Right before the show starts, Colt points across the arena. “There’s Larissa.”
Larissa is decked out in an English riding habit. The number one is pinned to her shirt.
“I wonder how she managed to get that number,” I whisper to Colt.
“Why don’t you ask her?” Colt teases. “She’s coming our way.”
I can’t believe it when Larissa crosses the arena and struts right up to us. She leans over the top rail and smiles at Colt. “Hi, Colt. Thanks for coming to watch me.”
Larissa acts like she’s only now noticing I’m there. “So, Ellie, I hear you’re finally getting rid of that spotted horse.”
14
Lost Again
“What did you just say, Larissa?” I demand.
“I said I hear you’re getting rid of that spotted horse.” This time when she says it, she makes a face like the words taste bad.
“What are you talking about?”
“They’re shipping that nag out to some animal farm,” she explains. “My uncle owns the trucking line that’s supposed to haul shelter horses around. He told me that horse is bound for New Jersey.”
“Wait.” I try to wrap my mind around that. New Jersey? Do they even have horses in New Jersey? “I think you’ve got it wrong. My mom would have said something.”
She shrugs. “Maybe she doesn’t know yet. Whatever.” She sticks a pin in her hair. “But they are getting rid of that spotted horse tomorrow.” She starts off. “I have to go.”
“Wait!” I want more details.
Larissa keeps walking.
“Why didn’t anybody tell me?” I mutter.
“Why would they?” Colt asks. “It’s not your problem.”
“I know.” In my mind I can see the pinto turning to watch me every time I leave the barn. I shove the picture out of my head, but it’s hard to do.
“Ellie, what do you care?” Colt asks.
“I don’t. You’re right. I just wanted to make sure the pinto was going to a good home. But it’s not my problem.”
“At least the horse isn’t headed for animal control, right?” Colt waves across the arena. “There’s Ashley!”
The first class is the Hunter/Jumper Youth class. There are only four entries, and Warrior wins easily. Ashley clears every jump except one.
Colt and I sit through the Western Pleasure Open, the English Pleasure Open, and the Twelve and Under Three-Gaited English Country Pleasure class, which Larissa and Custer’s Darling Delight win. First out of a field of twelve.
Finally they call in the Twelve and Under Horsemanship class. This is the one where Larissa and Ashley ride against each other. I think it’s the best class in the entire horse show.
As I’ve done every year, I imagine myself in the arena:
Ellie James rides in on her spirited coal-black stallion. They trot as one around the ring. The crowd . . .
Only I can’t do it.
Every time I imagine myself on my dream horse, a horrible thing happens. He changes into . . . a pinto. The pinto.
I shake my head and try again . . . and again. But I can’t get that scrawny pinto out of my head. It’s no use. I can’t stay here. Not even for the horsemanship class.
“Colt?”
“Shh. They’re lining up, Ellie. The judge is about to—”
“I have to go.”
He still hasn’t turned around. “Go where?”
I stand. “Tell your mother I found another way home.”
“What? Where—?”
But I don’t stick around—not even to see who wins the horsemanship trophy.
I have to see that pinto one last time.
* * *
By the time I reach the cat farm, it’s getting dark. Swarms of cats prance out to rub against my ankles.
I listen for the pinto’s nicker, but I don’t hear it. “Hello? Pinto horse?”
No answer.
I pull the string for the barn’s overhead light. Long shadows dance across the barn floor. Slanty cat eyes glow like fireflies on a dark night.
“Pinto?” I call, wishing I’d gone ahead and named her like Ethan suggested.
I walk toward her stall. The wood floor creaks with every click of my boots. “I’m coming, girl.”
But when I reach the corner stall, she isn’t there.
The pinto is gone.
15
Found Again
I stare into the empty stall. My heart pounds until my chest feels like it will burst. It’s not fair. They shouldn’t have taken her away. Not before I could say good-bye. Tears burn my throat and press behind my eyes.
Then I hear it. A soft nicker. It’s coming from far away. From outside.
I race out of the barn. “Here, horse! Here, pinto!”
I tear around the back of the barn. And there she is! She’s grazing, standing a few yards away.
There’s no fence out here. Nothing to keep her from running away. I remember how much trouble we all had catching her at school. That day seems like months ago.
“Don’t run off on me,” I beg. I’m walking toward her, in spite of what I know about horses playing hard to get.
Instead of running, the pinto raises her head and nickers at me.
We step toward each other until I can take hold of her halter. “You had me so worried.” I stroke her white blaze. It starts at the whorl between her eyes and goes down to her nose. It’s jagged, like lightning.
“Why didn’t I notice your blaze before? Funny. It was right there all the time.”
It was right there all the time. The words echo in my head.
“Come on. Let’s get you back to your stall.”
I lead her into her corner stall. She doesn’t fuss at all.
Once she’s inside, I put down fresh straw. Then I give her an extra scoop of Omolene. “You need to look your best, pinto.”
I run my fingers through her pure-white mane. Mom got all the burs out, and now the pinto’s mane hangs down her neck in gentle waves.
“Yeah. Big day tomorrow. You’re going to see your new home.” I choke on the word home, as if there’s something caught in my throat.
I get the brush and a clean rag and go to work on her coat. That same calico cat leaps onto the pinto’s back and curls up there.
“You’re a friend too, aren’t you? Well, we have to help our friend make a good impression tomorrow. Right, Calico Cat?” I shake my head. “Listen to me—Calico Cat and Pinto Horse. Some names, huh? Sorry about that.”
The cat purrs, a sound that might be a nicker if she were a horse.
I stroke the hairs on the pinto’s black saddle spot. “You know, I think you’ve put on weight.”
I run the cloth over her chest and legs. “You’re a lot shinier than you were when I first imagined you at school.”
While I finish rubbing her down, I tell her all about Larissa and Ashley at the horse show. Her ears prick up and rotate as I move around her. I pick out her hooves and fill her in on the promotion Colt’s mother wants and my dad may want too.
“Don’t tell Dad this, pinto, but I prayed he wouldn’t get the promotion. I’d hate for him to be gone all the time. Do you think that’s selfish? I guess a lot of my prayers are selfish. But I don’t think God gets mad at me for it. Sometimes I imagine Jesus smiling at me while I pray, like He knows He’s about to get another selfish prayer from Ellie, but He’s glad I can be honest with Him. I’m glad too. Like how I ask God for a black stallion every night.”
In my head, my own words are floating around again as if blown by the wind: It was right there all the time.
Outside it’s dark as a black stallion at midnight. I’m not sure what time it is. But I know I’d better get home before Mom and Dad and Ethan get back and start worrying about me.
I give the pinto one more handful of Omolene. Then I hug her around the neck. “You’ll be fine,” I tell her. Only I can’t hold back tears. It’s stupid, I know. She’s not my responsibility. She’s not my horse.
I let her go. Then I leave the stall and don’t look over my shoulder.
I head home, walking fast and trying not to think. But pictures of the pinto flash through my mind. They’re so real that I think I can hear her steps, those clumsy hoofbeats. And her nicker.
Her nicker?
I did hear her nicker!
I wheel around, and there she is. “You—you followed me?” Seeing her there, in the middle of the road, makes me laugh. I stroke her head with its white blaze. I scratch her behind the ears, under her halter.
With a deep sigh that starts in my boots, I whisper, “I have to take you back.”
She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t fight me when I lead her by the halter. “Did I forget to latch your stall, girl? I must not have been thinking straight. Guess I’m going to miss you just a bit.”
I hate doing it, but I have to put her into the stall again. She stays put. Standing still. All alone.
I get her another handful of grain and then run out of the barn.
Even though my legs are tired from all the walking, I keep running. I want to get as far as I can from that barn. From the pinto.
I run until I’m out of breath and have to walk.
I’m almost back to town when I hear hoofbeats again.
It can’t be. No way. I locked that stall. I know I did.
But when I turn around, there she is.
This time I burst into tears.
The pinto inches up the road toward me. She stops so close I can see the moon in her big brown eyes. And suddenly she looks beautiful. She’s still scrawny. Her head is too big for her body. But her eyes . . . and her good heart . . .
It was right there all the time. “You! You were right there all the time!”
I throw my arms around her neck and let myself cry into her mane. “God answered my prayer, and I couldn’t even see it.” I cry and cry. And yet, somewhere during the cry, my tears change from sad to happy.
“You know what, pinto?” I tell her, wiping my tears on my sleeve. “It’s a free country. If you want to walk with me, I can’t stop you.”
I turn and start walking. So does she. When I take a corner, she does too.
We walk like this all the way to my house.
When we pass Colt’s place, he and his mom are pulling into their driveway. “Hey! Ellie!” Colt hollers out the window. “What are you doing with the pinto?”
I wave and shout back, “We’re going home!”
16
Dream
The pinto follows me into the backyard. As soon as we’re there, I see a small shadow moving behind us. Then a cat springs onto the pinto’s back. The calico, of course.
“Like I told your friend,” I inform the cat, “it’s a free country.”
The pinto drops her head and starts grazing like she owns the place. I could watch her eat all night. The big spot on her back that looks like a saddle still makes me laugh. I notice other spots—one on her leg that could be a star if it had another point. A triangle spot. An ear-shaped one on her chest. I love all of them.
I plop cross-legged in the grass and study her until I hear Dad’s car pull into the garage.
Ethan finds me first. He runs into the yard, takes one look at the horse, then holds up his hands in the moonlight. Somebody at Scouts said they were sending your horse away. I didn’t believe it.
My horse? I sign back.
He grins. He knew. Somehow, my brother knew.
Mom and Dad join us. I tell them everything about how the horse followed me home. Finally I get to the point. “Can I keep her?”
They look at each other. My parents have their own sign language. They talk with their eyes.
I watch them. This is the end of my report, the last third of the “experiment.” No begging. No crying. Just prayer. Years and years of prayer. I’ll turn in my report on Monday. And this is my ending. Horse or no horse?
When I can’t stand it another second, Dad asks, “Where would you keep her?”
I wave my arm over the yard. “Right here. Ethan and I could help you build a fence. We’ve got plenty of room.”
“Ellie,” Mom says, serious now, “think about what you’re doing. Didn’t you want a fancy black show horse? That’s what you’ve begged us for since you were knee-high to a grasshopper.”
I nod. She’s right. Only sitting out here in my backyard with the pinto, I’ve had a lot of time to think about that black stallion. “It’s funny,” I begin, trying to put my thoughts into words because it feels important to get it right. “I’ve begged, I’ve cried, and I’ve prayed that I could have a black stallion show horse. I even tried to get scientific about it for Miss Hernandez.”
Mom and Dad exchange a frown and possibly a dozen silent questions and answers.
“But I finally figured it out.” I reach up and stroke the pinto. “You’re looking at the answer to all my prayers.”
“The pinto?” Dad asks.
“The pinto,” I answer, more sure than I’ve ever been of anything. “This is the horse of my dreams.”
After a minute of silence from Mom and Dad, Ethan elbows me and signs, What’s her name?
Without even thinking about it, I respond, “Ellie’s Dream.”
And the cat’s name? Ethan asks.
“Her?” I answer. “Her name is Pinto, of course. Pinto Cat.”
We all have a pretty good laugh at that one . . . except Dad.
My dad is gazing across our lawn. His head moves from side to side like he’s watching a mower. “So you want me to build a fence and whatnot all the way around the yard? It’s over three acres back here. That’s going to take some man hours. Good thing I’m not going for that big promotion at work, huh?”
“Really? You don’t want the new job?” My whole insides relax. I guess I was more worried than I realized.
“Are you sure, Lenny?” Mom tosses some eye language at Dad and seems happy with his wordless answer.
I look around our giant lawn. Already I can imagine myself galloping Dream all over the backyard.
The backyard? I let out a laugh, remembering what Larissa said.
What’s so funny? Ethan signs.
I can’t stop grinning. “I just realized . . . we have ourselves an honest-to-goodness backyard horse.”
God is able to do far more than we could ever ask for or imagine. He does everything by his power that is working in us.
Ephesians 3:20 (NIrV)
Horse Talk!
Bay—A reddish-brown color for a horse. A bay horse usually has a black mane and tail.
Blaze—A facial marking on a horse (usually a wide, jagged white stripe).
Canter—A horse’s slow gallop; a more controlled three-beat gait.
English—A style of horseback riding that is often considered more formal and classic than Western style. Riders generally sit on a flat saddle, post (rise from the saddle) on a trot, and hold the reins in both hands.
Farrier—Someone trained to care for a horse’s hooves. Farriers trim hooves and put shoes on horses, but many also treat leg and tendon problems.
Foreleg—One of a horse’s front legs.
Forelock—The piece of hair that falls onto a horse’s forehead.
Gait—The way a horse moves, as in a walk, a trot, a canter, or a gallop.
Gallop—A horse’s natural and fast running gait. It’s speedier than a lope or a canter.
Gelding—A male horse that has had surgery so he can’t mate and produce foals (baby horses). Geldings often make the calmest riding horses.
Habit—An outfit for horseback riding or showing, usually including some kind of tailored jacket and hat.
Halter—The basic headgear worn by a horse so the handler can lead the animal with a rope.
Hand—The unit for measuring a horse’s height from the withers (area between the shoulders) to the ground. One hand equals four inches (about the width of an average cowboy’s hand).
Hindquarters—The back end of a hor
se, where much of a horse’s power comes from.
Hoof pick—A hooked tool, usually made of metal, for cleaning packed dirt, stones, and gunk from the underside of a horse’s hoof.
Hunter—A horse that’s bred to carry a rider over jumps. In a horse show, hunters are judged on jumping ability and style.
Lead rope—A length of rope with a metal snap that attaches to a horse’s halter.
Lope—The Western term for canter. The lope is usually smooth and slower than the canter of a horse ridden English.
Mare—A female horse over the age of four, or any female horse that has given birth.
Nicker—A soft, friendly sound made by horses, usually to greet other horses or trusted humans.
Pinto—Any horse with patches or spots of white and another color, usually brown or black.
Quarter horse—An American horse breed named because it’s the fastest horse for a quarter-mile distance. Quarter horses are strong and are often used for ranch work. They’re good-natured and easygoing.
Saddle horse—A saddle horse could be any horse trained to ride with a saddle. More specifically, the American saddlebred horse is an elegant breed of horse used as three- and five-gaited riding horses.
Shetland pony—A small breed, no bigger than 10.2 hands, that comes from the Shetland Islands off Scotland. Shetland ponies are the ideal size for small children, but the breed is known to be stubborn and hard to handle.
Sorrel—A horse with a reddish-brown or reddish-gold coat.
Stallion—A male horse that hasn’t had surgery to prevent him from mating and producing foals.
Swayback—A sagging back on a horse, or a horse with a deeply dipped back. Being swayback is often a sign of old age in a horse.
Three-gaited—Used to describe an American saddlebred horse that has been trained to perform at a walk, trot, and canter.
Throatlatch—The strap part of the bridle that helps keep the bridle on. It goes under a horse’s throat, running from the right ear and loosely fastening below the left ear.
Trot—The two-beat gait where a horse’s legs move in diagonal pairs. A trot is generally a choppy ride.
Western—A style of horseback riding used by cowboys in the American West. Western horseback riders usually use heavier saddles with saddle horns and hold both reins in one hand.
Horse Dreams Page 6
