skies had cleared, the sun was out and they were on their way.
Clouds of dust rose up from the truck tyres as Avery turned off the main road and down the gravel drive that led to the Chevalier Point grounds. Ahead of them were the pony-club gates, hemmed by a line of tall magnolia trees. Beyond the magnolias was another paddock gate and then a series of large plane trees ran like a leafy spine down the middle of the three paddocks that made up the club grounds.
On warm summer days riders could loll about in the shade of the plane trees while their horses rested. It wasn’t going to get that hot today. After all, this was the first gymkhana of the season. Still, Avery pulled the horse truck up in the first paddock under two of the biggest trees so that they would be shaded from the glare of the sun.
They unloaded the horses and set to work braiding manes, stencilling chequerboard patterns on to rumps and oiling the ponies’ hooves.
Issie had never seen so many riders at Chevalier Point before. The gymkhana was open to all riders in the district, and Issie tried to pick out which riders were from the various clubs by the colour of their jerseys and ties. The Chevalier Point club uniform was a navy jersey with a bright red tie and Issie could see two riders dressed in Chevalier Point colours riding towards her from the far field where the showjumps had been set up.
“Hey, dizzy Issie!” the rider at the front called to her as he cantered closer. “About time you got here. Ben and me have already walked the showjumping course.”
Dan and Ben were Chevalier Point Pony Club members. Dan had a flea-bitten grey gelding called Kismit, while Ben rode a grumpy Welsh pony called Max.
“Are the jumps very big?” Issie asked nervously.
“Huge!” Dan teased her. “And you’ve got to ride fast too, if you want to beat the clock. The best time with no faults wins.” He was grinning from ear to ear. Dan was a speed demon. He and Kismit would be the ones to beat in the jumping ring today.
No time to walk the course now, Issie decided. It was nearly time for the first event. She would have to check out the jumps with Stella and Kate during the lunch break.
“Hello, Kismit.” Issie reached out a hand to pat the slender grey on the nose. “I suppose you’ve been promised extra carrots for dinner if you go fast today?” She smiled at Dan.
“Hey! I don’t need to bribe my own horse to win.” Dan grinned back. “Anyway, we’re going to fill in our entry forms now. Do you want to come?” he asked.
Issie was about to say yes when she heard her mother calling her name.
“Isadora! Isadora!” Mrs Brown cried out as she strode across the field towards her. Issie groaned. She couldn’t stand the way her mother insisted on using her full name. Isadora. It sounded so snobby and girly, not at all the sort of name for a serious horse rider. Sure, Avery called her Isadora sometimes too, but only when he was telling her off during a riding lesson. Apart from that, everyone else, even her teachers at school, called her Issie.
“I’ve filled in your entry forms,” Mrs Brown explained. “Doesn’t Mystic look wonderful?” She gave the grey gelding a very nervous pat and held on to the reins, extending her arm so that she was standing as far away from Mystic as possible while Issie did up the girth.
Everyone said that Issie was exactly like her mum. It was true that they were both tall, tanned and lean with long dark hair. But Issie didn’t think they were alike at all. How could they be when Issie loved horses so much and her mother didn’t even like them?
Issie wished her mum would give riding a try. Maybe if she could experience for herself the thrill of cantering across open fields with the wind in her hair, she’d finally be able to understand why Issie adored riding so much. But her mum was way too scared to even sit on a horse, let alone canter one.
“What’s your first event?” Mrs Brown asked, still reluctantly hanging on to Mystic’s reins as Issie finished adjusting her stirrups.
“Paced and Mannered. We’re due in the ring any minute now,” Issie told her. She gave Mystic a stroke on his dark, velvety nose and her mum gave her a leg up.
“Come on, boy,” Issie murmured softly, leaning low over Mystic’s neck, “let’s show them what we can do.”
In the ring, several horses were trotting around warming up. Dan and Ben were already there. A girl that Issie didn’t recognise rode in on a skewbald with a peppy trot, a young girl on a chubby chestnut mare following behind her. The chestnut pony had a vicious temper. Her ears were lying flat back against her head—a warning to other horses not to get too close.
The prettiest by far in the ring, thought Issie, was a golden palomino with a star on her forehead and high, lively paces. “Wow! Isn’t that palomino gorgeous,” Stella said, reading Issie’s mind as the two riders sat at the edge of the arena checking out the competition. “I wonder who that rider is? I’ve never seen her here before but she’s wearing our club colours…”
The girl on the palomino had golden hair, almost the same colour as her pony, tied back in two severe plaits. She wore a tweed hacking jacket over her club jersey and had a sour expression on her face.
“I know who it must be,” Kate said as she rode up beside them. “That’s Natasha Tucker. Her family have just moved here. I bet she’s joined Chevalier Point Pony Club!”
The three girls were still eyeing up the palomino with envy, when it suddenly spooked at a plastic bag blowing across the ground. The girl with the sour expression jerked back in the saddle, wrenching on the reins and jagging the little pony sharply in the mouth with the bit. Regaining her seat, she raised her riding crop in the air and brought it down hard on the pony’s golden flank. “Stand still you brute!” she squealed.
Issie was stunned. “I can’t believe she just did that!”
“Don’t worry,” muttered Stella, “the judge saw it too and she can’t believe it either. Paced and Mannered? More like bad manners! There’s no way she’s going to get a ribbon for that behaviour. And neither will we for that matter if we don’t get in the ring pretty quickly. Come on! The event is about to start.”
“Trot on!” ordered the judge, a sturdy woman in blue stockings and a matching straw hat, standing in the middle of the arena. The riders obediently trotted around in a circle.
Issie urged Mystic into a trot and tried to look her best. Heels down, hands still, head up, she chanted to herself as she rose up and down to the rhythm of Mystic’s trot.
“Canter!” called the judge. Mystic cantered eagerly around the ring, ears pricked forward, tail held high. Unfortunately his canter was a little too keen. As he got closer to the chubby chestnut mare in front of him she flattened her ears and lashed out with her hind legs. Mystic squealed and shied to one side. Issie let the reins slip and had to grab a handful of mane to stay on his back.
“Halt!” commanded the judge. But there was no hope of that right now. Issie snatched the reins back up but it was too late. Everyone else had stopped their horses and Mystic was still doing an ungainly trot around the
