The Painted Horse (5 page)

W
HEN
SHE
WOKE
ON
Thursday morning, Stevie knew something was wrong, but she couldn’t remember what it was. She sat in bed, stretching her arms.

Then she remembered that she’d promised to behave all day. That thought was so depressing that she lay down and pulled the covers over her head. “Woe is me,” she groaned.

“Are you sick?” asked Helen, Stevie’s roommate.

If this had been an average day, Stevie would have pretended that she’d caught some vile disease. But she realized that wouldn’t work. Besides, she’d be going back on her promise. She pulled the covers from her face and
said, “No, I’m not sick. I’m fine. But thank you for asking.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Stevie?” Helen said. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Stevie said, walking toward the bathroom. “Yes, today is a very fine day, and I’m lucky to be alive.”

Inside the bathroom, Stevie scrubbed her teeth. Then she saw Helen’s travel bag. It had not just toothpaste but dental floss. A really disciplined person would floss her teeth right now.

“Is it okay if I use your dental floss?” Stevie called.

“Are aliens inhabiting your body?” Helen replied. “This can’t be the real Stevie.”

Stevie flossed her teeth. When she was done, she thought of how pleased her dentist would be.

Stevie brushed her hair fifty strokes. She had read somewhere that this would produce perfect hair. All it did was turn her ears pink, but it made her feel virtuous.

When Stevie looked in her suitcase, she knew she would have trouble finding something good to wear. She had stuffed it with black clothes because she’d read that the hip people in New York only wear black. She pulled out a black turtleneck. “Disgusting,” she said. She pulled out a pair of black jeans. “What poor taste.” She found black socks and a black sweater. “Revolting.”

At the bottom of the suitcase was a flowered dress.
Stevie’s mother must have sneaked it in there at the last moment. Stevie was her mother’s only daughter, and she knew that Mrs. Lake had dreams that someday Stevie would wear a dress.

“My mom is so thoughtful,” said Stevie, pulling the dress out of the suitcase. She looked at the flowers on the dress. “How did she know that petunias are my favorites?”

“I think you’ve gone mad, Stevie,” said her roommate.

“That shows what you know,” Stevie huffed.

At breakfast, Stevie sat next to Ms. Dodge, who told her how nice she looked. Ms. Dodge ordered an English muffin with “a smidgen of strawberry jam.” Stevie had been planning on loading up on sausages, eggs, and waffles. But she figured she’d have an easier time being good if she didn’t overeat, so she ordered an English muffin herself.

After breakfast they went to the Museum of American Folk Art to see samplers and other embroidery. Ms. Dodge explained that well-born ladies used to spend whole days sewing.

“Think of that,” Stevie said, peering at an embroidery of a willow tree. “You could go blind doing that.” When she noticed that Ms. Dodge was listening, she added, “Not that it wouldn’t be worth it.”

The class had lunch at a restaurant near Lincoln Center.
Stevie sat next to Ms. Dodge. She was starving, but she ordered what Ms. Dodge ordered—a watercress and cream cheese sandwich with the crusts cut off.

“Hey,” Stevie said. “And I always thought watercress was stringy and dull.”

“Watercress is the queen of leafy greens,” said Ms. Dodge, patting her lips with her napkin.

After lunch they headed uptown toward the New-York Historical Society. Stevie walked with Ms. Dodge, who was fascinated by the dresses in the store windows.

“Isn’t that lovely?” said Ms. Dodge, pointing to a cream silk dress. “It’s so elegant.”

All Stevie could think was
Spots.
If she wore that dress it would be covered with spots in no time. She sneaked a look at Ms. Dodge, who didn’t have a single spot on her clothes.

Stevie imagined herself without spots. She saw herself with perfectly groomed hair. Strangely, she looked a little like Veronica diAngelo.

They crossed Central Park South and entered the park at the southeast corner. Stevie heard a familiar
clop, clop
noise.
Horses
, she thought, smiling.

“I do love the fragile quality of early spring light,” Ms. Dodge said.

“
Fragile
is the word,” Stevie said.

Stevie heard the cawing of a crow. In Willow Creek crows were not particularly popular. There were too
many of them, and they made a lot of noise. But here the crow’s cawing made Stevie long for the open fields of Willow Creek. One crow rose from a tree. It was joined by another crow. And then another. Cawing and squabbling, they flew north.

From far off, Stevie thought she could hear tinny carousel music She thought of the man with the backward hat who worked at the carousel. That was an okay job—running the carousel, making sure everyone was safe. She figured he was having a good time right now.

Stevie thought of the mounted policeman. He would be riding through the park finding lost children, telling tourists where to go for the best french fries. That was a
really
great job.

“I know you’ll do really well today, Stevie,” said Ms. Dodge. “You’re behind the rest of the class. You haven’t selected an object, but I know you’ll find something splendid.”

“You can count on me,” Stevie said, remembering her resolution to be good.

A horse-drawn carriage passed. In the back were a young man and woman holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. Stevie thought of Phil, her boyfriend. If he had been here, they’d have been having a good time. She sighed. She had been doing okay until her class entered the park, but now she could feel her goodness wearing thin.

The New-York Historical Society was an austere marble building on Central Park West. The class trooped up the outside marble steps. Inside were more marble steps.
The guy who designed this building was certainly into steps
, Stevie thought.

Mrs. Martin clapped her hands, a signal that the group should draw around her in a ring. “Today I want you to find objects that go with your special object,” she said. “You can buy postcards in the store on the main floor. You have two hours. Everyone will meet in the lobby at four.”

Stevie trudged up more marble stairs. When she got to the top floor, she looked around.

“There are so many wonderful things here,” Ms. Dodge said. “I know you’ll find a perfect object.” She gave Stevie an encouraging smile.

Stevie walked into the first room. It had chairs, silver teapots, and cups and saucers. “You could die of excitement,” she muttered to herself. She caught Ms. Dodge looking at her and smiled. “Great stuff,” she said. “Those cups and saucers are something else.”

Stevie walked into another room.
Hey, more chairs.
Over a chest of drawers was an oil painting of a horse. Stevie stepped closer to look at it. The horse was running, but in a very odd way. Both front legs were straight out, and both hind legs were straight back. A horse that ran like that would fall flat on its stomach.

But so what? The horse was running. (Or floating, to be more accurate.) His nose was up, his tail was out. Stevie could hear the thunder of hoofbeats. She could feel the wind in her hair. Suddenly she wanted to ride the carousel again.

Stevie looked at Ms. Dodge, who was gazing at a teapot with an expression of rapture. Then she looked at the door. It would be so easy to disappear. It wouldn’t be good, but it would be easy. She looked at Ms. Dodge again. She had moved on to a coffeepot.

Stevie slipped out the door. Softly she ran down the marble steps. On the main floor she paused. She shouldn’t do this, she knew. She should stay in the museum. She should find an object. On the other hand, outside the air was fresh, the crows were flying, and Ralph was waiting for a nice chat.

Stevie stepped out the door.

“T
ODAY
’
S
OUR
LUCKY
day,” Lisa said miserably.

“Not,” Carole said gloomily.

They were in the tack room at the stable. They’d gotten there early in case there was anything Max wanted them to do before Veronica gave her lecture on bridle care.

Veronica walked in from the barn. There was a white paper bag in her pocket.

“Hey, you’re early,” Lisa said. She had never known Veronica to be early for anything.

“Have you got a problem with that?” Veronica said snootily. She looked Carole and Lisa up and down. “Why don’t you find Max?” she said. “He may want you for something.”

Lisa and Carole didn’t like being bossed by Veronica. On the other hand, looking for Max had the distinct advantage of getting them away from Veronica. They walked into the barn to find him.

Max was mucking out a stall.

“Is there anything we can do?” Carole said.

“You’ve already done a lot,” Max said. “You were great yesterday.”

“Anything for Pine Hollow,” Carole said with a grin.

“I appreciate it,” Max said. He raked the stall so that the earth was higher in the center than it was at the sides. “I hope everything goes more smoothly today,” he said. He hung the rake on a hook, and the three of them went off to join Veronica.

When they entered the tack room, Veronica was bent over the container of cleaning supplies. Lisa and Carole exchanged surprised looks. Was Veronica actually trying to learn about cleaning tack?

There was the sound of wheels in the mud outside.

“They’re here,” Veronica said cheerfully. “I know today is going to be wonderful.”

Melody came into the room with the cameraman. “We got a lot of good feedback about yesterday,” she said. “Who knew that cleaning a saddle could be so dramatic? I nearly fainted when you put that black polish on the saddle.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Veronica said stiffly.

Lisa realized that Veronica actually believed that the mixup with the polish had been Lisa and Carole’s fault. She figured that there were some people who just couldn’t admit when they were wrong, even to themselves. She decided the best thing to do was to stay away from Veronica, so she stepped to the side. A patch of white in the wastebasket caught her eye. Casually she leaned over and looked. It was the white bag that Veronica had been carrying. It said
JERRY
’
S
JOKE
SHOP
. Lisa felt a sense of dread.

“Okay, guys,” Melody said. “Let’s get started. And don’t worry about mistakes. Just plunge on ahead.”

Veronica pointed to the hook where her bridle was hanging.

“That’s some bridle,” Melody said, her voice filled with awe. The bridle had two reins on each side and two different bits. “Tell me about it.”

“It’s a double bridle. My father gave it to me, and, of course, it’s custom-made,” said Veronica. There was an
uncomfortable pause when Veronica clearly couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“The bit with two pieces is a bridoon or snaffle,” Carole whispered.

“This is the bridoon,” said Veronica, pointing to the bit that was made of two pieces of metal hooked together. “It’s also called a snaffle.”

“What’s the other bit called?” asked Melody.

“It’s called a bit or curb,” whispered Carole.

“This is a bit,” said Veronica. The second bit was a single piece of metal with a curve in the center. “Note the two pairs of hand-sewn reins.”

“And when do you use this type of bridle?” Melody asked.

“This type of bridle is used for advanced training, particularly in dressage,” said Veronica. “And now,” she added with a smile, “Carole will clean the bridle, and Lisa will polish it.”

Carole removed the bits and curb chain and put them in a bucket of water. “I’m stripping it,” Carole whispered.

“Carole is stripping the bridle,” Veronica said.

Carole undid the lip strap, then she undid all the buckles and moved them to the lowest holes. She washed the leather with a wet sponge.

“Carole has washed the bridle. Lisa is going to dry it,” said Veronica.

Lisa picked up a chamois cloth. It was soft, the way it was supposed to be, but it also felt itchy. Her fingertips felt as if they were on fire.
“Orrrf,”
she said, dropping the cloth.

Carole dived for it. She stood up, looking relieved. An expression of surprise crossed her face. “Eccch,” she said.

Lisa couldn’t let this happen to Carole. She grabbed the cloth. Her whole hand itched now, and so did her arm.

“Lisa is supposed to be drying the bridle,” Veronica said. “But she seems to be having difficulty. I guess she’s suffering from nerves.”

Lisa wouldn’t let Pine Hollow down. She started to dry the bridle with the cloth. But the more she dried the bridle, the more her fingers itched. She thought of the white bag from the joke shop. Could Veronica have covered the chamois cloth with itching powder?

Carole could see that Lisa was having trouble. She wanted to help. “I’ll do it,” she said, reaching for the cloth.

Lisa couldn’t let her do that. “No,” she said.

“I insist,” Carole said, grabbing for the cloth.

“Now, girls,” Veronica said. “We mustn’t compete.”

“I’ll take it,” Lisa said a little more firmly.

“No, me,” said Carole, pulling at one side.

Carole and Lisa pulled at opposite ends of the cloth.

“A little bit of attention and they lose control,” Veronica said smugly.

Lisa lost her grip on the cloth. Carole lost hers at the same time. The chamois cloth fell into the bucket of water.

“I’ll get another,” Max said. He opened a drawer and pulled out a fresh cloth. When he handed it to Lisa, he gave her an odd look.

“Do you think you girls can cooperate now?” said Veronica.

Carole’s face was pink. Lisa could tell that she was so angry that she was on the verge of tears.

“Yes, we can, Veronica,” Lisa said. She dried the noseband and the reins. Then she gave the cloth to Carole.

“Very good,” said Veronica. “It’s nice to see you two getting along for a change.”