by Chris Platt
She looked around the property. Celah wasn’t in the front paddock. The tractor sat near the barn with several of its parts strewn on the ground. It looked as if her father hadn’t been able to fix the old John Deere.
Because of the late snows this year, her parents were already behind schedule with the planting. Now they would have to use horsepower to get the job done, and Celah couldn’t work as fast as the old tractor.
“Callie, we’re back here!” her father hollered from the plot of land he was working.
“Poor Celah,” Callie muttered. It was warm and she could see the lather under the mare’s collar from where she stood. When her parents were finished plowing, she’d give the mare a bath and take her out to graze on the small patch of grass that was supposed to be their front lawn. It would give her more time to decide how to approach them about adopting Moon Shadow.
“Do you need help?” Callie volunteered.
Her mother looked up from the batch of plants they’d been growing in the greenhouse all spring and waved her off. “Go make yourself a sandwich, honey. Then you can come out and help me put the rest of these in the ground.”
Callie nodded and trotted off to the kitchen. She’d make herself a quick peanut-butter-and-honey sandwich and look over the adoption information booklet Mr. Jeffers had given her.
She kicked off her boots at the back door and entered the house, placing the paperwork on the counter. After washing her hands, she took out a loaf of whole-wheat bread that her mother had made the night before and made a sandwich, then rummaged through the refrigerator for something to drink. “Yuck!” She wrinkled her nose at the fresh carrot juice her father had made with the juicer. Pushing aside the vegetables on the bottom shelf, she reached for a root beer she had hidden there. “That’s more like it.” She grinned as she gathered her things and headed for her room.
Balancing the sandwich, soda, and adoption papers, Callie made her way down the hall and pushed her bedroom door open with her shoulder. She set everything on her dresser and spread the adoption information across the hand-stitched quilt. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed, she took a bite of her sandwich and opened the brochure, quickly scanning the requirements for adopting Moon Shadow.
Immediately she began to frown. They’d need a stock-type trailer to haul the filly. Her family didn’t own any type of horse trailer. They’d have to borrow one from a neighbor. Strike one in the ball game she was about to play with her parents.
The Bureau of Land Management also required a five-foot fence for foals, and a six-foot fence for grown horses. That was one thing in her favor. With Celah measuring eighteen hands, all of their corral fencing was extra tall.
She read the next paragraph and frowned again. They’d need a twelve-by-twelve stall to house the filly. All of the smaller stalls in their barn had been taken out years ago to make room for the tractor and several tons of hay. Celah had her own twenty-foot stall, which they’d made by taking out the partition of two of the smaller stalls. It would be necessary to build Moon Shadow her own place in another corner of the barn. Strike two.
And last but not least, the $125 adoption fee.
Strike three.
The peanut butter balled in Callie’s throat, making it almost impossible to swallow. She felt the sting of tears against the back of her eyes. The odds seemed insurmountable. They didn’t have the extra money to adopt Moon Shadow and build a new stall, let alone pay for the medical attention the filly would need, the milk goat, and the powdered milk mix they’d need to feed her for the next few months until she could be transferred to a diet of all hay.
But Callie knew she had to try. Her parents were expecting her to help with the planting. Now would probably be the best time to ask. She gathered the rest of her uneaten sandwich and empty root beer can and tossed them in the garbage before going outside to put on her boots.
She walked slowly toward the east garden, her mind churning with what she was going to say.
“So how’s the little mustang? Mrs. McLean asked as she looked up from one of the evenly plowed rows.
Callie tried to be courageous and say exactly what was on her mind, but she didn’t have the nerve to ask the big question just yet. Instead she took the wheelbarrow from her mother and rolled it toward the greenhouse to get the next load of zucchini. “She’s doing okay. Susan says she’s got a good chance of making it if she gets constant care,” she said over her shoulder as she hightailed it toward the glass building. Then she parked the wheelbarrow inside the big door and kicked herself for being such a coward.
She reached for the small pots of zucchini seedlings and loaded them into the wheelbarrow. Tonight over dinner would be the best time to ask about Moon Shadow. Right now she needed to put in a good day’s work to prove to her parents how responsible she could be.
It was late afternoon and the sun beat down on the back of Callie’s neck as she sank her hands into the rich dirt and packed the new plants into place. She was about to reach for a gallon-sized tomato when Celah stopped plowing the tract and whinnied so loudly that her sides shook. The call was answered by a high-pitched neigh, and Callie looked up to see a small red pony trotting down the road. The riderless Shetland turned up their driveway and broke into a canter at the sight of another horse.
“Whoa!” Her father steadied the lines as Celah sidestepped a couple of rows and turned her head, trying to see around the blinkers on her bridle.
The pony trotted across their newly planted rows, taking out several yellow squash and a tomato before Callie put her arms around his neck and stopped him from doing more damage.
“I’ll get a rope,” her mother said, taking off for the barn at a jog. She quickly returned and fashioned a makeshift halter for the little gelding.
Callie recognized Jake, the pony Luke Thompson and his older sister Jill used to ride when they were little. The Shetland had been retired when the Thompson kids graduated to the fancy quarter horses their father raised, and Jake had spent the rest of his retirement learning how to become an escape artist.
“It looks like you did it again,” Callie said as she ruffled the Shedand’s fuzzy mane. “I’ll walk him back to the Thompsons’ when we’re done,” she told her parents.
Her father moved Celah back to the row he had been plowing. “I’ve only got a bit left to finish,” he said. “If you wait, we can tie Jake to the back of the pickup to trot him home.”
Callie looked at the gray hairs growing on the pony’s face and flanks. “The mile to the Thompsons’ is a pretty long distance for this old guy to trot behind the truck. It’s too bad we can’t pick him up and put him in the back.” She gave Jake another pat and turned back to her mom. “I’ll tie him in the barn and give him some hay while we finish up. Then I’ll walk him down.”
Mrs. McLean shaded her eyes and glanced at the late afternoon sun. “Maybe you’d better get going now,” she suggested, reaching out to wipe a smudge of dirt off of Callie’s face. “Your father and I can plant the rest of these tomatoes. We’ll come get you in the truck when we’re done.”
Callie gave a tug on Jake’s halter as he stretched his lips to grab another tomato plant. “Let’s go, you old Houdini horse.”
A slight breeze blew across the late afternoon landscape as Callie and Jake hit the road. The sharp smell of bitterbrush filled the air, and she inhaled deeply, enjoying the sights and sounds of the desert preparing for nightfall. Several scrub jays flitted back and forth on the sagebrush, chattering happily, and the low hum of deerflies made Jake swish his tail in agitation.
As they walked, Callie talked to the pony, practicing what she hoped to say to her parents later on. She had to adopt Moon Shadow. She feared for the filly’s well-being if she didn’t. Mr. Jeffers obviously didn’t want to take the time that Moon Shadow needed, and it would be tough to find anyone else willing to adopt an orphan foal that would require around-the-clock care for weeks. If she didn’t adopt the little mustang, there was a chance that Moon Sh
adow might become sickly and die.
Callie felt her heart squeeze. She’d already lost Moonbeam. The thought of losing her foal was too much. Somehow she’d find a way to convince her parents. She prayed that she’d come up with the right words and the courage to use them.
They rounded the bend in the dirt road, and the Thompson ranch came into view. Callie was always awestruck when she visited this place. The ranch house was a huge, two-story affair with tall rock chimneys at each end and a wraparound porch. Quaking aspen had been planted when the ranch was built several decades ago. The graceful trees now towered over the house, providing shade during the long hot summer and making soothing, whispering noises when the wind blew.
The ranch house was nice, but Callie’s favorite building was the barn. It was spectacular. Built a year ago—after the hundred-mile-per-hour zephyr winds tore off the roof and a wall of the old barn—it sported twenty-four stalls, a tack room, a feed room, a wash rack with hot and cold water, and a saddling area. Mr. Thompson and his wife had given Callie a personal tour last winter when she had returned Jake from another one of his escapades.
The outside of the barn was white like the house, but the inside was a beautiful golden pine, varnished to a shine. On each stall was a plaque engraved with a horse’s name, and on a peg outside each stall hung a beautiful leather halter.
Luke’s sister Jill was riding in the outdoor arena when Callie walked by with the pony in tow. Jill was an amazing rider. She was two grades ahead of Callie and Luke and attended the high school next door to their school. Callie admired Jill, but suspected that the teenager didn’t even know she was alive. Someday, she hoped to be as good a rider as Jill.
Jake gave a shrill whinny of hello to Jill’s chestnut mare. The tall pretty girl with the long blonde hair halted her horse and turned to look at Callie and the pony. She gave Callie a knowing smile. “Looks like our little trouble-maker went visiting again,” she said. “My dad’s in the barn.” She turned her horse in a perfect half-circle on the hind and trotted off.
Callie almost felt as if she’d been dismissed. Jill’s tone was kind, though, Callie reminded herself; she’d even smiled at her. Maybe the next time I see her, Callie thought, I’ll be brave enough to say hello.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” Mr. Thompson said, strolling from the barn with his cell phone held to his ear. He put up his hand to signal Callie that he’d be right with her.
Callie scratched Jake’s ears while she waited for the short, stocky man to finish his conversation.
Mr. Thompson closed the phone. “Good to see you again, Callie. I see Jake’s been up to his old tricks,” he said as he took the makeshift halter and lead. “I’m sorry you had to walk all the way down here. We’re short a couple of stable hands. Luke’s been helping, but he’s not the best at locking gates and stall doors…or cleaning stalls and raking the shed row, either,” he said with a chuckle.
It didn’t surprise Callie that Luke was such lousy help. He was really lazy with his schoolwork, too. She followed Mr. Thompson into the barn and helped him put the pony back in his large box stall.
Mr. Thompson turned the pony loose and returned the rope to Callie. “I don’t suppose you’d know anyone who’d be interested in cleaning stalls for me?”
He made the offer in a joking manner, but it immediately gave Callie an idea. “I could do it, Mr. Thompson,” she blurted out.
The horse breeder raised an eyebrow. “Callie, you’re barely big enough to push that wheelbarrow when it’s empty,” he teased.
“No, really, I can do it,” she insisted. Before she knew it, her mouth was running faster then Cloud Dancer’s herd across the open desert. She told Mr. Thompson everything, starting with Moonbeam dying and ending with her plan to rescue Moon Shadow. “But to do it,” she said, “I’m going to need to earn some money.”
Mr. Thompson paused, rubbing the stubble on his cheek. “That’s quite a story you’ve got there, little lady.” He ran a hand through his short-cropped, graying hair and took another long moment to decide what he wanted to do. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a two-week trial to see if you can handle the job. And just because you brought ol’ Jake home, I’ll front you the adoption money for your mustang foal.”
“What mustang foal?” Luke’s head poked around the corner of the barn. “She doesn’t have a mustang foal.” He looked at Callie. “And why would anybody want an old broom-tail anyway?” He picked up a rock and chucked it toward the manure pile with a smart-aleck grin. “Oh, yeah—some people can’t afford a decent horse.”
“All right, son, that’s enough!” Mr. Thompson snapped.
Callie glared at Luke and her fists balled at her sides. She wanted to push him straight into the manure pile. So what if she couldn’t afford one of the Thompsons’ stupid quarter horses? Moon Shadow was just as beautiful as any of those pampered purebred horses.
“Dad…” Luke began.
“Not another word,” Mr. Thompson said sharply. “Get back to your stalls.” He turned to Callie. “I apologize for my boy. Sometimes he opens his mouth before he thinks.”
That’s the understatement of the year, Callie thought.
“Don’t pay any attention to Luke,” Mr. Thompson continued. “Just because a horse doesn’t have a pedigree doesn’t mean that it can’t have value or talent.” He pointed to an old horse in the far corral. “See that bay over there? He’s one of the best roping horses I’ve ever had. You might think that he comes from our breeding stock, but that old boy came out of the Virginia Range.”
Callie’s head snapped up. “That horse is a mustang?”
Mr. Thompson nodded. “When he turns, you can see the freeze brand on his neck. The mustangs have had a long, rich history here in America, starting with the first load of Spanish barbs the Spaniards brought over in the 1500s. Rather than haul those horses back across the sea when they returned home, they turned them loose to fend for themselves.”
Callie smiled. She’d heard this story several times from old Harvey, but she never grew tired of it.
“The mustangs survived on their own for hundreds of years, and they were doing just fine.” Mr. Thompson seemed to enjoy having an appreciative audience. Callie was sure that Luke didn’t have the patience to listen to his dad for more than a few seconds. “Until man had to step in and start messing things up, of course. During the Civil War, the military turned draft stallions out with the mustang herds, hoping to build up their size so they’d be of better use to the military. And up until 1971, when the federal government stepped in with a law to protect the mustang, ranchers would go out and shoot the mustang stallions and put blooded horses in their place. They were trying to make a better ranch horse for working cattle.”
He pointed to the old bay in the far corral. “Ol Butch out there probably shares some of the same blood as my registered horses. If you get a good mustang and work really hard to earn its trust, it’ll make a great horse.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” Callie said, nodding eagerly. Moon Shadow would be a wonderful horse if she got the chance to raise her. And now that Mr. Thompson had given her a job, she had a lot better chance of getting her parents to say yes.
“Come on,” Mr. Thompson said as he fished the keys to his big blue truck out of his pocket. “I’ll give you a ride home. I don’t want you to be too tired to start work tomorrow.”
Callie climbed into the shiny new vehicle and sighed in relief. Things were definitely looking up. Now all she had to do was convince her parents that Moon Shadow would be a great addition to their family.
Eleven
“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Thompson.” Callie waved goodbye and walked up the driveway to her house. She could see her father out by the barn giving Celah a bath. Her mother was just putting away the wheelbarrow. Callie smiled as she kicked off her boots by the back door. She finally had some bargaining chips now.
As she opened the door the smell of pot roast drifted in from the kitchen,
making her mouth water. She quickly changed her clothes and set the table for dinner. Her parents soon joined her.
“That was nice of Mr. Thompson to bring you home,” Mrs. McLean said. “We were just getting ready to come get you.” She washed her hands in the sink, then took down a large serving bowl from the cupboard.
Callie poured the milk and took her chair at their small, cloth-covered table, waiting for her mom to dish up the food. She swung her feet back and forth, bumping them on the chair leg as she waited for the right time to broach the subject of adopting the orphaned mustang. Her mother set a plate of meat, potatoes, and carrots in front of her, but Callie couldn’t bring herself to take a bite. Instead, she pushed the carrots around on the plate and cut the pot roast into a hundred small pieces.
Her mother gave her a sideways glance, but Callie held her tongue. The moment wasn’t right yet.
“So how did things go at the mustang pens this morning?” her father asked as he helped himself to another portion of meat and potatoes. “I heard you tell your mother that the little filly is still alive.”
Callie nodded. “Moon Shadow’s drinking milk now,” she said proudly. “Harvey and I taught her how to lap up goat’s milk from a bucket, so at least she’s eating on her own.” She nudged her full plate away. “But Mr. Jeffers doesn’t want to have to take care of an orphan. He says he doesn’t have the manpower to do it. I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to her.” She waited to see what her parents would say.
Mrs. McLean pushed Callie’s plate back toward her and motioned for her to eat. “I’m sure with all of the wild horse organizations around here, they won’t have any trouble finding a good home for Moon Shadow.”
Callie dropped her fork on her plate with a clang. “N…no!” she sputtered. “That’s not what I meant!”
Both of her parents stared at her in confusion. “Why wouldn’t you want someone to adopt her, Callie?” her mother said. “I’m sure she’s going to need constant care for quite a while. If Mr. Jeffers doesn’t want to do it, it would be better to give the filly to someone else.”
