by Susan Hughes
Text © 2012 Susan Hughes
Illustrations © 2012 Kids Can Press
ISBN 978-1-55453-994-9 (ePub)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of Kids Can Press Ltd. or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a license from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright license, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Kids Can Press acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Media Development Corporation’s Ontario Book Initiative; the Ontario Arts Council; the Canada Council for the Arts; and the Government of Canada, through the BPIDP, for our publishing activity.
Published in Canada by
Kids Can Press Ltd.
25 Dockside Drive
Toronto, ON M5A 0B5
Published in the U.S. by
Kids Can Press Ltd.
2250 Military Road
Tonawanda, NY 14150
www.kidscanpress.com
Edited by Tara Walker
Designed by Marie Bartholomew
Illustrations by Alicia Quist
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Hughes, Susan, 1960–
The island horse / by Susan Hughes ; illustrations by Alicia Quist.
ISBN 978-1-55453-592-7
I. Quist, Alicia II. Title.
PS8565.U42I75 2012 jC813’.54 C2011-904470-6
To Barb Williams, my fellow horse-crazy childhood pal and riding buddy; and to Sheilagh Hale, Jane Helleiner, Beth Hunt and Miff Lysaght, wonderful neighborhood pals who agreed to take part in so many of our horse-obsessed activities, including both pretending to ride horses and be horses.
Chapter One
It was a gentle spring afternoon, and, Ellie realized with a smile, it was special.
Ellie was walking home from the village school with her best friend, Lizzie. She held her books, pencil box and slate in one arm. With her other hand, she swung her blue bonnet by its straps.
The day was special because it seemed so regular, so ordinary. The day was special because for the first time in many months, Ellie felt … happy!
The road was in front. The sea was beside. And everywhere above was the sky.
They reached Lizzie’s little house. The girls were saying their good-byes when Lizzie’s mother came hurrying out with a smile and a warm loaf of bread. “For you and your pa,” she told Ellie.
“Thank you, Mrs. McQuarrie.”
Ellie turned up the path that led to her small cottage. It was halfway up the hill from the village on the coast of Nova Scotia.
Ellie had always lived here, and she always would. It was what Ellie and her mother used to say.
“This is our lovely home.” That would be Ellie’s mother. She’d smile and spread her arms wide in the sunshine.
“For always,” Ellie would reply.
When Ellie reached the cottage, she called, “Hello, Pa!” But this afternoon, he wasn’t there. So Ellie quickly did her chores. She pumped a bucketful of water. She counted the chickens in the yard and checked for eggs in the coop. Then she cut a slice of the fresh bread and ate it while she did her schoolwork at the kitchen table.
Now, finally, she was finished her tasks. She ran to her room and got her special wooden box. She brought it back to the table. The box was full of drawings. Drawings of horses that she had done and saved. Ellie looked at her favorites. One was a horse galloping. One was a horse rearing. One was a horse stamping its foot.
Ellie loved horses, but especially horses that were wild and free. Her family had never had a horse of any kind, and neither had Lizzie’s. There were a few ponies in the village, of course. But most were for pulling carts or dragging the boats up from the shore in winter. Only a few were for riding.
Ellie had never seen a wild horse. She probably never would. But she could make up stories about them, and draw them, and these were the things she liked to do most.
Ellie began drawing a horse with a long flowing mane, standing majestically at the top of a hill. She drew on her slate, although it wasn’t as nice as drawing on paper. But there wasn’t much paper to spare in her home anymore. Not since her mother had gotten sick and died. Not since her father had given up his job on the docks.
Thinking of her father, Ellie looked up, and through the window she saw him. He was walking up the road in the sunshine. She could see the blue sky stretching above him. She could see the blue of the sea, the Atlantic Ocean, stretching behind him.
“Hello, my sweetpea,” he said as he came in the door. But he didn’t move to take off his boots. He took off his hat and held it in his hand. He stood inside the door, squeezing his hat in his fist.
In his other hand, between his fingertips, he held a single envelope. White, tissue-paper thin.
“Hello, Pa. What’s that?” asked Ellie.
“A job offer, I think.”
Ellie’s mother had been sick for a long time, but last summer her illness had become worse. And so last summer Ellie’s father had left his job. He had said, “We will spend these months together.”
And they had. All the long summer, Ellie and her mother and father had stayed close. Ellie had drawn pictures for her mother and told her exciting, made-up stories about adventures with horses. When Ellie’s father had cooked simple meals or hung the wash on the line, Ma sat nearby. Ma would ask to go to the top of the hill, and of course they would go. The three of them, Pa carrying Ma. They picnicked there and watched whales. They looked for orchids in the fields and made dandelion chains. They had stayed close, in their small world.
In the fall, Ellie’s mother died. They buried her at the top of the hill, not far from home.
Ellie missed her mother every day. She did not want to go to school, but her father told her, “You must.” And so she did, walking back and forth with Lizzie every day. And when she came home, every day, her father was there.
The long fall had passed in this way, and the winter passed just as slowly. Her father had been trying to find a new job, but could not. Times were hard. There was no paid work in the village. Those with boats fished, but her father did not have a boat. And paid work on the docks or the boats was impossible to find.
Now, Ellie’s father was holding this letter. For the first time in a long time, there was hope in his voice.
Ellie waited and watched, the slate pencil between her fingers. The horse waited, its eye wild, its leg raised, unfinished.
She saw her father take a deep breath and pull a letter out of the envelope. The paper unfolded as delicately as a flower blossoming. She saw him read the letter, saw a smile split his face.
“Ellie!” he cried. He grabbed her hands and pulled her from her chair. “Ellie, we’ll be all right! I have been offered a job. A good job!”
Ellie laughed and let herself be spun. She twirled lightly under her father’s arching arms. Now maybe she could have paper for her drawings again, and her father would not be so worried. She only wished her mother was here to share the news.
Chapter Two
Later that evening, Ellie’s father tucked her into bed. She waited for him to pause before he closed the shutters. “Good night, Ma,” she whispered, looking toward the top of the hill. It had become her bedtime ritual.
Her father came to sit on t
he stool by her bedside. The candle on her nightstand flickered. Ellie was cozied up under an Ellie-sized quilt. It was made of white squares edged in colors, all sewn together. Her mother had sewn it for her, and every night her father tucked it around her, like a hug.
“Ellie,” her father asked, “have you heard of Sable Island?”
She yawned. “Yes, Pa. We learned about it in school.”
Sable Island was a small island far off their coast. It was hundreds of miles away. Forever away. In the sea. Remote and empty.
“There are wild horses on Sable Island,” her father said. “Just think, Ellie. Wild horses!”
The horses galloped into her imagination, reared and turned, hooves flying.
Wild horses!
Ellie rubbed her eyes, and her father tucked the quilt around her again. She knew he must have mentioned Sable Island because she loved horses so much. And all night, the wild horses were in her dreams.
The next morning, Saturday, Ellie saw her father holding the paper in his hand. The job offer. He was reading it again, and then he looked up at her thoughtfully. He came to sit beside her, pulled his chair in close, put one arm across the back of her chair and rested his other hand on her knee.
“The job, Ellie,” her father said. “It’s a good job. But I have to tell you something. The job is on the island, Sable Island.”
“Sable Island?” echoed Ellie, confused.
“I’ve got a shore rescue posting,” he explained. Ellie didn’t know what this meant, but she didn’t ask because her father continued. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I’m really sorry. But we’ll have to leave here. We’ll have to move to Sable Island so I can work.”
“Leave here?” Ellie cried. She pushed her chair away from him. She stood up. “Move? But we can’t. We can’t leave here, Pa. We can’t leave our home!”
It wasn’t possible.
“Sweetpea, I know it will be hard for you to leave here. It will be hard for both of us. But I have to take this job.” Her father stood up, too. “We need it, so we can live.” He hesitated. “The supply ship goes to Sable Island only a few times a year, to take provisions across and to bring back the rescued. She’ll be going soon, in ten days. We’ll go aboard when she leaves. That means we’ll have to leave here in eight days.”
Ellie stepped back. Eight days?
“There’ll be some good things about moving to Sable Island, Ellie. Lots of good things, I hope,” her father said eagerly. “We’ll be given a horse so I can ride beach patrol. And then there’s the wild horses. You’ll get to see the wild horses on the island.”
But Ellie was not listening now. His words had pushed her underwater. She could not hear and she could not breathe.
She turned and ran. She tore out of the house and up the hill. Her own steps, and her parents’, had worn this narrow path. Ellie reached the top, panting. She made her way to her mother’s grave.
Ellie traced her mother’s name on the headstone: Lillian. She ran her fingertip in the carved valleys of the letters: Wife and mother.
It usually calmed her, but not this morning. This morning, Ellie threw herself down in the grass. She lay on her back, looking up at the blue sky, and her hands clutched the grass, not wanting to leave.
She lay there for a long time, and when the sun was straight above her, Ellie sat up. She brushed her tears away. She looked out and saw the dark blue sea. She watched the sea birds dipping and twirling above.
“Ma, we have to move. We have to move to Sable Island. But how can I leave you, Ma?” she said. “How can I?”
This was home, and nowhere else would ever be.
Chapter Three
The days passed.
Ellie could not speak. She could not eat. Still she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Still she felt as if all around her was water and she couldn’t see the sky.
“Time to pack,” said her father gently on the seventh day. Ellie did not have much to take with her. Just her quilt, some clothes, her pencils and slate, her school books, the precious paper she had been saving and all her horse drawings. But she had so much to leave behind. She made a list:
My ma. Visiting her at the top of the hill.
Lizzie. My best friend. We’ve never been apart.
Her mom, who helps us. She was my ma’s friend.
My one-room school.
Mrs. James, my teacher.
The chance of a stick of hard candy. Tucked into my pocket by Mrs. Rindall in the village store.
My home. We were going to stay here for always.
The eighth day was leaving day. Ellie wakened early. As her father put the kettle on, she slipped outside. She climbed the hill before the sun was up. When she reached the top, she looked up at the dark sky and out at the dark sea. As she watched the sun rise, she knew the day was really here. Then she saw a cloud of dust coming along the road below. It was the hired cart, coming to carry them away.
Ellie stood by her mother’s headstone. A fresh bouquet of orchids lay at its base. Her father had already been here this morning. She traced the words Lillian, Wife and mother, and said, “Good-bye, Ma.”
Ellie stumbled her way down the path. Lizzie was waiting at her house. She hugged Ellie tightly and said good-bye. Lizzie’s mother kissed her on the head and pressed a basket of sandwiches and cheese into her father’s hands.
Ellie’s father helped her up into the cart. Their few things were in back. A trunk, some chickens in a crate, several boxes and bags. Ellie gripped the sides of the cart hard, her knuckles white. Then her father climbed in beside her, and the driver, impatient, said, “Gee-up!”
Neighbors from up and down the road, and the village, too, stood near and called farewell as they rattled past. Ellie looked back. She watched until she could no longer see her house on the hill.
• • •
Two days later, Ellie and her father reached Halifax, tired and sore. It was mid-morning. Ellie stared at the rows of buildings, at the many people on the bustling streets, walking, selling, shouting. She had never felt so far from home.
They went directly to the wharf. The cart driver asked about for the schooner, the Eagle. It was down a ways, tied up at the farthest dock, being loaded.
“You’re just in time,” the captain told them. “We leave shortly.”
Her father lifted their trunk, their few boxes and bundles and their crate of chickens from the wagon and paid the driver.
“Come, Ellie,” her father told her. “Hurry.” He took Ellie’s hand, and she stepped onto the wooden gangway that bridged the dock and the Eagle’s deck.
The tip of her left boot was the last part of her touching home.
Ellie stood at the rail. She watched as barrels, crates and boxes were carried onto the schooner. Some lumber. A cow was hoisted aboard, eyes rolling. Last came their own possessions. For a moment, Ellie saw their chickens airborne.
The captain signaled from the wheel. The gangway was lifted. The sailors cast off the lines. They raised the sails, one fore, one aft.
Ellie’s heart dissolved as the schooner slipped away from the wharf.
The wind gusted and filled the sails, and the boat plunged forward and away. Ellie looked back at the Nova Scotia coast. She watched her home disappear until all was sea. There is nothing to look forward to, she thought.
Ellie pulled off her blue bonnet and held it in one fist. The wind was wild. It blew her hair about her face and her skirt about her legs.
“Your first time at sea,” her father said. He stood beside her at the rail. “What do you think? Exciting, isn’t it?”
Ellie couldn’t smile. She couldn’t even answer.
As the sun slowly rose higher, the schooner moved steadily onward. It cut through the waves, its sails billowing. It rocked, forward and aft, forward and aft.
How high is up? How deep is down? thought Ellie, lifting and sinking.
Afternoon came. Her father pointed to three whales, rising to the surface alongside the boat. Two were long and cloud gray, with bulging foreheads. One, a calf, was chocolate brown. For a time, they swam alongside, keeping pace. “They’re bottlenose whales,” her father told her. “Look how close they are, almost close enough to touch!”
Still Ellie couldn’t smile, or even answer.
Now it was late afternoon. One of the sailors was leaning against the rails, resting. “Are we almost there?” Ellie’s father asked him.
“Soon,” the sailor replied curtly.
“Say, can you tell us about Sable Island?” Ellie’s father asked. “Can you tell us something about the wild horses?”
The sailor scoffed. “Island!” He spat over the railing into the waves. “The place doesn’t deserve the name. No trees, no rocks. It’s more like a big sandbar adrift on the waves.”
Ellie’s father tried again. “The horses …?”
But the sailor would not be budged. He swung his arm all around, twirling his finger. “It’s the wind, see? The wind is always blowing. It’s moving the sand of Sable, above water and below.” The sailor wiggled his fingers, making them snakelike tentacles. “Sometimes the sand spits of Sable are here.” Then he flung out his other arm. It had a large hook on the end where a hand should have been. He waggled the hook. “Sometimes the sand spits are there.”
He bent down and grimaced in Ellie’s face. “It’s dangerous. Hundreds of ships have gone aground there, on Sable. And hundreds of people have drowned there — men, women … and children.” He smirked. “The island moves — here, there. Some say it’s shrinking. Some say it will disappear altogether.”
Ellie trembled, and her father scooped her up and away. “We’ve heard enough, sir,” he said to the sailor, over his shoulder.
He carried Ellie along the deck to the bow of the schooner. “Did he frighten you?” he asked, holding her. “Don’t worry, sweetpea. The island won’t disappear altogether. Everything will be all right.”
