Show Jumper (4 page)

Lisa was just about to sharply repeat her refusal when she looked at her mother’s face. Mrs. Atwood’s cheeks were flushed with excitement and her eyes were sparkling. Lisa realized that the clothes were just a part of her mother’s current state of happiness. Mrs. Atwood couldn’t get over the fact that her little girl was going to ride in the Macrae. It was obvious that she wanted everything—including Lisa’s appearance—to be perfect.

Lisa couldn’t remember ever seeing her mother this excited about a horse show before. Since she’d found out that Lisa was taking part in the event, Mrs. Atwood hadn’t stopped talking about it. “Top society people from Philadelphia and Pittsburgh attend this show,” she had told Lisa. “Not only that, but people buy new outfits for the show—hats, gloves, you name it! You won’t see any blue jeans among the spectators, no indeed! I’m going to go and mingle with the crowd and just enjoy myself, cheering my little girl on. I’ll have to start shopping for new clothes right away. I think a suit, don’t you? A pale color, like pink perhaps? And my double strand of pearls? Goodness, what will I wear the second day?”

Lisa knew that her mother was more interested in the prestige of the Macrae than in the riding that took place there. Even though her mother had always been a
loyal spectator at the horse shows in which Lisa had competed, she remained in a constant state of bewilderment about Lisa’s total horse-craziness. The people attending the Macrae and the clothes they would be wearing mattered a great deal more to Mrs. Atwood than the quality of the horses and riders competing in the show. Mrs. Atwood understood clothes better than competition, too.

Nevertheless, Lisa felt a pang of remorse. After all, her mother was just trying to buy her new clothes for the show. If she wanted Lisa to look nice at the Macrae—even for the wrong reasons—why should Lisa refuse so ungraciously? She hated disappointing her mother, especially when she was trying so hard with Lisa’s favorite activity, riding. Lisa looked at her watch again. Her lesson was due to begin in ten minutes.
Pine Hollow is only five minutes away
, she reminded herself. Then she sighed.

“Okay, I’ll try on a few,” she said. Mr. Reeds immediately brought over a pile of jackets.

Lisa began pulling on jackets over the old blue shirt she was wearing. She tried on a dark gray wool jacket, and then a really nice one in hunter green. She was about to choose the green one, but then Mrs. Atwood suddenly brought a third coat over. “How about this red one, honey?” she urged, holding it out.

The coat was beautiful—bright red, finely woven wool, with black velvet lapels. It was undoubtedly the
most impressive jacket Lisa had ever seen, but she felt embarrassed to even try it on. As she and any horseperson knew, red jackets were referred to as pink and were worn by riders who rode with hunt clubs and competed in foxhunting events. Even though most clubs no longer used real foxes in the hunts, hunt club members still adhered to the traditional uniform of the hunt, started in England: the “pink” jacket.

Before Lisa could explain any of this, Mrs. Atwood slipped the jacket over her shoulders. “Oh, it looks wonderful!” she gasped. “Honey, take off that awful blue shirt—you need a white shirt to really see how it looks.” She quickly hustled Lisa back into the dressing room and started handing her other clothes—a pair of black breeches, a snow-white shirt, a white stock tie. Dazed and increasingly worried about the time, Lisa found herself wearing a whole new outfit, with the red jacket as the centerpiece of the ensemble. She looked at herself in the mirror.

Not bad, she had to admit. The red coat with its black lapels looked striking with the black breeches. She turned slowly and examined herself from the back. She looked … almost professional.

Mrs. Atwood stuck her head into the dressing room. “Oh, darling, you look simply gorgeous!” she said, her eyes shining. She pulled Lisa out of the dressing room and made her stand in front of the three-way mirror. “Look at yourself! Just look at yourself. You look like
pictures I’ve seen in books. You simply must get this jacket. Think,” she added dramatically, “how incredible this jacket would look with that horse you’re riding. Black lapels, black breeches, black horse. Honey, it’s just the right accent. Thank God you’re not riding a
brown
horse.”

Despite her anxiety about the jacket, Lisa grinned. Her mother worked in retail clothes, and her most recent hobby was interior decorating. She clearly thought that a riding outfit and a horse could be coordinated like a couch and curtains. But Lisa looked at herself again in the mirror and frowned. Was the red—or rather, pink—jacket too showy? She had never worn such a flashy outfit to a horse show. Would Carole, with all her experience, wear a pink jacket to the show?

Lisa tried hard to think back on all her riding lessons and Pony Club rallies, but she couldn’t recall a single time when she had seen Carole, or any other rider at Pine Hollow, wear a pink jacket. So few riders had attended horse shows as big and prestigious as the Macrae, and Lisa herself had seen pink jackets worn only by riders on television.

Suddenly Lisa felt a spurt of annoyance. She was hot from trying on clothes, the dressing room was cramped, Max and the others were waiting, and besides, she really looked great in that jacket. Why was she always looking to Carole for riding and horse advice?
Do I always have to compare myself with Carole?
she asked
herself irritably.
Don’t I have a mind of my own? And besides, haven’t I worked really hard at my riding? It’s not like I don’t deserve a great new riding outfit.

Impulsively Lisa took off the whole outfit and handed it to her mother. “I’ll take it,” she said. Then she remembered something and blushed. “Thanks, Mom, for everything,” she said haltingly. “I can’t believe how much new stuff I’m getting.”

Mrs. Atwood beamed. “Lisa, you won’t regret it,” she declared. “You deserve the best, honey, and this is it. I’m so proud of you for riding at the Macrae.”

“Excellent choices, Ms. Atwood,” purred Mr. Reeds. Lisa saw that he could barely contain his joy at making such a huge sale. Jacket, breeches, shirt, tie, hard hat—he must be imagining what his uncle would say when he got back.

Looking at her mother’s radiant expression, Lisa started to feel less guilty about letting her buy all those expensive riding clothes. She was shocked when she heard the price of the jacket. But Mrs. Atwood’s smile didn’t dim one bit, and Lisa sighed in resignation. “Guilt is bad for the digestion,” she had often heard Stevie joke—just before digging into one of her strange ice cream concoctions.

Lisa leaned against the counter and waited for Mr. Reeds to finish wrapping up the clothes. Then she happened to glimpse the store clock. Her riding lesson had started twenty minutes ago! Panicked, she grabbed her
mother’s arm. “Hurry, hurry!” she said, “I’m late for my lesson—it’s the last one before the Macrae!”

“What’s that, this ‘Mack-Ray’?” Mr. Reeds asked cheerfully. Exasperatingly, he started making small talk as he began to wrap up their purchases. “Some kind of dance?”

“It’s one of the most exclusive horse shows, and all sorts of society people—” Mrs. Atwood began. But Lisa cut her off, grabbing the new clothes and shoving them into a bag. Then she dashed out to the car to wait while her mother finished paying.

On the way to Pine Hollow, Lisa begged her mother to drive as fast as she safely could. As a result, the ride only took two minutes instead of five, but Mrs. Atwood managed to get in five minutes’ worth of oohs and aahs about Lisa’s new clothes and the Macrae.

As they pulled into the driveway, Carole and Stevie came running out of the barn. Lisa barely waited for the car to stop before opening the door. Sitting on the edge of her seat, she hastily pulled on her boots and grabbed her crop and hat. Then Carole and Stevie reached her and pointed her in the direction of the show ring. “We’ve tacked up Samson for you—hurry!” Carole said urgently.

“As soon as I saw your car pulling in, I told Max we could start,” added Stevie.

Lisa gave them both a grateful look. After she said good-bye to her mother, the group started walking
quickly to the show ring, where their mounts waited. On their way over, Stevie asked, “Did you get anything? A new hat? A new crop?”

“A whole new outfit,” Lisa admitted sheepishly. Before she could elaborate, the group reached the ring. Max was waiting by the fence, a tense look on his face. “Nice of you to join us, Lisa,” was his only comment when they arrived.

Lisa apologized to Max, who waved her toward Samson. “We really have to get started,” he said. But even Max’s tension couldn’t dampen Lisa’s enthusiasm. She had new riding clothes, the Macrae was only two days away, and best of all, she was going to ride Samson—the most talented horse she had ever competed with in a show. She greeted Samson happily and swung onto his back.

I feel ready for anything
, she said to herself.

A
S THE LESSON
got under way, Max’s tension eased and his usual calm, professional demeanor took over. Despite the anticipation in the air—or maybe because of it—the three girls really began to enjoy themselves. A private lesson with Max was a rare luxury. Although he always paid attention to each rider and horse in their group lessons, in private lessons he was especially focused and attentive to the finer points of riding.

First The Saddle Club warmed up the horses, trotting them across and around the ring in different formations and using different gaits. Then they practiced dressage moves, which helped the horses warm up and focus their concentration. Max watched the warm-up with a critical eye but made few comments—the group had been practicing so much during the past few weeks
that Lisa and Carole were extra careful about their seats and hands. Only Stevie, who wasn’t getting ready for competition, goofed off a little. Max didn’t bother to reprimand her. He just gave her a look that she knew all too well. She subsided immediately and went through the rest of the warm-up exercises with a docile air of obedience.

This lesson was the last time that Lisa and Carole would school their horses over a jump course before the show. The next day they planned to ride the horses lightly and then spend the rest of the day packing the horse trailer and van. Max had told them that horses needed a rest after a long training period and before a big event—otherwise, they might treat the event as just another day of training. He had also told them that the advice applied to humans as well and urged them to have a relaxing, fun evening and an early bedtime. The girls had made plans to watch a video and eat dinner at Stevie’s house once everything was finished at Pine Hollow.

After fifteen minutes of warming-up, Max motioned the girls toward the jump course, which Red had set up to conform with specifications for the Macrae. “Who wants to go first?” Max called out.

Lisa looked at Carole. “You first,” she said. She wanted to watch Carole and Starlight jump the course. She knew that this was one of the best ways to benefit from another rider’s experience.

Lisa had watched many jumping events on television and had attended a few shows. She knew that in this class of the junior jumping division, form didn’t matter. What mattered was jumping clean—getting over the course without any knockdowns, refusals, or run-outs—and finishing the course within the time limit. If a horse and rider knocked down poles or refused fences, faults were deducted from their overall point totals. If a horse and rider finished the course after the time limit ran out, time faults were deducted. Time really mattered if two riders had to compete in a jump-off to decide a winner. In the jump-off, the fastest time with the fewest faults won.

Lisa leaned forward in her saddle and peered at Carole, who had started Starlight in a canter and was heading toward the first jump. Lisa wanted to observe the other pair’s every move—how tightly Carole made the turns on the course, how she controlled the pace of Starlight’s canter as he headed toward each jump.

As Carole approached the first jump, she had a calm, set expression on her face. Stevie and Lisa, watching her, thought she looked as cool as a cucumber. Only Carole herself knew, however, that at that moment she was bubbling over with excitement and happiness. The prospect of competing in the Macrae, the long hours of practice, even the hours of stable work they had put in to convince Max to take them—all of that was heaven to Carole. And now her hard work in training Starlight
was paying off. He was responding beautifully to her commands. He swept over the first jump cleanly and headed for the next. Carole urged him on and leaned forward at just the right moment. She didn’t lose her balance when they landed but smoothly shifted her center of gravity until the next jump. Starlight was in fine form—he was obviously enjoying himself, and he cleared each jump with ease.

As Carole finished a clean round, a wave of clapping broke out. Startled, Carole looked around, then grinned and waved. Mrs. Reg, Red O’Malley, and some of the other students at Pine Hollow had gathered by the fence to watch the schooling and were applauding Carole’s round and her nearly flawless riding. “And the blue ribbon goes to Carole and Starlight!” called out May Grover, one of the younger members of Horse Wise and the daughter of Mr. Grover, who had taken part in Samson’s early training.