(17)Prospects

Missy was coming for Barney on Monday afternoon, so Sunday was their last day together. Sarah had half expected Albert to call, but he didn’t. That was OK; she wanted to be alone today. She rode up the logging trail behind their barn, with Goldy and Star tagging along.

Star wandered far off in the woods, as usual, and Goldy stuck close, complaining. Barney insisted on stopping regularly to sniff her over from nose to tail and think about her. Despite her gloom, Sarah couldn’t help laughing at this obvious ruse. “Faker!” Oh no, said Barney’s ears. He was truly concerned.

They came to a fallen tree, too big to jump, and she turned him aside. He plowed through the brush with Goldy, outraged, at his heels. On the other side, Sarah suddenly realized that it would never occur to her to be on guard against his trickery there, though the opportunity was perfect. With her arms up to protect her face, she couldn’t have stopped him.

Missy had said you had to know when you could trust him and when you couldn’t, and she’d spent a long time trying to feel that out. Now, though, it came instinctively.

So, she decided half regretfully, it didn’t mean that she’d won. It only meant that she knew the rules. There were times and places for each of them to be in control, just as there were times and places for continued testing. The horse-book authors and riding instructors might call that nonsense, but Missy would probably agree.

Goldy was lagging farther and farther behind, and her complaints sounded genuinely desperate. Looking back, Sarah realized that the fat little goat was exhausted. “We’ll have to cut our ride short, Bear.” He didn’t mind, but she did. This was probably the last time they’d ever set off into the woods together. Reluctantly, she turned him around. He stopped to nose Goldy. What is she going to do without him? Sarah wondered. Poor Goldy, losing her best friend.

Back at the barn, she unsaddled and cooled him out, lingering over the routine. This was the last night she’d measure out his grain into the black rubber pail, the last time she’d rub Vaseline into the scar while he munched. She bent to look at it; a faint fuzz was starting to form on the pink railroad tracks. He’d have hair there soon, but she wouldn’t see it.

When he was through with his dinner, she opened the gate and watched the two of them head downhill, Barney snatching mouthfuls of grass and Goldy ambling beside him, challenging him to head fights.

She took the pail and Vaseline back to the tack room and stood there for a moment, looking at the polished saddle and bridle on their pegs, the brushes, the fly-repellent, the box of medicines, all neatly arranged. She tried to fix everything in her mind, so she could never forget it. Then, drearily, she squatted down and began packing the smaller things into the pail. Mom was taking them over in the car tomorrow afternoon, and Missy was riding Barney home; Sarah didn’t want to have to face packing after he was gone.

That night, she couldn’t concentrate on homework. The words and numbers whirled through her head and vanished out the back. When Mom and Dad came up, she was sitting at the desk with her head down on her math book.

“Sarah?”

She started and looked toward the door, pasting on a smile. “Yeah?”

“Just checking. Haven’t heard a peep out of you all evening.” They came inside, and Sarah turned backward in her chair to face them, bracing herself. It would be talk about Barney, wise counsel about loving enough to let go, about building her character—the last thing she wanted. Dad was obviously the one who was supposed to start, and the silence stretched on while he tried to formulate his beginning. Sarah couldn’t read Mom’s expression.

At last Dad looked away from the picture of Barney, and launched into speech. “Sarah, there’s … there’s one thing I didn’t really think about when I said yes in the fall, and that’s how attached you’d become to … Barney.” The hesitation was natural to Dad. He couldn’t really think of horses as having names, the way people or dogs or pet goats did. “Maybe if I had, I’d have said no, I don’t know. You put an awful lot into him to have to give him up.”

“At least now she’s got him to remember,” said Mom quietly. It was right, but not comforting. Sarah’s face stiffened into a mask to hold back her hurt.

“Well,” said Dad, clearing his throat, “that’s as may be. Sarah, I realize the last thing you want is a lot of talk right now, but you should know that I’ve changed my mind. Your mother’ll be teaching full-time next year, the book is almost finished, and money isn’t as tight anymore. And I no longer have any doubts about your accepting the responsibility. So we’ve decided to afford you a horse, as soon as we can, and you’ll love the new horse, too, when you get to know it.”

In spite of herself, Sarah felt a tickle of excitement. “You’re really sure, Dad?”

Mom laughed. “He’s worried sick that Goldy’s going to be lonely.”

“And yes, I approve on your account, too,” said Dad. “Now, I’m afraid you’ll still have to survive a horseless summer. We’ll do our buying in the fall, when your mother tells me the prices are down, and I hope by then we’ll have the advance on the book. That OK?”

“Oh, Dad! And Albert’s going to let me help condition Herky, so I’ll be able to ride. But …” Unexpectedly, her voice choked off, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Look, it’s almost ten,” Mom said briskly. “Why don’t you give up on the math and go say good night to him? Oh, and I’m letting you stay home tomorrow, in case Missy comes early. Do you want to?”

“Yes, I think so.”

The last good night. She sat at the desk for a few minutes more after they left, trying to think. Her own horse—what would it be like? She couldn’t imagine anything but a short-legged, furry little half-Morgan. Well, she’d try to buy a half-Morgan, if there was one to be had. But it wouldn’t be Barney. It wouldn’t have pink, fading scars on its chest, that she and Dr. Raymond had healed from a gaping wound. It wouldn’t have the same doe-eyed naughtiness, or even like to be scratched in the same spots.

On the other hand, it would be hers, to know, to love, to train, to keep. She wouldn’t always know it loved someone else best, or have to keep in mind how someone else wanted it handled. And she would love it as much as Barney, someday, when she knew it as well.

Well, life went on. She got up from the books, went downstairs to get a coat, and went out. Barney would be in the barnyard; he always came back at about this time.

When Sarah came out, Goldy rose, with a small, sleepy grunt, from her resting place on the front step. She stretched, shook herself, and walked along with Sarah, her bell tinkling quietly. The moon was almost full, making it easy to see the path. A soft breeze blew on Sarah’s face. Her boots squelched pleasantly in the mud.

Barney stood dozing in the far corner of the yard, his lip sagging till his teeth showed. He started at Sarah’s call, and looked around sleepily, his ears expressing mild curiosity. Unusual to have visitors this late. After considering for a moment or two, he turned lazily and ambled over. Lifting his muzzle to Sarah’s face, he blew his warm, sweet-smelling breath on her. He stayed that way a moment, then, with a sigh, began nosing her pockets.

“Sorry, Barney-Bear. Nothing.” She rubbed his neck under the heavy mane. His hair was mostly shed out now, though his belly and hindquarters still looked shaggy. He nuzzled energetically at her shoulder, telling her he’d like a scratch, please. She scratched. So did he, tickling her with his whiskers. She had to keep reminding him not to nip, that she wasn’t another horse with a lot of cushioning hair. Goldy slipped through the wire and rubbed herself against his legs, grunting ecstatically.

The front door opened, casting a yellow rectangle of light across the yard, and closed again. In a moment Star trotted down the path, sniffing out Sarah’s trail with an eagerly wagging tail. She didn’t dare come too near Barney, so she sat a few feet away, looking wistful.

At last, Sarah began to get cold. She stepped back. “Well, g’night, Bear.” She couldn’t feel as sad as she wanted to. She’d pictured herself coming out here to cry brokenheartedly all night, but now she only felt a vague melancholy, and the new, rushing excitement of knowing she could have a horse of her own.

“Sorry, Barney. I do love you.” She came back, put her arms around his nose, and kissed him. Barney flattened his ears and tossed his head, pretending to hate the fuss. But when she stepped away, his ears snapped forward, and he stretched out his muzzle. Sarah stroked it, velvet-soft and whiskery. “’Night, Bear.” Star jumped up, mouth open in a panting laugh. Sarah tugged one of her silky ears, and they went back to the house together.

Since she didn’t have to go to school, nobody woke her the next morning. She came down to find Mom gone, and Dad busy typing. She fixed an egg and some toast, fed Star the crusts, and went out to bring Barney up from the pasture. She might as well have him ready when Missy came.

Of course, he’d rolled in the night, and he was filthy. Sarah unpacked the curry comb and a brush and cleaned him up. By the time he was gleaming, she was filthy. She went inside to wash up, and when she came out, Missy was there.

She was standing close to Barney, talking to him, and she seemed surprised to see Sarah. “Hi, I didn’t think anybody was home.”

“Yeah … I stayed home to see him off.…” Her voice trailed away, and an awkward silence fell. Neither of them could think of what next to say. Sarah finally remembered something. “Um … Mom’ll bring the stuff over later this afternoon.”

“OK.”

There really wasn’t anything else that needed telling, though the silence seemed to demand something. Sarah turned to stroke Barney’s nose, and Missy patted his neck. In a moment she said, “The wound healed beautifully. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Sarah cleared her throat. “See, the little hairs are coming in already, and if you rub Vaseline on every day he might not even have a scar.”

“You think so?” Missy bent to look again. Sarah absently began to scratch Barney’s neck, and he scrubbed his lip on Missy’s back, where her shirt had come up.

“Hey, you brat!” She twisted out of reach. “Sarah, I’m really grateful for the care you’ve given him, and … well, I’m sorry I have to take him away from you, ’cause I know you love him, too.”

Sarah hadn’t expected anything like this. Her eyes filled, and she looked away. “Yeah, I—I will miss him. But I’ll be getting a horse of my own in the fall.” She said it as much to cheer up Missy, who was looking regretful, as to remind herself.

“Really? That’s wonderful!” Missy came completely alive, all awkwardness gone. “That’s great! Hey, I’ll keep an eye out for anything that looks like what you want. What do you want?”

“Something as much like Barney as possible—ouch!” She rubbed her hip. “But with better manners and no teeth! Ow! He hasn’t done that in months.”

“A parting gift. Barney, you beast. Just for that, you’re getting saddled.”

Sarah watched, feeling slightly satisfied that Missy had to struggle with the girth, too. She bridled, slung the halter over her shoulder, and mounted. Once mounted, she seemed on the verge of leaving, but reluctantly. When she spoke, it was slowly, each word carefully considered as it came out. “You know what, Sarah—why don’t you come over one day a week this summer and I’ll give you a lesson on the monster? Who’s been in control most lately?”

“I—I don’t know,” Sarah stammered. “We switch off, I guess.”

“Well, I can make sure you’re on top more often, give you a little dressage training—do you jump?”

“A little.”

“I’ll teach you—oh!” Missy squealed suddenly, like Jill in a wilder mood. “Wonderful! I can’t ride in junior horse shows any more, but you could. Would you like to?”

“Yes,” Sarah gasped.

“Great! Oh, this’ll be so good for both of you, and it’ll be an excuse for me to go to shows, too.…” Missy was flushed with excitement.

Barney caught some of it and began to fidget. “He wants to go,” said Missy, looking eager herself. “’Bye, Sarah, I’ll call you soon, OK? Thanks again.”

Barney checked Sarah’s pockets once more, hopefully. Then Missy touched him with her heels, and he set out.

Before he’d gone two steps, Goldy bounced around the barn into his path. Sarah ran to collar her, while he nuzzled her back absentmindedly. “Have to stay, Goldy,” Sarah told her. They watched their friend down the driveway. His neck arched proudly, and his short, springy stride seemed to bounce with happiness. His tail swished joyfully.

Goldy cried after him. “Sorry, baby,” Sarah said. “You can come to my riding lessons and see him, and Herky’ll be here part of the time.” She swallowed to get rid of the stiffness in her throat. “And in the fall …”

“Sarah, telephone.” She turned to see Dad’s red, abstracted face disappear from the doorway. When she got to the kitchen, Goldy at her heels, the typewriter was already clacking furiously.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Sarah, this is Jill. You didn’t come to school today and Alb and me were worried, so we decided we’d call at lunch and see if you’re OK. Are you? Is he gone? Is Goldy OK? Sarah, are you really all right?”

A miraculous pause—no, Jill was actually waiting for an answer! “Yes, he’s gone.” Sarah cleared the huskiness out of her voice. “And I’m OK. Jill, guess what? My parents told me last night that I can get my own horse in the fall.”

“What? Alb, she’s getting a horse in the fall! Get a dapple gray jumper like His Lordship in that book we read last week.…”

Albert’s voice now—he must have pried the receiver away from Jill, and he was shouting over her chatter, “Get a trail horse and go on the Hundred Mile with me next year.”

Jill had the phone again. “Or a huge black stallion, Sarah, you lucky duck! You’ll have a perfect black stallion, faster than the wind, and only you can ride him, and …”

Sarah broke in. “No, I’d rather have a horse like Barney, that doesn’t care who rides him as long as he gets his own way.” Jill rattled on, unhearing, but Sarah didn’t listen. In a corner of her mind, she was building another dream horse, a small, shaggy bay with an innocent face and an independent soul.

“… wild and noble and perfectly obedient with you.…”