(16)On Woodfield Mountain

A little bit of snow fell after that, but not enough to hamper their riding for long. In the next few weeks they rode almost every day. They explored again all the trails they’d explored in the fall, and found new ones. Once they got lost for almost an hour, and Albert was late for chores. The girls tried to help him make up for lost time, but only managed to get in his way. They rode in sunshine so hot that the horses came home sweaty, in spite of being walked the last mile, and in cold, raw winds, and once in the rain. For the first time, Sarah smelled the warm, pungent aroma of a wet horse working. It was a little like damp feathers and a little like ordinary dry horse, but combined, the scents made something magically new, and unforgettable.

Barney was shedding in good earnest now, and Sarah came in from every trip to the barn coated with rich bay hairs. Goldy, too, was losing her woolly undercoat, and left bits on the corners of the couch, where she insisted on rubbing whenever she came inside. The poor couch had received so much abuse since they’d moved that Mom was abandoning her attachment to it, and when Goldy came trotting purposefully in, she only looked resigned.

The happy spring wore swiftly on. Despite the lengthening days, and the extra hour of riding gleaned from daylight saving, time slipped through Sarah’s fingers. Missy wrote to say she’d be home May twentieth; Sarah didn’t count the days, hoping that they’d pass slower that way, but one Friday morning she woke up and realized that the twentieth was only a weekend away.

In school, even Jill noticed her glumness, and she came up with a dozen schemes for kidnapping Barney, for proving to Missy that he loved Sarah best, even for raising money enough to buy him. Sarah couldn’t plot with her. There just didn’t seem to be any point.

More constructively, Albert brought up the long-deferred plan to ride over Woodfield Mountain, and they decided to go on Saturday.

Sarah’s alarm woke her at six, and she padded downstairs to get ready. She liked being alone in the yellow light of the kitchen while it was still dusky outside, making breakfast. For the first time, she managed to flip her egg without breaking the yolk. Then, to pack a lunch. She invented a roast beef, tomato, lettuce, and cream cheese sandwich that promised to be delicious, providing that it survived the trip. A few green olives in a sandwich bag, two apples to share with Barney, and a Thermos of milk completed the picnic. She stowed it all in her knapsack and took it to the barn.

She caught Barney, brushed him, and tacked up. Next came the far more difficult task of capturing Goldy. She had to be shut in or she’d follow them, but by now she knew exactly what was going to happen, and she wasn’t going to allow it without a struggle. She wandered here and there, nibbling casually at new shoots of grass with one eye cocked warily in Sarah’s direction. Just when Sarah’s hand snaked toward her collar, she trotted on a few steps farther. Finally Sarah gave up pretense and chased her openly. Goldy loved this. Every time Sarah lunged, she charged out of reach, ears flapping, tail straight up, and bell tinkling wildly. She ran with the grace of a small steeplechaser, but Sarah was far from admiring her. At last she got a pan of grain; Goldy was always conquerable by greed, and was soon locked in Barney’s stall, bleating plaintively.

Sarah stuffed Barney’s halter and rope into the knapsack—that couldn’t be doing her fragile sandwich much good—and shrugged it onto her back. As she mounted, she had a sudden vision of herself at riding school: a self-confident girl, properly attired, riding a well-mannered Thoroughbred around the ring to gather blue ribbons in the school show. How horrified her instructors would be to see her now, in jeans and a flannel shirt, with a knapsack, setting off on self-willed little Barney and not at all sure who was going to be in control today. “You’re a good Bear,” she told him hopefully. “Let’s go.”

They arrived at Jones Dairy just as chores were getting finished. Albert was spreading a fresh layer of sawdust; Sarah helped, and by the time they were done Jill had arrived. They caught Ginger and Herky, groomed and saddled them, got Albert’s lunch, and they were ready to go.

As Sarah mounted, she heard the crackle of paper in her shirt pocket; oh, yes, the envelope! She took it out and handed it to Albert. “Here, Dad sent this. I almost forgot.”

At first she thought he wasn’t going to open it, but after staring at it a moment, he tore open the flap. Sarah strained to see, without seeming too obvious. Dad wouldn’t tell her anything last night. “Sorry, Peanut, if Albert wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”

Albert was reading one of the pages inside, his face slowly getting redder and redder. Finally he looked up, and seeing their eyes on him, tried to seem casual. “Just a story Sarah’s father read for me,” he said airily, and tossed it on a shelf in the barn as though it didn’t matter. But Sarah knew it did, and from the look on Albert’s face, she thought that Dad had probably mixed his criticism with quite a bit of praise.

The last time they’d been up Woodfield Mountain, the trail had been deep in leaves. But the leaves had been pressed under the snow all winter, and now, wet and shining, they covered the ground smoothly. The horses’ hooves cut through to the dark earth underneath. The smell here was different than in the fields—cooler, faintly spicy. The trees were just beginning to leaf out, making a bright, lacy canopy overhead. Small birds tumbled and squabbled in the treetops, where before there had been only jays. The jays were still there, floating on their wings of fallen sky, but their voices were less raucous.

They passed the little orchard. There was the place where they’d stopped last fall, there the deer had foraged, there by the stone wall the hunter had risen up and fired. This all had to be explained to Jill. When she understood where they were, she actually stopped talking for a moment. Sarah watched Barney carefully, but he didn’t seem to remember the place. God, how long ago it all was!

From here on, the trail was new to her. It twisted up steeply as they neared the top; in places it was only a jagged bed of stones, where the spring rains had washed it. The horses scrambled over these places, Jill usually dismounting to make it easier for Ginger. Agile Barney managed splendidly; Sarah gave him his head and abandoned herself to the enjoyment of his power, knowing that while he had to concentrate on the footing he couldn’t be naughty. Herky rolled on, unflappable.

“Are you still going on the Hundred Mile Trail Ride this fall, Bert?”

“Yup. I earned the entry money this winter, and there’s all summer to get him in shape.” A pause. “Y’know, Sarah, you could help me condition him, since you won’t be having Barney.” Sarah’s heart sank, remembering. She forced herself to listen.

“I’ll have haying and stuff to do, so maybe we could work out something where I’ll work him in the morning and then pick you up at your house. You could bring me home and take him back to your place, work him in the afternoon and keep him overnight. Then you could bring him over for his morning work—or something like that.”

“Poor Herky,” said Jill. “Sounds like he’ll be going all day.”

“He needs it. He’s a big boy—lots of fat to get rid of. Would you like to, Sarah?”

“If it would really help …” It did sound like a good idea. Lots of running around, but at least she’d be able to ride, and she’d be helping Albert to maybe win the trail ride. And there’d be a horse around at least part of the time, to fill the barn and keep Goldy company. Wish it was going to be you, though, she thought, patting Barney’s neck.

Hunger pangs overpowered them at the top of the mountain, though it was only quarter to eleven. They compromised by eating half their lunches there, and saving the other half for when they got to Woodfield. The ground didn’t seem wet till you’d been sitting awhile, but when they got up they all had wet pants. “It’ll help us stick to the saddle,” Jill said, but in the meantime it only made mounting difficult, as their wet pants clung to their skin.

They were heading downhill now; the wet leaves made the trail slippery, and Barney fretted, tossing his head and trying to go off at angles. Sarah thwarted him most of the time, but once in a while he surged off through the brush, and she had to fight him back onto the trail.

Behind them, Jill started to sing “The Bear Went over the Mountain,” stopping in the middle to explain how appropriate it was, considering Barney’s nickname and where they were. Then all three of them took it up, singing as loudly as they could. They went through it three times, and repeated snatches at intervals.

At the bottom, they decided to finish lunch in the Woodfield village square. That would give plenty of opportunity to impress whoever was interested with their long trek. They felt like mountain men, coming down from their wooded haunts to rough up the town; slouching in their saddles, they played the role as they’d learned it in books and on television. This was only among themselves, of course. An old lady who knew Albert’s mother stopped to talk, and Albert spoke to her as one civilized. Jill and Sarah, behind him, tried to make their faces tough and truculent, and ended up giggling helplessly.

They stayed until a man came out of the general store with a shovel, and said for them to clean up all the droppings before they left. Deciding that civilization was a foppish thing, for foolishly scorning their gift of high-grade fertilizer, they cleaned it up and returned to their mountain fastness.

On the way back up, Sarah could feel Barney straining under her. His neck hair was rough with sweat, and he was obviously tired, but he gamely held his position in the lead, refusing to take second place to Herky. They hurried as fast as the tired horses could safely go, but Albert was still late for milking. Sarah and Jill offered to help, but he said he could work faster without them, thanks.

Sarah rode slowly home, alone. Even the prospect of seeing Goldy and having supper couldn’t hurry Barney now. Sarah was tired, too, and her hips and ankles ached. She kicked her feet out of the stirrups and let them dangle; amazing how good a simple thing like that could feel. Barney stretched his neck out on a loose rein, his ears flopping at weary angles. Getting him tired is one way of making him behave, Sarah realized.

“Poor Bear, we’re almost … home.” Two days left.