and saddle pads out to dry on the Saddle Creek trailer. The truck doors were open, draped with drying objects, and the mounting block, flatbed, and even the hood of the truck were in use. There was no surface uncovered.
“Girls?” Hannah’s brow wrinkled. “What are you doing? No, I see what you’re doing. Why are you doing it?” “To dry things,” answered Julia.
“The sun’s out,” added Kimberly.
“Wet things get m … mouldy,” Liz said helpfully.
Hannah wasn’t fooled. “I wasn’t going to leave before Julia got her ribbon. If that’s what you’re thinking.”
The girls broke out laughing.
“Thanks, Aunt Hannah,” grinned Julia. “I’ll put everything back in the trailer.”
“Leave it out until we go. Wet things get mouldy.” Hannah chortled.
“What did they say at the office, Aunt Hannah?” asked Bird. “The jump-off is cancelled, so winners will be ranked by time and rail faults. They’ll announce when they’re ready.”
“Do riders have to be mounted?” Julia asked. She glanced down at her strange ensemble of borrowed apparel. Her dripping breeches, shirt, and jacket hung on the truck door.
“No, lucky for you. Most of the horses have already left. The show was over anyway, except for the last class ribbon presentation.”
“Whew.”
Just then, the announcer called for attention over the intercom system. “The judges are ready to pin the last class. Those concerned should come to ring four. Now.”
Hannah clapped her hands. “Let’s go find out how you did, Julia.”
“I can’t wait!” Julia jumped up and down.
Kimberly grabbed the younger girl and spun her around. “I knew I was out of the ribbons as soon as I went off course. Maybe that was better — no suspense now about getting placed.”
“And I landed right in the m … middle of the oxer!” exclaimed Liz. “P … Pastor was so upset, p … poor guy.”
The Saddle Creek contingent hurried down the hill to the office together. It was a small room, and already crowded. Bird recognized a good portion of the crowd. The same people returned to horse shows time and again, especially if they were winning.
A tall woman in her mid-sixties stood behind the desk with a sheaf of papers, a pair of half-glasses perched on her nose. This was the judge, Bird surmised.
“Hello, people, and well-ridden!” The judge’s tone was gracious and warm, and her eyes sparkled. “I have the honour of presenting your ribbons.” She smiled at each person individually.
Bird smiled back. This woman really enjoyed her job.
“I don’t normally judge the jumper classes — hunters are my specialty — so it was a lot of fun for me today. I hope to judge again next weekend, so do come out and compete for the silver trophy.”
There was a lot of nodding and smiling and nudging of elbows.
“Every one of you did a wonderful job. I wish each of you could get first place. You kids all worked hard, and each one of you deserves praise. But I won’t keep you in suspense any longer. I’ll award your ribbons from first to last for a change. Now, for the presentation!”
“About time!” grumbled Julia under her breath.
“Hush!” Hannah looked at her sternly.
“The first place winner is … number 397. Julia Simms and Sabrina!”
“Ohmygosh!” Julia’s face beamed with pleasure as she rushed up and grabbed her ribbon. “Thanks so so so so much!”
“You’re most welcome,” said the judge warmly. “You rode fast enough to beat the rain!”
Hannah and the girls hugged Julia briefly, then listened politely while all the others got their rosettes. Once the ceremony was over, Liz and Julia jumped up and down together.
“I can’t believe I won first!” Julia whispered.
“So f … fabulous!” enthused Liz.
Bird noticed the dark looks her sister was getting from the other contestants. She poked Julia in the ribs and spoke quietly. “Don’t rub it in.”
Julia’s face dropped. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Take it outside.”
Liz took Julia’s hand, and they raced off together giggling.
Kimberly sighed. “They’re so-o-o eleven.”
“Yeah,” said Hannah dryly. “You fourteen-year-olds are over the hill. Let’s go.”
Kimberly obeyed Hannah’s orders, but just as Bird was about to follow, a remark from within the crowd caught her attention.
“My horse is crazy. Totally.” Bird strained her ears.
“Dex says nobody can train him. He bucks. My father is going to have him put down.”
Bird studied the person who was speaking. She was a short, blond teenager with braces on her teeth. Bird had seen her competing many times on her black and white pony, and she remembered that her name was Sally. She rarely made it to the ribbons, but always gave her best effort.
Bird wondered if she should interfere. Sundancer had been considered crazy, and was about to be euthanized when Bird got him. She had spent a lot of time and used a lot of patience — along with her special skills — to help him settle down. Now he was a champion.
Hannah was waiting at the door. Bird couldn’t help but listen. “No sense getting hurt.” The woman was talking now, and she spoke with authority. “If that’s what your father thinks, you’re doing the right thing. Some horses are just bad.”
Bird cringed at the woman’s words. Horses, and people, for that matter, were often deemed to be “just bad.” But just like bad people, bad horses sometimes had a reason to be bad. Maybe the handling was rough, or something hurt, or they just didn’t feel appreciated or understood. Rarely were they “just bad.”
Hannah stared at Bird pointedly. “Well? Are you coming?”
“One minute.”
“What’s up?”
“If I tell you, you’ll say no.” Before Hannah could open her mouth to respond, Bird walked over to the blond girl and the woman.
“I couldn’t help but overhear,” said Bird. She tried to appear friendly and helpful, instead of nosey and interfering. “Are you having a problem with your horse?” Now Bird recognized the woman. She was Kelsey Woodall. Bird recalled that she’d wanted to lease Moonlight Sonata for her daughter Candace until she fell off.
“I
