Horse Blues (9 page)

Lisa frowned. Mrs. Reg had just struck a chord that reverberated in her private thoughts. “That’s what I think, too. That’s why I wanted to help Stevie and Carole! Carole said she eats too much
junk food because her dad is always making snacks when they watch movies. So I told her she should give it up. And Stevie’s always getting upset because she has fights with Veronica. So I thought if she resolved to be nice to Veronica, they would stop having fights. But now Veronica is up to her usual tricks, and Carole’s always hungry, and I’ve got to embroider a tablecloth and napkins in less than two weeks!”

Mrs. Reg took a long sip of tea. “You know, Lisa,” she said thoughtfully, “when Max was growing up, he told me he wanted to learn to play the piano. So I gave him lessons and made sure he practiced every day—scales, easy classical pieces, all the right things. At first he liked it, but then he started to skip lessons and fool around during his practice hour because he wanted to be in the barn with the horses. So I canceled the lessons, and he quit playing. But a few years later, I started to hear him tinkering on the piano in the evenings. Pretty soon he’d taken it up again. He taught himself all kinds of songs—not classical songs, but popular music, the kind of music he liked to listen to on the radio. That’s what he really wanted to play all along. And he got pretty good. He still plays sometimes, but if
I’d made him stick with the classical lessons—wait a minute. What was that about Veronica’s ‘usual tricks’?”

Startled by the sudden change of subject, Lisa chewed her lip, wondering whether or not she should say something. Then she had an idea: She would try the indirect approach Mrs. Reg herself used. “Mrs. Reg, you know how someone can say something to someone about doing something that the someone didn’t really do? Well, you see, sometimes Veronica is that someone.”

“I see,” Mrs. Reg said gravely. “I see, indeed. Humph.”

Lisa waited to see what Mrs. Reg would do. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything at all, but it seemed so unfair to Stevie! Instead of making any comment about Veronica, Mrs. Reg leaned down and took out a bag. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

“Sure, Mrs. Reg,” said Lisa, relieved.

From the bag Mrs. Reg took out colored thread, needles, patterns, and fabric. The last item was a curious-looking, round, wooden contraption. “This is an embroidery hoop, dear, the same one my mother learned on and the same one she taught me on.”

Lisa took the hoop gingerly in her hands. It gave
her a strange thrill to hold it, knowing it was old and had been used by Mrs. Reg’s mother decades ago.

“Now, let’s see … here we are. A simple sample pattern for you to start with.” Mrs. Reg held up a large, square piece of light-colored linen. The letters of the alphabet, encircled by a flower border, were drawn on the linen.

Lisa watched intently as Mrs. Reg took a small needle and threaded it. “What kind of yarn is that?” she asked. With Mrs. Reg beside her, she felt confident again. How hard could this embroidery stuff be?

“It’s not yarn, dear. It’s called embroidery floss. All right, now—”

“Now we’ll start with some French knots, fishbone, and coral stitches, right? And after I’m warmed up can I start right in on the tablecloth?” Lisa inquired eagerly.

Mrs. Reg sat back on the sofa. She smiled. “We’ll start with the basic cross-stitch,” she said kindly. “If you find it too much of a bore, you can switch, all right?”

“All right,” Lisa said, dying to try her hand at the sampler.

Just then the doorbell rang. A puzzled look
crossed Mrs. Reg’s face. “Now who could—oh, I remember. It’s the Atherton boy. He’s here to do a little yard work for me. Such a sweet boy. And so generous with his time. Have you called him yet about the Horse Wise sale?”

“N-no, but listen, Mrs. Reg, I have to go to the bathroom very badly. Will you excuse me?” Before Mrs. Reg could object, Lisa got up and fled the room. She dashed down the hall into the bathroom and closed the door, panting. What a close escape! In another minute or two, Mrs. Reg would have invited Simon in to join them. Then Lisa would have had to sit there making conversation with him all afternoon instead of working on her embroidery.

Lisa listened to Mrs. Reg thanking Simon. She waited until she heard the front door close. Then she opened the bathroom door and went back to the living room. As she sat down to rejoin Mrs. Reg, she glanced out the window and saw the back of a blond head vanish around the corner of the house.

“I told Simon that one of you girls will be calling him about the bake sale,” Mrs. Reg informed Lisa. “So don’t waste too much time, because he’s eager to help. Simon Atherton is just the kind of person we want in this Pony Club, don’t you think?”

“Sure, Mrs. Reg,” Lisa replied, stifling a grin, “whatever you say.”

A
N HOUR LATER
, the last thing Lisa felt like doing was smiling. Even with Mrs. Reg’s help, embroidery was one of the most frustrating tasks she had attempted. She kept messing up and having to start over. The back of the sampler looked like a war zone, it had so many mistakes.

“I’m horrible at this, Mrs. Reg!” Lisa wailed in exasperation.

“You’re not horrible,” Mrs. Reg reprimanded her. “You’re just a beginner. You’re getting all worked up because you’re in such a hurry to learn. You’ve got to take your time, Lisa. Do a little every day.”

“But what about the tablecloth?” Lisa said miserably.

“Forget the tablecloth! You can’t embroider a whole tablecloth in two weeks! Even I couldn’t do that, and I’ve been embroidering for fifty years!”

Lisa put the sampler down on the table and rested her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do, Mrs. Reg,” she admitted.

“I know what you should do now: Go home and eat a good dinner, do your homework, and go to bed
early,” Mrs. Reg said sternly. “I’ve got to feed the horses, and you’ve done enough for now.”

Reluctantly, Lisa allowed herself to be talked into quitting for the day. She thanked Mrs. Reg for her help and headed out.

“Don’t forget to call Simon about the sale!” Mrs. Reg called as she left.

“I won’t!” Lisa promised. To herself she added,
I’ll probably have to ask him out on a date while I’m at it!

“D
ON
’
T YOU WANT
some popcorn while you do your homework?” Colonel Hanson asked.

“No, thanks, Dad. Dinner was great, and I’m really full,” Carole said truthfully. As they often did, she and her father had cooked dinner together—baked chicken and, at Carole’s suggestion, a big salad. Carole felt a little bad about saying no to the popcorn, but she knew she was being silly: If she didn’t want it, she didn’t want it. She shouldn’t say yes just to please her father.

“Okeydoke, then I’m only going to pop half a cup for myself,” Colonel Hanson said.

“Enjoy it, Dad,” Carole said, heading upstairs.

“Will do, honey.”

Up in her room Carole had a realization: She had told her father no, and he hadn’t minded one bit.
Maybe it was that simple. Maybe she just had to be clear about what she wanted and what she didn’t want. And maybe, Carole thought for the first time, these resolutions were a good idea, after all.

Carole had barely started her math homework when the phone rang. It was Stevie. Lisa had been helping her with her French over the phone. “But my brain is so crammed with
le, la
, and
les
that I can’t learn another word!” Stevie said. “So I thought I’d call and bother you instead.”

“Shouldn’t we conference in Lisa?” Carole asked.

“Can’t. She’s got tons of homework plus embroidery homework,” Stevie explained.

“Mrs. Reg gave her embroidery homework?” Carole asked.

“No, but you know Lisa,” said Stevie. “She wants to work on what Mrs. Reg taught her today.”

“So the lesson went well?”

“I guess so. Lisa didn’t give me too many of the details—except for one important one, that is! She barely escaped seeing Simon Atherton. He was at Mrs. Reg’s to do some yard work. Lisa had to hide in the bathroom so she wouldn’t have to talk to him!”

Picturing Lisa running into the bathroom brought a smile to Carole’s lips, but then she said more seriously,
“We can’t avoid it any longer: One of us has to call him to help.”

“I know. Mrs. Reg and Lisa’s mother were bugging her, but Lisa really doesn’t want to, so I told her I would,” Stevie said.

“That’s nice of you, especially when Lisa has so much work to do,” Carole said.

For some reason the response irked Stevie. “We have a lot of work, too, Carole,” she said. “We did those signs all afternoon. Plus I’ve got a French test in a week, you know.”

“I know, Stevie,” Carole replied. “It’s hard for all of us right now. Anyway, I’ve got to hang up soon.”

The girls chatted for a few more minutes, but neither one of them wanted to prolong the conversation. When they hung up, Stevie felt restless. She’d studied her French for more than an hour already. Besides, she was still on vacation. She stared at the phone, trying to think up something fun to do. After a minute she giggled to herself. She opened her desk drawer, rummaged around a bit, and found an old list of Horse Wise phone numbers.
Atherton
was the first name on the list. Hoping the number would be the same, Stevie dialed it.

“Hello?” a deep voice said.

“Is this the Athertons’?” Stevie inquired.

“Yes, it is,” said the voice.

“Could I please speak with your son?” Stevie asked.

The voice started to laugh. “Sorry, I don’t have a son. And if this is some kind of telemarketing thing, forget it! My parents never buy anything over the phone.”

Stevie didn’t understand. She had reached the Athertons’, and somebody who sounded like Simon’s father had answered. “Excuse me, I’m trying to reach Simon Atherton. Maybe you could tell me—”

“Simon? Why didn’t you say so? This is he.”

“This is who?” Stevie demanded.

“This is he—I mean, it’s Simon.”

“It’s
you
?” Stevie fairly cried.

“Yes, it is I,” said the voice.

It took Stevie a minute to gather her thoughts. The Simon Atherton she knew had a whiny, squeaky voice higher than her own. This Simon Atherton had a low voice. He sounded old. But he did have good grammar. Chad, Stevie’s brother, would have said, “This is him” and “It is me.” Simon had said, “This is he” and “It is I.” So “he” had to be—well—him!

“
Simon
? This is Stevie Lake. Stevie from Horse Wise.”

“Oh, hello, Stephanie,” Simon said.

Stevie relaxed. That sounded like Simon, too: Simon always called her by her full name. “Simon, how are you? You sound so different!”

“That’s what everyone says. Puberty, I guess, Stephanie. How are you?” he asked.

Stevie giggled. Only Simon would use a word like
puberty
. “I’m okay, Simon. I’ll tell you why I’m calling.” Briefly Stevie explained the dire state of Horse Wise, the bake sale, and the recent effort to recruit members.

“I know all about it,” Simon said. “Mrs. Reg filled me in today. And I think I saw you and your friend Carole Hanson working on posters for the bake sale, didn’t I?”

“You did? You were at the stables today?” Stevie asked. “Why didn’t I see you?”

“You looked so busy that I didn’t want to intrude. I simply went for a ride and then did a few chores for Mrs. Regnery,” Simon explained.

“Oh. I see,” said Stevie, although she didn’t, really. The Simon she knew would have come right up and started talking her ear off, intrusion or no intrusion.

“Listen, Stephanie, it’s great to talk with you. I’d be happy to help out with the bake sale. Perhaps I could hang up some posters for you. I wish I could talk longer, but I’ve got a friend coming over to study with me, so I really ought to go. Do you want to meet me sometime to give me the posters?”

Half dazed, Stevie managed to say, “Sure. How about next week?”

“Fine. I’ll talk to you then. Good night.”

“Night,” Stevie said. After putting the receiver down, Stevie found herself staring at it again. One thing was clear: Simon Atherton had changed in. Texas. He still used formal, proper English when he spoke, but he sounded older somehow, more confident. Was it just puberty, as he had said? You couldn’t judge a person over the phone, Stevie reminded herself. That would be like judging a book by its cover—wouldn’t it?

C
AROLE FELT STRANGE
walking into the Willow Creek Mall by herself. She hated shopping, so she usually avoided the place entirely. When she did go, it was usually because Lisa and Stevie dragged her. But today she had three reasons for being there, and one reason for being there alone. The main reason she had come was to hang up posters for the bake sale. It was hard to believe, but the sale was only two days away. Today was Thursday, tomorrow was Friday—the day she and her father had set aside for the after-school bake-a-thon—and Saturday was the
sale. Carole’s father had dropped her off at the mall on his way to the grocery store. He was making a special trip to pick up all the stuff they would need to make the cookies.

It was also hard for Carole to believe that her New Year’s resolution was now more than a week and a half old. And that was the other reason—the other two reasons—she’d come to the mall: to get away from all the junk food at home, and to pick up some alternative snacks at the new health food store. She hadn’t wanted to come with Lisa and Stevie because then she would have had to mention their resolutions, too. Lately there seemed to be an understanding among the three of them that the subject was taboo. It made conversation hard. Carole had to be careful not to mention Veronica or embroidery, and she’d noticed that Stevie and Lisa never discussed food in her presence. But bringing up the subject would start an argument as to whose resolution was hardest.