Phantom Horse 2: Phantom Horse Comes Home

by Christine Pullein-Thompson

  The green hunters were lined up in the centre of the ring. A judge was looking at their legs.

  “Good luck,” shouted Angus, his voice sounding very English amid the babble of American voices.

  “Walk on,” I told Phantom.

  This was the great moment for which I had worked for months, to show everyone that I had tamed the wild horse of the Blue Ridge Mountains; but now Phantom was running backwards, gazing at the ring with frightened eyes.

  “He thinks it’s a corral,” I shouted to Pete. “Can you lead him?”

  “I’ll try.”

  But he was on his hind legs now. A second later he came down again with a piercing snort, which made the horses in the ring raise their heads in alarm. His tail was kinked over his back and he started to do a sort of high school dance. I leaned down and stroked his neck. “It’s all right, Phantom. It isn’t a trap,” I said. I could feel him relaxing as I spoke. Everything’s going to be all right, I thought, he’s going in.

  Then, from somewhere behind me, I heard a man say, “Hi, you over there, give me my whip. That’s no horse for a girl. He needs a man to master him.” There was no time for the words to sink in. For a brief second I was speechless and then, as I collected my wits, the whip caught Phantom round his hind legs. He leaped forward six metres or more, and then we were galloping. I couldn’t stop him, nothing on earth could stop him. It was like running away on an express train. Picnickers scattered; children ran; there was a tumult of shouting from behind, and nothing in front but fields and the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance waiting to wrap us in their silence and calm. I knew how he felt … he could trust those mountains, they were like the four walls of home to him.

  I pulled on the reins without effect. He cleared a wall without pausing, his tail streaming behind him like a flag. I wondered what Mum was thinking, what the crowds were saying, and how long it would now take to school Phantom to enter a ring and not turn wild at the first touch of the whip.

  All the time that I was wrenching and pulling on the reins. I wasn’t really frightened, for I knew he would stop in the end, that then I would get off him and lead him home. But I shall never be able to ride him properly in an American show now, I thought, and they’ll go hatching slanderous stories about him long after I’ve returned to England. The mountains were looming larger now. I could see the trees on them, they were no longer just a blue smudge in the distance.

  I don’t know how many fences we cleared. I sat still, a passenger on the fastest little horse in Virginia, and then at last I saw the roof of Mountain Farm. He’s going home again, I thought. He really does like living with us. I hope he likes Sparrow Cottage as much; at least Englishmen keep their whips to themselves.

  I could see a car parked in the yard and people waving. The sweat from Phantom’s sides stung my legs through my jodhpurs. All my strength seemed gone. Phantom broke into a trot when he reached the yard. He raised his head and neighed for Pelican and it was like a trumpet call from a returning warrior. I slid to the ground, my legs almost buckling under me. It was the Millers’ car I had seen. They came racing round the corner of the house. Mrs Miller had her hair, which was so like Wendy’s, piled on the top of her head. She wore a denim skirt, canvas shoes and a blue silk blouse.

  “Heavenly day!” she cried. “Are you all right, Jean? We thought he was heading straight for the mountains.”

  Mum was there too, looking small and frightened in her cotton skirt, shirt and sneakers, and Pete was smiling his broad, kind smile. Mr Miller stood behind them all, looking round and cuddly like a huge brown bear. “That horse will never go in a ring. He’ll always be wild. You can’t teach an old horse new tricks,” he said.

  “He isn’t old,” I cried. “He’s only six. I shall ride him in English shows.”

  “I bet you five hundred dollars he won’t go in another darned ring all his life,” shouted Mr Miller.

  From far away I heard my own voice shout, “Done,” and Mr Miller’s reply:

  “Her of all people. She’s sure got courage, that one.”

  And I shouted back, as I walked limping to the stable, “I’ve already got a bet with Wendy about the aeroplane, she thinks I’ll never get him in.”

  Pete helped me to take the tack off. “I sure hope you don’t lose. Have you really got all that money, Jean?” he asked. “The old man likes his debts paid.”

  “Sure,” I replied, with a shivery feeling down the back of my spine.

  “I’ll pay if you like,” Pete answered.

  “Pay?” I cried. “I’m not going to be the one who pays. I’m going to win.”

  “You thought that this afternoon,” answered Pete. “I’ll carry the saddle. You look kind of tired.” I took off my boots and walked to the house barefoot.

  “You looked like someone from another world flying across the landscape just now,” Mum said. “Were you terrified?”

  “Not really,” I answered. “But why did that man hit Phantom? We would have been all right otherwise. He was going to go in. He was, honestly. I could feel it.”

  I saw Mr Miller laughing with disbelief and suddenly I hated him. “Where’s Angus?” I asked, “What’s the time? I’m starving.”

  “About four o’clock, I expect,” Mum replied. “Angus is waiting at the show with Pelican. The Millers are bringing them both home in the truck.”

  “I’d better be going,” Pete said. “The truck’s waiting. Be seeing you, Jean.”

  I watched him go – kind, broad-shouldered Pete – across the dusty yard. Mrs Miller was hooting the car’s horn.

  “They are very kind. They brought me here at once, even though Wendy was just about to ride,” Mum said.

  “I would like to kill the man who hit Phantom,” I cried. “I would really. Why did he do it? It was none of his business.”

  “You’ll never have the chance to do anything,” Mum answered, putting the kettle on. “Dad rang through from Washington. Phantom’s flying from Kennedy airport, New York, in three days’ time”

  “Why New York?” I asked. “Am I going with him?” Suddenly everything was moving too fast. It was as though life had been speeded up by an invisible switch almost to breaking-point.

  “That’s the trouble,” Mum replied. “They want a groom, someone older than you, who is used to flying with horses.”

  “But Phantom won’t know him. He hates strangers. He won’t load and supposing he goes mad on the plane? He knows me, can’t you see that?” I cried.

  “Dad will be home quite soon. You can talk to him,” replied Mum wearily. “I’ve had enough for one day.”

  I wandered outside and could hear the sound of crickets already, though dusk had yet to come. The air was completely still. The heat of the sun was cooling at last. Already I was privately saying goodbye to everything, thinking if I couldn’t fly with Phantom perhaps I should leave him behind in the valley he loves. And then I imagined him being chased again through the Blue Ridge Mountains, facing another winter alone with the tracks deep in snow, with icicles hanging from trees snapped in half by hurricanes. I imagined him alone for months on end, lonely and deserted. I imagined him coming down to Mountain Farm in search of me and I would be gone. Then I heard a car horn and saw that Dad was waiting for me to open the yard gate.

  “Did Phantom go all right? Did you have any luck?” he called.

  I shook my head. “Everything went wrong,” I yelled. “Angus isn’t home yet.”

  Dad left the car in front of the house. It was covered with fine dust.

  “I’ve booked the flight. Phantom’s got to fly from New York. It was the best I could do,” he told me apologetically. He looked tall, slim and cosmopolitan.

  “I’ve got to go with him,” I said in a tight voice. “I can’t just hand him over to someone. He hates Americans. He was brought up by an English groom. It was when he died that Phantom ran away. Something awful must have happened in-between.”

  “It’s a nice story, particularly if you’
re English,” replied Dad. “But are you sure it’s true?”

  I nodded. “It was an American who upset everything today. He doesn’t like Pete near him either and no one could be nicer with horses than him.”

  “They may be able to find an English groom. I did mention you. I may be able to pull strings. But it’s all very difficult,” replied Dad, going indoors and closing the door after him, while I stood listening to a truck coming along the road, rattling in the way the Millers’ truck did.

  I opened the gate. Angus waved. He was holding Pelican and the horses looked sweet standing and looking over the sides. There was a loading ramp at the side of the yard and when we let the back down Pelican jumped on to it without any fuss.

  “It’s real nice to think you’re still alive,” Wendy said, smiling at me.

  “Thanks a million,” I replied.

  “I jumped Pelican round the outsize course. He went like a bomb,” Angus told me. “So nobody can call him a useless old nag ever again.”

  Wendy waved as the truck left the yard. “Be seeing you. We’ll call you up,” she shouted.

  Angus had his arm round Pelican and suddenly I wished we could take him too. Life seemed unfair. I had Phantom, but Angus only had Moonlight who was thirteen-two and much too small.

  We turned Pelican into the field with Phantom. We watched them roll as the sun was setting. “There are only three more days,” I said.

  “I know,” replied Angus. “And England is going to feel awfully shut-in after here.”

  “We’ll get used to it,” I replied.

  “Dinner,” Mum called, opening a window. “Hurry. We are going out.”

  “What, all of us?” Angus asked.

  “No, just Dad and I. We’ve got to say goodbye to some people. Someone’s throwing a party for us so we need to go to Washington,” replied Mum, shutting the window.

  “But what about us?” Angus asked when we were indoors.

  “You’ll be all right. You are quite old enough, after all.”

  “And there’s the telephone,” I said. “Can you leave us a number?”

  “Yes, of course, darling,” Mum replied in an absent-minded way. “I don’t want to go really, but it’s too late to refuse now.”

  There was chicken and sweetcorn for dinner, and a lemon meringue pie. Afterwards Mum put on a long dress, earrings and gold sandals, and Dad put on a dinner jacket. Angus and I stood around looking envious.

  “Go to bed and don’t worry. Oh and here’s the telephone number,” Mum said, giving me a scrap of paper. “If you feel lonely, ring the Millers and have a chat.”

  “Lock up after us,” Dad told us, “and keep the door locked. We’re taking the back-door key.”

  “We’ll watch TV,” Angus replied. “Have a lovely time.”

  The moon had risen. It always seemed larger than an English moon, but then everything in the States seemed larger; it was just the vastness of the distances, the miles and miles between horizons.

  We listened to the car starting up. “Come on, now for telly,” Angus said.

  We sat and watched, one programme followed another and we could not bear the thought of bed. “Supposing they crash on the way home?” I asked Angus. “What will happen to us?”

  “Why should they?” he replied.

  “I feel all creepy,” I said a moment later. “Let’s go to bed,” suggested Angus, but now we did not feel brave enough.

  “I’m sure I can hear footsteps,” I said presently. “Listen!”

  “You are so nervy,” grumbled Angus, but I saw that he had turned pale. “It’s only just eleven.”

  “I can hear a truck,” I said. “It’s stopped in the yard.”

  “You’re mad,” my brother cried. “What’s there to be afraid of anyway?”

  “It’s someone stealing Phantom!” I cried. “They must have seen him at the show. We must do something!”

  I wished I was braver. I was shaking as though I had a fever and my teeth had started to chatter, and fear is infectious. In a few minutes Angus had it too.

  “I’ll get a knife,” he said going into the kitchen.

  And then his voice came back quite unlike his usual voice. “You’re right; there is a truck in the yard. It’s got the headlights on.”

  “It must be all right then. I don’t know why we are frightened,” I said. “Thieves wouldn’t have their lights on.”

  We looked out of a window and saw three men.

  “I’ll check the doors and windows just to be on the safe side,” Angus said, brandishing the carving knife.

  I remembered things I had read in the papers – murders, beatings, people being tied up, their mouths sealed with tape.

  Then we heard a banging on the door and a voice called, “Open up please. We need a light.”

  “They’re lying,” Angus said. “It’s a trick.”

  “Hi there, what’s the matter? Are you on your own?” called another voice.

  And I, like a fool, yelled, “Yes.”

  Angus kicked me and shouted “No”, muttering “Fool” to me at the same time.

  We went upstairs and opened a window and looked out. The moon was obscured by clouds but we could make out the three men. One of them shouted, “We’ve got a flat. Have you got a flashlight?”

  Angus found a torch and threw it out of a window. The man caught it and as we watched them crossing the yard I started to wonder why we had been so frightened.

  “They look a rough lot,” Angus said. “Rough enough for anything.”

  We went back to the television, but we couldn’t concentrate any more.

  I thought how peaceful it would be in England, how the people would talk like us and we would understand them. Then the men came back and one of them shouted, “Hi there. We’ve put the light in the porch,” and presently we heard their engine start.

  “We won’t tell the Millers about it,” said Angus with a sheepish grin.

  “It was only because we’re tired,” I said. “Normally we wouldn’t have been scared.”

  “Normally Mum and Dad would be here,” replied Angus.

  The clock in the hall struck midnight. We could hear the frogs croaking in the valley as we dragged our weary legs upstairs to bed. “Only two more days,” said Angus.

  “Yeah,” I answered, too tired suddenly to worry any more.

  4

  I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow. The next thing I knew was Mum standing beside my bed, while the first rosy light of dawn pierced the curtains. She was still in her evening dress but she had taken off her shoes. For a moment I thought I was dreaming.

  “You are awake then?” she asked.

  “Sort of …” I answered, rubbing sleep from my eyes. “Was the party all right? Some men came in a truck.” I was still half under the bedclothes.

  “The gate into the road was open,” Mum said. “The horses seem to have gone. There are tyre marks all across the field to the yard gate.” I was sitting up now. “Oh no!” I cried. “You mean Phantom’s gone?”

  Suddenly Dad was there too, still wearing his dinner-jacket. “I’m afraid so, Jean,” he said. “We’ve been on to the state police already, so don’t panic.”

  “The men in the truck,” I repeated. “They must have come by the field.” The gate from the field led on to the highway. “You may as well cancel Phantom’s booking,” I said. “We’ll never see him again now, not alive. It just isn’t possible. It’s fate,” I added. “It’s been against me ever since we knew we were going home. What an awful end to an awful day.” I was choking back tears now.

  “It isn’t the end of a day, it’s a new day,” cried Mum, drawing back my curtains. “Look, the sun is rising.”

  “I don’t care about the sun,” I cried, leaping out of bed.

  Angus had appeared in a dressing-gown. He must have heard us talking for he asked, “How did they get out?”

  “The men in the truck must have come across the field,” I shouted. “Don’t
ask me why. I knew they were a disaster. Why didn’t we think of looking at the gates?” I was pulling clothes over my pyjamas now – jeans and a sweatshirt – as I imagined Phantom colliding with a truck on the highway. “Pelican must have led the way out,” I cried. “Phantom liked it here. He was happy. He could have jumped the fence any time but he didn’t want to.”

  I rushed to the window and looked out. The valley was bathed in the rosy light of dawn. The moon was still in the sky, pale and soft, like something old and faded. Nothing moved outside, even the frogs had stopped croaking and the flies hadn’t yet risen from the brambles. I could see cattle lying down near the stream.

  He’s gone, I thought. I shall never see him again. I always knew having him was too good to be true. Horses like him don’t exist to be ridden like other horses. It was a fantasy that couldn’t last. There seemed no point in searching the valley. We had no horses to scour the mountains; it was too early to telephone the Millers for help and Dad had contacted the state police. I felt inadequate and useless.

  Mum had made tea. We drank it in the kitchen.

  “He’ll come back,” she said. “After all, he came back twice yesterday.”

  “They may have gone to the Millers,” Angus suggested. “It’s Pelican’s home.”

  “Sometimes I wish you had never learned to ride,” said Dad. “I have to be in Washington tomorrow at eleven, I mean this morning. I think I’m going to bed.”

  At that moment the telephone rang. “I’ll get it!” shouted Angus. “Somebody might have found them!” As he disappeared towards the telephone I wondered why he was so optimistic.

  “Perhaps it’s the Millers,” Mum said. “They may have been woken by hoofbeats.”

  We could hear Angus talking. He seemed to be taking down an address. Suddenly I was too frightened to listen. I had a terrifying sense of impending tragedy. I walked up and down the kitchen biting my nails.

  “They seem to be on the highway,” remarked Dad, who had changed into pyjamas.