Lizzie and Emma

by Linda Byler

  As they pulled into the gravel driveway, Lizzie said to Dat, “We should get lots and lots of money for these ponies and never be poor again, ever—right?”

  “Yes, Lizzie, you’re right,” Dat agreed.

  But Lizzie wondered how Dat could have been laughing so much one minute and sound quite so sad the next. She thought he was probably as sad as she was to be at home so soon after that ride.

  chapter 7

  The Auction

  Emma and Lizzie were dressed in their best robin’s egg blue Sunday dresses, with a black school apron pinned around their waists. Mam hadn’t thought it was a good idea to wear their Sunday dresses, but they had begged her, because their school dresses were getting old since school was almost over. Mam finally gave in, but warned them to take very good care of them, since they had only worn them to church once.

  They had just started wearing black aprons pinned around their waists, because they were turning nine and ten years old. Little girls wore a black apron that was like a sleeveless pinafore that you buttoned in the back at the top. Now, since they were getting older, they wore the type of black aprons the big girls wore.

  Lizzie felt older now, and bigger. The only thing that caused her any unhappiness about her belt apron was her size. Lizzie was chubby. Actually, Mam said she looked just fine—she was just as round as a little oak tree—and she smiled when Lizzie lifted the pot lids of cooking food on the stove. Lizzie was always hungry and loved to eat good food, so her waistline was not as small as her classmates’. But then, Emma was a bit chubby, too, and Lizzie always thought Emma looked nice.

  Their hair was freshly combed, rolled back at the sides, and pinned securely into a “bob” at the back of their head. They had long hair, but Mam brushed, twisted, and rolled until it was all done up neatly in the style of all little Amish girls. Mam pulled horribly on the hairbrush, and when she wet down their hair to roll it, water landed on Lizzie’s shoulders, making her feel wet and uncomfortable. She always grimaced and scrunched her dress together in the wet area, wishing Mam would not be in such a hurry and get her all wet. Sometimes she grumbled, and Mam would always say she was sorry, but she had to hurry. It didn’t help one bit to grumble or complain, so Lizzie had learned to stand still and not say anything. That was just how Mam was, and her friend Betty said her Mam was exactly the same.

  This was the day they were selling the miniature ponies. Mam said she would stay at home because a horse auction was no place for Mandy and Jason. But she was happy and gave Emma and Lizzie each two dollars to buy a hot dog and french fries for their lunch, in case Dat was busy. They were allowed to spend it all, even on candy or ice cream, and they certainly were excited. Emma told Lizzie that they weren’t near as poor as Lizzie said, or else they would never, ever have been allowed to have two dollars each to go to the auction with Dat. Lizzie solemnly nodded her head in agreement, because, really, two dollars was a lot of money.

  Lizzie had a lump in her throat, though, because she was sad about selling Teeny and Tiny. Thankfully, as Emma wisely said, at least they still had Dolly. But it was hard for Lizzie, because she loved Teeny and Tiny so much.

  There was a huge crowd of people at the auction. A large yellow tent rose above the brightly colored throng, and in the outlying areas there were trailers, trucks, and different types of vehicles that were all used to transport horses or pones.

  Everywhere Lizzie looked there were horses. She had gone to horse auctions before, but never to one this size. There were huge draft horses, or workhorses, which the Amish used in the fields to pull a plow or a wagon load of hay. They looked so gentle, their soft eyes looking straight at Lizzie, as if they knew her almost. Sometimes Lizzie felt like she should wave to them, or at least say, “Hello,” because they looked so friendly.

  There were nervous, prancing horses, white ones, jet-black ones, and lots of plain dark brown horses, with a black mane and tail. There were sorrel horses like Red, and blond ones that Dat said were called palominos. There were horses that were sort of red or gray with splotches on their hindquarters, almost as if someone had splattered their rump with paint; these horses were called Appaloosas, Dat said. Lizzie asked him why no one ever drove an Appaloosa horse in their buggy, and he said it was because they were made for riding, like quarter horses. Lizzie told him whenever she was as old as Teacher Katie, she was going to buy an Appaloosa and try to hitch him to a buggy, because she couldn’t see why that wouldn’t work. Dat just smiled, saying nothing.

  Dat told the girls he must go register Teeny and Tiny, then he would be back. So they waited outside the building into which Dat had gone, their backs against the brick wall, in the warm spring sunshine. It was interesting, standing there and watching the people milling around them.

  Lizzie was getting hungry. She looked at Emma to ask her if she was hungry, too, but she was afraid Emma would laugh at her. It probably was still morning, but she wished she could spend her two dollars on ice cream and candy. She watched a short, heavyset man walk past with a cup of coffee in one hand and a doughnut in the other. Lizzie’s mouth watered and she swallowed.

  “Emma, are you hungry?” she asked, no longer able to bear the thought of her empty stomach.

  “A little, maybe. But it’s not even close to dinnertime yet,” Emma answered.

  “I know.” Lizzie fell silent, knowing Emma was right, as always. But she wished so much she could have a doughnut.

  “Emma, we could get a doughnut, then not buy so much candy this afternoon,” she ventured hopefully.

  “Lizzie, you don’t even know where to go to buy one. Besides, how do you know they even have doughnuts here?” Emma asked.

  “’Cause a man walked past eating one. It looked so good,” Lizzie pleaded.

  “He might have brought it from home, you know,” Emma said, always the practical one.

  “I guarantee he didn’t,” Lizzie said. “Why wouldn’t he eat his doughnut at home and then come to the horse sale?”

  “Come, girls!” Dat came walking briskly, his eyes shining with excitement. “We’re going to be selling the ponies just soon. They’re going to be one of the very first ones sold. Come and we’ll hitch them up a while to get used to the crowd and the noise. Emma, you have to be very quiet with them, because they’ll be so nervous, okay?” he said, snapping his suspenders with quick movements as he walked.

  Lizzie ran a bit to catch up, listening to every word Dat said. Dat was really nervous himself, Lizzie could tell, and Emma looked a little pale and scared. Her stomach felt funny, and she forgot all about wanting a doughnut to eat. She wondered if Emma would let her drive, or if she had to let Emma do all of it.

  Teeny and Tiny were tied to the rail fence, munching on a block of hay someone had put there for them. They didn’t look excited, nickering quietly as they saw the girls approaching.

  Lizzie pitied them with her whole heart. She really couldn’t even think about it, where they would go, and with whom. Who would be their new owner, and would he treat them right? For one wild moment, Lizzie thought she could not bear the thought of leaving these adorable little ponies. She thought if she could only grab Dat’s hand, begging him not to do this, he might not. But then she thought of that awful supper table when Mam cried and smacked Jason, and Dat looked so troubled, and she stopped herself.

  “Dat,” she whispered, after Teeny had pushed his nose into her hand, and she felt how velvety soft his little nose actually was. She would just mention how she felt; she wouldn’t beg him.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do we have to do this?” she asked in a low, choked voice.

  “What did you say?”

  “Do we … I mean … do we have to, really have to sell Teeny and Tiny?” she asked, raising her eyes in misery.

  “Ach, Lizzie.” Dat’s face softened, and for a minute, Lizzie knew Dat felt exactly the same way. Emma stopped brushing Tiny, resting her hand on his back, to listen. Dat didn’t say more, and Lizzie waited expectantly, brushing
back Teeny’s forelock. His hair was so soft and blond, and …

  “We have to, Lizzie. We need the money, and that’s all there’s to it,” Dat said gruffly.

  “Oh,” said Lizzie, knowing deep down that Dat was only saying what she knew all along. It was just so hard to give them up. She sighed and felt hot tears prick her eyelids. She kicked at some loose gravel and clasped her hands behind her back, clenching her teeth in the effort not to let the tears tumble down her cheeks. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so sad if Emma would have allowed her to go buy a doughnut. That was just the trouble, always having to listen to Emma. A doughnut would definitely help her feel much better.

  “Emma!” Lizzie kicked at more gravel, raising her head to glare at Emma.

  “What?” Emma asked, looking at Lizzie with a surprised expression. You could never tell with Lizzie, she thought. One minute she was good as gold, and the next she was mad about something.

  “Why didn’t you let me have a doughnut?” she asked loudly.

  “Well, you don’t even know if they have any to sell,” Emma said defensively, glancing at Dat as she spoke.

  “What are you talking about?” Dat asked, lifting the harness onto Teeny’s back.

  “Oh, she wanted a doughnut, because she saw a man walking past eating one, and I don’t even know where they sell them,” Emma explained.

  Lizzie sniffed self-righteously. If she couldn’t have Teeny and Tiny, at least she could have a doughnut.

  A loud voice spoke on the speaker system, urging all owners to bring their ponies to the large yellow tent.

  “Hurry up, girls! Here, take this rag and make sure the wheels on the spring wagon are clean, Emma,” Dat said, slipping the bridle on Teeny’s head. Emma ran to polish the wheels, and Lizzie fastened the rein to the bridle, as Dat hurried to lift the tongue of the wagon to hitch them to it. The ponies pranced a bit, lifting their heads higher than usual, and a nervous pang shot through Lizzie’s stomach. Suppose the ponies ran, terrified, out of that tent?

  “Dat!”

  “What?”

  “Are you sure Emma and I can do this? What if they get all scared and go running away?” Lizzie asked worriedly.

  “I’ll help you get started, and I’ll be right there in the ring, watching you all the time. So don’t be afraid—you know you’ll be fine, both of you,” Dat assured her.

  He finished hitching the ponies to the glistening black cart, the wheels shining with every turn as he brought it to the right position for the girls to climb up on the seat.

  “You may drive, Emma,” he said, knowing she was the levelheaded, steady one, who would keep her head about her when excitement ran high. So Emma picked up the reins, clucked to the ponies, and they were off at an easy walk, with Dat at their heads.

  People turned to stare, and “Oh!” and “Look!” were quite common. Lizzie loved every minute of the attention they received. She sat up a bit straighter, smoothing back the loose strands of brown hair the wind had tugged out. She adjusted her black apron, making sure the pins were all straight, and waved at a little boy who was waving both arms and yelling at her.

  After they reached the yellow tent, Dat hopped off the back, going to Teeny’s bridle. The loudspeaker was so noisy here, and the miniature ponies were prancing nervously, tossing their heads with impatience. Dat stroked their necks, talking softly to them, quieting them with his expert hands.

  “Lizzie, do you want to drive them in the ring?” Emma asked unexpectedly.

  “I don’t know, Emma. Why don’t you want to?”

  “My knees are shaking.”

  “Are they?”

  “I’m just so nervous, Lizzie. You drive, okay?”

  Lizzie looked over at Emma and felt sorry for her, because her face was drawn and pale, and she actually was shaking. She bit her lips together to keep her teeth from rattling.

  “I will,” Lizzie said, knowing from somewhere deep inside of her that she could. Emma’s nervousness made her feel suddenly very strong, and she knew, without a doubt, that she could drive those ponies around that ring.

  Emma scooted over when Lizzie stood up, and Dat turned to the girls immediately. “What? Aren’t you driving, Emma?” he asked.

  “No, Dat. I’m just too scared,” she answered quietly.

  “That’s okay, Emma. Lizzie can. Right, Lizzie?” Dat asked, looking carefully into her face for signs of her usual fear.

  “Yes,” answered Lizzie firmly. “I can drive them.”

  “Good!” Dat said. “Now, as soon as you hear them announce these ponies, just start them nicely, down to the left. Keep going on the sawdust. It may pull a bit hard at first, and keep a firm hand, because they’re excited. If anything goes wrong, I’m watching every move you make, and I’ll be right there. Now make yourself boss, and don’t be afraid.”

  “I will,” Lizzie said, holding the reins firmly, one in each hand, leaning forward for better control.

  They waited as the auctioneer’s voice boomed over the speaker. He was selling a white pony which had a nervous gallop, the whites of its eyes showing fear. The rider on the pony’s back struggled to keep it in check, but Lizzie thought it looked as if he could barely stay in the saddle.

  Dat was using his handkerchief to polish the ponies’ bridles, checking the girth on the harness, and double-checking the straps that held up the tongue of the little spring wagon.

  “Two hundred five, two hundred five, anybody gimme ten?” the auctioneer’s voice boomed, begging the buyers for five more dollars. He knocked the wooden gavel on the stand in front of him and shouted, “Two hundred five it is. Gone to the green hat. Number six hundred ten.”

  The auctioneer turned to wipe his brow and take a drink from his can of soda, talking quietly away from the microphone to his assistant. Another man handed him papers and he read, “What have we here? Miniatures! Miniature ponies. A perfectly matched pair.”

  “Go!” Dat said to Lizzie.

  Lizzie sat up straight, loosened the reins a tiny bit, and said quietly, “C’mon, Teeny. C’mon, Tiny.”

  Dat stepped back and patted Emma’s arm, giving them a nervous smile, and they were off.

  The ponies seemed to sense the importance of this moment, and, holding their perfect little heads high, they trotted together as one. Lizzie felt calm and strong, guiding them along the narrow ring covered with sawdust.

  The crowd went wild. People stood up in their seats, clapping and cheering, smiling and waving their hats. The auctioneer could barely be heard above the thunderous applause. He laughed, put his microphone down, and waved his white cowboy hat. Emma and Lizzie looked at each other and laughed.

  Around they went, back to where Dat was standing, shaking his head and laughing, although Lizzie thought he looked as if he could cry at the same time.

  “Keep going, Lizzie!” he yelled.

  The ponies kept trotting, holding their heads nicely, picking up their dainty little hooves, scattering the sawdust as they pulled the shining black spring wagon with gold pinstripes.

  “What am I bid?” the auctioneer started. No one was bidding; they were still applauding this well-behaved little team of ponies. The auctioneer laughed again, and gave up trying to sell them until they had made another circle.

  “Stop them, stop them!” he motioned to one of the workers. Lizzie saw what he wanted her to do and pulled back on the reins slowly, so as not to scare them with a harsh jerk on their mouths. They rolled to a perfect stop and stood quietly.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is unbelievable. I have not seen anything like this in quite some time. These girls are not very old. How old are you?” he gestured to Lizzie with the microphone.

  “I’m eight,” she answered.

  “You’re eight—and your sister?” he asked.

  Lizzie punched Emma’s ribs with her elbow and Emma promptly told the auctioneer she was nine years old. Then she punched Lizzie back, because she was insulted that Lizzie thought she couldn’t speak for herself whe
n someone asked her a question.

  “These matched miniature ponies are, no doubt, very well trained, driven by these young ladies. Would the owner step up here and give us a word for them?” the auctioneer asked.

  Dat walked up behind them and was handed the microphone. Lizzie was so proud of her Dat when he talked about Teeny and Tiny, recommending them for children, and saying he had made the little spring wagon himself. After he finished, he handed the microphone back and told Lizzie to take them around a few more times.

  As Lizzie eased up on the reins, Teeny stepped forward first, tugging Tiny along. For one heart-pounding moment, Lizzie thought Tiny wouldn’t cooperate because of the noise and tense atmosphere, so she called his name in a steady voice, “Tiny, come boy,” and his hindquarters lowered as he dug in his hooves to pull his share. Lizzie’s heart swelled with love for these wonderful little horses. Surely they were the best in the world, and she hoped with all her heart no one would have enough money to buy them. For one moment, she longed to drive them straight out the wide yellow canvas door of that tent, across the field with rows of vehicles glistening in the sun, and never return. But she knew better, and the desire to leave was replaced by a willingness to obey Dat and Mam, because they really did need the money.

  The auctioneer opened the sale of the ponies at five hundred dollars. It was lowered to three hundred, and Lizzie dared hope that maybe, after all, Dat could not get a good price for them and they would be taken back home. But after the low price of three hundred, the bidding escalated so fast and at such a confusing rate, with the auctioneer talking so fast that his words were a blur as well as the kaleidoscope of color and action, that Lizzie just drove them steadily before stopping them in front of the auctioneer’s stand.