Christmas at Saddle Creek

by Shelley Peterson

Bird stood in the middle of the aisle. Sundancer’s stall was two down on the right.

  Sunny?

  Is that Santa Claus already?

  It’s me. I need your help.

  You’ve got to be kidding.

  Cody says Mrs. Pierson is in danger.

  I’m waiting for Santa. It’s cold and dark and scary out there. It’s nighttime, and I want to sleep like all the other horses.

  Those are a lot of excuses.

  Another voice reached Bird.

  I’ll help! It was Tall Sox. You helped me, and I’ll help you anytime you ask.

  Thank you, Sox!

  Amigo piped up. Anything you ask, it is my duty.

  And me. I’ll help you! The transmission came from Charlie, the old black gelding. I’m ready to go!

  You are the best. Thank you, Sox, Amigo, and Charlie.

  Sunny piped in. No way! If any horse helps Bird, it’s me. Get me outta this stall!

  Bird chuckled to herself. Just like Sundancer. She felt along the wall until she got to his stall. She grabbed his halter from its hook, opened the latch, and stepped inside with her arms out, feeling for her horse. He stood at the very back of the stall, making her go the whole way.

  Got you. We’re going to do it the quick way, Sunny. No time for tack. Your stable blanket stays on.

  This better be worthwhile. A horse needs his sleep.

  She put his halter over his head, fastened a rope to either side of it to make reins, then led him outside. She slid the door closed as she messaged to the barn filled with curious horses, Good night, all. We have a job to do, but we’ll be back soon.

  Bird led him to the mounting block outside the barn door and scrambled onto his back. Be very careful, Sunny. It’s icy.

  You don’t say.

  Take a step and see …

  They slid several feet until Sundancer found a snow bank where he could get purchase.

  So, what’s the plan, Bird? Skate until I break all my legs?

  I thought your hooves would go through the ice and get a grip on the snow.

  Because snow isn’t slippery? Really?

  Look, smarty, we need to help Mrs. Pierson. You don’t like my ideas, so do you have any of your own?

  It wasn’t my idea to do this at all!

  Okay, okay. Can we try to go cross-country?

  Let me try it off the driveway. If it’s bad, I’m not going. Sunny trod slowly and cautiously until he got to the edge of the lane, then stepped over the ice-encrusted bank onto the flat expanse of the field. His hooves cut through the thin layer of ice, and he relaxed. Much better.

  Good, Sunny! Can we do this?

  Just watch me.

  Good boy!

  I’m not a dog.

  Sorry.

  Sunny walked a few paces. The snow was heavy and deep. He had to bend his knees high to pick up his hooves before putting them down squarely again.

  Not nice, Bird. Not nice at all.

  But is it possible?

  Possible, but every step is tough work. Sunny picked up a slow, high-stepping trot across the paddock to the gate into the woods. Bird kicked the ice off the latch and opened it, glad that the gate was hung high enough off the ground to be clear of the snow.

  Once through the gate, they walked attentively along the trails. On top of the treacherous footing, it was pitch-dark. She longed to hurry, but if Bird were to be any help at all to Mrs. Pierson, she’d have to get to Merry Fields in one piece.

  She noted that the conical shape of the fir trees on either side of the path allowed the snow and ice to slide off without breaking branches. Deciduous trees, like the big maple outside Bird’s window, had the opposite shape and split with too much extra weight. Interesting, thought Bird.

  These firs sheltered the trail from the full force of the gale, and as Bird and Sunny travelled along, they were glad for all the protection they could get.

  By the time they emerged from the woods, Sundancer was sweating. Each step had been a big effort. They crossed a narrow clearing and found themselves at the road.

  Sunny’s sides heaved. This is no picnic.

  We don’t have far to go from here, Sunny.

  The road looks crazy.

  Bird had to agree. Sleet was blowing almost horizontal by the force of the wind, and garbage from a rolling bin was gusting around like it was in an anti-gravity machine. Just as plastic bags, wrappers, and sheets of newspaper were about to make a landing, they were tossed up in the air again. A telephone pole was down, and tree branches littered the road like pick-up sticks. Worse, the surface was slick with ice.

  Her gut dropped. Sunny. This is bad.

  I’m not a quitter, but I can’t step on that.

  It’s solid ice. Bird felt like crying. She knew that the temperature couldn’t be much below freezing for this kind of storm, but she was cold. Ice frosted her eyelashes and stung her eyes. She was soaked to the skin, right through her coat. She could feel her feet, but just. And now, after all this effort and getting this close, it looked like they might have to turn around.

  Sunny pawed the road, testing the footing. What about the Good Lady, Bird? She never gave up on us.

  Innumerable times over the years, Laura Pierson had helped them when they’d needed it. She was a person who could be counted on in every circumstance. Mrs. Pierson needed help, and they were very close. It was just a question of how.

  Okay, Sunny, how do we get across?

  I’ll stay on this side of the road until I see a way.

  Do you want me to get off?

  No, not yet. You’re keeping my back warm.

  2

  Merry Fields

  … And forth they went together,

  Through the rude wind’s loud lament

  And the bitter weather.

  Horse and girl walked on, heads bent against the fierce wind. Bird looked around. She hadn’t seen Cody since they’d left the farm. He’d been right behind them when they went through the gate. Cody? Where are you?

  There was no answer.

  Sunny, have you seen Cody?

  No. I don’t feel his presence.

  Bird began to worry. The small coyote had looked much frailer than before, and now he was somewhere out in this storm. Maybe Cody, the one who always helped others, needed help himself.

  Cody? she messaged again. No reply.

  Cody would show up, she told herself. He always does. She tried not to fret as she looked for familiar landmarks. Under normal conditions, Merry Fields should have been visible from there. In fact, Bird could’ve sworn it was almost across the road from the path they’d been on. But tonight, everything looked strange.

  Bird! transmitted Sundancer. I can get across here.

  Piles of withered leaves and sticks were scattered on the road, possibly from upended garbage cans. The horse stepped over the icy snow bank and used the discarded foliage as a path.

  Good call, Sunny. We must be really close.

  Are you kidding? We’re here.

  What? Bird was surprised to recognize the white mailbox that stood at the end of the Piersons’ laneway. Merry Fields 19347 was painted on it in dark green.

  I would’ve walked right past it!

  Duh. That’s why you’re the passenger.

  You think you’re so smart.

  Smarter than you.

  Aside from the mailbox, nothing else looked the same. The lane was totally obscured by ice-laden branches. The old willows on the front lawn bore no resemblance to their majestic past, and the birches at the side of the house had been demolished.

  As they got closer, Bird saw a bigger problem.

  The huge trembling aspen outside the kitchen door had split, and a big branch had come right through the roof of the porch. Another had fallen across the sta
irs.

  Holy, she said. This looks bad.

  Bird slid down from Sunny’s back and promptly slipped on the ice.

  See? Not as easy as you think.

  Very true. Ouch. Stay here while I check out the house. Don’t go far. I might need you.

  You’re very welcome.

  Sorry. Thank you, Sunny. You did great. Really.

  The big gelding snorted and stamped his feet. His mane was completely encrusted with icy strings. It made a jingly noise as he shook his neck. I’ll be in the shed, out of the wind.

  Okay.

  Bird crouched over, prepared to break a fall as she slid one foot, then the other, across the ice to the farmhouse. She stepped over scattered branches and then climbed over the huge branch of the aspen to reach the door.

  It was wide open. The house was very dark inside and just as cold as outdoors.

  “Mrs. Pierson?” she called. She crossed the threshold cautiously and stood at the door frame. She called again, more loudly. “Mrs. Pierson? Are you here?”

  Bird heard a weak cough from the corner, then another. She shuffled toward the noise with her arms outstretched, feeling her way. The floor was almost as slippery as the ice outside.

  “Is that you, Bird?” croaked a thin voice.

  Bird jumped out of her skin. “Mrs. Pierson? You scared me! Are you all right?”

  “Not really, dear. I fell down. Can you find the flashlight for me, dear? It’s in the cupboard beside the coat closet in the hall.”

  “Yes. I’ll get it.” Bird turned around and felt along the wall until she got to the hall. After a minute of uncertainty, she found a doorknob and opened what she hoped was the closet door. “Mrs. Pierson? Can you give me a clue? Which shelf?”

  “I think it’s on the top shelf over on the right. If not, the second from the top.”

  Bird reached up and felt around, unsure of what she was searching for, and at a great disadvantage in the dark. “Is it a big, square flashlight or …” Bird’s fumbling knocked things over and caused several objects to crash to the floor. “Sorry!”

  “I think I heard it. Feel around on the ground.”

  “Okay.” Bird got down on her knees and patted the floor until she felt a long, heavy cylinder with a large, round end. “Found it!”

  She pressed a raised button. Light shone out in a steady beam, giving the room definition.

  “This is great!” Bird exclaimed. She came back into the kitchen and took a good look.

  “Oh, no. This is terrible.”

  The kitchen door was knocked right off its hinges. Not only had the branch broken through the porch, but it had also crashed through the kitchen wall.

  The temperature was frigid inside the room, and sleet was blowing in through the opening and all across the floor. That’s what’s making it so slippery, Bird thought. And there was no way to keep out the elements. She quickly closed the hall door behind her in an effort to keep the cold from spreading throughout the rest of the house, realizing it was already too late.

  The worst sight of all was when the flashlight lit up Laura Pierson. She was lying on the floor, shivering in her nightgown and slippers, looking very small and cold and dishevelled. Her back was hunched against the wall, her bare, blue-veined legs were out straight, and one ankle was quite swollen. Her old face was pale, her puffy white hair was askew, and her glasses had smashed on the floor beside her, leaving her small blue eyes squinting and blinking against the light. A trickle of blood seeped from the bridge of her nose. Her forehead was bruised.

  “What happened?” asked Bird. “How long have you been sitting here? And where do you hurt?”

  “Can you get me that blanket, dear? The one on the chair?”

  Bird took the plaid wool throw off the back of the armchair next to the fireplace and gently wrapped it around the old lady’s shoulders, then grabbed another blanket from the couch and put it over her legs.

  “Be careful of my ankle, dear. I’m feeling rather ­vulnerable.”

  Bird nodded. “You can’t stay here in the cold. I’ll call 911.”

  “Yes. Please do that, dear. I need some water.”

  Bird stood up, pulled her cell from her pocket, and punched in the three numbers. She placed the flashlight end-up on the floor to illuminate the entire room. As she waited for an operator to answer, she brought over a glass of water from the sink.

  Mrs. Pierson drank it down and motioned for Bird to refill it.

  Bird filled the glass again at the sink. The water pressure was lessening. Bird knew that pumps don’t work without power, and once the previously pumped water was gone, there’d be no more until the power came back on.

  She gave the water to Mrs. Pierson and waited while she drained the glass, then refilled it. Good thing Cody had come to get her when he did.

  Again, Bird wondered if the coyote was okay.

  The call went to a recorded message, asking Bird to be patient because of an extraordinary number of emergency calls, and informing her that her call would be answered in sequence. She was asked to press one for police, two for fire, and three for an ambulance. Bird pressed three. Another recorded message asked that she be patient because of an extraordinary number of emergency calls, and informed her that her call would be answered in sequence.

  Bird willed herself to stay calm. How can I be patient at a time like this? she wondered.

  She thought about hanging up and calling Paul and Hannah. But the roads were impassable. They couldn’t come to help, and she’d only make them worry. They’d wake up and not get back to sleep, and for nothing.

  Holding her cellphone to her ear, she checked out the oddly tilted kitchen door. She made an effort to get it closed but had no luck. The weight of the tree on the door frame was enormous.

  How could she stop the continuous flow of cold air and sleet? The pipes would freeze. Bird opened the old wooden trunk next to the armchair and found a thick grey army blanket.

  “Can I nail this up, Mrs. Pierson?”

  The old woman nodded feebly. She was losing energy.

  Bird was still on hold. She put her phone on speaker and set it on the table while she found some nails and a hammer in the hall closet, then tacked up the blanket. She put a pile of books on the blanket edge, which kept it from flapping in the wind. With the wind blocked, suddenly there was quiet. It was a bigger relief than Bird expected.

  Mrs. Pierson was asleep. Bird hoped that she hadn’t fainted.

  Finally, a male operator answered. “This is 911. What is your emergency?”

  Bird scrambled for the phone and said, “My name is Alberta Simms. I’m at the farm of Laura Pierson at 19347 Third Line, Caledon. I’m her neighbour. She’s in her nineties. She’s hurt and needs help.”

  There was a pause. “The third line of Caledon, north of the Grange, is completely blocked at this time. The hydro lines are down. No emergency vehicles are able to pass, and they will not be able to reach you until the hydro crews clear the roads of danger. What is the nature of her injury?”

  Bird assessed Mrs. Pierson. She looked terrible, even worse than before. “A tree fell on her house. She’s lying on the floor, and she’s either asleep or unconscious. There’s a bump growing on her forehead. Her right ankle is twice as big as her left.”

  The man asked, “Can you make her comfortable?”

  Bird grimaced. “I’m not sure. She’s in a lot of pain.”

  “Raise her injured ankle so it rests above her heart, keep her hydrated, and if there’s Tylenol, give her three tablets. Do not give her Aspirin because it’s a blood thinner. And try to keep her body warm any way you can.”

  “Okay. How soon do you think somebody will come? The house is freezing, and she’s really old.”

  “An ambulance will arrive at the earliest possible time, but it might be several hours. I’ve put
in a request. That’s all I can do. Please continue to do what you can for her, and we will get to her as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll do my best. Thank you.”

  “Can I reach you at this number?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We’ll call with an update as soon as we can.”

  “Okay. I hope it’s soon.”

  “Good luck, Bertha.”

  Bird pressed “end,” suddenly very unsure of what to do. Would Mrs. Pierson be okay for several hours? She understood their problem with the hydro lines down, but could the old woman survive this cold and the pain in her ankle, and maybe a concussion, for much longer?

  The way Bird saw it, Mrs. Pierson likely slipped on the icy floor when she got out of bed to investigate the crash in her kitchen. Bird calculated how long she’d been lying there. Cody had woken Bird just before midnight. It would’ve taken Cody at least twenty minutes to get from Merry Fields to Saddle Creek Farm, so he left to get help around 11:30 p.m. Bird’s cellphone read 1:36 a.m., so Mrs. Pierson had been sitting on the floor for at least a couple of hours, plus however long she’d been there before Cody noticed. How much longer could they wait?

  Bird knelt at the woman’s side. “Mrs. Pierson?”

  She didn’t respond. Bird gently shook her shoulder.

  Laura Pierson groaned quietly and let out a tiny cough, like the one Bird heard when she first entered the house.

  Bird stood up. She made her decision. Mrs. Pierson could not wait until the hydro lines had been cleared. She needed to come home to Saddle Creek now, and Bird had a plan.

  She picked up the flashlight, walked to the washroom, and looked behind the sink mirror and in all the drawers for the drugs that the man had prescribed. None. Bird ran upstairs and checked the bedroom and cupboards. Finally, she found a bottle of Tylenol. It had expired six years ago, but Bird deemed it would be better than nothing.

  She came downstairs, was able to fill the water glass one more time, and urged Mrs. Pierson to take the pills, which was very difficult for her because while she could briefly open her eyes, she was still not anywhere near alert. Instead of three tablets, Bird gave her four. Whatever strength they had left, Mrs. Pierson would need.