The Hat She Wore For Horsemanship

He just stood there with his big hands at his sides and his jaw tight, and I looked up at his face and then I had to look at the dirt for a while.

Kaycee didn’t see any of it. She told me later. She was watching the turn and watching Dot’s ears and thinking about keeping her hand up.

She didn’t know until she rode back out the gate and Gentry’s granddaughter ran up and told her the old men had stood up for her.

Then she put her face against Dot’s neck, in the shade by the stock trailers, and cried. Not long. Just a little.

Then she wiped her face with her shirt sleeve and went to loosen her cinch, because a good hand takes care of her horse first.

The last two girls rode after Kaycee. They rode well. The men sat back down. The sun moved over and the shade from the tin roof crept a few feet down the bleachers.

At four o’clock the three judges came down from the judges’ stand and handed their score sheets to Renee. That’s how it works.

The judges tally, and the coordinator announces. They’d announce horsemanship, speech, and appearance today, and crown the queen on Saturday afternoon before the rodeo.

Renee announced appearance first. A tall blond girl from the south end of the county won it, a sweet girl who had been in 4-H with Kaycee for years, and everybody clapped.

Then speech, and Kaycee was second in speech, and I was so proud of that I almost missed the next part.

Then Renee picked up the last card. The horsemanship card.

She read it. Then she read it again. I saw her lips move. She looked up at the grandstand, at all those old men in their good shirts, and for a second I thought she might not be able to do it.

The whole arena went quiet. Even the kids by the concession stand went quiet. You could hear a steer bawling over in the livestock barn and the flag on the announcer’s stand snapping in the wind.

“Your horsemanship winner,” Renee said, and her voice caught on the last word.

She stopped. She took a drink of water. She tried again.

“Your horsemanship winner,” she said. “Kaycee Briggs, riding Dot.”

The grandstand came apart. Those old men who hadn’t made a sound during the run were whistling and clapping now, and the women were too, and Marlin was standing up again.

I didn’t stand up. I couldn’t. I just sat there on that hot bleacher with my hands over my mouth.

Kaycee rode Dot back in through the gate at a walk. She came out to the middle of the arena and stopped, the way the winners do, and waited.

Renee was supposed to hand the ribbon and the buckle to one of the junior helpers to carry out. That’s how she’d done it for nine years.

She sat at the stand and announced, and some little girl in a sash ran the ribbon out to the winner, and Renee clapped from her chair.