“There you go again, asking questions.” Ponyboy grinned. “They won’t have any trouble finding their way back to where they came from now. They don’t need us any more, and besides—they might ask questions. And you know how I feel about that!”
As they drew nearer and nearer to Oak Farm, Pamela became more and more worried. She was quite sure that Aunt Sarah would never accept so simple an explanation of where she had been as the one Ponyboy suggested. After all, she couldn’t get lost in the forest for a whole day and part of a night (and in her nightdress, too) and expect people not to ask how and why.
Pamela felt odd as the pony herd crowded around her to say good-by in the little grove behind the barn.
She supposed it was because she was so tired.
Ponyboy was having trouble holding Cirro, who seemed unusually nervous. “Good-by, Girl,” he said hastily. “We’ve got to get out of here. Some of them must be out of the house.” Then as Cirro danced sideways toward the safety of the woods, calling to the mares softly through quivering nostrils, Ponyboy called, “Thanks, Girl. Thanks for all of us! And don’t forget—” Cirro reared and whirled away. But the words drifted back. “Don’t—forget—your—song.”
The mares followed reluctantly, looking back at Pamela with velvet eyes. Last to leave was Nimbus. She touched Pamela’s cheek with her soft gray nose as she had done so often before. Then she turned away. At the edge of the woods she turned once more, though the rest of the herd had disappeared. She nickered softly, tossing her fine head and pawing the earth with one forefoot, as though begging Pamela to come, too. Then Cirro called again, and Nimbus bounded away into the shadows.
While she was still waving, Pamela noticed that her face felt very hot and her head seemed strangely heavy. She had felt that way only once or twice before. It had been—yes, it had been when she was sick. She was just thinking that if she got really sick, Aunt Sarah wouldn’t ask so many questions, when she began to feel so bad she forgot all about Aunt Sarah.
The walk through the barn and across the farmyard was a painful haze. Afterwards Pamela could only remember farm buildings spinning past crazily and her feet becoming heavier and heavier. She seemed to hear Aunt Elsie’s voice calling her from somewhere far away, but she saw no one as she slowly and carefully climbed the backstairs. The upstairs hall seemed a mile long and the door of her room seemed to keep moving away from her.
The last thing she remembered was crawling gratefully onto her bed. She caught a glimpse of her bare feet and the hem of her nightdress still stained with mud from the swamp. “Oh dear,” she thought wearily, “I’ll have to clean up before I go to sleep.”
Then for a long, long time she had no thoughts at all.
An Unexpected Visitor
MUCH LATER THERE BEGAN to be something to remember again. She seemed to be floating just below the surface of something. Something dark and deep and endless. She remembered trying to reach the top where there were lights and movement and voices. If she could just get to the surface and stay there for a moment, she could find out—but then, just as it seemed close and the light was growing stronger, she would begin to sink again, with only a glimpse of something to hold onto as she sank down again into the deep, deep darkness.
Once it was a glimpse of Aunt Elsie’s worried face, another time it seemed to be her father’s. Again it was only sunlight on the faded wallpaper of her room, and once it was a strange man who leaned over her with something in his ears. “A doctor,” she thought drowsily just before she sank back again into the dark depths of unconsciousness.
But then she awoke one evening to find the darkness was gone. After having to struggle and strain for even a moment’s contact with what was going on around her, now suddenly, with no effort at all, she seemed to float up into the world of light. She opened her eyes slowly, and there was her room just as it had always been. Everything sat quietly in its accustomed place, looking unusually close and clear. Pamela felt weak and tired but quite comfortable and contented.
Something moved at the other end of the room, and for the first time she noticed that Aunt Elsie was sitting on the window seat, looking out the window. As she turned towards the bed, Pamela quickly shut her eyes. She wanted to rest and think just a little longer and get used to being awake.
Aunt Elsie came to stand beside the bed. Pamela could feel the gentle, worried eyes on her face. There was a deep troubled sigh, then footsteps, a door closing very softly, and Pamela was alone.
“Funny I don’t feel bad about fooling her,” Pamela mused. “I suppose that’s because I’ve been sick.”
She lay quietly for a time just enjoying being aware of everything around her; the smoothness of the sheets, the friendly familiarity of the dingy wallpaper, the softly stirring oaks outside the windows, and the soft glow of a shaded lamp on the dresser. It all seemed comfortingly familiar and yet, somehow, newly interesting.
Next, she tried to remember what had just been happening. Of her sickness there were only the few hazy snatches. One thing of importance though—her father was here. At least she was almost sure she had seen his face. She must have been awfully sick for Father to have come back so early. It would be wonderful to see him. It would be nice to tell him all about—”
And then she began to remember all of it—Ponyboy, the ponies, the summer of adventures, and of course the Pig Woman and the swamp. Then there had been the pigs who had slept away their enchantment, the ride home, and—what was it that Ponyboy had called just as Cirro bolted into the woods? “Don’t forget your song.” That was it! He must have meant the song she had sung on the Pig Woman’s island.
“I wonder why I mustn’t forget it. Let’s see, it went like ... But she couldn’t remember it at all. She had forgotten it already.
It was just at that moment Pamela became aware of a noise, a quiet sort of noise, but very close. Someone was opening her bedroom window. She raised herself weakly, in time to see a familiar figure step lightly over the sill.
“Ponyboy!”
“Shhh.” He tiptoed across the room with a finger to his lips. Opening the door, he looked up and down the hall, listening intently. Pamela watched in amazement. He seemed different somehow. His thin golden face, wild brown hair, and teasing tilted eyes had seemed so ordinary in the forest, but they looked quite remarkable in the stiff old room with its primly shabby furniture.
Apparently satisfied, he closed the door and sat down cross-legged on the foot of the bed. “Hello, Girl,” he said cheerfully.
“Hello,” Pamela whispered. “You shouldn’t be here. Someone might come in any minute.”
He shook his head. “They’re all downstairs now. We’ll hear Them coming up in time for me to get back out the window. I have to talk to you.”
Pamela suddenly felt worried. Something about Ponyboy’s face as he said, “I have to talk to you,” made her feel she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. And yet she was curious. “What is it?” she asked reluctantly.
“Well, first, I’ve brought you something.” He leaned forward and dropped a small object into her hand. It was a ring, tightly and intricately braided of strands of hair, each tiny wisp firmly plaited and then rebraided into larger strands. And each one glowing with a different color. A tiny braid of dove gray woven into one of burnished gold. Gleaming white, smoky blue and dusky pink, the strands appeared and disappeared in a delicate pattern.
Pamela turned it slowly in her palm, filled with mixed emotions: pleasure in the beauty of the ring, and a growing fear of what it meant.
When she finally looked up, there was a question in her eyes.
Ponyboy wasn’t smiling now. He looked down quickly and began to trace the pattern of the quilt with one brown finger. “It’s from their manes,” he said. The finger moved more slowly. “To remember them by.”
Pamela knew that this was what she had expected—and feared. For a long time she didn’t say anything, and then in a very shaky voice she asked, “You’re going away?”
But then Pamela remembered something. “But how can you go?” she asked. “I still have the—” Her hand went to her throat and she gasped, “—it’s gone!”
“Oh, you mean the amulet.” He jumped off the bed. “It’s not gone. It’s right here in your handkerchief box. Your Aunt Elsie put it there.” He dropped it into her hand and resumed his position at the foot of the bed.
Pamela had long ago stopped worrying about how he knew such things. She turned the amulet slowly in her hand. “I can keep it?” she asked.
He nodded.
“But then—I don’t understand exactly, but I know it brought you; and if I keep it, how can you go away?”
Ponyboy smiled, but this time it wasn’t a teasing smile. “Do you remember what it says?”
Pamela nodded. “Give the searching heart an eye, and magic fills a summer’s sky.”
“That’s right. So you see, it doesn’t mean you any more. You’ve found what you were looking for. And the summer is over.”
“No!” Pamela protested. “I don’t know what you mean. I haven’t found anything. Nothing has changed at Oak Farm.”
The teasing smile was back. “Oh yes it has—that is, it will if you just don’t forget what you found. And someday you’ll find someone else who needs the amulet, and you can give it away then. You’ll know when the time comes.”
He got up and went to the window. Part way out, he turned and saluted in the funny way he had, touching his tousled forelock. “Good-by, Girl. You were great—for a girl anyway. Even if you do ask questions.”
Then he was gone. In a few minutes Pamela heard once again the flute’s song, free and clear, but swiftly fading. Softer and softer, and then it was gone.
She lay back on the pillows. It was all over, the wonderful magic summer; but right now she was only very, very tired. In a moment she was fast asleep.
Old Questions Answered
WHEN PAMELA AWOKE, AUNT Elsie was sitting on the side of her bed feeling her forehead. She opened her eyes and said, “Hello, Aunt Elsie.”
Aunt Elsie gasped. “Oh, my dear!” she cried. “You’re awake. You’re finally awake!” She looked so terribly happy and excited that Pamela felt a pang of guilt because she hadn’t told her when she woke up before.
“I’m much better now,” she said. “How is everyone. Is Father here?”
Aunt Elsie was excitedly smoothing the pillow, tucking in the blankets, and in between patting Pamela’s hand. “Yes, dear, yes. We’re all fine, and your father is here. Aunt Sarah sent for him. But you mustn’t talk much, dear. You must just be very quiet and rest. You’ve been very sick, you know.” She got up suddenly and got a chair. “You must close your eyes and rest for a few minutes, and then if you’re feeling strong enough, I’ll call your father and Aunt Sarah.”
She sat down on the chair close to the bed and patted Pamela’s hand from time to time, her gentle blue eyes happy for once.
Pamela closed her eyes. After a moment she became aware that one hand was tightly clenched and something was in it. Quietly she moved her fingers. It was the amulet and ring.
It all came back then, and for the first time she realized how much she would miss them all: lovely Luna, proud Aurora, playful little Solsken, and gentle, faithful Nimbus. She felt her throat tighten and hot tears sprang up under her closed lids and began to trickle down her cheeks. They were so beautiful and wonderful, and she would never see them again.
“Why, Pamela, you’re crying. What is it, dear? What’s the matter?” Aunt Elsie was leaning over her.
Without opening her eyes, Pamela shook her head slowly from side to side. “The ponies, the ponies,” she sobbed. “They’re gone. They’re all gone.”
For a long minute Aunt Elsie didn’t say anything. Then, just as Pamela was thinking, “I shouldn’t have said that, she doesn’t know what I’m talking about,” she heard Aunt Elsie say, “Oh!!!” She said it in a tone of voice so very unlike herself that Pamela’s eyes flew open in astonishment.
Aunt Elsie jumped up and actually stomped. Her pale blue eyes were somehow darker. “Oh!” she said again. “I told her not to take them away. I knew you’d be upset if you woke up and they weren’t here.”
Pamela was astounded. She had never seen Aunt Elsie act like this, and she couldn’t imagine what she was talking about. But then she realized that Aunt Elsie was motioning toward the bookcase. It wasn’t until then that Pamela noticed that her collection of miniature horses was missing.
Aunt Elsie turned back to the bed and took both of Pamela’s hands in hers. “Don’t cry, dear. Please don’t cry any more. It’s not good for you when you’re so weak. We’ll—we’ll—do something about it. You see, when you were unconscious you kept muttering about ponies, and Aunt Sarah thought they were exciting you. But don’t worry, dear, I’ll—I’ll—” Aunt Elsie’s face flushed, and her little pointed chin suddenly looked firmer. “I’ll bring them back!” With that she rushed from the room.
Pamela stared after her in bewilderment. In a moment she was back with a box which she began unpacking. She was moving and talking quickly, as if she were trying to get through before she lost her courage. “They’re all right here, dear. I wrapped them very carefully so they wouldn’t be broken.” One by one the glass and wooden and metal ponies were returned to the shelf.
Pamela finally found her voice. “What will Aunt Sarah say?” she asked weakly.
Aunt Elsie gently put the last pony on the shelf and turned to the bed. Her voice had a firmness it never had before as she said, “It doesn’t matter, dear.”
She sat down and smiled at Pamela quite calmly. “It really doesn’t matter,” she repeated and her blue eyes were round with surprise. She sat quietly for a long time with the same surprised expression on her face, while Pamela lay and watched her wonderingly. Then she nodded her head sharply. “Yes,” she said. “I will.”
She leaned toward Pamela as if she were going to share a secret. “For a long time I’ve wanted to talk to you about your mother.”
Something inside Pamela gave a funny little jerk. “I’ve always wanted to,” Aunt Elsie went on. “Your Aunt Sarah never approved—And that’s why—Well, it happened this way. A long time ago your father’s company sent him to sell some special kind of trucks to a man who managed a circus. He had to go to the circus several times to arrange things, and while he was there he met a young woman.”
“My mother?” Pamela breathed.
“Yes,” Aunt Elsie nodded. “She was a beautiful girl. I saw her only once, but I’ll never forget her face and the way she moved—like a dancer.”
“You only saw her once?” Pamela asked wonderingly.
“Yes, just once. You see, your Aunt Sarah—well, she just couldn’t get used to the thought of a circus bareback rider in the family.”
“A bareback rider!” Pamela gasped in delight. “How wonderful! That’s why I always thought I remembered her all in white on a white horse. That must be why I’ve always loved horses so much.”
“I suppose it could be, dear,” Aunt Elsie said. “It always worried Sarah—your interest in horses.”
“Thank you so much for telling me,” Pamela sighed happily. “I think it’s wonderful. It’s exactly what I would have wanted her to be.”
Just at that moment there were footsteps in the hall, and Aunt Sarah and Father appeared in the doorway. Aunt Sarah was pleased and surprised to find Pamela so much improved. And for once she found nothing of which to disapprove, though Pamela saw her looking sharply at the miniature horses on the bookcase.
It was marvelous to see Father again. He sat down beside the bed, took Pamela’s hand in his big brown hands, and grinned at her in the old familiar way. “Well, Pam, honey.”
Suddenly Pamela felt very tired again, and she dropped off to sleep still holding her father’s hand.
In the next few days Pamela was very busy eating, sleeping, and getting stronger. While her bod
y grew stronger, her mind was busy, too, for there was much to think about. She could not think of Ponyboy and the ponies without a sharp pang of sorrow, but there was pleasure and excitement in being able to talk about her mother.
After Pamela told her father what Aunt Elsie had already revealed, there was no longer any reason for him to be silent. Pamela never tired of asking questions about her mother now that, finally, she knew they would be answered.
One question brought some especially interesting information. “Did Mother ever ride in the circus after I was born?”
“Oh, yes,” Father answered. “Not regularly, of course; but whenever we happened to be close enough to the circus, she’d go back for a performance or two. I always liked to watch her.”
“Did I ever watch her ride?” Pamela asked.
“Watch her!” Father laughed. “Why, you used to ride with her. Almost from the time you learned to stand up. Of course, she was always very careful to see that you didn’t fall.”
“Well,” Pamela said, “that explains ...”
“What, Pam?”
“Oh, just something I wondered about,” she said hastily.
It wasn’t until several days after Pamela began to get better that it suddenly occurred to her that no one had asked a single question about where she had been on that night when she had gone to the swamp to rescue Ponyboy. It seemed curious that no one, not even Aunt Sarah, had any questions to ask.
That evening, while she and her father were playing checkers, she decided to search for the reason.
“Father, how did I get sick?”
“The doctor called it exposure. Your move, Pam.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you were out in the forest too long and got too cold and tired. Is that your move, or are you still deciding?”
“I’m deciding. My hand’s still on it. Did you say ‘out in the forest?’ ”
“The doctor guessed that you had walked in your sleep and gotten yourself lost in the forest. I wouldn’t put that man there if I were you. I don’t think you have your mind on the game, Pam.”
Season of Ponies Page 7
