by Jessie Haas
“Sarah! Will you come back here and close this door!”
Finger in the book, Sarah thundered down the stairs and through the kitchen. Dimly she saw Mom’s outraged face turned toward her. “Sarah, what have I told you—”
“Goldy’s sick!” Sarah shouted, banging through the door again.
“Good!” Mom cried, behind her.
When Sarah got back to the stall, Dad was still kneeling by Goldy. He turned a very worried face to Sarah. “What is it?”
“Bloat!” Sarah gasped. “Dad … she could die!”
“Well, for God’s sake, go call Doc Raymond!”
“You probably won’t reach him on a Saturday,” said Mom’s calm voice, behind Sarah. “Hello, you wretched thing. Sarah, let me see the book.” She took it from Sarah’s limp and sweaty grasp and read with unbearable slowness. She’d been crying, Sarah saw, and her eyes were puffy.
“Yes, you’d best hurry,” she said, and as Sarah turned to start for the house, added, “Call Albert’s father. Cows must get this, too.…”
It seemed unlikely that Albert’s father would be indoors at this time in the afternoon, and Sarah almost didn’t try. But no one answered Doc’s phone, and while Sarah was flipping through the Yellow Pages with one hand, she quickly dialed Albert’s number with the other.
“Hello.”
For a second Sarah was so surprised that she couldn’t remember whom she’d called. Then she blurted out, “Mr. Jones!”
“Yuh?”
“Do cows get bloat?”
“Yuh, they do.”
“Because my goat’s got it really bad, and—could you come over?”
Mr. Jones paused. “It isn’t real convenient just this minute, Sarah. Tell you what—your folks there?”
“Yes.”
“Have somebody come on over, then, and I’ll give you some medicine. Bring a long-necked soda bottle—”
“Oh, thanks!” Sarah crashed down the receiver and raced back to the barn. “He says come get some medicine—Mr. Jones.”
“I’ll go,” said Mom, getting to her feet.
“Bring a long-necked soda bottle.”
“Okay.” She disappeared.
Softly Sarah stroked Goldy’s neck. The goat’s eyes remained half closed, and piteous moans dribbled from her mouth. Sarah met Dad’s eyes and then looked away, because his expression wasn’t very reassuring.
They waited, listening to the groans, the little wind stirring the maple leaves, birds singing. Then after a while a car engine, a spray of gravel, and a squeak of brakes. Mom appeared in the doorway.
“All right, get her up on her chest.”
Dad and Sarah pushed Goldy up to a more normal position, and Sarah supported her lolling head. Mom approached with the bottle. “Hold her steady.” She put her finger in the corner of Goldy’s mouth and pulled it wide, stuck in the neck of the bottle. “Whoops! Hold her!”
Suddenly Goldy’s strength returned. She surged up, and Dad fell on top of her to hold her down. Her head whipped out of Sarah’s grasp, and some of the liquid burped out of the bottle onto the ground.
“It’s a good thing he gave me extra,” Mom said calmly. “Now get her right around the neck and hang on, Sarah. Try to keep her head level if you can.” She wrapped her hand around Goldy’s nose and pried open the goat’s mouth. Goldy uttered a protesting bleat, but in went the bottle, and in went a great deal of the medicine. True, some went onto Mom, and some sprayed on Sarah, and some even hit the wall above their heads, but most went inside Goldy.
“There,” said Mom. “You can let her up now.”
Dad got up, and Goldy scrambled to her feet. She shook herself and stalked to the opposite corner of the stall, where she turned to face them, wearing a dignified expression.
Sarah stared at her in puzzlement. “Could she be better already?”
“Maybe she was faking,” said Dad.
“But you saw how her stomach was sticking out.”
Goldy still looked distended and uncomfortable, but she seemed far from the point of death. Her yellow eyes regarded them haughtily.
Mom stood up and dusted off her knees. “Albert’s father said to keep an eye on her, but he thought one dose would do the trick. Although I think it’s possible that we were in an unnecessary panic.” She narrowed her eyes at Goldy, Sarah, and Dad in a mean look that was only half joking. “I hope she has a bellyache all night long, and I hope she keeps both of you awake nursing her!”
Dad stayed with Goldy for a while, but once she had settled herself down again and renewed her steady, self-pitying groans, he decided it was time to get back to work.
“You probably don’t have to stay with her, Peanut. Just look in from time to time.”
“It’s okay,” Sarah said. She got a glass of ice water and settled herself on a pile of hay beside Goldy. Goldy turned her face away when Sarah put the hay down, as if the sight of it made her feel even sicker.
“Poor girl.” Sarah offered her an ice cube. She took it slackly in her lips, mumbled it around for a second, and then dropped it in the dirt and moaned. Sarah put a hand on Goldy’s shoulder and just sat.
Thunder would probably like goats.… I bet the Amsters would even give him away, Sarah thought. They liked me. If nobody else calls them … But she was imagining a coarse, brutal man with a truck coming up the little dirt road and taking Thunder away. Who else was going to want him? Twenty years old—
Missy must be wrong, she told herself. I’ll get Doc Raymond to look at him.… She smoothed her hand over Goldy’s back and looked out the stall door. Near the horizon a big dark thunderhead was forming.
Sarah’s heart leaped at the sight, and she sternly told herself not to be a fool. Last week she had lain in the hammock and watched a thunderhead just like this one. It had boiled up and blotted out the sun, and she’d been so sure of rain. And it did rain, all of fifteen drops. She wouldn’t let herself hope about this cloud, and she sat watching cynically as it grew thicker and blacker and closer, and the wind began to blow. The wind had blown last week, too.
Thunder—it was amazing. She really had found a horse that was just like Barney.… love at first sight. Which had happened twice before, she couldn’t help remembering—
Crack! The whole barn lit up. Had it been hit? Sarah wondered. Then the thunder rolled. She felt it vibrate the wall.
Now it was dark outside, and it cooled Sarah’s eyes to look. The tree branches tossed, the empty hammock swayed, and a few fat raindrops spattered the ground. A delicious wet-dust smell rose from the earth, the rain smell.
Sarah hardened her heart. Hadn’t she smelled the rain smell just last week? And all for nothing. She started to look away.
But so quickly that she almost didn’t see it, a crooked trail of lightning blazed up the sky. When Sarah blinked, it was written on the insides of her eyelids. More raindrops dimpled and dampened the dust beside the door, then arrowed into it and turned it black. It wasn’t dust anymore, but a thin froth of mud above the hard-baked dry earth.
Crack! Boom! The rain lashed down, and the wind battered the barn, and from somewhere, strands and streams of cold air were blowing in. Sarah hadn’t thought there was any cold air left on earth. She stood up, almost shivering. Goldy lay with her neck stretched out and her eyes upturned, listening to the storm. She seemed calm.
“Be right back,” Sarah said. She stepped out into the rain.
Instantly her hair was soaked and clung streaming to her head. Her shirt was plastered to her body. Crack! Crash! Her teeth were actually chattering.
And this was stupid, standing outside in a thunderstorm. But with a house, a barn, and six tall maples in the immediate area, not to mention telephone poles, Sarah didn’t feel that she made much of a target. And she had to feel the rain.
She turned her face up to the sky. She had to close her eyes, and the rain beat and needled her skin. It was so cold and hard she had to look down, and she wondered if it might be turning to hail.
<
br /> Puddles were forming, rough with raindrops. Crack! Rumble! The storm was drifting off a little already. The rain slackened from its first fury and seemed to settle in for the long haul. Now Sarah could hear the heavier splash from the eaves of the barn, the gush from the downspouts of the house gutters.
“Sarah!”
Dad stood at the end of the house. His hair was flattened, and his shirt hung in wet, heavy folds. “Get in out of the rain!” he yelled, grinning like a maniac.
Sarah ran across the yard, splashing in every single puddle. “Isn’t it great? Where’s Mom?”
“Under the bed with the dog!”
“George! Sarah!” Mom shouted from the shed doorway. “What are you two doing?”
“Getting wet!” Dad shouted. He stomped in the nearest puddle, sending a sheet of water across Sarah’s legs. “And so are you!” Before Mom could step back, he caught her and gave her a big hug.
“George! Ugh! Haven’t you ever heard of—”
“Forgive and forget, my pretty, or it’s into the puddle with you!”
“Oh! No—eek! You’re unforgivable—all three of you!” said Mom, reluctantly starting to laugh.
Ga-boom! Ga-rumble!
“I’m going inside,” said Mom hastily, breaking away. “And you’d better, too. Exactly what I’d expect of you two, standing out in a thunderstorm!”
14
Barney and Jill
The next morning dawned clear and crisp, and Sarah could hardly believe how wonderful it felt. She got up early to check on Goldy, who was lying in the straw with a bright expression. “Meh,” she said when Sarah spoke, but she didn’t get up.
It was actually chilly out. The outlines of the house, the fences, the leaves on the trees, and even the separate blades of grass were clean and sharp. The sky was brilliant blue, instead of the muddy grayish color it had been for so long. The air felt good to breathe, and for the first time in ages Sarah felt like doing something.
She felt like going riding.
If only Beau—no, Thunder. If only Thunder were already here! She could saddle up and ride out before breakfast, the way Albert must be doing this very minute.
But there was Barney. Come over and ride, Missy had said.…
After breakfast Mom went off to her tutoring. Sarah cleaned the kitchen. There was actually dried mud on the floor this morning! Then she made an olive and cream cheese sandwich and packed it, with a bottle of juice, in her knapsack. She wrote a new note to prop between the salt and pepper shakers: “Gone to Missy’s to ride. Back by supper.”
Then she was off, swooping down the hill with a cool breeze on her face. For the first time since June she wasn’t even sweating.
Barney greeted her with a loud, greedy nicker and willingly let himself be caught. When he worked, he got treats, and treats were very important to him. He strode eagerly toward the barn, hurrying Sarah along.
“Wait up, pig!” Sarah turned him around and hooked him in the crossties, then went into the tack room for a handful of grain.
She hadn’t been alone with Barney since spring, when Missy had taken him back. It felt wonderful to think only of grooming or saddling and not have to worry if she was doing it well enough to please Missy. Right now Barney was the only one she was responsible to. She felt competent and in control, the way she had all summer with Herky—but excited. This was Barney, and anything could happen.
Sarah knew about only one trail over here. Missy had pointed it out, from their beaten circle in the pasture. She had no idea where the trail went or what the terrain was like. That didn’t matter. Barney knew, and Sarah would soon find out.
Barney swung along happily, ears pricked. He was looking for something to shy at, and he soon found it—a large granite boulder, crouched beside the trail in a menacing way. He must have passed it a hundred times. The boulder must have been here since the glacier dropped it at the end of the last Ice Age. But Barney stopped dead in the path, snorting theatrically and tossing his head. Then he started to turn: terrified, ready to flee.
Sarah let him turn and kept him turning with a strong pressure of her legs. When he was facing the boulder again, she banged him sharply with her heels. Barney went forward in a crouching trot, tucking his haunches, curving his body away from the boulder, and snorting out every breath. As soon as he was past, he started banging down the trail in his own version of a road trot.
“Massage his mouth!” Sarah could almost hear Missy yelling. But she didn’t feel like controlling Barney that much. She booted him into a canter, and they swept uphill—around a corner, through a grassy birch grove, and straight toward a large fallen tree.
There was no time to think, and Barney’s stride was quickening. Sarah leaned forward and grabbed two handfuls of mane. Barney arched himself over, jumping twice as high as necessary, and the log passed beneath Sarah in a white blur, like Nancy Page’s flower barrel. Barney landed with an exuberant snort, and Sarah’s rump slapped back in the saddle. “Sorry,” she gasped, and patted Barney’s neck. Suddenly she was seeing the fat man on the Morgan jump the log again, feeling the thrill and astonishment he must have felt. “Good boy,” she said. “Good bo-oy!”
The trail dipped downhill and became stony. Sarah felt a second’s worth of panic. This was how Barney had given her that concussion, galloping downhill. She sat harder in the saddle and tightened the reins. “Whoa, Barney. Walk.”
Barney walked.
“Oh, Barney, you’re so wonderful!”
Carefully and thoughtfully Barney picked his way down the slope and across a natural stone culvert. Ahead was a gentle rise cushioned with dead pine needles, and he was ready to canter again.
Thunder probably wouldn’t be ready so soon, Sarah thought. Maybe he’d be ready to trot.…
He hasn’t been used in a while, she told herself. I’ll get him in shape.… But she felt herself heading toward that log on Thunder, and she didn’t feel sure he was going to jump it. She didn’t feel sure she should ask him to.
There was an opening through the trees ahead. The sun was brighter there, and Sarah could see that they were approaching a dirt road. She slowed Barney down to a trot. This time she could feel how much control she had and how much she’d learned from Missy. Her reins and her legs and her back all worked together in a way that had been mysterious at the beginning of the summer, and slowing down seemed almost effortless. She brought him down to a walk to turn out onto the road, trying to remember: Had she ridden this well on Roy? Or had she been too distracted and afraid?
And why was she thinking about Roy anyway?
Where road and trail came together there were bike tracks in the sand, leading from one to the other. This must be the shortcut to Jill’s house.
But it rained last night. Had Jill come over to Missy’s again this morning?
They could be someone else’s tracks, of course, but it would take a dedicated biker to brave that steep washout and the slope on the other side.
And why would Jill be biking over to Missy’s anyway, when Missy wasn’t home?
I’ll go ask her, Sarah thought, if this is the right road.
Barney walked with a bounce to his step, pricking his ears toward every fresh sight and sound. Raindrops still sparkled on the pine needles, and the surface of the road looked cool and damp. There was even a puddle. Sarah tried to walk Barney through it. He shied and sidestepped. Could be quicksand!
“I wish I could just have you!” Sarah said suddenly. But the tone of her own voice didn’t quite convince her. The truth was, she had given up Barney long ago.
Too complicated! Sarah tried to clear her mind and just be here, riding Barney in the cool sunshine. But behind her the herd of dream horses pushed and nipped and jostled for position.
The place where the dirt road came out on pavement was familiar, and in a few minutes Sarah heard coon-hounds baying. They would have been excellent watchdogs, except that nobody paid attention to them anymore. They were the Boys Who Cried Wolf.
They were wolves, in Barney’s opinion, and no power on earth was going to get him down into that yard with them. He froze in his tracks, and when Sarah urged him forward, he swung his rump out into the traffic lane. A car came up behind and stopped, worried and polite. A pickup stopped behind it, and the man in the pickup blasted his horn.
Red-faced, Sarah dismounted, just as Jill came around the corner of the house. She looked astonished, and Sarah saw her lips move. At first she heard nothing. Then Jill’s voice cut through the dogs’ noise. “You guys shut up! Quiet!”
For a few seconds the dogs were shocked into silence—long enough for Sarah to lead Barney out of the road and down into Jill’s yard. Then one or two of the bolder dogs started barking again. Barney buried his nose in the grass and ignored them. “Faker!” Sarah said bitterly.
“Did you come over on the main road?” Jill asked.
“No, I found your shortcut. Did you go over there this morning? I thought I saw bike tracks.”
“Somebody should check on him while Missy’s away,” Jill said. “In case he gets hurt or something. Anyway, I like getting up early.”
“How early did you go?”
Jill shrugged. “I don’t know—five-thirty. It’s a nice time of day.” She didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so Sarah didn’t mention that the neighbors were also checking on Barney. It wouldn’t hurt him to be checked twice.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” she said, sweeping her hand wide to take in the blue sky, the sparkle, the cool breeze.
Now Jill’s smile appeared, wide and unwary. “I’ll say! And Mom took the boys to get school shoes, and she took the little ones, too, to get shots—”
“So you’re free!”
“Free as the breeze!” said Jill. She spread her arms and twirled, setting the hounds all baying again.
“Then I know what!” Sarah said. “Let’s go riding!”
“How?” asked Jill, her face darkening a little.
“Simple! I’ll ride your bike and you ride Barney. We’ll take him back home.”
