The Magic Castle by Carole Smith

Author:Carole Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466877689
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

Predisclosure drawing, May 1989

The judge, a fairly young woman in a pale blue evening gown, swept across the arena to take her place next to the ringmaster. Her earrings and necklace glittered with the reflected light, and on her left shoulder she wore a corsage of tiny pink roses. Picking up her clipboard and pencil and nodding to the ringmaster, she looked toward the in-gate. There was a fanfare of music and the twelve junior exhibitors, boys and girls under the age of eighteen, trotted their horses into the ring.

“Class is complete,” said the announcer. “Walk please. All walk.” I watched the judge study the class. I knew she was looking for a relaxed, flat-footed walk. Several of the horses in the ring were tense and jigging. They would not settle into the walk. The judge busily made notations on her pad.

The riders were requested to trot. I kept my eyes on Alex. He was posting so effortlessly he almost seemed to float above the saddle. Blaze was attentive and responsive. His ears were forward, his neck was arched, and he was moving with cadence and balance. I felt a little thrill of anticipation. If nothing went wrong, they just might win this class.

The riders were asked to walk again, and then the voice over the loudspeaker said, “Canter, please. Show your horses at the canter.” The organist played a lilting melody, and the ring was alive with controlled motion. At this point, I mentally compared Alex and Blaze to the other entries. It was with some dismay that I saw two horses who were doing as well. One was a striking chestnut gelding with a light mane and tail and the other was a gleaming black mare.

The call came to reverse, and the horses went through their paces in the opposite direction. At the canter, the gelding led with his outside front leg rather than the correct inside leg. That would be enough to put him out of first place. But there was still the black mare.

“Line up in front of the ringmaster. Please line up.” The riders guided their mounts into the center of the ring. The judge walked down the line, still jotting notes on her pad, and asked each competitor to back up his or her horse. Both Blaze and the mare were supple and obedient at the rein-back. Either could win. I could only wait for the result.

When it came, it was Alex. I let out a whoop and gave a jump in the air, and along with the rest of the crowd I enthusiastically clapped my hands. Barely able to contain myself, I watched the photographer come out to take pictures in front of the gazebo. The shimmering blue ribbon was fluttering from Blaze’s bridle and the ringmaster was standing at the horse’s head. In his hands he held the trophy, a polished pewter bowl. Alex turned his head toward the camera. His face was wreathed in smiles and his eyes were dancing with joy.

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