“You’re the one who’s like Mom,” Lizzy said slowly. “Horse lovers, horse gentlers. I can’t even stand to get near one.”
“Not that way, Lizzy. You’re like her in goodness. Inside. Like in your spirit.” Mom was gentle like Lizzy. They knew Jesus better than me.
Now Lizzy was crying. “Winnie, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. It’s the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me.” She sniffed and used the scarf on herself. “It’s the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to anybody.”
And it was my turn to hug her.
“Gracie!” I let go of Lizzy so fast, she toppled backward. “Lizzy, I have to try to save this milk. I don’t know if it’s good enough for the foal or not. But I need to save what I can.”
“You’re not going to ask me to . . . to . . . like do anything with the horse, are you?” Lizzy asked, as I went into Gracie’s stall.
“I need help, Lizzy. Call Catman!”
“Good idea!”
“Then find me containers with lids—margarine bowls!”
“Got it!” Lizzy ran out.
I scratched Gracie’s chest, then felt her ears to see if she was hot or cold. She seemed okay. She wasn’t sick. She was just losing her first milk, something her foal would need.
I heard voices outside the barn. Then Lizzy shouted, “They’re here! I didn’t even have to call them!”
Catman and M appeared in the shadow of the barn.
“What’s happening, man?” Catman asked, coming into the stall, with M right behind him.
M squatted and looked underneath Gracie. “She’s leaking!”
“It could mean a couple of things,” I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt. My hands were shaking. “It might mean she’s ready to foal, but I don’t think so. She’s not waxing. That’s when the mare is close to foaling and the milk is so thick it looks like wax. But sometimes older or sick horses lose milk before it’s time. I think that’s what’s going on.”
“Can she make more?” M asked.
“Not first milk,” I explained. Mom had kept first milk in the freezer in Wyoming. And I’d used Pat’s computer to double-check everything about what a foal needs.
“Colostrum.” Catman was pacing like a nervous father in a TV sitcom.
“That’s right,” I agreed. M hadn’t exactly asked, but I could feel that he wanted to know more. “Horses aren’t like other animals. They’re born without any antibodies, no defense against disease. The only way they get antibodies is through nursing, drinking the first milk that comes out of the mare.”
“We have to do something!” M cupped his hands under the udder.
“Here they are!” Lizzy ran over and handed us five small white containers. “I had to dump margarine out of two of them. Is this all right? And I brought hot water because they always need it in the movies.”
Catman took everything from her.
M was whispering to the foal.
“Thanks, Lizzy.” I poured the water into one of the bowls and used liquid soap and a sponge from my first-aid kit to wash the udders.
“Can I do anything else?” Lizzy asked.
“Pray!” I hadn’t even thought to pray myself. At least I had sense enough to ask Lizzy to.
“God, help Winnie do what she needs to do with this horse. And please keep that little baby horse safe.” Lizzy was talking to God out loud, but it didn’t feel weird. She might have been talking to Catman or M.
I caught Catman’s worried gaze. It was as close as I’ve ever seen Catman come to being rattled. “I’m going to milk her,” I explained. “We’ll save it for her baby.”
“I dig. Then it’s all cool, right?” Catman asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. The milk doesn’t look right. It isn’t thick enough. It’s too white. But I’ll collect it. It’s all we can do for now.”
M had his ear pressed to Gracie’s side. He stepped back so I could get to her udders. Lizzy got as close as the stall door.
“Easy, Gracie. We’re going to help you get ready for that foal.” I rubbed my hands together to warm them.
Gracie craned her neck around, saying, I hurt. Don’t make me hurt more.
I squatted on her near side, which is what you call the left side of a horse. Positioning the margarine container under her udder, I squeezed with my thumb and forefinger and pulled down gently from each side of the teat. The barn was still except for the squirt, squirt into the plastic bowl.
Nickers stuck her head over the stall divider and watched.
I filled the first container and handed it off to Catman. We didn’t talk. Not even Lizzy. I kept milking for two more containers’ worth, until her udders relaxed. Gracie groaned, a contented grunt, as if she finally had relief.
“Done.” I stood up and handed the last container to M, who put on the lid.
“Is it enough?” Lizzy asked.
“Check it out, man.” Catman lifted the lid and sniffed. “Smells like milk.”
I felt it with my fingers. It wasn’t very sticky.
M stared at the bowl. You could almost hear him wondering how we’d know if the colostrum was good enough.
“We’ll test it,” I said, answering his unspoken question. I turned to Lizzy. “Remember that gadget Madeline gave Dad so he could test his antifreeze?”
“The one that’s supposed to double as a turkey baster?” Lizzy asked.
“Gross!” Catman said.
“No kidding,” Lizzy agreed. “Madeline says she’s invented the perfect disinfectant for it, too. So it’s supposed to be safe for antifreeze and for turkey, as long as you use her cleaner. The patent people admitted she proved her case. But they couldn’t get past the idea of antifreeze and turkey, so they didn’t give her the patent.”
“You and Dad haven’t used the thing yet, right?” I asked, trying to cut to the chase.
She shook her head.
“Good! I need it.” I’d seen Mom use a brand-new antifreeze kit on our broodmare’s colostrum in Wyoming once.
“I know right where it is!” Lizzy shouted, running out of the barn. In minutes, she returned with the antifreeze kit.
I took the contraption out of the box and removed the wrapper.
“It sure looks like a turkey baster,” Lizzy observed. “Except for the little balls inside.”
I squeezed the plastic bulb on top and stuck the tube into the first container of milk. “If the balls float in the milk, we’re in business. The colostrum’s good enough quality, with enough vitamins and antibodies to make that foal healthy.”
“And if they sink?” M asked out loud.
“Then we’re sunk,” I answered. “There.” I took the tube, full of milk now, out of the container and held it up so we could all watch.
It didn’t take long. First one ball floated to the bottom. Then another. Then another.
We stared at the milk, which was so thin only one lone ball remained afloat. Then it plunged through the swirls of white, sinking . . . sinking. And when it sank to the bottom, something inside of me sank too.
I dropped the baster and watched the worthless first milk splash to the ground. Then I stroked Gracie, scratching her chest and pressing my face against her neck. “It’s not your fault, Gracie,” I muttered. “You’re doing everything you can for your baby. We know that.”
“Oh, Winnie,” Lizzy murmured, not saying more.
M covered his head with his arms and turned away.
Catman stared at his container of milk. “Bummer. Major bummer.”
“If it were spring,” I said, thinking out loud, “there’d be mares with foals around here. We could work something out, let our foal nurse from another mare.” This foal was going to need colostrum. “I’ll buy it!” I blurted out.
Lizzy perked up. “Buy it? You can buy it! That rocks, Winnie! Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place? So where do we go? Are there colostrum stores?”
“You can’t just go to a store,” I explained. “
It’s hard to get. Only really big stables collect it and freeze it. They have it on hand for their own horses, just in case. But if they have enough in the colostrum bank, they sell it. It costs an arm and a leg.”
“Who has a colostrum bank then?” Lizzy asked. But as soon as she got her question out, her face sagged. She knew the answer. We all did.
“Spidells,” M said.
Dad agreed to drive me to Spidells’ Stable-Mart. He didn’t say anything the whole way over. He didn’t have to. I knew what he was thinking. I was wasting money I didn’t have.
It didn’t take long for Spider Spidell to realize he had us over a barrel. “Well,” he said, when he finally came over to talk to us in the stable office, “every real equine operation needs cutting-edge technology.” He was wearing a blue shirt. His stubborn rim of dark hair came to a point in back, leaving the rest of his head bald. I’ve always thought he looked like a blue jay. Hawk told me blue jays are one of the meanest birds out there.
“So do you have colostrum?” I repeated. Dad and I had been standing in the little office for 15 minutes, long enough to have counted the silver trophies on his shelves—63.
Mr. Spidell puffed out his chest, but it didn’t puff as far as his belly did. “Colostrum is a valuable commodity in the horse industry. At Stable-Mart, we make it our business to keep a supply, should any of our clients’ broodmares come up short. Yes, we make sure to foresee any liabilities which—”
“How much?” Dad asked, cutting him off.
Spider Spidell grinned. He had every right to grin. He didn’t just charge me an arm and a leg; he went for the lungs, kidneys, and heart.
I took three pints of colostrum, frozen in separate plastic bags. Then I asked Mr. Spidell to bill me.
On the ride home I subtracted in my head. I wouldn’t be able to pay until I got Towaco’s next check for boarding. But I couldn’t think about that now. The foal needed this to survive.
At home Lizzy watched as I packed the three bags of colostrum into the freezer, next to her homemade green ice cream. Dad stood at a distance and sighed, like the force of the air coming out of him was the only thing keeping the words in him.
For the next couple of days M and Catman kept Gracie and me company during the day. Nights I slept on a cot in Nickers’ stall. I could peek through the slats without disturbing Gracie.
The second night, as I piled every available blanket onto the cot, Pat Haven dropped by. I hadn’t seen her since the life-science final. I hadn’t even been to Pat’s Pets. On top of everything else, I’d been feeling like I’d lost Pat. Maybe even Pat Haven had had it with you and your kind.
“Hey, Winnie!” Pat called, her boots clomping on the barn floor. “Been thinking ’bout you.”
“I really messed up that final, didn’t I?” I asked, brushing hay off my pillow.
“It wasn’t one of your shining moments,” Pat admitted. She stomped snow off her cowboy boots. “Catman’s been keeping me up on Gracie’s news, though. He said you slept out here all night.” She was carrying a garbage bag, which she tossed to me in Nickers’ stall.
I caught it, opened it, and saw a giant blanket.
“Down comforter,” Pat explained. “Thought you could use it out here. Better than a heater. Call it a Christmas gift. It’s been stored away in the attic since my husband passed. Oh, and I put some baby bottles in that sack—the good kind, with the lambs’ nipples.”
I couldn’t believe she was bringing me a gift after the way I’d been lately. “Pat, I don’t have any money to buy you anything, and I wanted to get you a great cowboy hat. And now I can’t even buy that terrarium for Lizzy, and I’ve stuck you with it. Plus, I’m so far behind in the horse e-mails—”
“Gracious, Winnie! You’re talking faster than Lizzy. I can’t keep up! I reckon I can’t think of a thing I need for Christmas any-who. And Lizzy’s terrarium will keep. As for horse e-mails, they’ll keep too. Barker and I have been checking them for emergencies. Not that many e-mails, what with Christmas and all.”
I could feel my neck muscles unknot. “Thanks, Pat.” She was still my friend, even though I’d let her down on every count.
“Well, don’t be so quick to thank me until after you get your semester grade. Hey, but you got next semester to bring your grade back up, right? Life science runs the whole year. You can’t get rid of me that easy!”
I liked that, that Pat was one of the people I couldn’t get rid of—like Lizzy. Like my kind. “Pat, the other day Summer said something that kind of got to me.”
Pat nodded for me to go on.
“She said our class was raising money for . . . for ‘you and your kind.’”
Pat grinned and looked at me sideways. “Honey, don’t you listen to talk like that. There’s always going to be some pack of wolves—no offense to the wolves—ready to attack and hurt. That’s the kind you don’t want to be!”
I set the comforter on the cot and went out in the stallway to hug her. She felt soft and smelled like lilacs.
“You go on now,” she said, her voice raspy. “Take care of that mare. We’re going to have us a merry Christmas, and that’s that!” She turned to go.
“Pat!” I called before she reached the barn door. “Do you think Gracie will have her foal all right?” I wanted her to say yes, to promise.
“I sure hope so, Winnie.”
“But what if you hope and it doesn’t come true?” I had to swallow to keep tears down.
Pat smiled at me. “Well, then you’ve at least hoped. And that’s never a bad thing.”
It wasn’t good enough. Nobody could hope harder than I had. People hope for all kinds of things that never happen. And they hope for things not to happen, and they do anyway. “But it is a bad thing, Pat! I’m hoping like crazy Gracie and her foal will be all right. And if they’re not . . .” I couldn’t finish it.
“Then God will help all of us get through it.” Pat fiddled with her boots, then smiled at me. “In the meantime, you go on and hope! ‘Hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts.’ You can take that verse to the bank!”
Two days before Christmas, a blizzard hit. The wind whistled through the barn and house. Lizzy turned up the heat in the lizard lair Dad had invented for Larry and the other lizards in my sister’s Ohio collection. I stayed toasty warm all night under Pat’s down comforter.
The day before Christmas I was beginning to wonder if Gracie would ever have her foal. I’d gone in the house to clean up, change clothes, and get something to eat, when Madeline and Mason dropped by.
Dad let them in and took Madeline’s coat. “Don’t forget about the Christmas Eve service at church tonight,” he said.
“I told you we’d be there, Jack.” I could have been wrong, but I thought she sounded peeved with him.
“If you want me to drive over and pick you guys up, just say the word,” Dad offered.
Mason had gone straight to our little Christmas tree and was touching the tips of the pine needles.
“Want to come to the barn with me, Mason?” I asked. I turned to Madeline. “If it’s okay with your mom.”
Madeline sighed. “All right. Put your gloves back on, Mason.”
I carried Mason on my shoulders through calf-deep snow to the barn. He giggled the whole time, tilting back his head and sticking out his tongue to catch snowflakes. “Giddyap, horsey!” Mason shouted when I jogged the last stretch to the barn.
He was so happy around the horses. I didn’t want him to end up sad. I knew that’s what Madeline and Dad were worried about. I tried to remember Pat’s verse about hope not disappointing us, but I couldn’t.
There’s something about being around Mason, like being around Nickers, that makes me feel closer to God. Maybe that’s why I found myself praying. I know tomorrow is Jesus’ birthday, but I just don’t feel like celebrating. Don’t get me wrong—I’m really glad you came down here. I’m just too worried about Gracie. I know you’re busy, this being your
biggest time of the year and all. But could you please help Gracie have a healthy, happy foal?
Gracie stopped pacing when I put Mason down and we joined her in the stall. “I love you, horsey,” Mason said, hugging Gracie’s foreleg.
I picked him up so he wouldn’t get stepped on by accident. “She loves you too, Mason,” I said.
“But she’s sick?” he asked.
“She’s sick,” I answered.
“Where did she live before?” he asked, squirming out of my arms so he could offer Gracie a handful of hay.
“I don’t know, Mason.” I hadn’t thought about the owner or Topsy-Turvy for days. Part of me was still angry. The other part of me was glad they’d left her. I wondered if I’d ever know who sent the gift horse.
Madeline came for Mason, and they went home to finish Christmas preparations.
In the afternoon Catman and M came over, already dressed for church. Catman’s paisley shirt collar poked out of his army jacket, and he’d traded in his sandals for moccasins. M, of course, wore all black, which looked speckled with hay dust and horsehair after the first 10 minutes in the barn.
Lizzy appeared late in the day. She looked great, wearing a bright red sweater she’d picked up at Goodwill. “Everything okay out here?” she asked.
I didn’t like the way Gracie had been pacing in the stall. And her eyes seemed glazed over. I shrugged. M and Catman didn’t venture an answer either.
“You need to go change for church, Winnie.” Lizzy turned to M and Catman as I headed out. “You two can ride with us . . . or the Barkers. Whatever you want. Barkers are coming by at seven. I hope you’re really hungry. You should see what I made for the Christmas Eve potluck dinner. I hope we get to eat first and have the service after. I don’t want to miss a word, and I can’t keep my stomach from growling. On the other hand, if I get my solo out of the way, my stomach won’t have butterflies and—”
Her voice faded as I crossed the lawn. Inside my room I changed into my long, black velvet skirt and the green blouse Lizzy had bought weeks ago at Experienced Clothes, which means secondhand. I ran a brush through my hair and hurried back to the barn.
Gift Horse Page 8
