Smoky Mountain Home. Lynnette Kent

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      IN THE AFTERNOONS of this first week of class, new girls were taken around in small groups to meet the staff members in charge of extracurricular activities. Cultural pursuits—music and various art disciplines—as well as individual and team sports were available, and girls were encouraged to participate in whichever pastimes drew their interest.

      Darcy’s group visited the stable on Thursday afternoon. She and seven other girls, including Eve, arrived with their upper-class guide, Ingrid, at three-thirty.

      “Right on time,” Ruth Ann said as she greeted them. “Which is what you should be if you decide to come for lessons or unstructured rides. It’s not fair to me or to the horses to leave us standing around waiting for you.”

      She led them into the stable. “Our horses spend about half the day inside and half out. I bring the darker horses inside during the day, to keep their coats from bleaching in the sunshine. They eat breakfast and dinner inside, then spend the night grazing in the field. Not one of them would bite you out of meanness, but if you hold one finger out, they might think it’s a carrot and reach for the treat.” Her pantomime of a horse biting off the tip of a finger made the all the girls giggle. Well, all except Eve.

      “So keep your fingers together. If you want to pet a horse, you can use the backs of your knuckles softly on their cheeks.” She demonstrated on the girl nearest her, provoking smiles. “Feel free to visit up and down the aisle, say hello to any horse that strikes your fancy. Their names are on the stalls.”

      Most of the girls dispersed along the length of the barn, and soon the horses began poking their heads over the locked bottom halves of their doors, hoping for treats but settling for attention if that was all they could get.

      Eve, however, went to the barn entrance and stood looking out, away from the animals.

      Ruth Ann went to join her. “You’re not into horses?”

      The girl shook her head. “They smell. This place smells.” She sniffed, then coughed. “Gross.”

      “I’m willing to concede that the smell of horses and barns isn’t appealing to everybody. What do you like to do instead? Tennis? Softball?”

      Eve rolled her eyes. “Gag me. Who wants to hit a stupid ball around? And the clothes? Yuck. I run. Alone.”

      “That’s a great workout for your heart and lungs. Do you do any strength training? Keeps your bones healthy, you know.” The girl needed some muscle, as well. Her wrists weren’t much bigger than broomsticks.

      Her response, however, was an impatient sigh. “How much longer do I have to be here?”

      Too long, as far as I’m concerned, Ruth Ann answered silently. “Until the rest of the girls are ready to leave. If you’d like to sit in the tack room, there are a few magazines on the table. Maybe even one or two that aren’t about horses.”

      She showed Eve to the tack room, ignored her sniff of derision when she saw the worn sofa and scarred coffee table, then went back to the horses. The girls had evidently picked their favorites and Ingrid, one of her longtime riding students, had been to the feed room for carrots and was supervising the careful delivery of treats.

      Darcy, however, had not homed in on a particular animal. She stood in the center of the passage instead, carefully studying each horse, but making no move to get close enough to touch.

      “Can’t make up your mind?” Ruth Ann asked.

      The girl shook her head. “I like white horses.”

      “Grays, you mean?” When Darcy nodded, Ruth Ann said, “Come with me.”

      She led the way outside, across the cobble-stone stable yard with its curving brick walls, and out to the pasture. “These are our grays,” she told Darcy. “Maybe one of these would be your favorite.”

      A drawn-out “Oooh” was Darcy’s comment as she folded her arms on the top board of the fence and propped her chin on her hands. “They’re so beautiful!”

      Ruth Ann had to agree—the grays were her pride and joy. The eight of them looked over, ears pricked, as she and Darcy approached, no doubt wondering if dinnertime had come earlier than usual today. Gradually, the animals went back to grazing the fall grass, creating a portrait of peace in their pale-green pasture against a backdrop of dark evergreen and gold-tinged hardwood trees, with the blue-green Smoky Mountains in the distance.

      “Tell me about them,” Darcy commanded. “What are their names?”

      A glance over her shoulder told Ruth Ann that the rest of the girls—minus Eve—were coming to join them. After more exclamations, she included them all in her introductions.

      “Waldo is the largest of all the horses we have here, and the oldest, at twenty-three. He’s a Percheron gelding.” She spelled the breed name for them. “Percherons were developed to do heavy work, like plowing or pulling carriages. They’re very much like the horses knights would have ridden into battle in the olden days, wearing armor and carrying shields and swords.” In answer to a question, she said, “Gelding means that his testicles were removed so he can’t mate with the mares. That happened to him a long time ago.”

      After the giggles died down, she introduced the mares—Sheba and Gizelle, both Arabians, petite and fast, the lovely dappled gray Dutch warmblood, Silver Filigree, and the thoroughbred sisters Crystal, Diamond and Lainey, short for Porcelaine.

      “Are they triplets?” one of the girls asked.

      Ruth Ann shook her head. “Horses usually only have one baby at a time. Lainey’s ten years old, then Diamond is nine and Crystal eight. All three are really good jumpers.”

      “What’s the tiny pony’s name?” Darcy asked. “Do you ride her?”

      “That’s Snowflake.” Ruth Ann led the girls along the fence, closer to the pony in question, only about forty inches tall. “She’s a miniature horse—this is as big as she’ll ever get, and she’s already thirteen years old. We have a cart she can pull, but we don’t have anyone small enough to sit in it right now, so she has a good time just hanging out in the pasture.”

      Snowflake ambled up to the fence and gave everyone a chance to stroke her nose and sides. Then Ruth Ann herded the girls back to the barn and into the tack room with Eve, where she explained about taking lessons and the types of riding they could learn.

      “You’ll get a form to fill out on Friday,” she told them, “where you can list the sports and other activities you’d like to try, in the order you’re most interested. If riding is your number-one favorite, you should put it at the top. Next week I’ll be setting up lesson schedules and we’ll get started. Any questions?”

      Eve raised her hand. “Can we leave now?”

      Fortunately, several other girls had legitimate questions, СКАЧАТЬ