Racehorse (10 page)

“How is she?” Judy asked breathlessly.

“It’s in her right hoof,” Carole informed her automatically. “Here, feel.” She stood up and stepped back to allow room for Judy to examine the horse. The instant Carole was out of Prancer’s field of vision, the horse began crying loudly again.

Carole stepped closer and then sat down cross-legged on the track, holding Prancer’s head on her lap. She stroked the horse’s cheek and neck calmly, talking all the while.

“It’s okay, girl,” she said. “Judy’s here. She’ll take care of you. She’ll find out what’s wrong, and she’s going to know what to do to make you better so you can race again and lead the field again and cross the finish line again. And I’ll be there with you, cheering and calling your name, and I’ll hold your trophies and then I’ll hug you in the winner’s circle.”

“What’s the story?” the track vet asked Judy when he arrived.

Judy stood up, and the two of them walked a few steps away to talk about Prancer’s condition. Mr. McLeod
joined them. The three talked in low voices. Carole couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she was afraid she knew.

“Prancer, my beautiful Prancer,” she said, hugging the horse, hoping that the love that flowed through her arms would heal the filly and save her life.

“She’s a good horse, you know,” Stephen said.

“I know,” Carole said, lifting her head from Prancer’s cheek. She noticed the cheek was moist with her own tears. She hadn’t even known she’d been crying.

“I never saw her run like that, you know. Mr. McLeod was right. You were a good omen for her. She was running for you. She was going to win the race or die trying,” Stephen said.

Carole glanced at him sharply. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Do the horses have to sacrifice themselves to win?”

“No,” he said. “But it happens. And when it does, often it’s because the horse wanted it that way.”

“Prancer wanted to die?”

“No,” he said. “She wanted to win.”

Carole looked down at the beautiful white-faced bay who rested her head so peacefully on Carole’s lap. When the next tear landed on the rich brown fur of the horse’s cheek, Prancer blinked, then nodded calmly, as if she were trying to reassure Carole and tell her it was all right.

“Let’s see if she can stand now,” Mr. McLeod said to Carole. “Want to help her up?”

Carole realized he was speaking to her. Very gently she stood up herself. Then she took Prancer’s reins and began to encourge the horse to rise. The act of rising from a lying position could be awkward for even the most agile and healthy horse. Horses had very long and slender legs compared to the heavy weight they were each expected to carry. When one of those legs didn’t work properly, the procedure was agonizing—at least it was for Carole.

She helped Prancer balance, encouraging her to put weight on her left foreleg, rather than on the damaged right. There was not a sound from the spectators. They all knew, just as Carole did, that the next few seconds were going to be critical to Prancer’s life. If she couldn’t even stand, they might decide to put her out of her pain right then and there. Carole didn’t want that to happen. She couldn’t let that happen. No way!

“Come on, girl,” Carole said. “First this one. That’s the way.”

She talked, she coaxed, she soothed. She even sang. It didn’t seem odd to her that she was surrounded by adults, all horse professionals, each of whom had many times the experience with horses that she did, and each of whom was waiting for her, Carole Hanson, to perform the miracle they hoped for.

Prancer shifted her weight and brought her hind legs directly under her. That was what she had to do first. Now she had to get the left foreleg where it could carry the necessary weight.

“I don’t know about this.…” the track vet began.

Mr. McLeod shushed him. “This horse loves this girl. That can be a powerful medicine,” he said.

Carole concentrated on what she was doing and how Prancer was doing. Prancer’s hind legs lifted her flanks. Then she stretched her left foreleg and braced it against the soft earth of the track. Slowly, awkwardly, the horse rose and was, at the end, standing on her three good legs.

The grandstand erupted in a wild ovation.

“They’re all cheering for Prancer!” Carole said elatedly.

“No, Carole,” Judy corrected her. “They’re cheering for you.”

Carole looked up at the people who waved and clapped for her. She saw Lisa and Stevie there, too, standing by the rail, crying just as she had been, but smiling and waving in spite of their tears. Mr. and Mrs. Lake beamed proudly and waved as well.

“Let’s get Prancer back to the stable,” Carole said. “I don’t want her to be frightened by all this noise.”

“I think she likes it,” Mr. McLeod said. “Look at her.”

Carole turned and took a look at the horse she was leading so slowly. Prancer whimpered with pain at every
step she took, but her ears were perked straight up and twitching alertly. This was a horse who was driven by success, by winning, by the roar of a crowd. This was a horse who wanted to live. But, Carole wondered, what did she have to live for?

O
NCE
P
RANCER WAS
back in the stable, Judy took charge, calling for the portable X-ray machine. Dozens of people hovered, watching and asking questions. Stewards and judges watched every move that Judy made. The track veterinarian assisted Judy. Nobody needed Carole anymore.

She drew back from the crowd. She was frightened when she realized that most of the people were there to see if it would be necessary to put Prancer to sleep. Mr. McLeod watched silently. Carole could tell from the look on his face that the same thing was on his mind. He excused himself for a moment then, saying something about having to call his insurance company.

Carole fled. She couldn’t take any more. She loved horses so much, and she thought Prancer was such a
wonderful horse, that she couldn’t bear the idea that Prancer might not make it—that that very special horse might have to be traded for mere insurance money.

There were three more races to run at the track. Beyond the confines of Mr. McLeod’s stalls in the stabling area, racetrack life seemed to be going on in very much the same way that it had been before. The lead riders rode their ponies with the racehorses. Trainers delivered last-minute words of advice to jockeys. Spectators studied horses, studied programs, studied the lines in their hands, and the formation of clouds, hoping to find a good way to pick a winning horse to bet on.

But for Carole everything had changed. All she wanted to do was get away from the track and be alone. Finally she found a place where nobody else was. It was the feed-storage shed for the stables. She opened a door and entered, finding herself in a vast room stacked with bales of hay and barrels of grain. The sweet and familiar smell of the hay welcomed her. She sat on one bale, plucked a piece of hay from another, and chewed on it.

So much had happened in the last couple of weeks. First she’d had to deal with Starlight’s injury and Pepper’s growing old. While working with Judy she’d also found out about lots of other illnesses and injuries that horses could get. And then she’d discovered for some people horses were mainly a business, one that would continue even though a beautiful racehorse had just been seriously
injured. What will come next? Carole wondered. When will I have learned enough of the lessons of life and death? Right now it seemed as if she were being forced to learn them again and again.

The tears came then, trickling at first and then streaming. She cried for Prancer, for her owner and rider and how much they loved the little filly. She cried for Cobalt, another horse she’d loved who had had to be destroyed. She even cried for her mother, now gone over two years, but still a painfully wonderful memory. She cried because she felt sadness and grief. She cried because she was afraid.

The shed door cracked open, letting in a stream of light that fell across the bales of hay.

“Carole?”

She looked up. Stevie and Lisa had found her. Without a word her two best friends ran to her and hugged her. They understood. They understood everything, and they were there to help her—or were they there to give her bad news?

“Prancer?” Carole asked, uttering the whole question with a single word.

“Judy’s reading the X ray now.”

“I can’t stand it,” Carole said.

“We know,” Stevie said, hugging Carole some more. “But I think Prancer needs you.”

That was the one thought that could get Carole back on her feet. If Prancer needed her, she’d be there for her.

“We saw her and she seemed glad to see us,” Lisa explained. “Except she kept looking over my shoulder.”

“I think she was looking for you,” Stevie said.

“She’s an amazing horse,” Carole said, smiling for the first time in a while. It made her smile to remember how much Prancer seemed to like her and her friends. Horses didn’t usually become attached to one person or another, but Prancer had become attached to Carole immediately. She recalled the first time she’d seen the filly in her stall at Maskee Farms, when she’d reached right over to Carole and nuzzled her. “A truly amazing horse,” Carole repeated.

“All the more reason to be there for her now,” Stevie said, offering Carole a hand.

Carole took it. She also took the tissue that Lisa offered her. The three girls left the feed shed and returned to the stables together.

Carole was very frightened as they approached Prancer’s stall. The filly was still completely surrounded by official-looking people jotting notes on clipboards and talking into recording devices. At the center of it all were Judy, the track veterinarian, and Mr. McLeod. They were holding a large X ray up to the light to study it. Carole didn’t want to know what they were saying. She
just wanted to be with Prancer. She walked past Judy, straight to the horse. Lisa and Stevie followed.

Prancer stood uneasily on three legs, her right foreleg lifted awkwardly from the floor of the stall. Carole reached into her pocket and pulled out a sugar lump, which she gave to the horse. It was comforting to hear the familiar crunch of the horse’s teeth as she nibbled at the irresistible sweet. Carole didn’t usually give horses treats, but Prancer seemed to be so deserving and, after all, what difference did it make if she got a little spoiled now?

Carole gave her a big hug. Prancer nuzzled her back affectionately. Lisa patted the filly’s neck. Stevie picked up a grooming brush and began tending to her. Each girl knew that these things might not matter at all, but it seemed that the only thing they could do for the horse was to treat her normally. In spite of the considerable pain in her foot, Prancer nodded her head approvingly. Just like any other horse, this precious racer was vain and loved attention. If that was what she loved, The Saddle Club was determined to give it to her.

“Too bad,” the track veterinarian said.

In spite of herself, Carole listened.

“Not really,” Mr. McLeod said. “The insurance money would be nice, and I know I’ll never recover my investment, but look at that horse. Would anybody want to destroy her?”

At his words everybody standing around the stall
looked at Prancer, preening proudly under the affectionate attention of three adoring girls.

Judy looked in surprise and then burst into laughter. Carole and her friends realized how foolish they must have looked, tending to the grooming of a horse whose life was on the line. Carole released her hug. Stevie took the grooming brush in her other hand.

“What’s the story?” Stevie asked Judy. Carole was glad she’d asked. No matter how badly she wanted to know, she knew she couldn’t have done it herself.

“Prancer has a broken bone in her foot,” Judy began. She held up the X ray to show, but it was hard to see. “It’s her pedal bone, and the fracture extends to the coffin joint. She’s never going to race again.”

“Oh, no,” Carole said involuntarily. “What does…”

“It means she can’t race. It doesn’t mean she can’t live. The bone will heal with proper care, but she’ll always tend to favor it, and if she races again and favors her right foot, she’ll run a great risk of breaking something more serious.”

“Will she become a brood mare?” Carole asked. She could see Prancer spending the rest of her days becoming the mother of championship racing horses.

“Mr. McLeod?” Judy asked, turning the question to him.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “The fact is that Prancer’s father also broke his pedal bone, and now that she’s had
an accident in the same bone, I suspect it’s a hereditary fault. That’s not a good characteristic to pass on to a foal, and certainly not one who is meant for a racehorse.”

“Then, what?” Carole asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” he said. “I’ll just have to see what I can do. In a way it would be easier to take the insurance money, but Prancer’s a gem of a horse, with the sweetest disposition I’ve ever had in my stable. She should be with people, I think. For now, though, she’s going back to Maskee Farms.” He paused and looked around. His groom was standing nearby. Mr. McLeod told him to load up Hold Fast and the mare he’d bought after the first race. Then he turned to Carole. “You’ll be the right one to load Prancer onto the van. Will you do it?”