The Eighty-Dollar Champion - Elizabeth Letts [54]
The de Leyers didn’t ask a lot of questions. There was enough work on the farm to keep kids out of trouble. Life wasn’t easy in St. James for kids from the wrong side of the tracks, and boys who felt like fish out of water in the community loved to hang around with the de Leyers, understanding instinctively that these young new immigrants didn’t care what your last name was or what estate you came from, but respected what you made of yourself. Harry and Johanna both radiated strength of character, and as long as you could live up to their expectations, you were welcome to spend some time.
Harry was taking Louie Jongacker along to the show. Louie was from Queens, but his grandmother had a small place about six miles down the road; in the summer, he helped with barn chores at Harry’s farm. A tall, skinny lad, he was not a natural in the saddle. But the boy was a hard worker, and Harry wanted to give him a taste of riding in a competition. Over the summer, Snowman had been coming along well. He’d been trained to the point where he could negotiate the turns and pacing of a simple jumping course. Since Harry needed a mount for Louie, he decided to let him give Snowman a try.
Harry climbed in behind the wheel of the van, his mind spinning through the checklist of things that needed to be done and headed toward the Three Villages. The North Shore Horse Show was held at the Old Field Club, which had been founded in 1921 as a private swim club; its polo and horse show grounds abutted Long Island Sound. Harry smiled as Snowman sauntered down the ramp. The gelding looked around the showgrounds calmly, as if he’d been doing this all his life.
The novice team would not win any ribbons, of course, but Harry trusted Snowman to give Louie a safe ride. The gelding did not always have the precision to avoid hitting fences, but he was an honest horse—he never refused a jump. The boy would experience the thrill of riding in front of a crowd. And Snowy would enjoy it, too. He did not have to earn a ribbon; just being here, fat and clean, braided up like a prize-winning horse, was a triumph in itself.
The North Shore show spanned three days. Stabling their horses in barns set adjacent to the arenas, competitors were outnumbered by trainers, grooms, and young helpers, all scurrying around. Slender girls lugged heavy rubber buckets, splashing water over the side with each lurching step. In the barn, elaborate custom-made drapery turned stalls into tackrooms where pampered riders leaned back on camp chairs while grooms blacked their tall, custom-made boots. Everyone’s nerves were on edge.
Junior jumpers, Snowman’s first class, was the last junior class of the day. Harry had butterflies in his stomach when young Louie swung into the saddle and settled on Snowman’s broad back. The boy looked nervous and a little stiff—all eagerness, but not very brave. “Take it easy,” Harry called out. “Just ride like you always do.”
The schooling ring, where horses and riders warmed up prior to entry in the show ring, was crowded with riders bobbing and weaving, jockeying for space. Trainers yelled commands to the boys and girls on horseback, while nervous parents lined up two deep along the fence. Harry did not say much—he just watched.
He adjusted the bars on one of the practice fences, then nodded. Louie circled around toward the jump. When Snowman cleared the fence easily, Louie’s body loosened up a little. When Snowman cleared the fence the second time, Harry held up his hand. Louie looked puzzled. They had only jumped twice, and some of the other riders had already been out here for half an hour. Harry leaned over and slid the pins out of the jump cups, then raised the poles to about four