Ivy Takes Care by Rosemary Wells Page A

they would never touch, just as Ivy would never touch the world of Camp Allegro. Ivy’s was the world of carefully marked money envelopes. Ivy wished she could take both Annie’s and her mother’s hands in hers and reverse time to last year, but only a cheerful “Another time, then! We’re late!” rang out from the familiar bright-red lips and white teeth. Then Annie and her mother waved good-bye.
    Ivy took a seat by a window on the number-six bus. She watched Mrs. Evans’s taillights disappear north on the highway to Reno. Would Annie ask that tent mate instead? Was there really an extra ticket on an airplane to Colorado? There was no way of knowing. Maybe Annie had a whole bevy of new friends at the Reno riding place. There had been mail on the backseat of the car where Annie’s helmet was tossed. Ivy had only a second to see a mess of forms with a familiar emblem on the pages: a hand holding a lamp. That emblem held an answer, Ivy knew suddenly. She had seen that hand and lamp emblem somewhere, but just where, Ivy could not put her finger.
    Spooner Lake was half an hour by bus from the school. The Montgomery place was the last stop before the bus turned around. To a visitor the ranch looked tiny against the huge landscape of pastures and mountains surrounding it. Ivy walked down the frozen muddy driveway and held out her hand to the five horses who gathered along the fence. A man appeared then, in the stable doorway.
    Ivy went up to him. “Hi, I’m Ivy,” she said. “You must be Mr. Velez!” Ivy had never met a blind person in her life.
    “Ruben,” he answered. He extended his hand. “This here’s my horse, Andromeda,” he said, indicating the occupant of the stall behind him. “Where she goes, I go.”
    Ruben stood an inch shorter than Ivy. He scooted around the stable like a small chef in a big kitchen. He knew exactly where he was in the stable at all times and just what he was doing. Ruben showed Ivy the ropes in no time.
    “Andromeda don’t go out in the pasture with the othern,” he explained to Ivy. “She could turn an ankle in a gopher hole. Wind’s too cold for her. Anything can happen to a Thoroughbred racer, and usually it does happen. You like horses?”
    “I love them. All animals,” said Ivy.
    Andromeda stood patiently on her cross ties. Ruben had two brushes in his hand — a stiff one and a finishing brush.
    “Put your hand on her,” Ruben instructed Ivy. “Right on the withers. That’s it. Now take this brush and give her coat a good once-over.”
    Ivy did. Andromeda’s coat gleamed under her hand.
    “She liked that,” said Ruben. “She likes your hands. Do you know how to ride?”
    “All my life,” said Ivy. “But I only ride trail ponies. I’ve never been on a big horse like this one.”
    “Oh, Andromeda’s like an old rocking chair,” said Ruben. “Next time I take her out, I’ll let you ride. Would you like that?”
    “I’d love it,” said Ivy.
    “I have to go to work in a few minutes. You all right here alone?” asked Ruben.
    “I’m fine,” said Ivy.
    Ruben removed his boots and put his feet into black city shoes. “I take care of the old,” he said. “Most of ’em can’t see me, and I can’t see them, but it don’t matter. I love them. When I come in the ward, they all know. They love my stories. I tell them all the stories from the track in the old days.”
    Ruben had prepared Andromeda’s dinner beforehand. She got hay and some sweet feed. Her water bucket was full.
    “It’s ten to four,” he said. “You mind feeding her? The bus will be here soon, so I have to go.” Ivy heard no clock or chime. How did Ruben know the time?
    Before he left the stable, Ruben turned to Ivy with a mischievous smile. “I have a clock in my head,” he said.
    Ivy handed a carrot to Andromeda, who took the treat in her velvet lips, as gently as a baby.
    There was no water in the stable pipes, so Ivy had to pump the horses’ water into two buckets at an