The Snow Pony

by Anne Eliot Crompton

  Pearl shies, rears, and jumps in circles. Calming him takes a while. Then I see all the Stasses staring at us. Red holds Thunder’s collar. Thunder digs snow and climbs air to get at us.

  Beside Red, Marigold wears deep purple eyelids, crooked lipstick, and one dangling earring. Hammer in hand, she stares at us as if she never saw us before.

  Pearl shudders. I pat his neck and prickle and blush, and look for a way out. I’d love to ride straight through all these staring Stasses! But there are hoses snaking all around to trip Pearl, and a camera for him to step on, and Baby Stass toddling right in our way. We’d best turn around like this and—

  “Hey, you!” Mr. Stass roars. “Wait up.”

  I wheel Pearl back to face him. He lumbers up to us. “That Flower’s old pony from the auction?”

  I nod.

  “Don’t look the same.”

  I gulp. “We … we’ve been working with him.”

  “You done a good job.” Mr. Stass gives Pearl a friendly whack on the shoulder. Pearl shies and shudders. “Good thing you don’t have far to fall! Don’t let him step on this here hose.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Go through here.”

  “I will.”

  A voice calls, “Hey Jannie! Jannie!” Frankie runs up.

  “Can I have a ride, huh?”

  Marigold has boasted that she knitted Frankie’s pull-down cap. Blond hair spills from under it. Eager blue eyes look up. “Can I?”

  The way Pearl is shivering, I’m not sure what he’ll do. But Frankie is the first person in Winterfield to call me Jannie. It melts me. I hear myself say, “Sure, Frankie.”

  Mr. Stass says, “Just to Main Road and back. We got work cut out here.”

  Marigold snorts.

  I step off Pearl. “Say hi to Pearl first, Frankie. Let him smell your hand.”

  Pearl smells Frankie all over. He mumbles, and stops shivering.

  “He likes me, he likes me!” Frankie rejoices.

  I hoist him up. He sits loose and easy, with a light grip on Pearl’s mane.

  “You ride before, Frankie?”

  “Yeah, I ride Uncle Joe’s workhorses.” I should have guessed! Frankie is a Stass.

  I lead Pearl the way Mr. Stass pointed out. Marigold doesn’t glance our way, but Red’s warm brown eyes smile at us.

  Behind us I hear panting, and fast-thudding paws. The great black dog bounds past us, spattering snow.

  Pearl stiffens and throws up his head.

  Frankie pats his neck. “It’s OK, Pearl,” he says. “You’re my friend, so you’re Thunder’s friend.”

  Pearl seems to believe this. He nods and walks on.

  Frankie tells me, “I call Thunder ‘Thunder’ because he growls like thunder.”

  “I know!”

  “Good old Pearl,” says Frankie, still patting. “Next time we ride I’ll bring you some maple sugar.”

  21

  This drawing won’t get color. It’s soft pencil, gray and black and white. I rub with the pencil to make shadows and shaded lines. You don’t need color every time.

  I draw a bare maple tree, so huge and old it carries two sap buckets. The tree rears up and reaches out. Branches … branches … I rub deep shadows into the bark.

  Under the tree stands a stooped old man with a cap drawn down over his face. He holds a pail in one mittened hand. A boy reaches to take the pail.

  The boy smiles up at the old man. He looks a bit like Frankie Stass, but older. Maybe he’s ten.

  Arthur Flower is ten.

  I chew the pencil.

  I’ve drawn Mr. Flower and Arthur. They are tapping maple trees in the woods where Granda Cook taught Russ Flower to work.

  Mr. Flower would love to teach Arthur to work!

  This is a sad picture because Mr. Flower and Arthur will never sugar together. Arthur only comes to Winterfield when the apple tree blooms, and maple sugaring is over then.

  Color would help the sadness. Blue shadows, pink snow like at sunset, would cheer up the picture.

  But I’m going to leave it sad, like it really is.

  22

  Thursday recess, Queen Marigold says, “I don’t dare tell Cliff Tunie stole the Ring.”

  The Court sighs. Everyone is tired of hearing about this Ring. Deep in my coat pocket, I pinch it.

  Where snow has melted by the fence Tunie’s new Court jumps rope. Fat Tunie doesn’t jump. She swings one end, pops gum, and leads the chant.

  “Hey, hey, I had a good jump on my Ring!

  Hey, hey, a Ring’s a thing makes you sing!

  A Ring you send,

  A Ring you lend,

  A Ring you keep for a friend, hey!”

  I bet Tunie made that up.

  Tough Jessie says, “Marigold, you want to forget this rattling Ring. Tunie didn’t steal it, no more than I did. Why don’t you blame Janet Stone? She was there too.”

  I freeze. Here it comes. Standing rigid, I roll the Ring deep in my coat pocket. I can’t breathe.

  Marigold’s blue eyes sharpen. She frowns.

  Jessie barks, “Oh come on! You think Stuck-up Janet’s got your Ring? Next thing you’ll say Irene did it!”

  Nervously, Irene pats her curls.

  I may just throw up.

  Marigold’s eyes hold me. I look back at her and roll the Ring deep, deep in my coat pocket.

  Tough Jessie growls, “You say that word Ring once more, Marigold, and I’ll go jump rope.”

  Marigold shrugs and turns away. I breathe.

  Marigold picks a little radio off the steps. “Cliff lent me this,” she says, “so we can dance.”

  She turns it on. Rock music hammers. She turns it up. Rock music roars. Marigold dances.

  Quick-quick, I dance too. Graceful Marigold, smirking Irene, jerky Jessie dance past. The yard swings around. The rock music drowns out Tunie’s chant.

  “A Ring you send,

  A Ring you lend,

  A Ring you keep for a friend, hey.”

  I wonder, what’s that Jessie said about “Stuck-up Janet”? She can’t mean me, surely!

  23

  Before each ride I comb and brush Pearl’s coat. Then after the ride, Mr. Flower and I clean pebbles and gravel out of Pearl’s hoofs. I used to think all horses wore iron shoes, but Mr. Flower says a pony ridden on dirt roads doesn’t need shoes—he just needs his hoofs cleaned every time.

  When we ride in this evening Mr. Flower is milking Rosy on the table. Posy waits beside him, licking his chops. By myself I crosstie Pearl to the outside shed wall. By myself I crouch, lift each small, dirty hoof, and scrape it clean. Pearl stands still. He trusts me.

  He trusts me, but he really likes Frankie Stass! Maybe three times a week we just happen to meet Frankie and Thunder on Old King’s Road. I help Frankie mount Pearl, and the three of them gallop away.

  I amble along the muddy road and listen to new birds call, and squirrels chatter among small, new leaves. It’s lonesome. Lonesomeness floats away from me into the woods, and new thoughts float in. I wonder if hidden animals watch me pass. I wonder if the settlers’ oxen grazed under these old beech trees, long ago.

  After Frankie rides, these little hoofs need cleaning!

  Mr. Flower comes over to see how I do hoofs by myself. “Good,” he says. “Nice. Marigold Stass could do no better. Have a sugar.”

  I stand up and accept a tiny square of golden maple sugar.

  “Rejoices you, don’t it? That will rejoice Arthur, too. Pearl, you rejoice too.” Mr. Flower doesn’t often give Pearl treats. He says treats teach a pony to nip your hand. But we can’t very well rejoice like this without sharing! Rosy trots up and rejoices, too. Then she dances away to bully her swinging tire.

  “Mr. Flower,” I say, “there’s daffodils coming up in our yard.”

  “Yep. Grandma Cook planted those.”

  “Did you own our house?” Jackie and I have been wondering if Mr. Flower minds our living there.

  “Neve
r did. I owned a share of that house, along with my cousins. I sold my share for Stephen.”

  “What do you mean, for Stephen?”

  “Well, see, Stephen was bright. He liked school. My Connie went to work cooking at the Route Nine Diner so he could go to college.”

  “My mom worked her way through college.” I’ve heard a lot about that.

  “Stephen worked, sure enough. But this was one high-class college we’re talking about. And law school. And Connie got sick and died. So I sold my share of the Cook farm so Stephen could finish up.”

  “Oh.” I see.

  I free Pearl from the crossties. He turns and rests his hard chin on my shoulder. I lift strands of his silky mane in my fingers. “Look, Mr. Flower. Pearl is pretty now.”

  “Arthur will rejoice to see him. Tomorrow we commence yard cleaning for Arthur.”

  “What! So soon?”

  “Look at the apple tree.”

  Late sunshine glows on the apple branches. On every twig green buds swell, ready to burst. The apple tree is getting ready to bloom!

  And Mr. Flower is getting ready for Arthur.

  And I must get ready, right now, to say good-bye to Pearl. Just as we’ve really made friends, Pearl will go away to Castlebridge with Arthur. I may never see him again!

  His heavy chin digs into my shoulder, but I don’t push him off.

  “Holy trout,” I say, “I didn’t know it was spring!”

  “Crept up on you,” says Mr. Flower.

  24

  Jackie cries, “Watch it!”

  Too late. Just for one minute I thought about something else, and the cloth ran right off the sewing machine. The machine clacks away at nothing, tangling its threads.

  “The pedal, Jannie! Take your foot off the pedal.”

  That’s better. Silence. Hopefully I ask, “Is it ruined?”

  “No, of course it isn’t ruined. And you could fix it if it was.”

  I groan. That’s the thing about sewing. You can’t just ruin it, say, “Too bad,” and walk off. You can always fix it, and fixing is harder than sewing.

  Jackie whips the yellow-spangled curtain material off the sewing table. She shakes it, studies it, turns it, pats it down like a pet. “No harm done,” she says. “But those threads are well tangled.”

  Yech! I poke my nose down in the machine. Looks like I’ll have to dig the bobbin out and thread it again. Ick!

  I ask, “Why do we have to make curtains anyhow? They’ve got them all made in the store.”

  “Not that match your wallpaper.”

  Drat the wallpaper! “Maybe it would be easier sewing by hand.”

  “Aha. Jannie, you’re getting discouraged.”

  No kidding! My back aches, my eyes ache, I’m yellow-speck dizzy. Oh, to be riding Pearl down Old King’s Road right now!

  “Let me fix it.” Jackie takes my place and bends into the machine. Her brown braid swings down her shoulder. “Tsk tsk,” she says. “You must have been thinking about something else.”

  Actually, I was thinking about the Ring in my pocket. I was searching for some way to get it back to Marigold without anyone suspecting. But I can’t very well say that.

  I say, “I was thinking about Mr. Flower.”

  “Aha. What about him?”

  “Um, I was thinking how excited he is about Arthur coming. He’s wild about that Arthur. I was wondering if my Grandpa Stone was that wild about me.”

  “Oh, Jannie!” Jackie quits fussing with the bobbin. She looks up at me sadly. If I didn’t know Jackie I would think she might cry. She flips her braid back and says, “Jannie, my father never met you.”

  “Never once?”

  “Never once. He lived in San Francisco. We lived in Massachusetts. Nobody had money to travel.”

  “And how about my other grandpa?”

  “You know your dad had no family.”

  I wander off to the window and look out at the new spring leaves. Now all I see from my window is leaves.

  I’ve always wished I had uncles, aunts, cousins. Relatives. Just Jackie and me is lonesome! I used to envy Maria her wild brothers. Now I sort of envy Marigold her noisy family.

  I think out loud, “I wish I could adopt Mr. Flower for my grandpa.”

  I wonder, could I talk to Mr. Flower about this Ring?

  Jackie bends to the sewing machine. She says, “Grandpas aren’t all that great. They tell the same old stories over and over, and you have to listen politely.”

  “You loved your grandpa,” I remind her.

  “Aha! Yes I did. But I didn’t love hearing those stories every day!”

  Mr. Flower might know how to handle this Ring thing. I bet he might even understand it.

  25

  Pearl and I amble down Old King’s Road. We move happily together. I love the thunk of Pearl’s small hoofs on moss. I love the flop of his fluffy mane. Even though I’m getting seriously too big for Pearl, I will miss our rides when Arthur takes him away.

  I ride loosely, looking around, hoping to see wildlife. Some wild thing might look at me out of any leafy shadow. We would look at each other from our different worlds. It would be like meeting a man from Mars.

  Pearl stumbles. Something is stuck in his right hoof.

  “Whoa.” I slide the short way to earth and drop Pearl’s reins under his nose. Mr. Flower has taught him to stand still like that, for maybe a minute. I kneel in moss and pick up the hoof.

  Pearl snorts and jerks up his head. I catch hold of the reins.

  A young man is strolling toward us. He wears work clothes. He has red hair and brown eyes.

  He is Red, who works for Mr. Stass.

  I blush and prickle. I would rather see a wild thing than a person I may have to talk to! I stand up.

  Red nods and smiles. He asks, “Trouble?”

  “Oh, no! No trouble.”

  “You were looking at his hoof.”

  “Um, I thought he had a stone in it.”

  “Let me look.” And before I can speak, before Pearl can lay his ears back, Red kneels and picks up his hoof. I hang on to those reins!

  Red says, “Yep.” And before we know what he’s doing he whips out a jackknife and scrapes a pebble out of Pearl’s hoof. “See this? These jokers can do a job.” He throws the pebble away and stands up. “This is old Mr. Flower’s pony, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And you’re Janet Stone. Your mom teaches shop.”

  “Right.”

  “Mind if I call you Jannie?”

  “Oh! Sure!” I prickle like crazy.

  “I’m Cliff LeDuc.”

  Cliff? He’s Cliff?

  “I’m going to work at the Stasses’. You walk along with me, see how the hoof does.”

  Holy trout! This is Marigold’s famous boyfriend, Cliff! But I saw him once working with Marigold, and they didn’t seem especially romantic.

  I turn Pearl around. The three of us walk together like friends.

  Cliff asks, “How’s he doing?”

  “Um, I think he’s better.” In fact, Pearl walks just fine.

  “Jannie, what does old Mr. Flower want with a pony like this?”

  “He’s going to give him to his grandson, Arthur.”

  “His grandson lives in the city. Where will they keep a pony?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, Jannie, you’ve done a great job on him.”

  “Thanks.” Prickle.

  “You must be a nice girl.”

  Blush!

  “I bet you’ve learned a lot, helping Mr. Flower.”

  “Um, yes.”

  “I like to know how to do things. That’s why I work for Mr. Stass. I’ve learned a lot there.”

  It’s now or never. I take a deep, strong breath. Bravely I say, “I’ve heard Marigold Stass mention you, Cliff.”

  “Marigold’s a good kid. The Stasses know how to raise good kids.”

  “She said she made your birthday cake.”

  �
��Yep. They gave me a real surprise party. Marigold made the cake, Sophie made paper flowers, Frankie streamed the streamers, Andy bought pop. They were great.”

  I take another deep breath. “Marigold said she painted a tie for you.”

  “Yep. I’ve got it at the back of my closet.”

  “The back of your closet?”

  “Well, Jannie, it’s got red hearts all over it! Maybe I’ll wear it next year, Valentine’s Day.”

  Inside me, a sort of caged bird opens its wings.

  “Here’s your turnoff, Jannie. Have Mr. Flower check that hoof.”

  The hoof’s just fine. “Cliff, wait a sec!”

  Cliff waits.

  I swallow, hard. Now we come to it. “What about the Ring?”

  “Ring?”

  “You … gave Marigold a Ring? With a red stone?”

  Cliff frowns, thinking. “Oh! You mean the gum-machine ring at the mall. We were all hanging out there one night. I gave the ring to Sophie, and I guess she traded it to Marigold.”

  “I’m talking about this Ring.” I pick it out of my pocket and show it to Cliff, all gleaming.

  “That’s right.”

  Inside me, the caged bird steps out of his cage.

  “Marigold said she changed a tire for you one night.”

  “Yep. I turned my ankle chasing Frankie around in the dark.”

  “Frankie! Frankie was there?”

  “Of course. The Stasses do everything together, Jannie. Everything. That’s their recipe for a good family life. Always together.”

  “Aha!” Doesn’t sound to me like a recipe for a good romance!

  “Nice to meet you, Jannie.”

  “Um, me too.” I’ll say!

  Cliff strolls on toward the Stass place. I climb onto Pearl. We canter up the trail to Hungry Hollow Road.

  Inside me, the uncaged bird claps his wings and flies.

  I’ve got Marigold where I want her!

  Marigold Stass is through, finished!

  Just wait till the Court hears about this!

  Cantering through green spring woods, I laugh aloud.

  26

  “Mr. Flower!” I shout, galloping into the yard. “Mr. Flower!”

  He hobbles out of the shed as fast as he can, and I’m sorry I shouted.