by Ellen Datlow
She’d forced a brave smile at the time, even though she knew there was no way she would.
It was raining when they landed at Heathrow, and it rained during the long drive that followed. Heather’s first impression of England was that it was very green and very wet. Presumably one because of the other. Thorpe Morag was a small Somerset village nestled in a valley in the middle of wet green nowhere. It was near places with even weirder names, like Middlezoy and Huish Champflower.
Her second impression was that everything was old. Like straight-out-of-a-history-book old. The roads, the houses, even the trees all seemed impossibly ancient. America was all shopping malls and Starbucks and nail salons and car dealerships, all of it new and shiny and clean. Here, Heather wouldn’t be surprised to see medieval peasants plowing the fields.
A battered sign finally told them they’d reached Thorpe Morag, and a winding road led them into the village. Two rows of cottages faced each other across a wide patch of grass with a little duck pond and a couple of rotting park benches. The “village green” apparently. There was a pub, the White Mare, and a shop that looked like something from an old black and white movie. As far as Heather could tell, its name was just “The Shop.”
At the far end of the green, a cluster of trees sheltered a narrow track that led to the Barton farm. The house was a blocky stone structure that looked more like a storage building than a home. It was almost hidden in the shadows of the foliage surrounding it. The trees looked intent on consuming the upper storey, and the view from at least one window was entirely obscured. Heather shuddered at the thought of branches scraping her bedroom window like bony fingers before breaking the glass and reaching in for her.
“It’s, um . . . nice,” she said, staring in dismay at the farmhouse. The photos emailed by the solicitor had clearly been taken on some enchanted spring morning when sunlight had conquered the gloom. Heather glanced at her father, but his expression was unreadable. They were really going to stay here? Live here? A glance back at the sparse village didn’t reveal any alternatives. It wasn’t like there was a hotel down the road or anything. But there had to be a city nearby. How far away was London? Surely they could find somewhere else to stay, anywhere else . . .
Her dad took the first step toward the farmhouse and Heather had her answer. She heaved a morose sigh as she trudged after him, resigned to her fate. That was when she saw it.
Her gasp must have sounded like one of pain because her dad whirled around. “Heather! Are you okay?”
“Oh my god,” she breathed. She didn’t so much walk as float toward the fence, where a beautiful horse stood gazing at her with huge dark eyes. Its coat was a rich deep red, its mane and tail long and black.
Without hesitation Heather reached out to stroke the animal’s sleek neck, and the horse nickered softly and tossed its head. It seemed to be laughing. When Heather pulled her hand back, the horse thrust its nose underneath her palm, nudging her. It felt like velvet.
“I think she likes you,” her dad said. “Or he likes you.”
“You were right the first time,” came a voice from behind them.
They both jumped and turned to see a man standing there. Wisps of white hair framed a thin but rugged face and his bright blue eyes shone with friendliness.
“Didn’t mean to startle you folks,” he said. His accent made him sound like Hagrid in the Harry Potter movies. “I’m Chester.” He stuck out his hand for each of them to shake. His grip was so firm it made Heather wince. “You must be the new owners.”
“Yes. I’m Dave Barton and this is my daughter Heather. Ruth was my aunt.”
Chester bowed his head, revealing a bald patch he made no effort to hide. “Damn shame,” he said. “She was a fine woman. Always good to me, was your Ruth. I take care of her animals for her. That is, I took care. Still will if you’ll have me.”
“Well, I think . . .” Dave glanced at Heather, who could only offer a shrug. Behind her, the horse was nudging her roughly in the back, demanding attention. Dave laughed. “I’m sure that would be just fine. Just tell me what your arrangement was and I’ll continue to honor it. For as long as we’re here, that is.”
“Fair enough,” Chester said, nodding with satisfaction. He turned his attention back to the horse. “Her name’s Callisto.”
Heather stood on tiptoe and pressed her forehead to the horse’s. “Hi, Callisto,” she said softly. “I’m Heather. And I think you just made things a whole lot better for me here.”
From that moment on, Heather and Callisto were inseparable. Heather had never ridden a horse before, but Callisto didn’t seem to mind her inexperience. She would stand patiently while Heather clambered up onto her back from the fence. Chester had shown her how to put the saddle on, but Heather preferred the intimacy of riding without it. She loved the feel of Callisto’s warm flanks beneath her and the rich animal smell she left on Heather’s clothes.
Ruth had clearly loved Callisto and spoiled her with treats and attention, a responsibility Heather was happy to assume. The horse shared the pasture with a flock of six sheep, who seemed to be terrified of absolutely everything. They allowed Chester to get close, but they scattered whenever Heather went near them. The noises they made sounded like the voices of angry old men.
The farmhouse itself wasn’t actually as awful as Heather had imagined, but she still spent as little time inside as possible. There was nothing good on TV and her phone wasn’t set up to work overseas. And of course reclusive old Aunt Ruth didn’t have a computer. Heather felt like she’d gone back in time. But because of Callisto, she found that wasn’t so bad after all. By the end of the first week she was hardly even missing her friends back home. Sam and Mia and the others would be stuck at school while Heather had a month-long pass.
While her dad sorted out the legal headache of unloading the house and all its dusty antiques, Heather explored the outside world with Callisto. Occasionally her father went too, walking along beside them. And sometimes they both walked and took turns leading the horse.
But she was by herself the day she found out just how cut off she was from the world that she knew.
Callisto hadn’t wanted to come out of her stall that morning, so Heather walked down to The Shop to see if they sold sugar lumps. Dave and Heather did all their food shopping at a supermarket on the outskirts of town and had never even been inside the little village shop.
The sugar lumps were easy enough to find, but getting a treat for herself proved more difficult.
“Hi,” she said, approaching the ancient lady behind the counter. “Do you have candy bars?”
The woman blinked slowly at her, like a tortoise. She didn’t speak for so long Heather began to wonder if she was deaf.
“Candy?” the woman repeated, dragging out the word as though she’d never heard of such a thing.
Just then, the bell over the door clanged and Heather turned to see three teenagers—two boys and a girl. They were laughing and shoving each other, but they stopped and stared when they noticed the stranger in their midst.
Relieved to see someone her own age, Heather smiled and gave a little wave. She expected one of them to speak first, but all three merely stood where they were, staring at her. The girl had her arms crossed over her chest and looked bored.
Unable to handle the awkward silence, Heather took a brave step closer. “I’m Heather. My dad and I—”
“We know who you are,” said one of the boys. He was tall and gangly, his accent so thick Heather could barely understand him. He nudged his shorter friend, whose blank expression showed he wasn’t up on current events. “They took over the Barton farm, Harry. I told you.”
Heather shifted uncomfortably, not liking the way he had phrased it, as though they’d invaded and conquered the place. “We inherited it actually. It belonged to my dad’s Aunt Ruth. I never even met her.”
“You inherit that horse too?” This time it was the girl who spoke, her voice devoid of inflection.
&nbs
p; The tall boy sniggered. “Chloe’s jealous,” he said, earning a black look from her.
“Shut it, Ian,” Chloe growled, glaring at him.
“You could come see her,” Heather offered, eager to keep the peace. But no one responded to her invitation. “You want these or not, love?”
She glanced back at the old woman, who was holding up the box of sugar lumps. Heather hurried back to the counter. “Yes. And a candy bar. Chocolate or something. Anything, really.”
That provoked a giggle from Chloe. Heather affected a laugh as well, assuming the joke involved the idea of her feeding candy to the horse.
The woman rummaged behind the counter and produced a bar of chocolate with an unfamiliar name. She quoted an amount and it took Heather some time to fish through the exotic coins to pay for it.
She turned to go, slightly unnerved to see that the group still hadn’t moved. She wanted to believe they were just awkward around a newcomer, but she was beginning to get a darker vibe from them. She decided to make one last attempt to make friends.
“So . . . what are you all going as for Halloween?” she asked.
Ian blinked. “Going as?”
“Yeah,” Heather said. “Won’t there be a party somewhere? Or trick-or-treating?”
Chloe snorted. “Trick . . . or . . . treating?” She enunciated each word, as though it was the stupidest idea she’d ever heard.
Heather felt herself shrinking, her face burning as she looked down at the ground. “I guess, I just thought . . . I mean . . .”
“I don’t know what you do where you come from,” Ian said, putting on an exaggerated American accent, “but Halloween ain’t some kiddie fun fair.”
Harry was the only one who didn’t seem eager to make fun of her. “We have old customs,” he said without elaborating. “Maybe you think they’re strange.”
“Oh no, I’d never—”
“Or beneath you,” Chloe sneered. “Bet she thinks we’re all just ignorant yokels.”
Heather desperately wanted to leave, to hide her face before the shame made her cry. She decided to keep quiet and let the moment run its course.
“You Americans with your stupid costumes and parties,” Ian said, now making no attempt to conceal his hostility. “What are you going as, Heather? A Disney princess? A unicorn? The Statue of Liberty?” At each insulting suggestion, he gave her a little shove until her back was against a shelf. Something wobbled behind her and fell to the floor with a thud.
Tears were blurring her vision but she refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. The old woman was clearly not going to intervene and the only way Heather was getting out of the shop was by pushing her way through the awful trio.
“There’s things here you don’t want to see,” Harry said. “Things you have to . . . appease.”
“Don’t warn her,” Ian said. “She don’t care. Her and her rich daddy and her fancy horse, ridin’ round like she owns the place.” He edged closer, getting right in Heather’s face. “She’ll find out, though. When they come through.”
Heather felt like she’d been doused with ice water. She tried not to flinch away, but his cold eyes and colder voice were too intimidating. She couldn’t hold back her tears any longer and she pushed him aside and fled. Their laughter followed her all the way home.
She spent the rest of the afternoon with Callisto in her stall. She threw the chocolate away without eating it.
The woods behind the farm were ancient and obviously haunted. Callisto wasn’t normally skittish, but in the woods she often shied at nothing. Nothing visible anyway. Each time Callisto jumped at a shadow, Heather would lean forward, stretching along the length of the horse’s neck, stroking her and murmuring softly until she was calm. Sometimes it felt as though their souls were connected, as though they had a language all their own. She’d heard the term “horse whisperer” before and liked the way it sounded. She couldn’t necessarily whisper to all horses. But this one understood her perfectly. Even her father could see they had a special bond.
The three of them were taking a walk one day when Dave remarked that they could throw one hell of a party in the woods, among the trees. Heather laughed, not wanting to admit that the idea made her uneasy.
There’s things here you don’t want to see.
When she didn’t say anything in response to the suggestion, Dave swooped his hand over the top of her head.
Heather frowned. “Huh? What’d I miss?”
Her dad blinked in astonishment. “Really? Come on, kiddo. You forget the date or something? Sure you didn’t fall off Callisto and hit your head?”
Suddenly she realized he’d been serious about the party. She blushed and lowered her head, stroking the lean, muscular leg of the horse walking beside her. “Oh.” She shrugged. “I just . . . I don’t know anyone here. I’d rather wait until we get home.”
“What? No way! It’ll all be over by then!”
But his enthusiasm only made her feel more uncomfortable and she pressed closer to Callisto, who leaned down to snort a burst of hot air down the back of her hoodie.
Dave sensed her discomfort and drew them all to a halt. “Hang on. I thought you met some of the other kids in the village.”
Heather shrugged again. “Yeah.” She didn’t want to say more, didn’t want to tell him how they’d made fun of her accent and her customs and hinted that something horrible was coming for her.
“That’s not like you,” he persisted. “You’re the one who walks into a room full of strangers and leaves with ten new friends.”
“Maybe back home,” she said. “Here’s it’s just you and me and Callisto.” Seeing concern in his face, she hurriedly added, “But that’s fine. I’m having a great time.”
But Dave didn’t seem convinced. “I know you love the horse, but you’ve always been a pack animal. Are you sure you’re okay? Sure you don’t want a party? We’re going to get quite a lot of money for some of the stuff in the house, you know. We can afford to ‘splash out,’ as they say over here.”
Heather smiled. “You really are the Best Dad in the World, you know?”
He looked down at the ground, embarrassed by her praise.
“But,” she continued, “no party is ever gonna top last year’s. You don’t have to try so hard. I’m okay. Really. We’re both okay now.” She wrapped her arm around him and squeezed, knowing he would take her meaning. He was often guilty of trying to fill the hole left by her mother. And if the past year had taught her anything, it was that he was all she needed.
After a while he nodded, understanding. “If you’re sure,” he said. “We’ll set our sights on next year, then. A Halloween to remember.”
“One for the ages.”
She had successfully quashed the idea of a party, but her father still pressed her about Halloween. It was out of character for her not to be excited about it and planning what to wear, narrowing down costume choices.
“They don’t really do Halloween over here, Dad,” Heather mumbled. She picked at her dinner. Frozen pizza with the thinnest crust they’d ever seen.
But Dave persisted. “Don’t be ridiculous. They had all kinds of stuff at the supermarket.”
Heather shrugged. The supermarket was only two miles from Thorpe Morag, but it might as well have been another country. “I’d rather just hang out and watch TV,” she said, trying to sound convincing. “Save all the real fun for when we’re back home.”
But even the thought of home wasn’t entirely comforting. Because going home meant leaving Callisto behind. Chester had promised to take care of her in Heather’s absence, but that didn’t change the fact that Heather would never see her horse—and she had come to think of Callisto as her horse—again.
Dave didn’t respond. Heather kept her head down, pretending to be absorbed in spreading the sparse toppings around on her pizza. She counted three whole pieces of pepperoni. When the silence began to feel awkward, she finally looked up, only to frown in confusion at he
r dad’s expression. A cryptic grin had spread across his features.
“What?”
“Oh kiddo,” he said with a good-natured chuckle. “Don’t you think I know why you’ve been so moody lately?”
She froze with her pizza slice halfway to her mouth. He knew?
Now his chuckle became a full laugh. “Your face! You look like you’ve just seen your own tombstone.” He reached across the table and pushed her pizza slice back down to her plate so he could grasp her hands. “It’s Callisto, isn’t it? You’re upset about leaving her behind.”
Heather relaxed a little, relieved that he’d only guessed half of what was eating at her. The safe half. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m really gonna miss her.”
“Well, maybe you don’t have to miss her at all.”
Her eyes widened as she waited for him to elaborate, too afraid to risk guessing and be wrong.
He didn’t keep her in suspense long. “We’re going to make a lot of money from the farm,” he said. “A lot more than I originally thought. I didn’t want to say anything until I double-checked the figures, and I was going to wait until tomorrow to tell you, but you just seemed so glum. We’ll be able to afford some nice things back home. Like maybe a new house, with a big yard. And . . .”
Heather squealed with excitement and jumped up so fast she knocked her chair over. She ran to her father and threw her arms around him, tears of joy filling her eyes. “Oh my god, I don’t know what to say! Thank you!”
“Happy birthday, Heather.”
She clung to him, unable to hold back the tears any longer. And now she didn’t have to. Those horrible village kids could torment her all they wanted to now and it wouldn’t matter one little bit because Callisto was going home with her!
That night she went out to the stable to share the good news. Callisto tossed her head and pawed the ground, expressing her own excitement at the knowledge that they weren’t going to be separated.
