“Good girl,” she told the mare, stroking her.
They took the path through the woods behind the development. Mayapple was opening like scalloped umbrellas on the forest floor. Then, along the lawns back of the industrial park. Forklifts were working, and the noise of heavy machinery echoed all around, but it didn’t bother Spindrift, Erin was pleased to see. Soon they left that behind. Keeping her to a quiet walk, Erin guided Spindrift along the edge of unfamiliar woods, looking for a path of some sort, a deer trail, maybe. She had to look twice before she found it. No more than a space between the brush and the trees, it led straight into the strange woods. Maybe through them to what lay beyond, farmland and miles of trails …
Aunt Lexie said a horse can always find its way home.
Taking a deep breath, Erin sent Spindrift along the vague little path, ducking twigs and branches. Some were so low she had to put her head down beside the horse’s neck. The mare went on calmly. There were fallen trees. Spindrift had to step over the trunks. Saplings bent across the path she pushed aside with her chest.
“Attagirl. Super trail horse. Wish the kids could see us—”
Spindrift stopped short, her nose up to scent the air, her ears pricked and twitching. Erin felt the horse’s whole body tense up and start to tremble.
Keep a frightened horse moving past whatever scared it. Rule number thousandty-three.
“Come on, Spindrift!”
Erin coaxed with her voice and nudged the mare with her heels. No good. Spindrift stood as stiff as a bronze equestrian statue in some town square, but puffing aloud like a steam engine. Her every muscle was bunched. Erin gave her a sharp kick, and the mare moved, but only to try to turn back the way they had come. Erin held her where she was, wishing she had brought a crop—
There was a noise that seemed to come from everywhere, a rumbling, muttering, growling noise that made the small hairs rise on the back of Erin’s neck. And a whinny of terror from the mare, and what seemed to Erin like an explosion under her—Spindrift was rearing, high, straight up in the air, Erin was looking up at branches and sky, the mare was going over backward! There was no time to be scared—Erin knew she had to do something or be crushed. She let go her grip on the reins, kicked her feet out of the stirrups and sailed off to one side. Giddily, in midair, she thought she saw something move in the bushes, just a glimpse of some animal, large, dark, and very furry. Then her back hit the ground, her head hit a tree, and she lay and listened to the sound of Spindrift’s frantic hoofbeats fading away toward the barn and home.
No wonder. Couldn’t expect any horse to face a bear—
Bear?
It grumbled again, a fierce, throaty noise, and Erin opened her eyes, focused them with an effort.
Yes, it really was a bear, shuffling toward her. From where she lay on the ground it looked huge. Because she was knocked breathless anyway, Erin closed her eyes again and lay still, limp as a dishrag. She could hear the snuffling of the bear, smell its breath as it sniffed her—it had been eating something rotten. It turned her over with a long-clawed paw. Erin let her arms and legs flop lifelessly. Then she felt nothing more. She seemed to hear the bear turn and amble away, but she did not dare to look, or did not have the strength to look, and she fainted.
Some time later, with no idea what time, she awoke, groaned, got up shakily, and trudged off toward home.
It was almost dark as she passed behind the industrial park. Cars along the road between the factories had their lights on. Erin thought of stopping a car and asking for a ride, but she had been warned not to get into cars with strangers, and she was worried about Spindrift. She was determined, silly as it seemed afterward, to get back to the barn and see if the mare was all right. One foot in front of the other … the task of walking took all her energy. Past the last factory … good. She turned in along the path that came out behind Terrace Heights.
Very dark in the woods. For the first time Erin began to wonder vaguely if she might not be in trouble. Couldn’t see to follow the path …
Wait. Flashlights ahead.
“Erin!” called a man’s voice, her father’s voice, sounding high, hoarse, and scared. “Erin!” A woman’s old, husky voice, Aunt Lexie’s.
“Here,” she muttered, then realized they would not be able to hear her. Funny, it was hard to shout. “Here!” she called, and they came crashing toward her, the beams of their flashlights bouncing wildly. As soon as they spotted her their fear gave way to a torrent of anger.
“Erin!” bellowed her father. “Where the devil have you been!”
“Can’t a person go get her back fixed—” That was Aunt Lexie.
“We’ve been looking for you for hours!”
“—without you going off without a word—”
“Don’t you ever do that again!”
“—not even a note. Don’t you know how to use pencil and paper, girl?”
“You’re going to be grounded.”
“Now my back’s worse than ever.”
“Your mother’s out driving around in the car, looking for you.…”
Erin paid no attention to most of this, hearing it only foggily. “Is Spindrift all right?” she asked.
“Of course she is!” Aunt Lexie snapped.
“I’ve had it with that horse!” her father roared. “It’s been one thing after another—”
“It was a bear,” said Erin.
“—ever since we got her.”
“A real bear. Out beyond the industrial park.”
“That does it!” Mr. Calahan reached top volume. “The horse throws you, and you expect me to believe it was a bear, built up as it is around here—what sort of an idiot do you think I am? Erin, that is the last straw. First thing in the morning, that horse is going back where we got her!”
Erin could not see him any longer. Her vision had gone black.
“Don’t say such a thing, you bully!” she heard Aunt Lexie say. “You’ll break her heart!”
“Shut up, you old hag!” Mr. Calahan screamed.
“I am an old bag, thank you,” Aunt Lexie told him icily.
Seeing no reason to stand up any longer, Erin quietly folded to the ground.
Chapter Seven
Erin kept only hazy memories of her father’s gathering her up and carrying her, the ambulance, the bright lights of the emergency room. What he had said—Spindrift to be taken away—she could not face thinking about that. She went to sleep, or fainted again, and refused to wake up. Time after time people would shake her, and she would squirm away from their hands and go back to sleep.
“She’s in shock,” someone said once, “but she’s not going into a coma. Couple days, she’ll be okay.”
She finally awoke in the morning to find herself in a hospital room, a pale-colored place, as all hospital rooms seem to be, with her father seated on a chair beside her bed. Mr. Calahan looked very tired. Erin stared at him. Then, remembering what he had said, she turned her face away, too heartsick to speak. Spindrift might already be gone.
“Now wait, hon. I was upset; I said some stupid things.” She felt her father lay a hand on hers. “You should know I wouldn’t do anything with your horse without discussing it with you first. Erin, look at me.”
She faced him, scowling to hide her fear. “Where’s Spindrift?” she whispered.
“At Mrs. Bromer’s. And we’re not going to say any more about it until you’re feeling better.”
If that was supposed to make Erin feel reassured, it didn’t. She stared at her father uneasily. He shifted in his seat and looked down at his hands.
“I’m sorry I thought you were lying to me,” he said. “There really was a bear.”
Erin accepted the change of subject. “You went to see for yourself?”
“Me? Lord, no. I’ve been right here all night, except for when your mother took over. No, Mrs. Bromer called the Forest Service, and they went and spotted the bear. It’s in today’s paper. Seems it’s just a half-grown cub, and th
e mothers kick them out around this time of year, and they wander. But the state game lands are a good twenty miles from here. First time a bear has been seen around here in thirty-five years.”
“Just my luck,” said Erin sourly.
“It seems there’s some sort of illegal garbage dump down in those woods, and he’s been feeding at it.”
“A garbage dump,” Erin groaned. “That does it. I give up.” She was feeling light-headed, and for some reason the garbage dump seemed like the last straw.
“You feel okay, Squirt?”
“I have a headache, and I feel sort of woozy.”
“I bet. You’re on painkillers, and you’re supposed to keep very quiet. You have some concussion. That hard hat of yours took the worst of it—dented clear in. After they feed you and the doctor checks you over again, they’ll probably send you home.”
Tawnya Calahan came in, smiling a greeting, and Erin’s father got up to leave. “I have to go tend the horses now.”
“You?”
“Uh-huh. Mrs. Bromer’s back really is worse. Mike did the work for her last night, and I’m on the schedule for this morning.”
“Mike did?”
“Your brother is a perfectly nice person,” said Mrs. Calahan sweetly. “Haven’t you noticed?” She settled herself in the chair by the bedside. Don Calahan headed out the door.
“Dad,” Erin called after him, “I’m sorry. I know I really messed up.”
Her father stopped, turned around, and came back toward her. “Just get better soon,” he said awkwardly.
“That’s what I mean. The hospital bills—”
“The heck with the hospital bills!” Mr. Calahan’s voice rose.
Tawnya Calahan hushed him with a glance. “Erin,” she said after only a small pause, “the doctor is curious about those scratches on your arm.”
“Huh?” Erin looked down at four red lines. “Oh. That must be where the bear turned me over.”
Don Calahan stiffened and stared at her. “You mean, after the horse threw you—”
“She didn’t throw me,” said Erin with dignity, “I jumped.”
Fifteen minutes later Erin’s father finally left, shaking his head and muttering to himself, to feed and water horses for “the old hag.”
Erin went home that same day. But she was not allowed out for a week, partly because she needed rest, and partly because she was, indeed, grounded, as her father told her rather gently at suppertime. In fact, there was no scolding of any kind, and only a few questions asked. Her parents seemed more concerned than angry, which made Erin feel very uneasy when she thought about it. Anger blew over, but concerned parents took action.…
The next day, as soon as she was allowed out of bed, she telephoned Aunt Lexie.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked, almost hopefully.
“More disappointed.” The strong voice crackled in her ear. “What possessed you?”
“I felt like—I just had to get out and ride. The kids were picking on me.…”
In back of Erin, near the sink, Tawnya Calahan stood listening. She had taken time off from work to stay home with her daughter.
“Kids picking on you? What’s that got to do with it? Let ’em pick.” Aunt Lexie was not really scolding, either, Erin noted with a sinking heart, just lecturing. “You’ve got to think when you’re around horses.”
“Well, who’d ever think I’d meet up with a bear?”
“There’s always something,” Aunt Lexie said darkly. “Could have been anything. You could have cracked Spindrift’s hooves on rocks, taking her out barefoot. Did you think of that?”
Erin held back a yelp. She had forgotten all about Spindrift’s needing shoes. “No, I didn’t,” she admitted when she had got her breath back. “Is she all right?” she added anxiously.
“Cripes, girl, she’s fine! Stop worrying.”
“How about you? Your back—”
“Never mind my cussed back,” Aunt Lexie fumed, and she hung up abruptly.
A get-well card from Aunt Lexie arrived the next day, a yellowed, flowery card with frosty sparkles on it. Once again Erin felt uneasy without quite knowing why. Aunt Lexie was not the card-sending sort—in fact, this one looked as if it had been in a box for years.
She squirmed under all the sympathy. There were flowers from her grandparents in Arizona, and cards from other relatives and teachers, and even a few cards from kids. Though not, she was grateful to note, from Mikkie Orris.
She napped some of the time, read some of the time, did the schoolwork her teachers sent home for her, helped out with the housework but tried not to make a point of it. All the time she watched her parents like a small, cornered animal, waiting for their next move. But nothing happened. Toward the end of the week Mrs. Calahan went back to work, and still nothing had been said about whether Erin could keep Spindrift.
On Friday night she discovered the reason. It was because her parents had not yet managed to agree between themselves.
Lying awake very late at night, Erin heard them talking as they got ready for bed. At first their voices, not raised, were only a noise she dimly noticed. But then, when someone left a door open, she heard them plainly.
“It’s the danger that bothers me,” Don Calahan was saying.
“But there’s always danger, whatever they do!” Tawnya sounded frustrated. “Mike could get hurt playing ball. Either of them could get hit by a car, riding their bikes.”
“I know, I know! But you didn’t have to stand there and see her crumple up on the ground when she finally passed out.”
“Don, you’re too protective! You’re going to have to let her grow up and take her lumps. The horse is helping, don’t you see? She’s taking risks, she’s starting to speak out—maybe the wrong way, she’s struggling, but you don’t want to set her back now. You have to give her a chance. The horse has brought her out of herself. It’s something she cares about.”
“In one breath you tell me she’s tough and she has to take her lumps, and in the next breath you tell me it would kill her if we took back the horse. And she’s only had it less than two weeks!”
With an odd midnight calm Erin got up and opened her door. Instantly silence fell. Barefooted, in her pajamas, she padded to her parents’ room and knocked on the door, which was hanging slightly ajar. After a small, surprised pause, her father came and pushed it all the way open.
“Can I come in?” Erin asked.
“Sure.” But Don Calahan looked amazed.
Tawnya was already stretched out in the big double bed. Erin went and sat at her mother’s feet.
“I heard you guys talking,” she said, “and I didn’t want to just lie there and eavesdrop.”
“How come you’re still awake?” her father asked her.
“Worrying about Spindrift. I know you want to get rid of her.”
“But—we never said anything.…”
“I could tell. And there’s all the hospital bills to pay, too, and if you sold Spindrift—”
“Good lord, forget the hospital bills, Erin! I mean, yes, there is a problem with money, and our insurance didn’t cover everything. But we’ll manage. Squirt, I never meant to upset you.” Don Calahan was so upset himself that he started stammering under his daughter’s sober gaze. “I—I—after what happened, I just thought—maybe you weren’t ready.”
“She wasn’t,” Tawnya Calahan said. “How could she be? But she’s learning fast. Aren’t you, Erin?”
Before Erin could answer, another voice broke in. “Can I come in, too?” Mike stood at the doorway, yawning.
“This doesn’t concern you,” his mother told him.
“It sort of does. Family business. If I keep my mouth shut?”
Don Calahan motioned him in with a what-the-heck gesture. “The more, the merrier. Now, Squirt, you were saying?”
“I was saying,” Erin answered slowly, “that I know I did something really stupid.” She said it in Aunt Lexie’s matter-of-fact way, not just
to tell her parents what they wanted to hear, but because it was true. Days of thinking had shown her part of what growing up meant. She said, “It’ll be my own fault if you decide to sell Spindrift. And, if you let me keep her, I know I’ll have to prove to you that I’m ready now.”
Mr. Calahan’s gaze shifted to his wife, then back to his daughter. “Yes?” he prompted.
Erin tried to explain. “There’s lots of things about having a horse I never knew. I mean, I thought it would be all just, like, riding. But I have to think about, you know, family, because you guys are the ones paying for her. And I have to think about the horse and all the things she needs, because she’s mine, and I have to take care of her. And I have to think about me, too, and sometimes I have to make Spindrift do things she doesn’t like, and—Well, that day I went riding by myself, I just wasn’t thinking or I would have at least left a note. But now I know I’ve got to think.”
Don Calahan looked at his wife again. “Tawn, you’re right,” he said in wonder. “There has been a change.”
“I know I can do better now,” Erin said. “I mean, it’s been knocked into my head.” She swallowed, and asked the question that had been haunting her. “May I keep Spindrift?”
“I think you deserve another chance,” Tawnya answered gently.
“Yes, Squirt. I feel better about it now. Just, please, no more escapades. All right?” Her father was beaming at her. Erin got up and hugged him.
“Okay. But, Dad—” She was too tired to show him all her relief, and also too tired to be angry. Just weary enough to blurt something out. “I hate it when you call me Squirt.”
A Horse to Love Page 6
