Face to Face

By Valerie Hunter

“Just a quick ride,” Reagan said to PB, patting the horse between the ears. “Then I’m going to the bus depot to meet Philomena. We’ll be with you all weekend, though—I know Philomena will love you.”

Normally Reagan hated to shorten her afternoon, but today she didn’t mind. She was going to meet Philomena!

When Reagan’s grandmother had visited last fall and mentioned that the granddaughter of a friend of hers was looking for a pen pal, Reagan had taken the name and address reluctantly. She’d written half-heartedly about school and PB, certain this city girl would think she was a hick.

Then she’d gotten Philomena’s first letter, and writing letters didn’t seem so bad after all. Philomena loved horses, too. Of course I’m not lucky enough to have my own horse, but there are stables here where people can go riding, she’d written.

They’d exchanged letters and sometimes e-mails all school year and into the summer. Then Reagan had invited Philomena to visit, and after their moms had talked on the phone, the plan was finalized. When Reagan finished settling PB into his stall, she ran inside to read Philomena’s last e-mail again.

Hey Reagan! It’s all set—I’ll be there at two-thirty Friday. Have you shown PB my picture so he’ll know me? I won’t tell you to pat him for me—I’ll do that myself!

Love, Philomena

RHT: There were tiny horses on Earth 60 million years before there were humans!

Reagan grinned. Philomena always included an RHT, or Random Horse Tidbit, when she wrote. Reagan had started posting them on her bulletin board; so far her favorite was about Theodore Roosevelt’s sons sneaking their pet pony into the White House.

“Reagan? Let’s go!”

Reagan hurried downstairs to accompany her mom to the bus depot. She was so excited that she had butterflies—no, horses!—jumping around her stomach.

She recognized Philomena from her picture. They smushed into the front of Reagan’s mom’s pickup and chattered about the fun they were going to have. “We’ll go riding first,” Reagan said. “Did you bring your riding helmet?”

Philomena stopped smiling. “I—I forgot.”

“You can borrow my old one,” Reagan said, but it took a while for Philomena to smile again.

When they got home, Reagan pulled Philomena to the stable. “Here’s PB!”

“He’s so big!” Philomena gasped.

“Not really. Only fourteen hands.”

“Oh,” Philomena said. She reached out to pat his nose, but when PB tossed his head she put her hand down.

Reagan laughed. “It’s okay. He doesn’t bite.”

Philomena laughed, too, but she kept her hand down. “He sure is peanut butter-colored.”

“Yup. Mom says I picked the perfect name. Then she named her horse Jelly, even though Jelly’s not the color of any jelly I know!” She nodded to the big dark horse in the other stall. “So let’s go riding. You can have PB since he’s more easygoing. I’ll take Jelly.”

Philomena chewed her lip. “Reagan? I’m sorry, but my stomach really hurts. Can I go lie down?”

“Sure.” Reagan gave PB a pat and led her guest inside.

Philomena lay on her stomach on Reagan’s bed and they talked. Philomena noticed the RHTs on Reagan’s bulletin board and told her another one: It takes ten men to haul the amount of weight one horse can.

Philomena was feeling well enough by suppertime to eat the spaghetti Reagan’s mom had made, plus a brownie for dessert.

“We could go riding now,” Reagan suggested. “The sun sets late this time of year.”

“Ride after eating all that? I’d hate to throw up on your horse,” Philomena said with a giggle.

They watched TV instead. It was okay, but Reagan missed PB. She wondered if Philomena was enjoying herself. She sure seemed quiet.

The next morning, Reagan woke early and went downstairs. “G’morning, Mom. Can Philomena and I ride the horses to the north pasture for a picnic breakfast?”

“Sounds fun! I’ll pack the food while you girls get ready.”

Reagan shook Philomena awake and explained her idea. Philomena didn’t seem very enthusiastic, but maybe she wasn’t a morning person. She got dressed while Reagan saddled the horses.

“This is going to be great!” Reagan cried as she went back inside for Philomena and the food. She led her friend to the stable and handed her a riding helmet.

Philomena looked at the helmet in her hand, then at PB. “I can’t,” she whispered.

“What do you mean? Are you sick again?”

Philomena looked like she was about to say yes, then shook her head. “I can’t ride. I’m scared.”

“Of PB?” Reagan asked. “He’s not scary at all. He’s got great manners.”

“I mean I’m scared of all horses. I’ve never ridden one before.”

“What? Yes, you have! You told me, in your letter. You said there were stables where you live.” Reagan paused. “You lied to me?”

“I didn’t lie,” Philomena said quickly. “There are stables. I’ve just never been to one.”

“But you made it sound like…I can’t believe...” Reagan spluttered. “Why’d you even bother coming?” she finally managed to say.

“I thought we were friends,” Philomena said. Her face was red, but Reagan couldn’t tell whether she was angry or about to cry. “I guess I shouldn’t have come, though.” She ran back into the house.

Reagan watched her go, then turned back to PB. “What a phony! She made me think that— Why would she ever—” Reagan sighed and began to unsaddle the horses. She’d liked Philomena so much by mail. Why did things have to change face to face?

Her growling stomach interrupted her thoughts. She headed to the house with the picnic breakfast and took it upstairs.

Philomena was sitting on the bed with her bag. “If your mom could take me to the bus stop, I could go home today.”

Reagan began to unpack the picnic, spreading it out on the floor. “You don’t have to go.”

“I don’t think you want me here.”

“Well...I’m just wondering why you were untruthful.”

Philomena slid off her bed and onto the floor across from Reagan. “I didn’t want you to think I was some dumb city girl. I love horses, honestly…I mean, I love to read about them…I couldn’t afford to go riding, but I was sure I knew enough from books to fake it when I came here. But I’ve never been so close to a horse before, and PB just seemed so big...” Philomena buried her head between her knees. “I’m really dumb, aren’t I?”

Reagan shoved a bagel at her. “Of course not. Who else would know the ancient Norse people believed a giant horse pulled the moon?”

Philomena giggled. “Lot of good that does me.”

“You know more about horses than I do,” Reagan said, “except when it comes to riding them. I can teach you that. PB’s not scary once you know him.”

Philomena took a bite of bagel. “You’d really teach me? You’re not mad?”

“Course not. But don’t eat too much breakfast.” Reagan grinned. “I don’t want you throwing up on my horse.”