Lisa (17 page)

She was so busy with the problems the last wave had caused that she never saw the next wave coming. Only instinct caused her to take a deep breath when it hit.

In an instant Carole was completely submerged in the surf. This time, instead of propelling her upward and toward the shore, the water pulled her down, tugging fiercely at her feet, dragging her down toward the sandy bottom.

Carole had never felt a force like that. It was mightier than a team of horses, stronger than anything she’d ever known. Her body scraped the bottom, and the rough sand scratched her skin while her lungs screamed for air.

Carole didn’t know how far she traveled or how long she stayed underwater, but finally she found herself near the surface again and was able to fight her way up to the precious air. She gasped with relief, coughing and sputtering. For a second she was so glad to be able to breathe again that she didn’t notice what else was happening to her.

Then she looked around and realized that she was out beyond the line where the waves broke. And she was being pulled farther away from the shore at every second! She
could breathe all right, but she could still feel the water pulling at her feet. If it pulled her under again, she wasn’t sure she would have the strength to fight it. She was totally exhausted.

She looked toward the shore, hoping to spot her cousin. When she saw her walking down the beach with the flutterboard tucked under one arm, Carole waved at her frantically.

Sheila waved back.

Carole cried for help, but Sheila was too far away to hear. When Carole waved again, Sheila just held up the flutterboard. It was obvious she had no idea that Carole was in trouble.

Carole realized she wasn’t going to get help from Sheila. What could her cousin do, anyway? If she came out to help, both of them might be killed.

Carole tried swimming toward shore. It took all of her might to pull her feet up a bit and begin kicking. She moved her arms, though it felt as if they had lead weights attached to them. Carole was a good swimmer—she’d been swimming all her life. But she’d never had to swim like that. No matter what she did, how hard she tried, with each stroke she found herself farther from shore.

Soon Sheila reached the water and waded in. When she looked at Carole again, she finally saw what was happening. Carole wasn’t playing in the waves. Carole was caught in a riptide, and she was being carried out into the ocean, out where there was nothing but danger for swimmers.

Sheila was terrified and panicked. “Help!” she cried, but
there was nobody else close enough to hear her. The lifeguard tower was empty at the moment, and all the other beachgoers had left the area.

Sheila looked around desperately. All she saw was the peaceful beach where they’d had their picnic and where their horses were now enjoying the shade of a coconut palm. Her own pony, Maverick, looked up when she looked at him.

Maverick, her beloved pony. Could he help? Sheila didn’t know, but she knew there was no other possible answer. She dropped the flutterboard and ran to her horse. Unhitching his lead rope, she leaped onto his bare back.

“Let’s go, boy,” she said. And they went.

Meanwhile, Carole was still struggling against the current. Every inch of her body told her she must not allow herself to be dragged out into the ocean. She kicked, she used her arms, she kept moving … and she kept going farther out.

Suddenly there was a tug at her feet as the water tried to suck her under again. She filled her lungs with air just before she went under. Again, she was relentlessly pulled by the force of the water, down and out. She was swirled around as if by water going down a drain. Then, as suddenly as she’d gone down, she popped up. She gasped for air and looked around. The beach was very far away now, the few people farther down the beach looking very tiny in the distance.

There was one figure that was bigger, though. Carole squinted against the glare, trying to figure out if she was seeing right. Someone was entering the water. Not just a
person; a horse. It was a horse she’d seen before, she was sure of that, but just at the moment she couldn’t remember where. And the rider—she knew the rider. Definitely. But who was it? Before she could remember, the water tugged again, and she took another deep breath as it pulled her under once more.

On the beach, Sheila urged Maverick forward. The brave pony entered the water fearlessly, trotting straight into the powerful surf. He didn’t flinch when the water was at his knees or splashing on his chest. Sheila gripped tightly and prepared for the onslaught as they approached the area where the surf might grab at them, too. She spoke to her pony with her legs and he answered with his heart and all his strength. Soon he was jumping against the oncoming waves just as Sheila and Carole had been doing only a few minutes earlier. This time, however, it wasn’t for fun.

Sheila sat as tall as she could on her pony’s back and searched the deep blue water ahead for a sight of Carole. At first she couldn’t find her. But finally she spotted her, bobbing helplessly almost a quarter of a mile away.

While Maverick moved forward toward Carole, Sheila considered the circumstances. She knew what was going on, though she suspected that Carole did not. Carole was caught in a riptide, an incredibly strong surface current that was pulling her down into the ocean and away from shore. There was no way a single swimmer could defeat the force of the riptide. Fighting it would surely only lead to exhaustion, and exhaustion led to a place Sheila didn’t want to think about.

The only way to defeat the riptide was to get out of its force. Since it could be a mile or more long, straight away from the beach, the only option was to move parallel to the shore, beyond the section affected by the riptide. Somehow Sheila had to convince Carole to stop swimming toward the beach and start swimming parallel to it.

Carole saw Sheila then. She knew who it was. It was her cousin Sheila and Sheila was riding a horse. It was her horse. It was … She couldn’t remember the horse’s name. He had a name, she was sure of that, but she just couldn’t remember it. But she knew she wanted to reach them. She lifted one arm, put it in front of her, and kicked weakly. Her arm didn’t really feel much like her arm anymore, though. It was more like some sort of very heavy attachment to her body. It just fell back in the water and hung limply by her side.

Sheila was waving at her. Carole wanted to wave back, but her arm weighed too much. What did she want, anyway? It didn’t look like she was waving hello. It was more like she was waving at Carole to go away.

Carole wasn’t sure, but she thought maybe she
was
going away. Far away. She started thinking about her mother, who had died a couple of years earlier. The water tugged at her feet again. It was cold, but so was she.

Sheila could tell that Carole didn’t know what she wanted her to do. Carole just had to swim sideways. It was the only way—unless Maverick could get to her, and then all three of them would go sideways together.

She shifted Maverick’s direction. They had to go down
the shore beyond where Carole was. They would have to be beyond the force of the riptide and make Carole swim toward them. She urged her horse on faster, and he obeyed. When the water got too deep for him to stand and walk, he simply swam, strongly and bravely, as she sat on his back.

With every stroke, Maverick brought her closer to Carole. Sheila didn’t know what would happen if she and her pony got caught in the riptide, but she knew what would happen if they didn’t reach Carole, so there didn’t seem to be any choice. They swam on, Maverick never faltering as he swam and swam and swam, snorting now and then to get the water out of his nose.

Suddenly Carole didn’t feel any more pulling. The torturous tugging stopped. She was vaguely aware of the motion of the ocean around her, rocking, reassuring water everywhere. But no more tugging. Carole rolled over on her back, laying her head on the water and looking up at the blue sky above. She closed her eyes. She was tired. Very, very tired. She thought she might sleep now.

Sheila saw Carole floating on her back, rising and falling with the swell of the ocean. She didn’t know what was happening, but she knew that, one way or another, Carole was no longer being held by the riptide. It meant that it might be safe to swim near her now.

“Over there, boy,” she told Maverick, aiming the pony toward Carole.

It took another few minutes for the pony and rider to reach Carole. Although Sheila and Maverick were both exhausted by the difficult swim, Sheila knew that they had
more strength left than Carole, who seemed barely aware of where she was.

Sheila checked her balance, leaned over, and grabbed her cousin’s arm. “Come on up here, girl,” she commanded.

“Wake me later,” Carole said. “Later. I’ll sleep now.” She closed her eyes again.

Sheila pulled. She pulled as hard as she could, drawing Carole up out of the water. She finally managed to get her onto Maverick’s back in front of her. Carole slumped forward. Sheila didn’t know how well she’d stay there, but it was the best she could do. It was time to begin the long journey back to the beach.

Carole felt the pony’s mane in her face. She didn’t know what horse it was, but it was a nice horse. It smelled of the ocean, but it smelled of horse, too. That was a good smell.

“Nice horse,” she mumbled, hugging the horse tightly.

Sheila wasn’t sure why Carole was holding on to Maverick so tightly, but she was glad. It was keeping her from sliding off into the ocean again.

Maverick seemed to understand that he had to get back to shore. Sheila knew he couldn’t have much energy left, nor did she. She didn’t want to think about what might happen if they didn’t reach land soon.

One of the first rules of riding is that you always look where you want your horse to go. On dry land a horse might misunderstand the slight changes in balance caused by a turned head and shift his own direction. Sheila didn’t know if it was the same in the water, but that seemed logical. She stared at the shore ahead as it drew closer and closer. She
was only barely aware of their progress as Maverick swam through the surf that was now helping to carry them to safety. The pony pushed himself up and rode on the force of the waves, grasping for footing each time the ocean set them back down again, each time a little closer to shore.

Sheila saw people gathered on the beach. She thought she saw some men wading into the surf with life preservers and ropes. She thought she saw an ambulance. Then she thought she saw her father and Carole’s father.

But she was too tired to be sure. She knew only that she and her pony and her cousin were going toward the shore. They were going to get there.

Maverick’s feet struck sand. He was walking now, not swimming. He struggled with the weight of the two girls on his back; he struggled with his own exhaustion. He took more steps. He paused. Without any signal from Sheila, he walked forward again toward the beach, the dry sand, and safety.

Sheila heard voices. She saw hands reaching for her and for Carole. She felt Maverick snort weakly and then stumble. That was the last thing she remembered for a long while.

Sheila and Carole ended up in the hospital, but they both recovered quickly and completely from the ordeal. Thanks to Sheila’s quick thinking and her pony’s courage, they’re perfectly fine today. Maverick will be fine, too, though it will take him a little longer to recover. He’s got some lameness, and the vet said there was some strain on his heart. But I think he proved that his heart is big enough
to handle just about anything. Sheila probably won’t ride him as much anymore—she was outgrowing him anyway, and her parents just bought her a new, larger horse—but she will always take care of him and always love him. Because no matter what the size of Maverick’s body, the size of his love was never in question.

That’s why he was able to help his owner when she needed it, and why he was able to save Carole. It was the same with Sheila herself. She didn’t hesitate to lay her own life on the line to save her cousin’s. And Maverick didn’t hesitate to do whatever his beloved owner asked of him, never wavering, no matter what the cost to himself. Because of their generous, brave, wonderful spirits, Carole is alive and well today. It all just goes to show the true power and value of people—and ponies—helping other people.

FROM:
           LAtwood

TO:
                Steviethegreat

SUBJECT:
      Your favorite: HOMEWORK!!!

MESSAGE:

Hi, Stevie! It’s too late to call, but I wanted to tell you I just finished my “People Helping People” essay. I decided not to write about what happened with Alice after all. Instead, I asked Carole if I could write about what happened to her in Florida. I even talked to her cousin on the phone to get her side of the story, and I think the essay turned out
pretty well, if I do say so myself. You can read it sometime if you want.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I think your idea to write about Alice was a good one. And I thought I could just use what I wrote about it in my diary, more or less. But I thought my teacher might not be interested in every little detail about Pine Hollow and the rest of it, and when I wrote down what was left it was too short—the essay had to be at least five pages long and the Alice essay was barely three.