(7)Explanations

They halted in the farmyard, and Jill held Barney while Albert ran off to find his father. In a few minutes Mr. Jones came, lifted her out of the saddle, and carried her into the house. There she was bundled into a bed, while Mrs. Jones called Mom and Dad. They were over in minutes, and drove her to the nearest hospital.

The doctor, after examining her X rays and checking her sight and reflexes, said that she had a mild concussion, nothing to worry about. They should take her home and put her to bed, and no riding for a week. Hearing that, Sarah frowned. The doctor looked sharply at her. “And no nonsense about it, young lady.”

He need not have worried. Sarah didn’t want to do anything but sleep until the next afternoon. Then she awoke, to find her headache gone and her vision clear again. She was stiff and achy and very hungry; she hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Flexing as little as possible, she dressed, went downstairs, and fixed herself a tomato and mayonnaise sandwich. Dad was typing furiously in the back of the house, and Mom hadn’t returned yet from a substitute teaching job. There was only Star for company. Sarah got the brush, and they both went in the living room and sat on the couch, Star’s favorite forbidden luxury. For about half an hour they stayed there, Sarah lazily brushing and Star half asleep with pleasure.

Suddenly, Star sat up, ears cocked to listen. Then she catapulted off the couch and raced to the kitchen, barking. Sarah went to a window to see who was there.

Albert had brought Barney back. He sat on Herky in the driveway, holding both sets of reins—Barney looked as frisky and energetic as ever. Sarah hurried out, pushing Star back so she wouldn’t bark at the horses. The cold gnawed at her feet as she hobbled across the yard, feeling like a rheumatic grandmother.

She held a hand out to Barney. He dipped his muzzle into it, scrubbing with his upper lip in search of a treat. Then he raised his head and blew thoughtfully into her face. She slipped her hands under his mane, to warm them and to scratch his neck. “What does that mean, feller? Sorry?”

“Probably not,” said Albert, “but I am.”

Sarah’s head jerked up in surprise. Albert’s eyes met hers, embarrassed but steady. “I was trying to give you trouble with him yesterday, and I guess I sort of caused your fall, cantering like that when I knew you didn’t have him under control. I’m sorry.”

Sarah frowned in puzzlement. She remembered the coldness yesterday, the air of challenge … but something like this? She looked at Barney’s neck to avoid seeing Albert’s painfully red face. He flung a rush of nervous words at her, trying to explain.

“It was because of Jill … well, that doesn’t make much sense. But—y’see, Jill wanted to take Barney long before this and she couldn’t. Then you show up and just get him. I know Jill didn’t hold it against you, but it made me mad. Just didn’t seem fair, and … well, it just made me mad, that’s all. So I wanted to give you trouble.…”

Not knowing what to say, Sarah concentrated on the itchy spot under Barney’s mane. As she scratched, he scratched Herky’s side, and Herky, unable to reach anybody, wriggled his lip in the air. The embarrassed silence lengthened, and the cold penetrated Sarah’s feet.

Albert must have seen her shifting them, because he said, “You should go inside. I’ll turn him out for you.”

“Thanks.” With a last, lingering pat, she retreated to the doorstep to watch. Albert stripped off Barney’s saddle and bridle and put them away, while Barney made a suspicious inspection tour, sniffing in the corners and finally rolling.

Albert came back to Herky, tied to one of the trees on the lawn. Sarah, huddling her frozen feet, asked, “Um … would you like to come in for some hot chocolate?” She was too nervous and confused to make it sound as if she meant it.

Albert said, “No. I guess I should get back for chores.”

“Sarah!” Dad’s voice exploded next to her ear. She whirled to see him standing behind her in the doorway, his hair all on end from the pangs of Art. “Get in here,” he barked. “Trying to get double pneumonia on top of everything else? Both of you, come in, warm up.” He disappeared again. Albert stared after him, his nice smile beginning at the corners of his mouth. Sarah felt suddenly more at ease.

“Come on in.” This time it was a real invitation.

Dad was trying to find a pan for making hot chocolate, but his mind was obviously still on his work. Sarah got it out and made the chocolate herself. When Dad made it, after a long day of writing, it either burned down or got scummy.

That left him free to talk to Albert, and since they’d only met yesterday, all they had in common was the accident. Sarah hadn’t had a chance to find out what Dad thought about it—she’d been asleep most of the time since it happened—and now she was shocked to hear him say, “I’d like to ask your advice, Albert, if I might. I don’t know much about horses, but in view of what happened yesterday, would you say that’s a safe animal?”

Sarah cast Albert an anguished look. He met it and looked away, squaring his shoulder. “Well, that … yesterday was an accident, Mr. Miles. We were cantering and he got a little out of control, I guess, and then she pulled on one rein and he swerved—which he should have, he was obeying the signal, he thought—and she went off. He stopped a few strides up the road and let me catch him, easy as anything.”

Over Dad’s head, Sarah looked her thanks. “Hmm,” said Dad, his face not giving anything away. Albert went on uneasily.

“Uh—he’s not as steady as Herk, but he’s a good horse.”

“Ah.” Made suspicious by his tone of voice, Sarah looked closely at Dad. He wore the faraway frown that meant his mind was on his writing. After a moment, nodding shortly, he rose and left them. Albert’s grin appeared.

“He’s a writer, isn’t he?” Sarah nodded. Albert’s eyes sparkled. With a quick, eager intake of breath, he started to say something, and thought better of it. Glancing uncomfortably at Sarah, he gulped at his hot chocolate.

“Um … well, you didn’t miss any math homework. He didn’t give any.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Conversation died. They sat sipping their chocolate, growing more uneasy and incapable of speech with every moment. The silence became something almost solid, a curtain hung between them.

Star stood up under the table, rattling the mugs, gave a sharp, bright bark, and ran to the door. Relieved at the distraction, Sarah went to the window. A battered station wagon was pulling into the yard, and Jill tumbled out the moment it stopped. She was talking before she got to the door.

“How are you feeling? You look lots better, but should you be out of bed yet? I made you some fudge this afternoon and Ma brought me over with it. It’s chocolate with nuts and it needs to harden some more—except Ma thinks it might never harden at all. But you can eat it with a spoon, it tastes good. No, Star, you can’t have any. Oh, hi, Alb! You bring Barney back? No, I can’t stay, I gotta go home and milk the goats. Gotta hurry. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” And she was gone.

Albert and Sarah smiled at each other dazedly. “Hi, Jill.”

Albert looked at the clock now, and stood up reluctantly. “I have to get back for milking, too. Dad said I could be a little late, but he’ll yell if I’m not home soon.”

Sarah went with him to the door. “Thanks for bringing Barney back, and for telling Dad what happened.”

Albert looked startled. “I didn’t tell him everything.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that.” Now that she thought about it, Albert’s feeling seemed nobly loyal; she wasn’t going to tell him that, but the episode was definitely behind them. “It’s just—you never can tell what Dad’s thinking, especially about horse things. I just hope he doesn’t decide he has to send Barney back.”

“Yeah, I hope so, too.” Albert looked truly concerned. “Barney’s—well, lively, but he’s an honest little guy.”

“I know.”

“Well, I’ll be seeing you. Good luck!”

Mom came home a few minutes later. She and Dad started supper, Dad peeling carrots and telling her how the day’s writing had gone. Sarah sat listening, wanting to be on hand when the subject of Barney was brought up. Besides, Dad’s work was interesting. She couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just make everything come out the way he wanted. Whenever she asked, he talked about integrity or the constraints of reality, things she understood, but not in the context of writing stories. So now she just listened, waiting.

Mom put the dinner on the table—salad and a warmed-up casserole—now they were talking about how her day had gone. Weren’t they ever going to talk about Barney?

Over dessert, Dad finally brought up the subject. “The Jones boy brought the horse back this afternoon.” Sarah gripped the edge of her chair with nervous fingers. Things didn’t look good, if Dad was calling Barney “the horse.”

“That was nice of him,” said Mom.

“Yes. He tells me the whole thing yesterday was an accident.”

“Was it?” Mom turned to her. “You haven’t really told us how it happened, Sarah.”

Sarah explained. “Like Albert said, we were cantering and the road all of a sudden went downhill, and I tried to stop him, only one hand was tangled in his mane, so I just made him swerve.” Best not to tell them that Barney hadn’t been about to stop in any event. She remembered one more bit of favorable evidence. “Besides, Albert says he stopped right away.”

“An admirable trait,” said Mom. “My Mary always hightailed it home when she dumped me.”

“Then, you still think he’s safe for her,” Dad said, frowning.

“No horse is completely safe, George. They’re timid, and their instincts all tell them to flee if there’s any doubt at all of their safety. Besides that, they can be God-awfully set in their ways. Still, for so powerful an animal, they’re amazingly gentle.”

“But they can be vicious, anything can be vicious, and I want to know if Barney is. Specifics, not generalities, Helen.”

Instead of answering, Mom turned to Sarah. The look forced her to be honest. “Well, he’s pretty hard to handle sometimes—he never lets me forget he’s older than me—but he’s pretty trustworthy, too. He—I don’t know if I could have stopped him yesterday, but he definitely didn’t mean to throw me. He looked as shocked as I was.”

Mom gave her an appreciative smile. “I thought that might have been the case. No, George, I don’t think you have to worry too much about Barney.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” said Dad, though it seemed that he entertained a few lingering doubts.