Stables S.O.S. by Janet Rising Page B

need all the ones we can get, frankly.”
    â€œYes,” Sophie replied, “I was hoping you’d say that.”
    Katy and I exchanged glances. It sounded promising.
    â€œToo many of these wonderful old places are lost,” Mr. NH Man continued, searching his pockets for his cigarettes. Then, remembering Katy’s scolding, he returned them to a different pocket, running his fingers through his hair instead.
    â€œWell, let me show you,” Sophie said, and they both walked out to the field. Katy and I followed at a distance and leaned on the gate, waving to Dee who was schooling Dolly in the outdoor school. Sophie had instructed her daughter to work on her transitions. Apparently they’d been shaky at her last show, and Dee was thrilled. Not.
    â€œThis is totally going to work,” Katy said, her elbows on the gate, chin in her hands.
    I sighed. It had to, really.
    A few minutes passed. We watched Henry the black Dales pony scratch his rear end on the trunk of the old oak tree. Pippin, the smallest pony in the stables, walked over to the water trough for a drink, droplets of water dripping from his lips as he lifted his head and stared at something in the distance that we couldn’t see, and I could see Drummer standing very still, right at the far end of the field. He was probably trying to act like he wasn’t there so I wouldn’t bring him in and go riding.
    â€œLook out. They’re coming back,” I said as Sophie and the NH man returned at a brisk walk. We skedaddled into the barn, feeling like a couple of (not very good) spies. As the gate clicked shut, we could hear their conversation.
    â€œI do feel you have got me here under false pretenses.” (NH man)
    â€œAbsolutely not!” (Sophie)
    â€œI was led to believe the structure was still standing, that there was something to save for the nation.” (NH man)
    â€œI thought you people were interested in historical sites.” (Sophie)
    â€œThere’s nothing to see!” (NH man)
    Sophie didn’t seem to have an answer to this—which was a first as far as I could remember.
    Katy and I looked at each other in horror. It was obvious that National Heritage couldn’t give a hoot about our Elizabethan house. Or, more correctly, where our Elizabethan house had been.
    â€œHe doesn’t care!” said Katy indignantly.
    My heart sank into my boots. What were we going to do now? Making our way around to the stables, we were just in time to see the back of Mr. NH man’s gray car disappear down the drive, back to where he came from, unimpressed by our historical site.
    Sophie was down but not out.
    â€œHe’s only interested in actual buildings,” she told us, tapping her toe on the concrete as she went into full rethink mode.
    â€œBut that means we’re sunk!” I cried, unable to quite believe it. When the day had begun, the stables were saved. Now, it seemed, all was doomed. And we still hadn’t got a plan for our Keep Bambi Campaign, my memory reminded me annoyingly! AND I’d sacrificed my Brookdale sash for diddly-squat! I felt my heart dip, and I really thought a tear or two was getting ready to drizzle out of my eyes. I’d had such high hopes for National Heritage.
    â€œOnly for the time being,” muttered Sophie, still thinking. “Keep at it, girls. There has to be a way to get around this,” she told us as she marched off to continue doing whatever it was she’d been doing before Mr. NH-time-waster-man had interrupted her.
    Katy and I sat on a straw bale outside Tiffany’s stable, and I pulled myself together. What a setback! Neither of us said anything. There were no words. From being up there, all positive, we were suddenly plunged once more into despair. I felt a little sick. I could still hear the sizzling sound my sash had made when it had gone up in flames.
    â€œWhat a bummer!” Katy said at last, ripping pieces of straw out