Barbie, p.7
Barbie, page 7
“The horse and clothes and pony tail sound like Linda Anderson,” Gil commented thoughtfully. “You know her, don’t you? Nice girl. But the last I saw or heard, Linda wasn’t wired for sound. Want me to take it up with her next time I see her?”
“I know the name,” Barbie admitted. Linda Anderson was in a lot of school activities, but she had been only a name to Barbie. “Would you? Only don’t tell her I told you or that I want to know,” Barbie hastily added.
“I won’t,” Gil promised, smiling. “I’ll just say I heard she’s wired for sound nowadays, and how about it? And as far as mentioning your curiosity—now you’ve got me wondering too!”
Sunday was another day of waiting for the phone to ring or for strange cars to pull into the drive. As on the previous morning, Barbie rose early to feed, groom, and exercise the little mare; then she was faced with the problem of finding a way to occupy herself the rest of the day, which seemed to stretch endlessly. Church and reading the thick newspaper—turning first to see Twinkle’s ad—passed some of the time, as did lingering over the big, leisurely noon meal; but the afternoon seemed to be doubly long as Barbie had to fight against the desire to take an after-dinner nap.
Then, in midafternoon, a car pulled into the drive and a man and a little boy got out. Barbie forgot all about being sleepy and hurried outdoors to join her father, who was already talking to the man. The little boy, who was rushing about in an overexcited manner, was decked out in a cowboy suit complete with big hat, chaps, boots with spurs, and cap guns in fancy holsters. Barbie viewed him with dislike as he “shot” Mimsy, who for some reason hated fireworks although she loved to go hunting with Mr. Maguire; and discovering that Mimsy would jump and scuttle away, the child pursued the cocker all around the yard. One shot, exploding too near Twinkle, made her shy nervously. Barbie stroked the pony and murmured soothingly to her, hoping that such a bratty youngster wouldn’t be the little mare’s new owner. He seemed even worse than Junior had yesterday.
“It acts excitable,” the child’s father criticized. “Is it safe for a child to ride?”
“Normally she’s very quiet,” Mr. Maguire said. “Of course, she isn’t used to cap guns being shot off in her ear.”
“Oh, she’ll get used to that soon enough,” the man laughed in what Barbie considered a very unfeeling manner. “LeRay’s never without his guns—he even takes them to bed with him at night! Well, saddle ’er up. LeRay! Quit chasing that dog and come ride the pony; see how you like it before I pay for it!”
Barbie cast an appealing glance at her father as he began saddling Twinkle. He didn’t look especially happy but he merely shrugged and devoted his attention to the saddle’s straps and buckles.
“Oh, boy!” LeRay declared. “Wait’ll I get him! I’ll gallop and gallop—”
“Her,” Barbie made a small correction. “And you mustn’t gallop all the time, you know. You want to walk the first mile out and the last mile back—”
“Aw, cowboys don’t bother with sissy stuff like that!” LeRay scoffed. “They gallop all the time. But walkin’s all right for girls, I guess.” He fired his cap guns again.
Twinkle was sidling nervously as Mr. Maguire finished saddling her. Barbie wondered sickly how they could keep the sale from going through. LeRay was much worse than the little boy had been yesterday. LeRay would run Twinkle till she dropped dead. Something had to be done, and quickly!
Twinkle herself did it, and LeRay literally triggered the action off. He had hardly climbed into the saddle before he simultaneously kicked her with his spurred heels and exuberantly fired off his cap gun. Twinkle bounded forward, then gave a mighty buck which sent LeRay flying. While LeRay landed and rose howling, Twinkle ran, still humping her back and giving buck jumps. Barbie pursued her, and managing to grab the trailing reins, halted her. Then leading her in a small circle, she whispered to the frightened animal and stroked her sweating neck.
“There, there, girl,” Barbie comforted her, feeding her a lump of sugar. “I won’t let Daddy sell you to that awful little boy. I didn’t know you had it in you, though! You’ve always been such a quiet little lady!”
Barbie found that she didn’t need to worry, for being thrown had cured LeRay of his desire to own Twinkle—or any other horse. He wailed all the way to the car and as long as it was in earshot.
“Well, that saved me telling them I wouldn’t sell her to them,” Mr. Maguire remarked. “That would have been uncomfortable.”
“Not nearly as uncomfortable as having those spurs jabbed into your ribs,” Barbie commented, inspecting Twinkle’s satiny sides. “Well, the skin isn’t broken, thank goodness. I think she was only upset by that sort of treatment.”
“Maybe you’d better put her back in her stall,” Mr. Maguire suggested, ruffling Twinkle’s forelock with gentle fingers. “Poor girl. It’s been quite a weekend, hasn’t it? It’s all right with me if we don’t have any more answers to the ad today.”
“Oh, yes!” Barbie thankfully agreed. “Between LeRay and Junior, I’ve had it, but good!”
9
When Monday and Tuesday passed without bringing any delayed response to the advertisement, the Maguires accepted the fact that they were destined to be horse owners for a while longer.
“We might as well buy another bag of oats,” Mr. Maguire said resignedly, “and wait till she’s eaten them before advertising again.”
“I thought perhaps you’d run the ad again this weekend,” Barbie commented, privately glad he evidently didn’t intend to.
“It’d be a waste of money,” he told her. “If so few people people were interested in buying a pony—‘Boy Pony, Male’—last weekend, I doubt that we’d have better luck next weekend. We’ll wait two or three weeks before trying our luck again. By the way, do you want to take the Shrimp in to town, chick, and get the oats?”
“When don’t I want to take the Shrimp, anywhere?” Barbie responded.
By the time Barbie got into the Volkswagen, she had more than oats on her shopping list, for her mother had added a number of items needed from the supermarket. Driving in to town, she considered going to a different market—but Mother had specified several brands that only the supermarket stocked—and at any rate, it seemed cowardly to go out of her way merely to avoid Keith. He mightn’t be at work, or working out in the front part of the store where she’d see him, anyway.
First, however, Barbie went to the store that Gil had mentioned as a good, reliable place to buy feed. The interior of the feed store was cool, dim, and fragrant with the scent of clover hay. When Barbie’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw that the walls were lined with deep bins filled with different grains and mixtures of grains, and feed advertisements were tacked up on the walls. A mother cat was reclining atop a bale of hay, her kittens romping around and over her. The proprietor of the store was busy with another customer, so Barbie picked up a kitten and petted it while she waited.
“Why, Barbie! What are you doing here?” It was Gil’s voice behind her and he sounded pleased.
“Buying oats for Twinkle,” she replied as she turned. “What kind do I buy, anyhow? All these—” she gestured perplexedly toward several bins of oats. “Long white, and crimped, and cut— Does it make any difference?”
“Never mind, I’ll tell the man what kind you want,” Gil said, smiling. “You might listen, though, in case I’m not handy next time. You didn’t sell Twinkle, h’mm?”
“No, I guess we’re stuck with her,” Barbie said happily.
The proprietor joined them, and Barbie stood back as Gil told the man the kind and amount of grain she wanted and then carried it out to the Volkswagen for her.
“I’ll unload it for you at your house if you’ll give me a lift home later,” Gil offered. At Barbie’s quick agreement, he said: “Just let me tell Pop. He’s in the store somewhere. And are you going to take that kitten home with you?”
Barbie glanced down at the kitten purring in her arms and laughed ruefully. “I’d forgotten I still had it. Oh, I tell you, I’m brilliant!” Seeing Gil unexpectedly doesn’t excite me! she thought. Oh, no! It just leaves me feeling fluttery and oblivious to such things as kittens!
The trip out to Grapevine Road was fun. Gil drove, with Barbie coaching him on the Volkswagen’s foreign eccentricities—floor gearshift, rear engine, and lack of a fuel indicator. Gil grumbled good-naturedly and talked to the car—with a good fake German accent—as if it were a horse, while Barbie hotly defended it.
“Oh, I have to get some things at the supermarket!” Barbie exclaimed, the sight of the market reminding her and diverting her attention from the mock argument. “Mother gave me a list a mile long. Do you mind?”
“She shouldn’t burden you down with such things,” Gil said too gravely, his eyes twinkling. “I mind very much. You’re a fragile little flower to be protected—Barbie, if you hit me, I’ll wreck your car! No, I don’t mind. I’ll look at the magazines while you’re shopping.”
Barbie was relieved to see Keith leaving the market, carrying two heavy bags of groceries to a woman’s car, as Gil parked the Volkswagen. With luck, she wouldn’t encounter Keith in the store and he’d be occupied elsewhere when she left. Her ordinary reluctance to meet him was increased by Gil’s presence—Keith could so easily say or do something to make Gil wonder whether she was worth wasting time on and, at the very least, he had a disastrous effect upon her self-confidence.
Barbie breathed more easily when, with her shopping completed, she and Gil went to the check-out counter. Keith was busy checking out groceries at the farthest counter, and Barbie concentrated upon paying for her purchases and talking to Gil, pretending that she had not seen Keith. She was, however, unable to keep from stealing a glance his way, to see if he was aware of her presence. He was. He was looking at her, and when he caught her eye he smiled and waved at her. Barbie managed a small answering smile and quickly turned back to Gil.
“Need some help here?” Keith’s familiar voice asked the checker only seconds later. “I’m finished over there. Hi, Barbie. When are we going riding together again?”
“I’ve no idea,” Barbie said repressively, sure he had come over simply because he realized she was with Gil and didn’t want him to, and that he just wanted to needle her. Still—it could be worse. A date with Keith tended to raise a girl’s prestige, and Gil didn’t know what a dismal failure that ride with Keith had been.
“You been riding with him?” Gil queried as they went out to the Volkswagen and got in. “Very often?”
“Once,” Barbie said briefly. “That was often enough.” Casting about for a safer subject, she asked: “Do you know anything about wading pools? We’ve got one but we haven’t set it up and filled it yet. We’re not quite sure how to go about it.” That was not strictly true; Mr. Maguire had brought it home only the night before, and they had barely glanced at the instructions so far.
“I’ll do what I can, even if I haven’t had much experience in that field,” Gil responded agreeably, evidently willing to change the subject. He took his eyes from the road long enough to give Barbie a quick grin. “What would you ever do without me, Barbie? Fixing your pool, carrying your groceries, selecting and carrying your oats—”
“Oh, I’d be utterly lost!” Barbie laughed back.
As she had surmised, inflating the sides of the pool was a simple matter, but that didn’t keep her from exclaiming at how easily Gil did so. Vocally appreciating the work he was doing in her behalf seemed the least she could do, and Gil visibly expanded under her admiration.
“It’s a nice big pool,” he commented, trying to act unconcerned. “You’ll enjoy it, as hot as the weather’s getting to be.”
“That’s what Dad thought,” Barbie agreed. “Personally, I think he’s got designs on it himself. I fully expect to find him soaking in it, along about Saturday afternoon!”
* * *
As the summer progressed the days grew steadily hotter, and Barbie was glad that her father had bought the nice big pool. Unlike some that were so small a person could only sit hunched up, this one was large enough that she could stretch out, her head and shoulders comfortably propped against the inflated side’s top ring. What, she wondered lazily, could be more pleasant than loafing in the cool water, in the shade of the big tree, while all around the sun beat down intensely hot and bright?
Mimsy was quick to sense the advantages of the wading pool. Although she detested the bathtub and the basement washtubs, where she was given baths, she evidently decided the pool was closer kin to nice water, such as the creek and lake, and she plopped right in and sat with only her head above water, an absurdly smug expression on her face.
“I’m not sure I appreciate sharing the pool with a dog,” Barbie told her, trying to remain stern, though Mimsy’s ridiculous complacency tickled her sense of humor. “Or horses,” she added firmly. “Twinkle, you can just go eat grass on the other side of the tree—or at any rate, quit staring at me! Those big reproachful eyes of yours aren’t going to do you any good!”
However, whether because Twinkle wanted to share the coolness of the wading pool, or whether she was merely intrigued by the sight of her human and canine friends sitting in the water, she continued to stand and gaze at them as she thoughtfully chewed grass. Barbie began to wonder whether Twinkle would get in, and if so, what she would do in the water.
“Barbie!” Mrs. Maguire called from the back door. “Telephone! Dry yourself off before you come into the house.”
“Who is it?” Barbie called back, rising and stepping out of the pool. She swatted at Twinkle, who had stretched an inquiring nose to examine her dripping legs. “One of the gang?” She started toward the house, toweling herself on the way.
“A boy,” Mrs. Maguire told her as she reached the back door. “He has a nice deep voice, but I didn’t recognize it.”
“Well!” Barbie said, pleasantly anticipating finding out who her nice-voiced caller might be. Her mother knew the voices of most of her friends.
Her anticipation and pleasure faded when she discovered it was Keith. “I haven’t been seeing you around,” he reproached. “What’ve you been doing that keeps you so busy?”
“Oh—any number of things,” Barbie elusively fenced, trying to imagine why on earth he should be calling her. “Trying to keep cool.”
“The market’s air-conditioned,” he offered. “So are the theaters. I hear the show at the Lincoln’s pretty good. You want to go tonight, to see if what I hear is true?”
“I don’t think I can,” Barbie fibbed. As undesirable as he’d obviously found her before, she couldn’t think why he should want a second date, and a public one at that, but she had no desire to have him wreck her self-confidence again.
“Sure you can,” he declared persuasively. “I’ll pick you up at seven. You be ready, hear? Look, I’ve got to go—I hear the boss coming.”
Just as if, Barbie thought indignantly, staring at the dead receiver, he’d had to wait forty minutes for her at the stables, and as if she’d called him at work to tease until he gave in and said he’d take her to the movies! Still, it could be worse, much worse. They could be going riding again, with no one to know she was out with him, instead of to the movies where several of their contemporaries were bound to see them and to spread the word that he’d dated her.
“And I’d have to be superhuman not to like that,” Barbie informed Mimsy, who was wetly waiting at the back steps. “After all, he owes me something for that awful ride, you know it? Boosting my prestige around school is the very least he can do. But I still say it isn’t fair for all the girls to be drooling over him and ignoring a nice fellow like Gil! You need a bath, dog. You smell like wet cocker.”
Mimsy had managed to look pleased, sympathetic, and indignant by turns, depending on Barbie’s voice, but when Barbie said “bath” in severe tones the spaniel cringed and tried to slink under the steps, only to be caught by a hind leg and pulled back out.
“Bath,” Barbie repeated. “You haven’t had one since before your pups were born, three months at least. And there’s all that nice water in the wading pool. High time we put in fresh anyhow.”
Despite Mimsy’s frantically rolling eyes and low moans, she was plunked into the pool, thoroughly scrubbed, and rinsed off with the garden hose. Fine thing, Barbie thought, amused at herself, in South Pacific the heroine washes that man right out of her hair, but I wash Keith out of my dog’s hair! Regardless of motives, she finished bathing Mimsy, topping it all off with a bluing rinse to make the cocker’s petticoats and feathers snowy white.
“Now what about you?” she said to Twinkle when Mimsy, dried off and released, was joyously tearing around in circles. “Not that I mean to criticize, mind, but you smell like a horse!”
To satisfy her earlier curiosity, Barbie grasped Twinkle’s halter and urged the mare to step into the pool. Twinkle eyed the pool’s sides and the shimmering water with mild doubt; then, being a well-trained horse which had learned to trust Barbie, she carefully lifted one forefoot over the side and set it in the water, hesitated, then with a snort swung the other forefoot in, stepped forward, and gave a little buck which resulted in both her hind feet splashing in over the side. That done, she raised her head, proudly stared around, and whinnied loudly.
“Yes, this is what you’ve been aiming for all the time you’ve been staring at me, isn’t it?” Barbie said, pretending to be stern. “Well, now that you’re in, how do you like it?”
Twinkle snorted, sounding satisfied, then lowered her head to taste the water, shaking her head so that drops flew every which way at finding the water slightly soapy from Mimsy’s shampoo. Briskly, Barbie set about washing the pony, carefully washing Twinkle’s head, alert not to get soap in the eyes, working down the graceful neck to the rounded body and slim legs. Then she rinsed her with the hose, making sure to remove every last trace of soap.
“Now, how about a glamour treatment for you too?” she proposed. “Bluing for your star and hind feet, to make them real white?”
