Horse Whispers (13 page)

“Well,” said John slowly, “a horse whisperer is someone who communicates with a horse almost as if she were another horse; as if she and the horse share the same language. It’s a kind of natural horsemanship, teaching a horse without breaking its spirit and letting the horse decide when to join you. I can’t really explain it, but once you’ve seen it, you never forget it. Have you ever seen Carole display unusual abilities with animals, like being able to approach wild horses and ‘talk’ to them?”

Stevie grinned. “There aren’t too many mustangs in Willow Creek,” she joked, breaking the spell. But she and
Lisa both knew what John meant. Carole communicated with horses on a different level than normal people. The black mare was a perfect example of that. She had been wild, and Carole had tamed her. She had “spoken” to her, and somehow the mare had known she would be all right, at least when Carole was nearby.

“Say, did we ever find out the black mare’s name?” Lisa asked suddenly.

Stevie shook her head. “Nope. Kate asked her dad and he said he didn’t know, either.”

“I tried thinking of some,” John volunteered, “but none of them seemed to suit her.”

“Hmmm,” Lisa said, her eyes far away. “Interesting …”

C
AROLE WALKED INTO
the barn a little shakily. She felt okay, really, just a little tired. She was more worried about how she would react to seeing the mare.

Mick and John met her at the door. John gave Carole a big hug. Mick went to shake her hand. Then he said, “Aw, heck, I’ll hug you, too,” and enveloped her in a bear hug. “Bet I know who you came to see,” the wrangler guessed. “I’ve got some carrots for her right here.” He patted his jacket pocket.

“Great,” Carole said. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the mare probably wouldn’t take the treats.

Carole let herself be led down the aisle. She expected Mick to stop at the mare’s stall. Instead he continued on
to the grooming area. The mare was standing there cross-tied!

Carole did a double take. The horse that a few days earlier wouldn’t put up with the ties seemed to have gotten used to them overnight. She pushed her nose out toward Carole. Incredulous, Carole rubbed the black forehead.

“Now, that’s one thing she won’t let us do,” Mick commented. “She won’t let us go near her face. I hope it’s only a matter of time, but I don’t know.”

On further examination, the mare was a little jittery, a little high-strung. But lots of horses were that way. Obviously she wasn’t going to metamorphose into a dull school horse—and anyway, nobody wanted her to.

Mick put his hand out toward the mare. She raised her head suspiciously and backed up a step. “See? Oh, well, what can you do?”

“Here, wait,” said Carole. “Where are those carrots?”

Mick handed her a bunch.

Carole fed two to the mare. “Come here,” she said to Mick.

“By you?”

“Yes.”

Carole slipped the stable hand a carrot. “Okay, feed it to her.”

Mick put out his hand. The mare laid her ears back. “Aw, forget it, I—”

“No, wait!” said Carole. She was aware of John watching
her. She rubbed the mare’s neck soothingly and said to her, “You know Mick. He’s your friend, the way we all are here. So you can act nice to everyone, okay?” Carole went on murmuring, her voice barely a whisper. Eventually the mare blew through her nostrils.

Bingo!
Carole thought. “Try again,” she said to Mick.

Mick sidled up close to the mare and again proffered the carrot. After a moment’s hesitation, the mare put her head down and plucked it from his hand. Mick grinned from ear to ear. “She took it!” he exclaimed. Carole urged John over, then another wrangler who was watching the scene. Slowly, one by one, and with the help of carrots, each of them made friends with the black mare.

When the carrots were gone, the mare looked around. Carole was scratching her withers. John was standing at her head. The mare turned and rubbed her forehead against John.

“Well, how do you like that?” John murmured.

“It’s … It’s great,” Carole said. She felt her throat getting tight. This was the sign she had been waiting for, ever since Frank had told her of the mare’s change. It meant, simply, that the mare wasn’t going to be a one-woman horse forever. It was Carole’s dream come true that the mare was starting to like it, as Frank had said, “on the inside.” But it didn’t change the fact that Carole was going home tomorrow, and that she was losing the mare to the Bar None.

* * *

T
HEIR ELEVEN GUESTS
were assembled around the table. The cheese-and-cracker hors d’oeuvres had been eaten. Dessert was in the oven. And to Stevie and Lisa, the most beautiful words on earth were the ones Phyllis proclaimed on their behalf: “Dinner is served!”

At every place setting there was a card listing the evening’s menu:

The Martins and McHughs sipped their soup. “Gosh, whom should we compliment?” said Mrs. McHugh.

“It says ‘à la Lake-wood,’ ” Kate pointed out, her eyes twinkling. “That’s Stevie
Lake
and Lisa
Atwood
.”

“Where are they?” Mr. Martin asked. “This is darned good soup.”

“And he doesn’t even like vegetables,” his wife added.

Carole giggled. “I believe the chefs are in the kitchen.”

At that moment the two girls emerged, carrying a large tureen. They were wearing white hats for the occasion.
“Anybody want seconds?” Stevie asked. She had insisted that there be enough for seconds of every course. After all, you had to treat others as you wanted to be treated yourself!

Lisa nudged her gleefully. Stevie looked up. Every hand at the table had gone up.

The meatloaf—made according to Phyllis Devine’s secret recipe—was equally popular. Near the end of the main course, Lisa came out with her camera and took pictures of everyone enjoying the meal: the Martins, the McHughs, the Devines, the Brightstars, Carole, and Christine Lonetree. Earlier she had copied down the recipes for her home ec report. Everything was going like clockwork.

Just then Frank stood up to make a toast. “To our two cooks!” he said.

“Hear, hear!” called the table.

“And to their teacher!”

“Yay, Phyllis!”

“Yay, Mom!”

“And now,” Frank continued more seriously, “I have another toast. As you all know, a few days ago, I bought five new horses. One of them didn’t seem to like it here much. I predicted she’d settle in soon enough.” He paused. He had the air of a man who has just made a major realization. When he continued, his voice was reflective. “But to tell you the truth, I’m not so sure she
would have—if it hadn’t been for a certain visitor. We have Carole Hanson to thank for giving us the black mare. By
giving
I mean acting as the liaison between the mare and us—me, the ranch—so that when Carole leaves, we can continue her training ourselves. Along the way …”

Kate’s father had to stop again. Everyone at the table had burst into thunderous applause. Carole looked down at her plate. This was the last thing she had expected. A lecture, maybe, but a speech in her honor? Hardly!

“Ahem! Along the way,” Frank continued, his face a mixture of respect and curiosity, “we noticed something peculiar. The mare had no name. It seems appropriate in a way, since she hadn’t accepted humans. But now I’d like to announce that from here on”—he paused dramatically—“from here on, if Carole approves, the black mare will be known as Carole’s Chance. Because if Carole hadn’t taken a chance on her, nobody else would have. We would have treated her like any other horse. And as she proved two days ago, this mare is not any other horse.”

Once again there was a burst of clapping and chatter. Only Carole was speechless. She didn’t realize Frank had accepted that the mare was really and truly different. That was more important to her than any words of gratitude. He reached under the table and came up with a present. He handed it to her. Her hands shaking, Carole unwrapped
it. She drew a brass rectangle out of the box. It was a nameplate to go on the door of the mare’s stall. The inscription read
CAROLE
’
S CHANCE
. Carole’s eyes were shining. Everyone was looking at her. She could never, ever put into words how she was feeling. She was incredibly thankful when Phyllis stood up. “Anyone ready for dessert?”

Stevie smiled with anticipation. “Sure, I’ll have—” But she didn’t get to finish her sentence. Beside her Lisa had clapped a hand to her forehead. Her mouth was open. Her eyes were nearly popping out of her head. Stevie felt her mouth go dry. Her limbs began to tremble.

The two girls pushed their chairs back from the table. They sprinted for the kitchen. Lisa flung open the oven door, expecting the worst.

“Why, oh, why! Why did we have to forget—” Lisa caught her breath.

Stevie looked to the heavens. “It’s a miracle!” she cried.

The pies were absolutely perfect: golden brown crusts surrounding the dark pecan filling.

“I just don’t get it,” said Lisa, stunned with relief.

“You don’t have to,” Stevie replied, grabbing pot holders to remove the pies. “Our beautiful dessert has been saved. That’s all that matters.”

“But they were baking an extra twenty minutes at least,” Lisa insisted. Then she noticed the dial on the oven. It was turned all the way down to a warming temperature.
Lisa grinned. Suddenly she had an idea who had brought about the miracle.

“Girls, your guests are waiting,” said a voice behind her. Phyllis had slipped into the kitchen after them.

“I know, I know, I’m bringing the pies out now,” Stevie answered. “Lisa, grab the ice cream.” She hurried out of the room.

“Say, Phyllis?” Lisa said.

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

Phyllis beamed. “Anytime,” she said. She handed Lisa an ice cream scoop.

Lisa got the tub of vanilla out of the freezer. “Phyllis?” she said again, this time more thoughtfully.

“Yes?”

“How many times do you have to burn the dessert—or almost burn the dessert—to become a real cook?”

Smiling, Phyllis put an arm around Lisa’s shoulder. “How many times do you have to fall off a horse to become a real rider?” she said.

Lisa laughed at the comparison. The first few times she’d fallen off, she had thought it was because she was a beginner. Then as she got better and still fell off occasionally, she’d thought it was because she was challenging herself more, with bigger jumps and more difficult horses. Now she realized that even the best riders fell sometimes. “A lot, huh?” she said to Phyllis.

Phyllis nodded. “And you haven’t even begun to experiment
with all the
other
disasters,” she teased. “I mean, you’ve never dropped the pudding, or left out the baking soda, or had the dog get the steaks …”

Lisa’s head began to spin. Phyllis turned her around. “Go,” she said. “Go forth and conquer.”

Stevie had served everyone pie in the living room. “Who’s for ice cream?” Lisa asked.

Everyone but Carole put a hand up. Lisa noticed her friend standing at the edge of the group, looking wistfully at the door. When she was finished scooping ice cream, Lisa went over to her.

“Do you want to go see the mare—I mean,” Lisa amended, “do you want to go see Carole’s Chance?”

“I think we can call her Chance for short,” Carole reassured her, laughing. “I’d feel strange if everyone was referring to her like that in front of me.”

“Good,” said Lisa, “because I would, too. Even though I love the name.”

Stevie came over and joined them.

“And yeah,” Carole answered, “I was thinking of going out and showing her her new nameplate.”

“Great. We’ll save you a piece of pie,” Lisa said readily.

“Yes, tell her we say hello,” said Stevie.

Carole frowned. “I was thinking maybe you guys would come with me,” she said. “But if you don’t want to—”

“Oh, no!” Stevie cried. “I mean, yes!”

“We’d love to!” exclaimed Lisa.

Carole looked at them. “I’m sorry, I—”

“We wish we had—”

“Next time we’ll—”

All three of them stopped. Stevie opened her arms and they hugged one another. Some things didn’t need explaining. What had happened, had happened. The important thing was that Carole was all right, and that Chance was all right. Laughing and gabbing, they headed for the door.

In the barn they met the most reassuring sign they could have seen: Chance was lying down in her stall. Stevie and Lisa looked at Carole. She beamed. Lying down was a big deal for a horse. It meant that she trusted her new environment enough to put herself in a helpless position, to let her guard down against attackers from the outside world. Wild horses hardly ever lay down.

Quietly the girls slipped into the stall. They patted Chance and scratched her withers. The mare was still a little nervous with people, but each encounter seemed to reassure her. Carole noted that she was friendlier with Lisa and Stevie than she had been with John, Mick, and Kate’s father.