away from Paul and Maureen, who want to catch her.”

Carole turned the pages, explaining the pictures. “Here Paul and Maureen are working hard to earn enough money to buy the Phantom, if they can catch her on Pony Penning Day. And here Paul has to jump in the water to save Phantom’s foal, Misty, from drowning in the sea!”

“Wow,” said Cynthia. “How can you tell what’s going on just by looking at the pictures? Not even my teacher at kindergarten can do that.”

Carole laughed. “Well, this is one of my most favorite books. I bet I’ve read it about fifty times. I could almost tell you what happens from memory.”

“Could you?” asked Cynthia excitedly. “Would you?”

“Sure,” answered Carole, settling back against the bookcase. “About five hundred years ago Misty’s pony ancestors were shipped from Spain to work in the gold mines of Peru, but a great storm blew in and wrecked their ship. The ponies broke free and finally swam ashore on Assateague Island.…”

“Carole?” a familiar voice rang out. “What on earth are you doing?”

Carole looked up. Lisa stood there, pencil and note cards in hand.

“Oh, hi, Lisa.” Carole gave a sheepish grin. “I was just reading, uh,
Misty
.”

“Reading
Misty
?” Lisa frowned. “I thought you were reshelving books we didn’t need.”

“Well, I was, but this little girl was trying to figure out Misty just by looking at the pictures, and I thought I’d help her out. Her name’s Cynthia, and she likes books about horses.”

“Hi, Cynthia.” Lisa knelt down and smiled. “My name’s Lisa. How old are you?”

“Five,” Cynthia replied shyly.

“Do you go to school?”

“I go to kindergarten, but my teacher hasn’t taught me how to read yet.”

Lisa smiled again. “You know there are brighter, nicer places to look at books than this dark old corner
of the stacks. Why don’t you move to one of the children’s tables?”

For a long moment Cynthia stared at the floor. “Because I need to hide,” she finally replied, her voice just a whisper.

“Hide?” Lisa looked at Carole and frowned. “How come?”

“Because that mean old Mrs. Davidson would be real mad if she found me here again.”

Carole looked at Cynthia. “But why? Mrs. Davidson loves to see kids use the library. She helped us gather lots of books about driving.”

Cynthia dug the toe of her right sneaker into the carpet. “Mrs. Davidson has found me here before. She doesn’t like it when my mother leaves me here.”

“Your mother leaves you here?” Lisa’s voice rose in alarm.

Cynthia nodded. “She leaves me here to go to the mall and shop. She buys all sorts of stuff. I bet she spends a million dollars a week at the mall.” She gave a loud sniff.

Lisa and Carole exchanged glances. “Just like You-Know-Who,” Carole said softly, thinking of Veronica diAngelo and her mother, who seemed to spend half their lives driving from mall to mall looking for stuff to buy.

“So, does your mom leave you here for a long time?” Carole asked.

Cynthia nodded. “She’s not going to pick me up today until six.”

“Six
?” Lisa cried. “Cynthia, the library closes at five-thirty. Do you just wait on the steps for her all by yourself?”

Cynthia gave a big sigh and looked at the floor again.

“Carole, this is terrible. We’ve got to do something. No five-year-old should be left at the library all day while her mother shops at the mall!”

“I know,” said Carole. “Let’s go tell Mrs. Davidson. She’ll know what to do.”

“No, please!” cried Cynthia. “Mo—Mrs. Davidson would be so mad! She would call my mother and throw me out and never let me come back again. Then I could never find out what happened to Misty!”

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Carole put one arm around the little girl and gave her a hug. “We won’t tell Mrs. Davidson.”

“No, we won’t,” added Lisa. “We promise.”

“Thanks,” said Cynthia, blinking back tears. She held up her book. “Do you think you could read me a little bit more of
Misty
before my mom comes?”

Lisa and Carole looked at each other. “Sure,” they
said together, settling down on either side of Cynthia. “We’ll take turns reading you a chapter apiece.”

“Gosh,” Cynthia said. “You two are great!”

Carole and Lisa had just started reading about Paul’s adventures on Pony Penning Day when the library lights flickered twice. Carole stopped reading and looked at her watch.

“Good grief!” she cried. “It’s five-fifteen! The library’s going to close in fifteen minutes, and we haven’t gotten anything done except pile up a big stack of books.”

“We’d better get Mrs. Davidson to put them on reserve for us,” said Lisa.

“You won’t tell her about me, will you?” Cynthia shrank back in the corner again.

“Oh, no. We’re just going to make sure nobody will check out our driving books before we’ve finished with them,” Lisa explained as she and Carole got to their feet. “Will you be okay back here?”

“Yes. I’ll just wait till Mrs. Davidson isn’t looking, then I’ll sneak out the front door. Mostly, she never even knows I’ve been here.”

Carole and Lisa shook their heads. “Well, it’s been fun reading to you, Cynthia,” Carole said with a smile.

“You’ve been great.” Cynthia grinned. “Thanks a lot!”

“Bye,” whispered Lisa as she and Carole picked up
their note cards. “Maybe we’ll see you again sometime!”

Cynthia smiled and waved, then scooted back into the dark shadows of the tall bookcases.

“Do you believe that?” Carole asked Lisa. “How could someone leave a neat little kid like that to go shopping for hours at the mall?”

“I don’t know,” replied Lisa. “But then, I never would have dreamed that Mrs. Davidson could be so nice to us and so mean to little Cynthia.”

“I know,” said Carole. “I guess it just goes to show that appearances aren’t always what they seem.”

“You mean you can’t judge a book by its cover!” Lisa said with a grin. Carole groaned and began stacking their books.

“B
ELLE
,
YOU HAVEN
’
T
looked this good in weeks!” Stevie stepped back in the stall to admire her handiwork. All afternoon she’d groomed Belle while waiting for four o’clock to come, and now the mare sparkled. Her mane and tail were free of tangles, her soft coat glistened with a deep chestnut shine, and each of her hooves had been polished to a horse-show luster. She even seemed pleased with herself. Her dark eyes twinkled and she held her head high, as if she knew her owner had taken extra good care of her that day.

Stevie smiled, then jumped as someone whistled right behind her. She turned around. Max stood there.

“Looks like somebody got a beauty treatment today,” he said, taking note of Belle’s gleaming hooves. “Even a
manicure, I see. You’re not starting a nail salon for horses, are you?”

“Hardly,” said Stevie. “I was just putting myself to good use until four o’clock.”

“Well, you’ve done a great job. Belle looks like she could enter the National Horse Show right now.” Max looked at Stevie, his blue eyes kind. “Are you ready to learn about driving?”

Stevie nodded.

“Then meet me in the back storage room in five minutes.”

“Okay.” Stevie watched as Max returned to his office; then she dug in her pocket for a carrot for Belle. She held it out, and Belle nibbled the tidbit gently from the palm of her hand. “Thanks, girl,” Stevie whispered. “You cleaned up like a dream. Now Max thinks I can do at least one thing right!”

She gave Belle a hug, then hurried out of the stall and down to the back storage room. Max had already turned the lights on, and Stevie could see lots of the props and jumps they’d used for Pony Club rallies and gymkhanas of the past. An old candy-striped jump brought a smile to her lips. That had been the first jump she and Belle had gone over together.

“Okay.” Max suddenly appeared in the door. “Has your partner shown up yet?”

Stevie shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Well, I’ll show you everything and let you get started.” He crossed the room and pulled a huge box from behind a cardboard figure of Uncle Sam that they’d used for Fourth of July games. Stevie could see that the box was bulging with different kinds of reins and bridles, and in fact it was so heavy that Max could only drag it across the floor.

“Well, here it is,” he said, stopping when the box rested in front of Stevie. “The Pine Hollow Driving Tack Collection.”

Stevie looked down at the box in dismay. Reins and bridles were tangled up much like the Lakes’ big box of Christmas lights in their attic. Dirt and mud encrusted the leathers, and a thin layer of dust covered everything on the top of the pile.

Stevie looked at Max dubiously. “Guess it’s been a while since the wagon’s been driven, huh?”

“A while,” he admitted. He reached into the box and pulled out a cracked bellyband. “I think the D-level Pony Clubbers must have been doing some kind of project with this tack. They’re the only ones who would have left everything in such a mess.” He frowned. “I’ll have to have a chat with them.”

Stevie gave an inward shudder. She’d been the recipient of several of Max’s chats, and she knew what the D-level kids were in for. Suddenly, though, she smiled. Maybe those little kids had done her a big favor
without even knowing it. Maybe the tack was in such bad shape that Max would assign her some other project that didn’t include working with Veronica diAngelo. Softly she cleared her throat as she peered down into the box.

“So I guess this stuff is in too bad a shape to use, huh?”

“Oh, no,” said Max cheerily. “With a little saddle soap and elbow grease, it’ll be good as new.” He turned to her and grinned. “Just follow me.”

With a sigh Stevie followed him as he dragged the box to a relatively empty hallway and turned on the lights overhead.

“This is what driving tack is supposed to look like.” Max pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and drew a diagram on the side of the box. “These are the reins, those are the cruppers, here’s the checkrein and back pad. All that should be in this box. Why don’t you follow this drawing and see if you can lay it out on the floor here? After that, you and Veronica can clean it all up.”

Stevie compared the straight lines of the diagram to the tangled mess in the box and frowned. “You want me to make that out of this?”

“That’s right.” Max rose to his feet. “It shouldn’t even take you that long. I’ll check back with you in a little while to see how you’re doing.” He gave her a
quick wink, then turned and walked back to his office, leaving her alone in the empty hallway.

“Okay,” Stevie said softly, blinking at the dusty box. “Whatever you say.”

For what seemed like hours, she worked at detangling reins from bridles, and traces from breechings. When she had finally laid out something that resembled Max’s drawing, she heard footsteps echoing down the hall.

“Stevie!” Max called out. “Help has arrived!”

Stevie looked up, hoping that Max had gotten Red O’Malley, the head stable hand, to rescue her from this huge tangle of tack. Instead, her heart sank. Not Red O’Malley but Veronica diAngelo walked beside Max, once again clad in emerald green cashmere. Apparently she was going to work on this project after all.