They set a bale of hay in the back. Then Al brought forth his largest horse—a draft horse named Hercules. He was even shaggier than Spirit. He looked like he was wearing furry socks. Turo checked his hooves. “Looks good, Mr. Granger.” There wasn’t enough room for everyone to go, and Al wanted to limit the weight, so Turo and Abigail volunteered to stay and watch the barn animals.
Lucky and Pru chose the back bench so they could cuddle together against the weather. Al took the front bench. Lucky was surprised by how smoothly the sleigh glided. Hercules seemed to have no trouble pulling it. But they hadn’t traveled very far when Al said, “We’ll stop here.”
“But the herd is still so far away,” Lucky said.
“It doesn’t matter how far we go, the herd will never let us get close.” It was true that as they’d approached, the herd had moved farther away. “And I don’t want to make Hercules work too hard in this weather. He’s no spring chicken. The mustangs will come get the hay after we leave.”
They unloaded the bale and set it on the snow. Al took a knife from his back pocket, removed its leather sheath, then sliced through the cord that had held the bale tight. When the cord snapped, the bale sprung to life, relaxing into a mound and releasing the deep scent of hay. “Those mustangs will smell this. You can count on that,” Al said.
Lucky wanted to make sure. She climbed back into the sleigh and stood on the front seat. She put her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Spirit!” He was so far away, and now just a silhouette. She couldn’t be certain if he’d heard her. “Spirit! We brought you some food!”
Al returned his knife to its sheath. “You think he understands?”
“Of course he understands,” Pru said. “Don’t tell Chica Linda I said this, but Spirit is the smartest horse I’ve ever met.”
They all climbed back into the sleigh. “You girls hunker down back there,” Al said. “The wind’s picking up.”
The gust blew across Lucky’s face. She and Pru huddled closer. “It’s starting to get dark,” Lucky said.
“The days are getting shorter,” Pru told her.
“Thank you, Mr. Granger,” Lucky said. She peered over the back of the sleigh. Had Spirit heard her? Had he smelled the hay?
“No thanks necessary. Let’s get you back to a warm fire.” He picked up the reins and, after a sharp whistle, Hercules began pulling them back to town.
Lucky soon lost sight of Spirit and his herd. Then the wind came on so strong, she couldn’t watch any longer. She tucked her face into her coat collar.
And she hoped.
24
The voice was faint, but it reached Spirit’s ears. His girl. Why was she calling to him? He wanted to gallop to her, but the filly was sick and needed his protection.
He didn’t like being this close to town, close to the men and their ropes. But he remembered a nearby cave that he’d seen during one of his rides with his girl. It would be the best place for the herd to stay warm and dry. His ears pricked with agitation. He felt restless, alert, searching constantly for anything that might mean danger.
He watched as his girl headed back to town. The wind picked up, stinging his nostrils and eyes. But it carried with it the scent of hay.
His girl had brought hay! Tasty, sweet hay.
Could he lead the herd to the hay, then get them back to the cave before dark? The filly would make the going slow. He looked to the sky. Darkness was already creeping around the mountains. Soon it would be too cold to stand in the open. He turned toward the pile of hay, its scent tempting him. His stomach growled. But then he caught another faint sound. A howl. The foals would be easy prey at night.
They needed to go.
Spirit whinnied at his herd. Follow me. He moved to the front and began leading them. Once they were all on the move, he stepped aside and waited for them to pass. Then he took position behind the filly and her mother, matching their pace. The filly stumbled a few times. When she stopped to catch her breath, he gently nudged her with his nose. They had to keep moving. Wolves traveled quickly and the pile of hay would not tempt them. They wanted flesh.
By the time Spirit, the mare, and her filly reached the cave, the rest of the herd was inside, huddled together, their bodies warming the air. They stepped aside, making room for the filly, who crumpled to the ground, exhausted. Spirit licked her face, letting her know that she was safe.
But was she?
He looked into the mare’s eyes—eyes they shared, for they’d been born of the same mother. He nuzzled her neck and snorted affectionately.
Sometimes it was this way. Sometimes the young died and there was nothing to be done.
But Spirit wasn’t yet ready to give up.
25
Pru Granger invited the girls to her house that evening to make a second batch of the horse cookies. She figured that because her kitchen was enormous, with oversize pots and pans for feeding all the ranch hands, the three of them would be able to make a larger batch in a shorter amount of time. And time was of the essence. Even though they hadn’t gotten a close look at the foal, it was clear that the poor creature was hurting. And even though it had been a long day of nonstop activity, the PALs agreed that the herd was more important than dinner, or sleep, or anything else. If they could do one thing to help Spirit and his herd, they could provide food. So that’s what they were going to do!
They placed the ingredients on the long kitchen table. Abigail, being the cookie maker of the group, set everything in order, starting with the dry ingredients, followed by the molasses. With Jacques’s help they collected measuring cups and spoons, big mixing bowls, cookie trays and oven mitts, and a pair of cooling racks.
Jacques handed each girl an apron. “Thanks for letting us use all of this,” Pru told him. Jacques could be very temperamental about his kitchen, for he kept the pots and pans in spotless condition, oiling the cast-iron skillets to perfection.
“Yeah, we’ll clean up our mess, we promise,” Lucky said.
He smiled. “You girls have good hearts,” he said, picking up his reading glasses and a book. “Bonne nuit.” Then he retired to his room for the night.
“Isn’t Maricela supposed to be doing this project with you?” Fanny asked as she stoked the kitchen stove. “Do you want me to send your father over to her house and pick her up?”
“No thanks,” Pru replied. “Maricela made it perfectly clear that she doesn’t want to make cookies for horses.”
Abigail frowned. “I don’t know what Maricela has against horses. Horses are adorable. I just love them!” She set a bowl of apples on the table, then handed a paring knife to Lucky.
“I love horses, too,” Fanny said, “but I didn’t always feel that way. I didn’t like them very much when I was younger.” Pru stopped measuring flour and gave her mother a look of disbelief. How was it possible that her mother hadn’t liked horses? Her mother loved all animals. Fanny reached into the bag of raisins, ate a few, then explained. “I didn’t grow up with horses, so when Al and I met, he took me for my first ride. Al was so tall and handsome. I wanted to impress him, so I lied and told him that I had lots of riding experience.”
Pru had never heard this story before. She knew that her parents had grown up in very different ways. Her mom had been bookish and more interested in school, while her dad had preferred the outdoors to the classroom. Pru was clearly a combination of both parents. She leaned on the table, eager to hear the rest of the story. The rhythmic chop chop of Lucky’s knife stopped. Quiet fell over the kitchen.
Fanny continued. “I didn’t want Al to think I was scared. He told me that he’d chosen a very gentle mare for me to ride, but she didn’t look gentle to me. In fact, when Al wasn’t looking, the mare tried to kick me.” Fanny laughed. “I think she was jealous.”
“Did you tell Mr. Granger that the horse tried to kick you?” Lucky asked.
“No. I was trying to be brave. But I started to worry that the horse would try to throw me off. And whenever Al wasn’t loo
king, she kept nipping at me. So you know what I did?” The girls shook their heads. Fanny grabbed an apple from the bowl. “I gave her a treat. And she loved me after that.” She laughed again. “A way to a horse’s heart is through her stomach.”
“That’s really true,” Abigail said. “Sometimes I think Boomerang loves food more than he loves me.”
Pru pondered her mother’s story. Fanny had confessed that she hadn’t liked horses because she’d been afraid of them. “Do you think Maricela got scared by a horse?” Pru wondered.
“I already asked her that question,” Lucky told them. “She said she isn’t afraid. She just doesn’t like them.”
“I think she doesn’t like horses because I like horses,” Pru said. “Maricela doesn’t like me at all; she never has, and so if I like something, then she will do the opposite. I don’t know why, but it’s always been that way with her.”
“I remember things differently,” Fanny said, reaching for more raisins. “When Maricela first moved here, you two were friends.”
“What?” Pru cried. Had her mom suddenly gone crazy? “We were never friends.”
“Yes, you were. Maricela used to walk with you after school. She’d sit right here at this table and have a snack. She often invited you to her house, but you always had riding lessons.”
Pru couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Maricela? “If she was my friend, then why didn’t she come with me to riding lessons?”
“Her mother wouldn’t let her. She said it wasn’t ladylike to ride. She was worried Maricela would get hurt.”
Was this true? How had Pru forgotten this time in her life? “I… I don’t remember.”
Fanny wiped her hand on a napkin. “That doesn’t surprise me. You were only six. I think Maricela realized that you were busy, so she started playing with Abigail.”
“I remember,” Abigail said. “We played dress-up in her mom’s clothes. And she always had these fancy chocolates to eat.” She frowned. “But then we stopped playing. I can’t remember why.”
Everyone turned to Fanny Granger, waiting for the answer. Fanny smiled gently at her daughter. “Pru is the reason why.”
“Me?” Pru said.
“Yes. You invited Abigail to take riding lessons with you. And the two of you became instant best friends. You discovered a shared love of horses.”
“I think I get it,” Lucky said. “Maricela doesn’t like Pru because she thinks she took Abigail away.”
“I didn’t take her away,” Pru insisted. “Not on purpose.”
“We know that, sweetie,” Fanny said. “But maybe Maricela doesn’t know that. You were all so young. It might have felt that way to her.”
An image suddenly filled Pru’s mind, something that had been buried in the clutter of the past, one of the little things that happen day to day and is swept into a corner. She was sitting at the kitchen table. A girl sat next to her—a girl with auburn curls and a white ribbon. They were eating bread and jam. Both Pru and the girl were laughing.
All of a sudden, it felt to Pru as if she was the bad guy. As if she was being blamed for the fact that she and Abigail had more fun together than with Maricela. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings,” she mumbled.
Lucky moved close to Pru and said very gently, “It’s not your fault, Pru. You and Abigail were destined to be friends.”
“Yes, we were,” Abigail said. “Like peas in a pod.”
To Pru’s relief, they didn’t talk any more about Maricela. This news that they’d once been friends was a bit unsettling. She wanted to think about it. In private.
They set the first batch of cookies into the oven. As they were baking, the girls all took a break around the fire. While they stretched out on the carpet, Fanny sat in an overstuffed armchair and began to peruse the new edition of the Miradero Gazette. The front page headline read: “Wolves on the Prowl.” There was another article on the page. “Local Donkey Runs Amok,” with a photo of Snips chasing Señor Carrots through the train station.
“Mrs. Granger?” Lucky asked. “What’s going to happen to the foal?”
Fanny looked up from her reading. “You said it was limping?”
“It was walking very slowly,” Lucky said.
“Boomerang walks like that when he doesn’t want to go back to the barn,” Abigail said.
Fanny thought a moment. “Well, if the foal was having trouble walking, it could be a lot of things. Dehydration can be an issue this time of year, and that causes fatigue. The foal might be weak from an infection. There are so many things that could make a horse feel bad—colic, parasites. I wouldn’t know without conducting an examination.” She set the paper on her lap. “You’ll have to face the fact that the foal might die.”
Pru knew this was true. Life on a ranch had taught her all about the circle of life. If an animal was too weak, it died. If strong, it lived. Sometimes her mother could help with medicine, sometimes she couldn’t. Pru remembered when one of their foals had died only three hours after being born. The foal had been born too early and just didn’t have the strength to make it. “We don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl,” she realized.
Lucky sighed. “I hope it doesn’t die.”
“As do we all,” Fanny said.
Al Granger strode in. “What’s with all the gloomy faces?”
Pru scrambled to her feet. “Dad, will you help us deliver the horse cookies in the morning? We want to take them out to the herd.”
“What? More food for the herd? I thought…” He caught the hopeful look on Lucky’s face. “Yes, of course. We’ll hitch up the sleigh at first light.”
Pru threw her arms around his waist. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Granger,” Lucky said.
While Al escorted Lucky and Abigail home, Pru went down to the barn for her evening check on the animals. Everyone seemed content. The rabbits had burrowed beneath a pile of straw. The chickens were fast asleep in their nests. Chica Linda and Boomerang nodded at Pru, but made no noise, as if they didn’t want to wake the others. Pru leaned over one of the stall doors and gazed down at the sheep and goats, who were contentedly huddled together. She thought about the wild birds and wild rabbits who would sleep that night with full bellies, thanks to all the work she, Abigail, and Lucky had done. Maricela was missing out on something important.
Maricela, who’d once been her friend.
Part Four
26
The next morning, Lucky headed to the Grangers’ at dawn. Both Jim and Cora knew she was going to deliver the horse cookies today, and she’d assured them that Pru’s father would be helping. She hoped the herd had eaten the hay and that they’d slept well, with full bellies. But mostly, she hoped that the foal was feeling better. Maybe she could persuade Al to deliver a second bale along with the cookies. Couldn’t hurt to try.
There was no sign of Spirit along the way. She kept her eyes peeled for a flash of buckskin, her ears alert for his neigh. Snow crunched beneath her boots. Her nose started to sting, so she pulled up her scarf. When she arrived at Pru’s house, Abigail was already there. They put the horse cookies into a burlap bag and hurried down to the barn to find Al. But they were greeted with bad news.
“The weather’s gonna take a turn for the worse,” Al said, pointing into the distance where ominous, dark clouds hung over the flattop mountains. “We’re in for a blizzard.”
“How do you know?” Lucky asked.
“Well, the temperature got colder and the humidity got higher. You feel that wind? When it picks up, it’ll be one mess of a storm. Seen a few blizzards in my life. They can take a while to develop, and I’m guessing we’ll be in for it tonight. But you never know. The wind could pick up earlier. I don’t want to get caught out there. When a blizzard hits, no one, critter or person, can see through it. The cookie delivery will have to wait.”
“But—” Pru started to object, but her father gave her a don’t-argue-with-me look. “Yeah, okay,” she said, her
shoulders deflating.
As Mr. Granger set out to do morning chores, the girls headed into the barn, where they were greeted with clucks, bleats, and neighs. “Hello, Licorice. Hello, Zebra and Corncob and Cherry and Reddy,” Abigail said.
“You remember those aren’t their real names, right?” Pru teased.
“They’re nicknames,” Abigail said. “Oh, I forgot to name the sheep. Hello, Woolly and Fluffy and—”
Though Abigail’s cheerfulness was usually infectious, frustration welled in Lucky’s chest. “I wish winter would just be over!” she interrupted, with a stomp of her boot. “This stupid weather keeps getting in our way!” Lucky kicked a bucket, then slumped onto a bench, her arms tightly folded. Abigail and Pru shared a wide-eyed look, but neither told Lucky to calm down. Her frustration was totally understandable.
Pru grabbed a rake and began to break up the ice in the trough. “As soon as the blizzard passes through, we’ll go out there and deliver the cookies.”
“This time I won’t let Boomerang eat them,” Abigail said, setting the burlap bag into a cupboard. “I promise!”
A loud neigh filled the air. “Spirit!” Lucky cried, jumping to her feet. He’d entered through the swinging door in his stall. He neighed again and his ears flicked back and forth. “Spirit, what’s wrong?” He began to pace, his ears continuing to flicker. “He’s sweating.”
“He’s anxious,” Pru told her. “What’s up, boy?”
Spirit neighed again, so loudly that the chickens squawked and the bunnies scurried behind a hay bale. He turned around and quickly headed back through the door. Lucky, Pru, and Abigail followed. Outside, Spirit continued pacing, looking toward the mountains. Then he stuck his nose under Lucky’s hand. She frowned at him and shook her head. “I can’t ride today. A blizzard might be coming.” But he wouldn’t stop pushing at her, in a way he’d never done before. At first the nudges were gentle, but they turned insistent. “He’s trying to tell me something. Do you think it’s about the foal? Do you think it needs our help?”
Spirit Riding Free--Lucky and the Mustangs of Miradero Page 11
