The first week of the new quarter DJ attended Acalanese High School only half days.
“It feels strange,” she answered in response to her mother’s question the third afternoon. “And I’m beat, but I know it will get better.”
“I’m sorry, DJ, about not feeling I can homeschool you. I’ve prayed and Robert’s prayed and Gran, too. We all feel this is the best.”
“I know. Guess it was a long shot, but that way I thought I could do it all.”
“Do what all?” Lindy swayed from side to side with Manda in her arms.
“Oh, train and teach and school and the cards and—”
“Well, as we agreed, teaching is out until you feel up to it again. We can cut more if need be. Are you still angry?”
“Nope, not now. I know it’s for the best.” DJ munched on the baby carrots and other veggies Maria had set out, along with the chocolate chip cookies. It had taken her a few days to reach that point of acceptance, but it helped when Bridget totally agreed with her parents. The girls from her riding class groaned loud enough to scare the horses, but they were so glad to have her back in the barns that they switched to laughter pretty quickly.
School really had gone better than DJ thought it would. Other kids treated her like a celebrity for a day or so, and no one stared at her hands or her short hair. Even that had grown enough so that DJ could get a new style at the salon. The only bad thing: She still couldn’t take art class. She’d had to take study hall instead. Art had been the highlight of her days before.
Everything was before or after.
“I gotta get changed and over to the barns, Mom. Joe asked if I would take care of Ranger, too.”
“He went to San Francisco with Gran, then?”
“Um.” DJ snagged another cookie and drained her milk. “Tell the boys to get General’s stall cleaned out, and I’ll try to be home before dark so they can ride.” She dropped a kiss on Manda’s cheek and another on the waving pink fist. “What a sweetie you are, Manda Banda.”
“DJ, her name is Amanda Marie.” But the laughter in Lindy’s voice took away any reproof. “Remember that tomorrow you have an appointment with the therapist.”
“I know.” DJ threw the words over her shoulder as she took the stairs three at a time. Halfway up she stopped and yelled back, “Some girl stopped me today to tell me what a cool haircut I had. Said she might do one like it.”
“You might start a new fad.”
“Me? Ha, what a joke.”
Bridget had DJ back to riding two classes on the flat and one of low jumping every week.
“Just until you get stronger, although Jackie kept Herndon in excellent condition. The jumping will come again. You must be patient.”
DJ groaned inside but kept a smile on her face. “I know.” Even as she stood in Bridget’s office, she kept working her fingers, pushing them into her palm with the opposite hand. She seemed to have reached a plateau with no noticeable improvement in dexterity. The therapist said that was normal, but …
January seemed to be a month of nothing going right. At least, that’s the way it seemed. Deluges of rain kept all the riders in the covered arena with no jumping. DJ pushed herself to gain more strength during her classes and when she rode on the off days.
“You need to take it easier,” Bridget warned.
“I will.” But the next day DJ could feel herself tighten her leg grip. Herndon swerved to the inside, and since she was tight and not sitting deep in the saddle, DJ found herself on the ground. “Oof.” She thought more words than that. Her hands stung, her rear stung, and she wanted to scream.
“Put him away.”
DJ closed her eyes. Why did Bridget have to catch her like this?
“No riding tomorrow. I warned you.” While the voice was gentle, steel underscored it.
Without answering, DJ put Herndon away. “Sorry, big horse. This wasn’t your fault.” It was my fault. And I should know better. She called herself several names on the way out to the truck.
Bridget met her at the barn door. “You will not beat up on yourself, either, will you, ma petite?”
“No.” But she had the grace to look caught. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, but we will get through this, too. You have come a long way. Do not be in such a rush. That is when accidents happen.”
“What was that about?” Joe asked when he climbed in the pickup.
DJ told him what happened.
“Did you hurt your hands?”
DJ shrugged. “Not really. But my pride sure stings.”
“The inside one or the one you sit on?”
“GJ!” But she couldn’t help but laugh.
A week later when they finally got to return to the outside ring, DJ dropped the reins just as she and Herndon approached a jump. He stopped and she didn’t.
“I knew you’d do that one of these times,” she muttered as she led him back to the mounting block. No matter how well Herndon behaved now, she kept expecting him to act up like he used to. She tried flexing her hands, and the strength wasn’t there. Too tired. DJ gritted her teeth and mounted again.
“Slow canter around the ring outside the jumps, then trot the cavalletti. Next week we will do a grid. You just have to be more patient with yourself.” Bridget gave her a shrugging smile.
DJ spent the month of February working on a lot of flatwork; the grid, which was made up of seven even jumps with two paces between and was designed to rebuild confidence; strides and balance; and attempted drawings that made it no farther than the wastebasket. The rain continued.
“I feel like someone sure is raining on my parade,” DJ told her grandmother one night on the phone.
Gran chuckled. “Don’t we all. Here I’m trying to paint sunny meadows, and we keep getting black clouds.”
“And don’t tell me this, too, shall pass.”
“I won’t. You just said it.”
“G-r-a-n.” But DJ couldn’t help but smile. She’d stepped right into that trap. “Got a verse for me?”
“Ah, how about Noah on the ark, when it rained for forty days and nights?”
“Thanks a big fat bunch.”
“But the skies finally cleared and the dove brought back a green branch. Good night, darlin.’”
The next afternoon a hand-painted card awaited DJ on the kitchen counter. Inside was an ark with a man in a long beard, reaching for the branch from a white dove. The sun shone and a rainbow arched over the ark. Inside it read Even Noah thought it might rain forever. But it didn’t. I love you. Gran.
DJ handed it to her mother. “Cool, huh?”
“She just whipped this up, right?” Lindy sighed. “Such talent between you and her. Sometimes I’m jealous. I think we should frame this.”
DJ agreed. And tried to think of rainbows instead of the rain.
“So how is your attitude?” Bridget asked as she opened the gate to let DJ out of the arena.
Needs a bath. “I’m working on it.”
“I think we will leave the grids next week and return to regular jumps.”
DJ could feel her attitude shifting almost miraculously. Surely March would be better than the weeks before. “The grid helped, though, didn’t it?” She didn’t need Bridget to answer. She felt not only stronger, but more sure of Herndon and of herself.
That night DJ tore down the stairs, holding out a drawing tablet. “Mom, look!”
“What?! Oh my word, you scared me half to death.” She held her hand to her heart.
“What is it, darlin’?”
“Hey, Gran, I didn’t know you were here.” DJ crossed to the small glass table and antiqued iron chairs set up by the French doors so her mother could see the backyard in spite of the March rains. “This.” She moved the pot of ruby tulips out of the way and laid her drawing pad on the table between the two women.
The half-grown horse was obviously Stormy. She seemed to be reaching so far for something that she was standing on her tiptoes but at the same time gave the impression she would flee at any moment.
Gran picked it up and tilted it toward the light. “Wonderful. Such feeling and motion. When did you do this?”
“I just finished it. I’ve been working with the pencils for weeks, and the first ones were terrible. But I got what I wanted here. That’s the way she was when Amy and I were up there during Christmas break.” She didn’t tell them about the wastebaskets full of failures.
Gran handed the drawing to Lindy and reached an arm around DJ’s waist. “Well, I do think you can get over worrying about your artwork. You didn’t lose your touch.”
“Or else I found it again. I was worried there for a while.”
“DJ, darlin’, I think you’ve found a lot more than your drawing touch.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, you’re more sensitive than ever, not only in your fingers but perhaps in your heart, mind, and soul. You think?”
DJ shrugged. She hadn’t thought about that, but like Bridget, Gran was almost always right.
“Oh, DJ, I can’t believe this.” Lindy shook her head slowly, smiling all the while. “I have a suggestion. How about we make prints of this, frame them, and give one to Dr. Niguri, one to Nurse Karen, and one to your therapist, Jody. They would really appreciate seeing the outcome of their handiwork.”
“I was thinking of blowing it up for Robert and Brad for Father’s Day.” It felt funny saying Dad and Dad, so she’d used their names, but that felt funny, too.
“How about for your grandfather, too? He’d love one.”
“Maybe I ought to go into production. So do you think I’m ready to go back into art class when the new quarter begins in a couple of weeks?”
“I think so. Simply amazing.”
“Thank you, heavenly Father, for all your mercies on our dear girl.” Gran studied the drawing again.
“Amen to that. I’ve been thanking Him. Of course, it is easier now that things are better, but I tried to in the bad times, too.”
“I know you did. Let’s do these on real good paper. How about asking your grandfather if he would like to do the frames for the two big ones? He’d be so proud you asked.”
“Good, then I’ll take his down to the frame shop.” DJ gave her mother and grandmother each a hug.
“Oh, DJ, before you run off. The woman from Outlook House called, and they have the cards packaged and ready to be picked up. All ten boxes. And they shrink-wrapped the singles and the prints. Not sure how many more boxes that makes.”
“Ten boxes. Did we really order that many?” DJ sank onto the other chair.
“You’re going to need warehouse space pretty soon at the rate you’re going.” Gran sat back and sipped her licorice tea.
“And someone to do the shipping.”
“I can’t believe this.” DJ looked down at the drawing. This one could possibly be included in the next printing. She traced her finger around the edge of the tablet. Who would have dreamed that their little card idea would grow like this? Being able to draw again, no matter how slowly, made up in part for the weeks of rain and sloggy flatwork.
“One month until the first show.” Tony Andrada stared at the March calendar on the wall. “Do you think you’ll be ready?” He turned to DJ, one eyebrow raised like a question mark.
“I have to be.” But Bridget still had her schooling over low jumps, nothing like competition. “Bridget suggested I enter Hunter classes this first time.”
“That’s good. You can call the first time in the ring again a schooling show.”
“I guess.”
“Trust her, she knows the best way.”
“She sure does,” Hilary Jones joined in. “She has me scheduled for a show in Las Vegas next weekend and Phoenix two weeks after that. My dad is going to trailer my horse, and I’ll fly there so I don’t miss so much school. You think high school is hard, wait until you hit college.”
DJ knew Brad was hoping she could help him show in Phoenix the end of April, but that was different from jumping Herndon. Her mother had reserved the final decision for DJ, depending on her energy level and how school was going. If not, well, there’d be another time.
The first show rolled into reality faster than DJ dreamed it would. Herndon walked out of the trailer as if he owned the world and whinnied to let his subjects know he’d arrived.
“Right in my ear.” DJ smacked his shoulder, more like a love pat. If only he could scare away the butterflies in her middle with his piercing whinny. They’d even taken to waking her up at night.
Herndon turned to look at her, snuffled her hair, and resumed his aristocratic pose. But he walked beside her to his stall without pulling at the rope or dancing any of his mighty jigs. When they were warming up in the schooling arena, he watched the others but didn’t feel like a wire stretched to the point of snapping. He popped over the schooling jumps without pulling or rushing his fences, and his ears pricked—evidence that he was having a good time.
So was DJ, except for the inner butterfly battle.
DJ wore riding gloves now, her Jobst gloves in her bag for later. She’d been able to do without them for several hours a day lately, but it felt strange without them. They were somewhat tighter than leather riding gloves. She flexed her hands, one at a time, keeping the reins secure in the other. Please, God, let him behave. I don’t care if we get a single ribbon. I just want to do well and get over these awful butterflies. She’d awakened that morning feeling like she had to throw up. Not a good start for the day.
Herndon danced sideways, reacting to DJ’s nervousness, until DJ tightened both legs and hands and trotted forward.
They placed fifth in Junior Working Hunter Under Saddle, but DJ didn’t feel bad. She’d entered it on Bridget’s orders, and now they were over their first hurdle—entering a show-ring again.
“To give you more experience,” Bridget had said firmly.
Junior Hunter Seat Equitation Under Saddle earned them a red. Herndon had turned on the charm and caught everyone’s attention, including the judge.
Junior Hunter Over Fences had three of them in close competition. When DJ was awarded the yellow—third place—Joe grumbled, “Politics, that’s what. That judge must have been having eye trouble.”
“Joe Crowder.” Gran slapped his arm with her program. “Don’t you talk like that.”
DJ chuckled at the guilty look on her grandfather’s face. “Gotcha, didn’t she?”
DJ rode third in her next class. When her number was called, she leaned forward in the saddle, took a deep breath, let it all out, and signaled Herndon into a trot. Entering the ring, she circled, asked him for a canter, and then they headed for the first jump, a single post and rail. He cleared it like he did all the others, with room to spare. They went around twice, then out.
“He was just playing out there.” DJ stroked his neck. “Didn’t even break a sweat.” But the feeling had been there, the feeling of flying. I can fly again. I know we could do the Jumper class.
The crowd cheered, especially her own cheering section of family and the gang from Briones, as DJ trotted back out to accept the blue ribbon for first. Herndon acted as if it were all for him, and he graciously accepted the accolades.
“He’s a big ham, that’s what.”
“You did good, DJ. You were the best.” The boys leaned around their father, who had their hands tightly secured in his own.
“Thanks, guys.” Since DJ was done showing, she put Herndon in his stall and came back to the arena to watch the jumping classes. When Tony Andrada entered the ring, he winked at her and then took first with only one jump-off
“You gotta get back out there so I have someone to compete against. That was way too easy,” Tony said when they were packing up to leave. He leaned his elbow on his knee, with one foot up on the closed burgundy-painted chest that held their tack. Two girls walked past, giggling as they went.
“Your fan club, Tony. Aren’t you impressed?”
“Yeah, right. All I need right now.” He took a swig from his can of soda and stretched his neck from side to side. “So the next one is May first at Rancho de Equus. You’re going, right?”
DJ felt her stomach hit her boot tops. Rancho de Equus—the scene of the fire.