Friendly Foal

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  “Winnie, my father has already entered Towaco and me in the New Year’s Day Appaloosa competition in Orlando. I will not be home until school starts.” Her voice was flat, and she sounded like her mother.

  I couldn’t believe it. “But . . . but what about the party?”

  I knew I sounded selfish. I felt selfish. This was just one more party to Hawk. But it was my only party. “That’s not fair, Hawk! Tell your dad you want to come home!”

  “I cannot hurt his feelings.”

  “Then call your mom. Let her tell him.”

  Hawk was quiet. I think I heard her sniffing. “They did talk. They had a horrible argument. I guess the separation agreement gave me to my father for the entire time.”

  Gave her to her father?

  “I’m sorry, Hawk,” I said. “I was being stupid. You and Towaco will knock ’em dead in the New Year’s Day show. Bring back a huge trophy, okay?”

  We hung up. Before I fell asleep, I prayed for Hawk. And for her parents.

  Sunday morning Lizzy had green-frog pancakes waiting for Dad and me when we got up. But it made me sad because it’s Geri who’s crazy about frogs. And as far as I knew, Lizzy still hadn’t heard from her.

  We usually ride to church with the Barkers. But since the Barker Bus would have been too crowded with Granny Barker and Catman, Dad drove us in the cattle truck.

  Ralph Evans is our substitute pastor. His real job is at the animal shelter, but he’s a great pastor too. He was wearing khakis and a long-sleeved white shirt instead of his white animal-shelter jacket. Otherwise he was exactly the same Ralph.

  This morning he talked about New Year’s resolutions, making and breaking them. “God’s not waiting to zap you if you don’t keep your word,” Ralph said. “You’re not doing God any favors by making him big promises to last a whole year. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Goals are good. It’s probably going to take me a whole year to lose my extra Christmas weight.” He patted his stomach, and we all chuckled with him.

  “But mostly, I think God wants us to be faithful in little things, one day at a time, just walking with Jesus.”

  I liked that. Being patient and peaceful a little bit at a time sounded a whole lot better than promising I’d be that way for a whole year.

  “And if you blow it,” Ralph continued, “you don’t have to wait a whole year to make another resolution. Just tell God you’re sorry. He’ll be right there handy, ready to help. He won’t let you down.”

  Ralph’s smile faded. “On the other hand, I can almost guarantee that someone is going to let you down next year. And you’re going to let someone down too. The good Lord knows we’re human. But don’t give up on each other. When someone lets you down, look past that friend you can see to that Friend you can’t see. And you just keep on being faithful.”

  Since Ralph had semi-laryngitis this morning, his sermon wasn’t as long as usual. Even though it was short, it was compact. Like a Falabella miniature horse—all there in a smaller size.

  Ralph’s last phrase bounced around my brain as we sang another hymn and shook each other’s hands and walked outside. “The Friend you can’t see.” It was weird how Lizzy had said something to God almost like that, that God was her best friend.

  As I climbed into the cattle truck, my mind was halfway into another on-the-spot prayer: God, I know you’re trying to tell me things or you wouldn’t bother to have both Lizzy and Ralph talk about how you’re their best friend. So, thanks. And help me get there too.

  On Sundays, when we ride home with the Barkers, everybody talks at once about the sermon. But in the cattle truck, none of us said a word until we were almost home.

  I was thinking about what Ralph had said about not giving up on people. It sounded kind of like imprinting—not pulling away, even when the horse is trying to. I’d never had much luck with human friends. Maybe God was trying to tell me something about human friends too—about not giving up on them. But horses are so much easier to not give up on than humans.

  Lizzy broke our silence. “I’m calling Geri as soon as we get home.”

  I started to warn her that she was asking to get her feelings hurt. But I stopped. I had a feeling Lizzy already knew that.

  Lizzy was on the phone before she changed out of her church clothes.

  I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. And when I walked back into the kitchen, Lizzy was pulling out the flour and sugar from the cupboard.

  “Well?” I asked. “What did Geri say?”

  “She said she’d be over as soon as she finished lunch,” Lizzy answered.

  “Well, don’t get your hopes up,” I warned. “Sal said she was coming over after church too. But I’m not holding my breath.”

  It was a good thing I didn’t hold my breath for Sal. By midafternoon, she still hadn’t come.

  Geri showed up, though. I watched from the barn as her mom dropped her off and waited until Geri reached the porch and the door opened.

  I was glad for Lizzy. I just wished Sal had come too.

  I hung out with the horses most of the afternoon. Friendly let me stroke her all over while she nursed from Annie. I took Nickers and Friendly into the paddock for some fresh air. Amigo was already coming around. He followed when I led him, and he didn’t try to bite me anymore. I had to get Sal to spend time with him and see what a great friend Amigo could be for her.

  Around four o’clock, I went in for something to eat and was hit with the smell of ginger cookies. I’d been all set to be mad at Geri. But when I saw her with Lizzy, giggling over gingerbread geckos, my anger fizzled.

  “Hey, Lizzy. Geri,” I called, shrugging out of my coat. “Smells great in here.”

  Lizzy smiled at me, then put her finger over her lips and pointed to Dad. He was punching in numbers on the kitchen phone.

  I joined Lizzy and Geri and eavesdropped.

  “Hello, Madeline?” he said, his voice cracking.

  We three girls leaned forward, as if that could help us hear what Madeline was saying. She must have said a lot because Dad didn’t say anything for a full minute.

  When Dad did speak again, he had his regular voice back. “I know. Me too. So, do you want to come over?”

  Again we leaned closer, nobody breathing.

  “That would be great!” Dad said. He hung up, grinning.

  In spite of myself I was grinning too.

  Dad was whistling as he headed for his workshop. Lizzy and Geri were giggling over the geckos.

  I walked over to the phone and stared at it. Maybe I should call Sal. It had worked for Lizzy and Dad. I’d try to be nice, just like they were. Patient. Peaceful. I dialed the number.

  “Hello, Mrs. Cracker?” I turned my head away from the receiver and cleared my throat. “This is Winnie Willis. Is Sal there?”

  “Salena?” she asked. She shouted away from the phone, “Nathan! Where is your sister?”

  I could hear Nathan in the background, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  Gram Cracker came back on the line. “She’s tanning at Tanfastic with that Spidell girl.”

  “With Summer?” All my patience and peace evaporated. “Sal’s with Summer?”

  “They’re probably talking about that girl’s—Summer’s—big New Year’s Eve party. All night they tied up the phone talking about it.”

  So Summer was taking over and having the party Hawk was supposed to have. And that meant Winnie Willis was back where she belonged . . . on the outside looking in.

  I gripped the phone, imagining Summer and Sal laughing and making plans, inviting everybody in our class except me. Until that minute I don’t think I’d realized how much I’d wanted to be included, to have a real New Year’s Eve party to go to.

  “Why are you calling?” Gram Cracker demanded. “Is something wrong with that little creature?”

  It took me a second to realize she was talking about Amigo. “Amigo? No! He’s doing great. Really he is. That’s why I was calling. Sal was supposed
to come over and help. Amigo and Sal could be friends if she’d give him a chance.”

  “Salena was supposed to go over there?” Mrs. Cracker’s voice got an edge to it. “Nathan talked both of us into leaving the horse with you for a while. Does his sister think I am made of money? That I can just pay that pony’s upkeep until she gets around to doing whatever she should be doing with it? I’ll send her to you the moment she returns.”

  When I hung up, I wasn’t grinning like Dad and Lizzy had. I didn’t think Sal was going to appreciate me getting her in trouble with her grandmother.

  It was almost suppertime when Gram Cracker dropped Sal off at my barn. Except for her earmuffs and a feathery jacket that looked like 100 birds had died to make it, Sal looked like she was just in from Daytona Beach. Her face was reddish brown, almost as bright as her hair.

  “Sorry I’m late, Winnie.” At least she didn’t sound mad.

  “That’s okay. We don’t have much daylight left, but the barn lights should work.”

  I led Sal toward Amigo’s end stall, but she stopped to look at Nickers, the foal, and Annie.

  “I can’t believe you got it to nurse from that goat!” she exclaimed. “That is so tight!”

  We watched the foal for a while, even though I knew the last minutes of good daylight were slipping away. I starting thinking about Sal’s mom and dad and wondering why I’d never seen them at school, even though Hawk said they both lived in Ashland.

  “When are your parents coming back, Sal?” I asked.

  She shrugged. Then she kind of huffed a hard laugh. “It’s a good thing my mom’s out of town. Yesterday Gram picked up the mail and opened a letter from school. Another note from Treadwater.”

  Mr. Treadwater is our math teacher. He’s short, with a face that would fit right in on Mount Rushmore. He’s pretty boring, but he loves numbers so much you have to like him.

  Sal continued. “I intercepted the first note a couple of weeks ago: ‘Salena is often rebellious and disrespectful. We hope to see improvement next semester. Signed, C. Treadwater.’” Sal did a pretty good impression of him, making her voice flat and bland. “So, of course, I threw that one away. Then I wrote one of my own to his wife: ‘Mr. Treadwater is often dull and boring. We hope to see improvement next semester.’”

  “Sal!”

  “Yeah. He wrote back. And that’s the note Gram opened. But she’s cool. She probably won’t even give it to Mom.”

  I couldn’t even imagine what my dad would do if I pulled something like that.

  Amigo pawed from his stall.

  “You sure that horse is tame now?” Sal asked.

  “I didn’t say that,” I admitted. “But he’s better. He just needs to know he can trust you.”

  We moved down to Amigo’s stall. He turned his back on us but let me walk up to him. I led him over to Sal. “See how calm his eyes look?” The white rim of fear around his pupils had vanished, and his neck was relaxed.

  Until he saw Sal. He stopped short and laid back his ears. I hoped Sal didn’t read horse language. Amigo definitely didn’t trust her.

  I scratched his chest and felt him relax again.

  Sal eyed the Falabella. She’s so tall that Amigo’s head didn’t come to her waist. “So what am I supposed to do with it?” she asked, taking a step backward. “I can’t ride it. Are you positive it won’t grow?”

  I moved my fingers to the sides of Amigo’s mouth and got him to open for me. “His baby teeth are gone. He’s got a full mouth, but no Galvayne’s groove. That’s the deep groove on a horse’s upper incisor. It shows up at about 10 years old. I’d say Amigo’s about five. He’s done growing.”

  “Great,” Sal muttered sarcastically.

  It took a lot of coaxing, more for Sal than for Amigo, but finally Sal was able to at least pat her horse. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  “We’ve got time for a short imprinting lesson, Sal. It will help you and Amigo bond.”

  She looked skeptical, but she didn’t bolt from the barn. Mom believed in imprinting, or at least touching, nervous horses no matter how old they were. She said it was good for the horse and good for the owner.

  “I hear a car,” Sal said, pulling her hand away and trying to peer up the stallway.

  “It’s probably just Madeline.”

  Sal started to come back to Amigo, but there was the sound of another car outside, louder than the first one. The engine raced.

  “Is your dad having a party or something?” Sal asked.

  “Nope.” Whoever it was, I hoped they’d stay out of the barn. Sal was so close to giving Amigo a try.

  Amigo looked up with his big doe eyes. How could anybody even think about sending him away?

  Snow crunched. The barn floor creaked.

  “Who’s there?” I called.

  “There you are!” Summer Spidell came down the stallway, watching every step as if I’d laid land mines for her, which, I admit, was sounding like not so bad of an idea.

  “Summer!” Sal called, leaving her horse . . . and me. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I called about napkin colors. I can’t decide without you. Your grandmother said you’d be here.”

  Summer has dozens of horses at her stable. She owns the most expensive horse in the county, maybe in all Ohio. Her dad’s Stable-Mart costs a zillion times more than my barn. All she ever does is make fun of me and my barn. Why couldn’t she just stay at her own place?

  “Look, Summer. Sal and I are in the middle of something here. Do you mind?” I knew I sounded like Summer usually did, mean and snotty. But I’d had it with her.

  “What?” she asked, all innocent-like.

  “Stop it, Summer! We all know why you came by tonight.”

  “My goodness, Winifred,” she said, glancing at Sal, like she didn’t know what to say to crazy Winnie. “Why do you think I came by?”

  “To horn in! To drag Sal away again. To mess up my life more than you already have messed it up!”

  Amigo trotted away from me. I stopped talking. I was so angry I was shaking.

  Summer turned her big blue eyes and pouty lips on Sal. “I don’t understand. I just came by to invite Winifred to my New Year’s Eve party.”

  “Right,” I said. No way Summer Spidell would invite me to her party.

  “Don’t you want to come?” Summer asked, faking hurt.

  “Sure . . . ,” I said, waiting, expecting the axe to fall. For Summer to laugh at the idea of me at her house, her party.

  “Good then,” Summer said. “It’s settled. Tomorrow night at seven. Don’t be late.” She was taking this too far.

  “Maybe Lizzy can make candy or cookies,” Sal suggested.

  Summer whirled around on her. “Mother has it all catered, and—” she stopped herself, took a breath, then turned back to me—“that would be . . . nice . . . if your sister wants to.”

  I frowned at Summer. “Let me get this straight. You are inviting me to your New Year’s Eve party.”

  She smiled, and if I hadn’t known her so well, I would have bought it. She was that good.

  “So when I show up tomorrow night at seven, nobody’s going to call the police? No water balloons?”

  Summer laughed. “It’s New Year’s Eve, not April Fool’s Day.”

  “It’ll be so tight, Winnie!” Sal said. “Tons of guys are coming. Brian’s having his brother drive us and everything.”

  Summer smiled sweetly again.

  I couldn’t trust Summer. On the other hand, Sal had heard her invite me. It would be pretty hard to uninvite me.

  “You really want me there?” I asked, one more time.

  “Of course we do!” Summer said.

  “Okay then. Thanks.” I was going to Summer Spidell’s party?

  “Now,” Summer said, checking her watch, “if we’re going to be ready in time, I really do need Sal’s help. We have to decorate tonight. Do you mind, Winnie?”

  I did mind. Amigo was too important to put
off for any party, even a real New Year’s Eve party. “I don’t know, Summer. Sal needs time with her horse.”

  “Could she do it tomorrow instead?” Summer asked.

  Sal shivered and hiked up her red boots. “I’ll come at 11. For real, Winnie. If I don’t, you can come over to Gram’s and drag me out by my hair.”

  What could I say? They were going to work on a party I’d just been invited to.

  “It’s a deal. Go. But be here by 11 or I’ll take you up on that dragging-you-out-by-your-hair offer, Sal!” But I was already talking to the wind.

  Lizzy and Geri couldn’t believe it when I told them Summer had invited me to her party. But I still had to ask Dad.

  Dad was in his easy chair, with Madeline sitting on the broad arm of the chair, even though the whole couch was going to waste. I started to remind Dad about the no-sitting-on-the-chair-arm rule, but I didn’t want to spoil his mood before he gave me his permission to go to the party.

  “Sure. You can go,” Dad said when I asked him. “But we’ll miss you here, Winnie. Madeline and Mason are coming over to welcome in the new year.” He turned to Geri. “You’ll come too, won’t you, Geri?”

  “I’ll ask Mom, but I’m sure it will be okay. Thanks, Mr. Willis,” Geri said.

  “I’ll be glad to help you with your hair, Winnie,” Madeline offered.

  “Thanks,” I said, wondering how much help that would be. Hair isn’t one of her best features.

  “I’m sorry about the way I stormed the barn yesterday, Winnie,” she said. “Mason said I scared that little colt.”

  I didn’t think this would be the right time to correct her. Colts are males. Fillies are females.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “Mason and the foal were awesome, though. Right, buddy?”

  I said the last part louder because, since I’d come inside, Mason had been sitting cross-legged beside the old couch, staring unblinking at the armrest. He’s fascinated with splotches, and I think I’d spilled root beer there about 100 years ago (when the couch was only 50).

  Mason grinned over at me. I was relieved he hadn’t gone off somewhere in his head.