The Christmas Pony

by Melody Carlson

  “Need a hand?” George asked as he joined her.

  She looked up in surprise. “I, uh, I don’t think Mama likes our guests to help with chores.”

  But he was already putting pieces onto the wagon. “I like making myself useful.” For every piece she put in, George stacked several. Then he grasped the handle of the wagon. “Let me take that.”

  “Were you smoking out here?” she asked as they walked back.

  “Just my pipe,” he confessed. “Is that not allowed?”

  “No, it’s allowed,” she said quickly. “I was just curious. My daddy used to smoke a pipe too.”

  “I don’t smoke it a lot,” he told her as they reached the back porch. “But sometimes it’s a comfort.” Already he was unloading the wood, stacking it onto his cradled arm. She wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to do this, but it seemed too late. Instead, she opened the back door and, carrying the few pieces that were left, followed him into the bright, warm kitchen.

  “What?” Mama looked at Lucy with wide eyes.

  “I insisted on helping your daughter,” George told her as he unloaded the wood into the firebox. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Well, I . . . it’s just that you’re our guest.” Mama hung her apron on the peg by the stove and stepped back. “We don’t expect you to help.”

  He nodded, standing up straight. “I know you don’t, ma’am. It’s just that it looks like I’ll be here a few days, and I find it hard to just sit around and do nothing. If I can do something to keep myself busy, well, it just passes the time a little easier. That is, unless you have objections.”

  Mama shrugged as she folded her arms across her front with a slightly aggravated expression. “No objections, Mr. Prescott. If it helps you to pass the time, feel free.”

  “Like I told you earlier, please, just call me George.”

  Mama simply nodded, but those two creases had reappeared in her forehead again. Lucy knew what that meant.

  “Maybe you’d like to play some more checkers?” Lucy suggested to George as she pushed open the door that led to the dining room. Mostly she hoped to get George out of harm’s way since it looked like Mama was about to give him a piece of her mind.

  “That sounds like a good plan,” he told her.

  Before long, Lucy and George were happily playing checkers. Veronica moved to a chair next to George, looking on and making comments in a way that made Lucy think she was trying to get George’s attention. After a bit, Grandma excused herself to bed. But Mama never stepped a toe into the front room, not until it was time to announce that Lucy needed to get ready for bed too.

  “We have church tomorrow,” Mama announced. “As always, the guests here are invited to attend with us. Our neighbors, the Brewsters, are always happy to give us a ride.”

  “Church?” Veronica’s brows arched high. “Well, I haven’t been to church in ages.”

  “We have to leave by ten to make it on time,” Mama told her. “Breakfast is at eight on Sundays.”

  “Eight?” Veronica sounded surprised.

  “It’s at seven on the other days,” Mama told her.

  Veronica laughed. “Well, don’t worry about me. I rarely eat breakfast on any days.”

  “I wouldn’t mind going to church,” George said quietly. “If it’s not a problem.”

  “It’s not a problem at all,” Mama said in a terse tone, “as long as you’re ready to go when the Brewsters get here.”

  Veronica looked as if she was having second thoughts. “Perhaps I’ll come too,” she said. “You say we need to be ready by ten?”

  “That’s right,” Mama told her as she took Lucy by the hand. “Good night, everyone.”

  It wasn’t until Mama and Lucy were in Lucy’s room with the door shut that Lucy decided to take a chance and speak her mind. “Mama,” she began carefully as she unbuttoned her dress, “it seems that you’re not being very hospitable to our guests.” Although she didn’t use the word a lot, Lucy knew what hospitable meant.

  Mama blinked as she handed Lucy her nightgown.

  “You and Grandma always tell me that I’m to treat our boarders with respect,” she continued, “because they are our guests and we want them to feel special here.”

  Mama pressed her lips together but said nothing as she helped Lucy pull the flannel nightgown over her head. Lucy shivered as the cool fabric brushed against her back. She knew that eight years old was more than old enough to get ready for bed by herself, but this was always the one part of the day when she and Mama spent time together, so she never complained about Mama’s help. As usual, she sat down on the hard-backed chair, waiting as Mama reached for the hairbrush and began to undo Lucy’s braids, slowly brushing the hair out and then re-braiding it into one braid down Lucy’s back.

  “I suppose you’re right, Lucy. I have been acting inhospitable.”

  “Why, Mama?”

  “Well, as I already told you, I’m not that comfortable with our boarders.”

  “I think they’re nice.”

  Mama didn’t say anything as she set the brush down.

  “And isn’t it nice they want to go to church with us in the morning?”

  “I suppose so.” Her voice sounded tired.

  Lucy turned around and hugged Mama tightly. “I’m ready to say my prayers,” she whispered.

  Mama nodded, waiting as Lucy knelt down on the rag rug next to her bed. Tonight Lucy didn’t ask God to give her a pony. Instead, she thanked him for bringing their boarders to them, and then she asked God to bless everyone in their house. It wasn’t until Mama had kissed her good-night and turned off the light that Lucy silently continued her prayer—and now she did ask God for a pony . . . and to bring back Mama’s smile.

  It was just a little before ten o’clock and as the Brewsters’ big old Ford pulled up that Veronica made her appearance downstairs. Lucy was relieved that she was dressed—beautifully dressed in a scarlet red dress—and ready to go to church. George helped her into her fur-trimmed coat, and they all went outside to pile into the car. Usually Mama, Grandma, and Lucy sat in the backseat, but today Grandma sat in front with the Brewsters and Lucy offered to sit in the rumble seat. It was chilly back there, but it was well worth it for the joy of having Veronica Grant (soon-to-be movie star) in their company. Hopefully Helen Krausner would be in church today to see this.

  Lucy looked over to Mr. Greenburg’s field as the car rumbled past, making sure that Smoky and the “For Sale or Trade” sign were still there. To her relief, they both were. Hopefully she’d get a chance to pay him a visit tomorrow. Maybe she could talk Veronica into walking down there with her to see him too. The Greenburg farm was only two farms down, really just a nice walk if the weather was favorable.

  As it turned out, the Krausners weren’t at church, but Veronica Grant got plenty of curious looks from the congregation anyway. Lucy proudly took Veronica by the hand, leading her to the pew where they always sat, and then she squeezed down close to the end to be sure there was plenty of room for everyone in their row.

  Lucy always enjoyed the singing part of church the best, and she was happy to share her hymnal with Veronica. She wasn’t even too surprised to hear that Veronica had a pleasant soprano voice. No doubt that would be useful in the movie-making business too. Lucy tried to pay attention to the sermon, but instead she was distracted by staring at the beadwork on Veronica’s gloves and found herself daydreaming about glamorous things like fancy dresses and sparkling jewelry. When it came time for the final prayer, Lucy was thankful that Pastor McHenry wasn’t able to read her mind. She told God that she was sorry and she would try to pay better attention next Sunday.

  After the final hymn, Pastor McHenry reminded the congregation of the upcoming events pertaining to Christmas, a little less than two weeks away. “For the children in the Christmas pageant, there will be rehearsals on Thursday and Saturday afternoons at two o’clock. Mrs. Babcock wants to remind everyone not to be late.”

  A
s they walked out to the car after greeting and visiting with friends, Veronica inquired as to whether anyone cared to stay in town to attend a matinee.

  “On Sunday?” Mrs. Brewster sounded alarmed.

  “No, dear,” Grandma told her. “None of us will be seeing a motion picture today. Of course, you and George might have other ideas.”

  “Not me,” George said as he opened a car door for the ladies.

  “I’d be happy to go,” Lucy said, knowing full well that this could get her into hot water with Mama. But the idea of seeing a movie with Veronica was too tempting.

  “Not on a Sunday,” Mama said sternly.

  Veronica leaned over and patted Lucy’s cheek. “Then we’ll simply have to go another day. Maybe next Saturday.”

  Lucy smiled up at her. “I’d love that.”

  The perfectly delightful idea of going with Veronica to the movie theater, where Helen Krausner might see them together, was almost enough to keep Lucy warm all the way home. Although her nose did feel like an ice cube by the time the car rumbled up to their house.

  “Let’s get you inside,” Mama said as she took Lucy by the hand, leading her directly to the kitchen where the fire was still burning in the stove.

  “It almost feels like it could snow out there,” Grandma said as she closed the door and began peeling off her heavy winter coat.

  “Snow?” Lucy began to dance around the kitchen. “Snow for Christmas—do you really think so, Grandma? Oh, I can’t wait!”

  “Don’t count your snowflakes before they fall,” Mama warned her.

  “Which reminds me . . .” Grandma looked at Lucy. “Did you tend to the chickens this morning?”

  Lucy nodded. “I did. But there were no eggs today.”

  Mama blinked as she hung her coat by the door. “No eggs?”

  “It’s nearly winter solstice.” Grandma moved the cast iron pot to the hottest part of the stove. “The shortest day of the year.”

  “That’s right!” Lucy remembered from last winter—shortly after they’d purchased the laying hens from a neighboring farm. “The chickens need more sunlight to want to lay eggs. That’s why there were no eggs this morning.”

  “You probably won’t find eggs again for a while.” Grandma shook her head. “Fortunately we still have a couple dozen in the cooler. I’ll have to tell Mrs. Brewster that we can’t sell any to her after all. I should’ve remembered that this always happens at Christmastime.”

  “Just one more reason I’ll be glad when Christmas is over and done with this year.” Mama reached for her apron.

  “Mama.” Lucy let the disappointment show in her voice. “How can you say that?”

  Mama looked somewhat contrite. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I know you love Christmas. It’s just that . . . well, when you’re a grown-up . . . things change.”

  “Then I never want to grow up,” Lucy declared.

  Grandma patted her head. “Then how about if you go set the table?”

  As Lucy set the table, she decided that even if she had to grow up, she would never be like Mama. Not about Christmas, anyway. No, Lucy told herself as she set the plates down, she would rather be like Veronica Grant. Surely Veronica still liked Christmas. And Veronica liked going to movies—even on Sundays—and Veronica liked wearing pretty clothes and laughing and all sorts of exciting things. Veronica probably even liked sweet gray ponies!

  5

  After Sunday dinner, Lucy announced that she wanted to take a walk later, after she finished helping to clean up the dishes. Her intention was to stroll down to the Greenburg farm and check on Smoky. Maybe she’d even chat with Mr. Greenburg if he was around. “Would anyone like to join me?” She looked longingly at Veronica.

  “Not me.” Veronica stifled a yawn. “All that good food and getting up early has made me very sleepy. I think I’m going to take a little nap.”

  “I’d love to go stretch my legs,” George said. “That is, unless I can do something to help out around here.” He looked at Mama and then Grandma. “Need any firewood chopped?”

  “No. No, thank you,” Mama said quickly. “You go ahead and take a walk with Lucy if you like.”

  “Just make sure you bundle up,” Grandma told them. “It’s getting mighty cold out there.”

  “Grandma said it might snow,” Lucy told George as she started to help clear the table.

  George peered out the front window, then shook his head with a frown. “Well, I sure hope it holds off some. At least until my car gets fixed.”

  Lucy carried the dishes to the kitchen, but then Grandma shooed her out. “Go ahead and take your walk, Lucy. I’ll get the dishes washed, and you can dry them when you get back.”

  Lucy found George and they layered on coats, scarves, and hats, then headed on down the road toward town. As they were walking, Lucy confessed her real reason for wanting to take a walk. “He’s the most beautiful pony in the whole wide world,” she told George. “Smoky’s got the prettiest coat you’ve ever seen—dapple gray. And it’s already soft and fuzzy. Nice and warm for winter. His eyes are big and brown. And he’s very smart too. He’ll come over to the fence when I call him. You’ll see.”

  “He sounds like a great little pony. I’m surprised the owners want to sell him.”

  “I’m surprised too,” Lucy admitted. “But I know times are hard. We had to sell almost all of our livestock.”

  “You had livestock?”

  She nodded as she stuck a mittened hand into a coat pocket, checking to see that the big end of a carrot was still safely there. “Before my daddy died, we had cows and horses and pigs. Now we just have the chickens and one milk cow.”

  “Was it too hard to take care of all those animals?”

  “I guess so. Mama said that someday we might get them back, though. That is, if we get the rest of our farm back.”

  “The rest of your farm?”

  Lucy explained about how some of their land was being farmed by the Farleys now. “The Farleys have six boys to help out with farm chores,” she told him. “For a while Mr. Farley paid us every year at harvest time for using our land. But he can’t do that anymore. Mama says we’re just lucky he’s working it at all. Otherwise it would just go back to weeds.” She pointed at the Saunderses’ neglected farm. “Like that farm.” She told George about Clara and her family moving away and how much she missed them. “Clara was my very best friend.”

  “Are there any other girls living nearby?” he asked.

  “No.” She sadly shook her head, explaining that the Brewsters never had children and that the Greenburg children were all grown up.

  “Maybe that’s why Mr. Greenburg wants to sell his pony,” George suggested.

  She nodded. “Maybe so.” She pointed at the sign still on the fence post. “That’s for Smoky,” she said happily. “That must mean no one bought him yet.” She ran up to the fence, climbed onto the bottom rail, and called out. Just like that, Smoky left where he’d been standing in the trees, trotting over to see her.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” she said as she extracted a slightly fuzzy-looking carrot stub from her pocket. “But I sneaked this from the kitchen.”

  George chuckled. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “Hello, Smoky,” she said happily. “How are you doing today?”

  He shook his mane as if to greet her, and she peeled off her mitten and held out the carrot stub in the palm of her hand. “It’s not much,” she told him. “But I hope you like it.” She giggled as the warm, fuzzy muzzle tickled the palm of her hand and just like magic the carrot disappeared. She patted the broad side of his cheek. “Isn’t he just the most beautiful pony you’ve ever seen?”

  George reached out and stroked Smoky’s mane. “He’s a very nice-looking pony, for sure. And he seems healthy too.”

  Lucy looked all around the field behind Smoky, hoping to spot Mr. Greenburg. But all was quiet and still today. Maybe the Greenburgs were in town. She looked up at the sky now, noticing that it was almos
t exactly the same color as Smoky, and then to her delighted surprise she spotted a snowflake fluttering down right in front of her. “Look at that!” she cried, pointing upward. “It’s starting to snow!”

  George looked up and chuckled. “You’re right about that.”

  “Maybe we will have a white Christmas,” she told him.

  “Maybe so.” He slowly nodded.

  She remembered his concerns about getting to California in the snow. “Or maybe it’s just fooling us,” she said quickly. “Sometimes our weather is tricky like that. It looks like snow is coming, but then it waits a few days.”

  “Well, just in case, I suppose we should turn back and get home. I wouldn’t want to get caught out here in a blizzard.”

  She climbed down from the fence. “Good-bye, Smoky,” she said sadly. “I’ll come back and see you again as soon as I can. Please don’t let anyone buy you.”

  Smoky tipped his head up and down as if agreeing to this. Lucy reluctantly turned away, and she and George headed back toward home. They walked quietly for a ways before Lucy spoke up. “Please don’t tell Mama that I took you to see Smoky,” she said suddenly.

  “Why not?”

  Lucy considered this. “Well, Mama doesn’t want me to keep wishing for a pony. She thinks it’s impossible. And Grandma says ponies are only for rich people. But I’ve been praying for a pony, and Pastor McHenry says God can do impossible things.” She peered up at George. “Do you think God will answer my prayer?”

  George’s mouth was in a firm line now. “Yes . . .” he said slowly. “I definitely think God will answer your prayer, Lucy. But sometimes God’s answer isn’t the answer we want. Sometimes God’s answer is no . . . or wait.”

  Lucy kicked a stone on the road and sighed. “I know. Grandma says that exact same thing sometimes. But maybe God will say yes.”

  “Maybe so.” George pointed up at the sky. “It looks like this snow is really coming now. Maybe we should walk faster.”

  By the time they got home, everything, including Lucy and George, was spotted in white snowflakes. Pausing on the front porch to brush the snow off, Lucy suddenly remembered Smoky. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” she said quietly to George.