From deep in the pasture, a squeal splits the quiet of the night. The terror in the cry flashes me back to the fire. I can almost hear Cleo screaming from her burning stall.
Then it comes again. This time it’s a high-pitched whinny filled with fear. Or anger. Or pain.
There’s another cry. The sound is completely different, like it’s coming from a different horse, not from Cleo at all. But that can’t be. Cleopatra’s alone in that pasture.
I take off running the rest of the way, terrified of what I’ll find.
The first thing I see is Winnie. She’s leaning over the fence, staring into the pasture.
I start to yell for her, but then I see Cleo. The mare is galloping hard, ears back, tail high. She’s running from something.
And then I see why. Behind Cleo, chasing that poor mare full speed in the dark pasture, is the white horse. Winnie’s horse.
Seventeen
Winnie Willis
Nice, Illinois
I’m so intent on watching Nickers and Cleopatra that I don’t notice anything else until I hear a shout, a human cry invading the night and drowning out the horse squeals. I wheel around and see somebody running out of the bushes like he’s on fire.
I freeze. My heart pounds. It’s pitch-dark, and I’m alone, a mile from the Rescue.
A gangly figure is racing down the hill, arms flailing. Finally I recognize him. It’s Hank.
He keeps coming. Midway down the hill, his foot slips, sending him sliding the rest of the way like he’s on a sled. He rolls over and over and lands a few feet away.
“Hank, are you all right?” I reach to help him up, but he pulls his arm away. Fine. He can take care of himself. I get it.
“Why would you put your horse in with Cleo?” Hank demands, kicking clumps of mud from his boots.
“Keep your voice down, will you?” I realize too late that I’m not keeping my voice down. Cleo and Nickers are staring at us, taking in the added commotion.
“Look—” Hank starts to shout, then tries again, a couple of decibels lower. “Look, Winnie. I don’t get it. Can’t you see what your horse is doing to Cleo? Cleopatra doesn’t need this. You don’t have any idea what that horse has been through.”
“Of course I do. That’s why I put Nickers in with her. Cleo and I are becoming friends, but it’s not happening as fast as I hoped it would. I figured out that what she needs even more than human friendship right now is a horse friend.”
“You call this friendship? Look at them!”
Nickers has her ears back and teeth bared. She forces Cleo to back away so fast that the horse rams into the fence.
“Okay,” I admit. “They haven’t exactly hit it off as buddies. But once Nickers establishes herself as the dominant mare, then Cleo will know she’s safe. She’ll feel like she’s in a herd. She’ll understand the pecking order. That’s safety to a horse. I think she needs to know where she stands with another horse. And it should give her confidence with people, too.”
I don’t think Hank’s listening to a word I say. He’s too into watching the Nickers and Cleo show out in the pasture.
“I know you’re trying to help, Winnie. And I appreciate it. We all do. But this isn’t working. If I’d known you were planning to do this—”
“Well, you wouldn’t know, would you?” I interrupt. “Because you’re never out here. You have no idea what’s going on with this horse.”
“So,” Hank says, like he’s a volcano trying not to erupt, “that makes two of us then.” He turns and storms up the hill, back the way he came.
I stay there and keep an eye on Nickers and Cleo until they’re done fighting for position. Eventually they go to separate corners of the pasture, like boxers resting up for the next bout.
* * *
“How did it go?” Dakota rushes up to me as soon as I walk in the house. It’s clear that everybody else has gone to bed.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “They fought. And Hank was there.”
“Hank? So that would explain why he ran in here all mud-covered and mad.” Dakota grins at me. “Come on. I made you a sandwich. You can eat it in my room and tell me everything. I want details.”
We go to Dakota’s room, and I plop onto her hooked rug and scarf down the sandwich. “Hank came running out of the dark and scared me half to death.”
“What did he say?”
“Before or after he ordered me to get my wild horse out of there?”
Dakota plops onto the rug with me. “That bad?”
“Worse. Nickers was pretty tough on Cleo,” I admit. “She chased Cleo all around the pasture. You should have heard the squeals coming from that mare.” I shiver, thinking about it. “Hank did.”
“He heard Cleo cry out like that?” Dakota asks. “No wonder he came running. I’ve never heard squeals like the ones from Cleo during the fire. It was horrible. Hank heard those too. He had to be remembering that.”
I hadn’t thought about that. I was too busy being defensive. “I don’t know. I really thought putting Nickers in with Cleo would be such a good idea. That mare needs the stability horses only get in herds. I knew it might be rough until they had the pecking order worked out. I just didn’t know it would be that rough.”
Dakota scoots over to her dresser and returns with a candy bar. She hands it to me.
“Thanks.” I take a huge bite of the chocolate bar. “Maybe I made a mistake putting Nickers in the pasture with Cleo. What if Hank’s right? What if I’ve only made things worse for that poor horse?” I choke on the last word or the candy. “I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have come here at all.” I shut up because I think I’ll cry if I admit anything else.
Dakota scoots closer. She’s sitting cross-legged on the rug, facing me. “Winnie, have you prayed about all this stuff?”
“Of course.” And it’s true. I’ve prayed for Cleo every day we’ve been here and even before that.
“I mean,” Dakota presses, “have you prayed for yourself? Talked to God about everything—Cleo, Nickers, Hank . . . you. Have you talked to God about veterinarian school?”
I smile patiently at her. “Yeah. I’ve prayed about it, okay?”
“And?” She’s so intense.
“And . . . and if you want to know the truth, praying hasn’t made me feel any better. Okay? But I keep praying anyway.”
“But doesn’t that help?” she asks. “Even if you don’t feel it, even if you don’t get everything you want, everything you pray for, doesn’t it make you feel better to know God’s listening? That He loves you so much that He takes time out to hear you?”
I shrug. I want to be excited with her. Her faith is so new. But I’m too tired to fake it.
Dakota sighs. She leans against the bed, frowning. “Man, I hope that never happens to me.”
“What never happens to you?”
“Right now, for me, prayer is totally to this Father who loves me no matter how much I mess up. And believe me, that’s not like any father I had growing up.” Dakota seems to be struggling with the words, as if she’s had a dream and doesn’t know how to translate what went on in her dream. She tries again. “When I pray, it feels like God’s right in the room with me, you know? Like I’m sitting on God’s lap, asking questions and spilling out my guts. Like He’s reaching down to love me.” She’s quiet a minute, and her cheeks turn bright red. “Sounds pretty stupid saying it out loud.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say in almost a whisper. Because I remember. I remember feeling exactly like that, as if God’s love moved with me so close and fresh that all I had to do was think about it and it blew me away. It almost hurts to remember how it used to be.
“I just don’t want to lose that kind of a relationship,” Dakota says, more to herself than to me, I think. “That kind of love.”
Dakota leaves me alone so I can take a bath and get ready for bed. I take a long time. My mind replays what Dakota said about God and love.
After my bath, I�
��m not sleepy at all. I’m afraid I’ll wake Kat if I try to go to sleep in her room. Everybody else is asleep, so I ease downstairs. I’d give anything to be able to talk to Lizzy right now. Dad’s called twice since I’ve been here, but I wasn’t in the house. I can’t call them back because it’s long distance. And I’m the only person on the planet who doesn’t own a cell phone.
A dim glow filters into the kitchen and dining room as the computer’s screen saver shuffles photos.
If I can’t talk to Lizzy, at least I can e-mail her. I log on to my e-mail and see four messages from Lizzy. I scan the first two, all about how she and Barker are loving the Pet Helpline. It makes me miss her even more. And looking at a computer screen isn’t the same as having the real Lizzy to talk to.
On a hunch, I decide to check her instant message. Lizzy is online!
WinnieTheHorseGentler: Lizzy! I can’t believe you’re here.
Lizzy: I couldn’t sleep. Must have been God, huh? How are you?
Lizzy: Winnie???
Lizzy: What is it?
WinnieTheHorseGentler: I want to come home. I never should have come here. I’m not helping at all. All I can do is fight with Hank. And I haven’t gotten anywhere with Cleopatra. I’ve probably made her worse. I’ve barely had time to talk to Kat, and I haven’t even helped look for her lost kitten. Plus, Dakota’s going to start wishing she had never become a Christian because she’s afraid she’s going to end up like me. I want to come home! We need the money I’m not making. And I’m worried about Dad and the electric bill and everything there. Oh, Lizzy, what am I going to do?
Lizzy: God loves you, Winnie.
WinnieTheHorseGentler: That’s it? That’s your answer? I do know that. What I need to know now, though, is—
Lizzy: God loves you so much!
WinnieTheHorseGentler: I know already!
Lizzy: Do you? Because I’ve been wondering if maybe you forgot.
Eighteen
Hank Coolidge
Nice, Illinois
“Hank!” Kat calls the minute my foot hits the stairs.
“Morning,” I call down, amazed that she’s up and dressed already. I finish coming downstairs and see that Kat’s not alone. Catman’s at the counter finishing off a tall glass of orange juice. He’s wearing sandals, bell-bottoms, and a tie-dyed shirt. Nobody’s going to mistake my hippie cousin for a farmer.
“Guess where we’re going!” Kat shouts. She smiles at Catman. “Do you want to tell him, or should I?” she asks him.
“Do your thing, Kat Woman,” he says.
“We’re going to find my cat!” Kat announces. “And maybe even film her!”
I stare from one to the other. “I don’t get it.” Maybe they’re going to the shelter to get a cat.
“Kitten!” Kat exclaims. “Today we’re going to find her. It’s taken a while to put all the pieces together, but Catman’s got it all figured out.”
“Figured out? Figured what out?” My cousin better not be doing what I think he’s doing. Not to Kat. “It’s great that you’re still trying to find Kitten. Just don’t get your hopes up.”
Her smile fades fast, like somebody dimmed a switch inside her.
Catman takes her hand. “Let’s split, my little Kat. Hank forgot. Hopes are meant to be up.”
Dakota comes downstairs as soon as Catman and Kat leave. “Where are they going so early?” She yawns and shoves her hair off her face.
“To bring home Kat’s kitten, of course,” I answer sarcastically. But my sarcasm is weak compared to Dakota’s. I don’t think she picks up on it.
“Sweet!” she exclaims. “Kat sure has missed that cat of hers.”
“You don’t really believe they’re going to come back with that cat after all this time, do you?”
“Why not?” She walks to the fridge and pours herself a glass of milk.
I follow her. “Why not? Because the cat’s been missing so long? Because it was probably in the barn when it burned down? Because Catman’s not magic? Kat shouldn’t believe everything he says.”
Dakota frowns at me. She has a milk mustache. “Kat’s prayed for Kitten since she went missing. She believes she’ll find her cat. She’s not believing in Catman. She’s believing in God.”
“That’s fine,” I snap. “That’s just great.” I’m not sure why I’m so angry, why I’m taking it out on Dakota. “It’s all terrific . . . until she hits reality. Until the barn burns or the horse goes crazy or the cat’s gone for good!”
Dakota keeps staring, like she can see through me. “Reality? Why would Kat have to hit reality? She’s already in it with God, right? I mean, isn’t God smack in the middle of reality?” She takes another swig of milk. “You’ve known God a lot longer than I have, so maybe I’m missing something here. But I know Kat. She’s in this with God, so she’ll be okay, no matter what. Hope’s a good thing.”
Dakota is so new in her faith, so out-there in her trust of God. Was I ever like that? “I’m just saying things aren’t always that easy.”
“You know, you sound a lot like Winnie,” she says.
“Winnie? No way.”
“Way,” she insists. “Have you heard her talk about giving up hope of becoming a vet?”
When I don’t say anything, I feel her gaze on the back of my neck.
“Have you seen her this morning?” Dakota asks.
“Who? Winnie?”
“No. Eleanor Roosevelt,” she answers.
I grab my jacket from the coatrack. “She’s probably still asleep.”
“Are you kidding? She got up a couple of hours ago. Felt like the middle of the night.” Dakota yawns again. “I’ll bet she’s with Nickers and Cleo.”
“Did you go along with that move?” I ask her.
“Winnie thought Cleo needed a horse friend. Made sense to me.”
“Well, it didn’t work. Cleo doesn’t need one more worry. I’m going to move the Arabian back to the paddock and give Cleo some peace.”
“Hank, that’s not a good idea.”
The porch door slams behind me as I take off for the pasture.
I glance at the barn, and I’m surprised to see Uncle Bart and Aunt Claire hammering on the frame. “I’ll be right back!” I holler at them.
“No hurry!” Aunt Claire hollers back.
I do hurry. But when I come over the last rise in the field before McCrays’, I see something amazing, so amazing I have to stop where I am and watch. Cleopatra is standing still a few feet from Winnie and Nickers. The blocked-off tip of the pasture looks more like a round pen now. Winnie’s filled in the spaces with an old gate, a ladder, and tree limbs.
Winnie and Nickers are in the center of the makeshift pen with Cleo on the outside. I watch as Winnie steps closer to Cleo, turns, and drops her shoulder slightly. I know enough about training in the round pen to tell that Cleopatra isn’t responding all the way yet. She’s not running away, but Winnie’s giving her the cue to turn and face her. Winnie wants to be given the respect of a dominant partner.
“Not ready yet, Cleo?” Winnie says. “Okay. Your choice, girl. Face me or run. Get it? Back to running.” Winnie sends the horse cantering in a circle, still inside the pen.
It’s a good system of training a horse, and I’ve never seen it done as well as I’m seeing it right now. For Cleo, there’s no threat of punishment, unless you call making yourself run punishment. The decision to give Winnie the nod as leader is up to Cleo.
The third time around, Cleo slows to a walk. Her lips are moving as if she’s chewing gum. Her ears flick up and back. She’s definitely paying attention. Then she stops again.
“Good girl, Cleo,” Winnie says softly. Amazingly her own horse is still standing statue-still in the center of the blocked-off area. “Now, give me a look, will you?”
Cleo cranes her neck around to give Winnie a good, long look. “Yes. That’s it,” she says, stepping in closer. Cleopatra doesn’t run off. She doesn’t look nervous or wary.
I hear Wi
nnie’s quiet chatter, but I can’t make out the words. It doesn’t matter. She steps closer, right up to Cleo’s shoulder. Then she reaches up and scratches her neck. Winnie’s hand moves skillfully to Cleo’s withers, then traces the line of the back all the way to the rump. I know she’s getting a good look at the burn. I’m glad for that.
This time when Winnie walks to the center, Cleopatra follows her. Winnie doesn’t look back. She doesn’t have to. She’s the leader, and Cleo’s grateful to be led. Winnie the Horse Gentler has gotten through to Cleopatra. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.
The thought hits me hard. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.
What’s the matter with me? When did Hank Coolidge become someone who wouldn’t believe without seeing?
Nineteen
I turn from the scene of Winnie and the horses, then jog back the way I came.
When I catch sight of the barn, I slow down. I need to think. Too much is happening all at the same time. I need to organize my thoughts, collect them, study them, put them in place again.
“Hank! Hank!” someone hollers across the lawn.
I turn to see Kat running awkwardly toward me with Catman right behind her. She’s holding something in her cupped hands. When she gets closer, I can see the dirty white fur, the scroungy body. Kitten.
Kat’s panting so hard that I can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying, if her cat is alive or dead. “Hank, look!” she shouts, walking the rest of the way to me. “We found her!” She holds out her hands, and I see the cat, scrawny and dirty, but definitely alive.
“Kat, that’s . . . that’s amazing. Where on earth was she?” I stare at the cat, then take in the pure joy on Kat’s face.
“She was right by the pond in the south pasture. We think she’s been there all along since the fire. She made a hole in this prickly bush on the edge of the pond. I think she liked being near Starlight. She always did like your horse best. That was one of the things Catman picked up on when we talked about Kitten. Plus, I told him how Kitten never acted afraid of water like the other cats. Remember how she used to try to get into the bathtub? Or even in Starlight’s water trough! And she always comes to investigate when she hears water running in the sink.”
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