For my Forever Friends
Chapter 1
“SPIDERS? BEETLES?” BEN DUNLAP ASKED. “What about bedbugs?”
Willa Dunlap looked up from her after-school snack to stare at her younger brother. “Do you have to talk about bugs,” she asked, “while I’m eating peanut butter and crackers?”
“Okay, maybe not bugs,” Ben went on. “But field mice could be a possibility.”
“Mom,” Willa told her mother as she walked into the kitchen, “make Ben stop.”
“What’s this about bugs, Ben?” Mom asked as she placed her laptop on the kitchen counter.
“You and Dad were talking about how there are no reservations for Thanksgiving weekend,” Ben explained, “and it’s only two weeks away. I was just trying to figure out why.”
Willa’s dad was busy preparing dinner for the two guests at the inn that week. It was November and the slow season at Misty Inn and the Family Farm Restaurant. But that didn’t stop Chef Eric Dunlap from cooking up a storm.
“There are no creepy crawlies inside our bed-and-breakfast, Ben,” Dad insisted. “Outside, but not inside.”
“No mice, either,” Willa said with a grin. “New Cat makes sure of that.”
She picked up their pet cat and held him close. “Why don’t we have guests for Thanksgiving weekend?” she asked. “We were totally booked solid in the summer.”
“Everybody was here for the pony swim,” Mom said.
Dad looked over his shoulder with a wink. “You did hear about the annual pony swim, Willa?” he asked. “When a herd of wild ponies swim across the bay from Assateague Island to Chincoteague?”
Willa knew her dad was teasing. The pony swim was world famous and the biggest event on Chincoteague Island. For the past ninety-two years.
“The pony swim is the best,” Willa admitted. “But don’t people want to see the wild snow geese that fly here in November? They’re awesome too.”
Dad’s paring knife made thumping sounds on his cutting board as he diced celery. “Sure they are,” he said. “But most people like to spend Thanksgiving with good friends and family, like the song says.”
“What song, Dad?” Ben asked.
Dad stopped chopping. He cleared his throat, then belted out in a booming voice: “ ‘Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go.’ ”
“Got it, Dad.” Willa chuckled. “Except Grandma Edna and Grandpa Reed won’t be over any rivers or through any woods this Thanksgiving.”
She picked up a travel brochure Grandma Edna had dropped off the other day. “They’ll be thousands of miles away in Hawaii.”
“I can’t picture Grandma and Grandpa in Hawaii,” Ben said, shaking his head. “No way.”
“Why not?” Mom asked.
“I don’t think they even have bathing suits,” Ben explained. “I’ve only seen Grandma Edna and Grandpa Reed in overalls and work clothes.”
“Don’t forget stethoscopes,” Willa added. She was proud of her grandmother, who worked as a veterinarian on Chincoteague Island. She taught Willa everything she knew about horses and all kinds of animals. So much that Willa wanted to be a vet when she grew up.
“Well, it’s about time my hardworking parents took a break,” Mom said. “And maybe it’s time we did too.”
“What do you mean, Mom?” Willa asked.
“Since we have no reservations at the bed-and-breakfast over Thanksgiving weekend,” Mom said with a smile, “your dad and I were thinking about taking a little family trip somewhere.”
“You were thinking, Amelia,” Dad pointed out. “I’d rather stick around Misty Inn in case guests drop by at the last minute.”
All Willa heard was the word “trip.” “A trip?” she asked excitedly. “You mean like Hawaii?”
“Bring on the surfing lessons,” Ben said, sputtering cracker crumbs.
“Sorry, Ben,” Mom said, shaking her head. “But the only thing you’ll be surfing over Thanksgiving is the Web.”
“Why?” Ben asked.
“The Hawaiian Islands are super far and we only have five days,” Mom explained. “By the time we get there, it’ll be time to fly home.”
“Washington, DC, is doable,” Dad suggested. “So is Philadelphia, and New York.”
“I’d like to see the White House and the Smithsonian Institution,” Willa said. “Let’s go to DC, please.”
“I vote for New York,” Ben said, his hand shooting up. “I want to see the crazy-tall buildings.”
“We used to live in Chicago, Ben,” Willa reminded him. “We saw crazy-tall buildings every day.”
“Then I want to see the Thanksgiving Day Parade,” Ben stated. “That’s in New York every year, isn’t it?”
Willa’s eyes lit up at the mention of the famous parade. Ever since she was four years old, she had watched it on TV. But watching the giant balloons, marching bands, and floats from the sidewalks in New York would be even better.
“New York sounds good,” Willa said.
Ben raced toward the door. “Start spreading the news,” he said. “I’m going upstairs to pack for New York City.”
“Whoa, Ben,” Dad called.
“It’s not definite yet,” Mom said, “so hold your horses.”
Whoa? Hold your horses?
The words made Willa blink hard. She wanted to take a family vacation, but there was someone much more important than New York or the parade. And she was waiting for Willa in the barn right now.
“Mom, Dad? What about Starbuck?” Willa asked about her pony. “Who’s going to care for her while we’re away?”
“I’m sure we can find someone responsible,” Mom said. “Someone who can feed New Cat and Amos, too.”
Willa knew feeding a cat and a puppy was hard work. But taking care of a horse was practically a science, like Grandma Edna always said.
“But I ride Starbuck every day,” Willa said. “I feed and groom her regularly too. She might get upset if I’m not here.”
“So we’re not going to New York City or the parade because of Starbuck?” Ben complained. “Seriously?”
Willa shot her brother a sharp glance. When Starbuck had showed up at Miller Farm with an injured leg, they had both helped Grandma Edna take care of her. But after Starbuck found her own way to Misty Inn, it was Willa who took charge—waking up early every morning to feed and groom Starbuck and coming home straight from school to ride her.
“Starbuck is my pony, Ben,” Willa said. “You don’t have a pony of your own, so what do you know about horses?”
“Wasn’t that a bit harsh, Willa?” Dad asked.
Willa felt her cheeks burn. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Ben’s feelings. But taking back her words was like putting toothpaste back in the tube—almost impossible.
She was about to apologize when Mom piped in: “Kids, we don’t know for sure if we’re going anywhere, so let’s all take a breather.”
“Good idea,” Dad agreed. “And until we know for sure, I’m going to cook Thanksgiving dinner as always.”
“Eric, you’re what?” Mom asked with surprise.
“We have to be prepared, Amelia,” Dad said. “Any minute the phone can ring with Thanksgiving reservations—”
BRRRRRRIIIIIIINNNG.
All four Dunlaps froze at the sound of the kitchen phone.
“Too weird,” Ben said.
“Totally,” Willa agreed.
Mom walked over to the ringing phone. “It’s Miller Farm,” she said, looking at the caller ID. “Your grandfather can’t stop talking about visiting Pearl Harbor soon.”
Answering the phone, Mom put it on speaker. It wasn’t Grandpa Reed, but Grandma Edna.
“Amelia, you’re not going to believe what’s happening,”
Grandma Edna said. “Never in a million years.”
“Dad wants to sign you guys up for hula lessons,” Mom guessed.
“As if that’s going to happen.” Grandma Edna chuckled. “The last dance I learned was the twist.”
Ben wrinkled his nose. “The what?”
“Tell us what happened, Grandma Edna,” Willa called toward the phone. “Is it something to do with one of the animals?”
“No, honey,” Grandma Edna replied. “I just got a call from a friend who lives up the island.”
Grandma Edna paused a few seconds, then said, “There’s a wild pony in her apple orchard plucking apples right off her prizewinning apple tree.”
“A pony?” Willa said with surprise. Any news about a pony was huge. Especially when it was a wild pony like Starbuck.
Chapter 2
“WHERE DID THE PONY COME from?” Willa asked, leaning toward the phone, still on speaker. “Is it short and shaggy like a Chincoteague pony?”
“I just know it’s male and loves apples so far,” Grandma Edna replied. “But I do need your help.”
“Our help?” Ben said excitedly. “This is getting good.”
“The pony, until we find his owner, will need a safe place to say,” Grandma Edna went on. “There’s no empty stall at Miller Farm at the moment. And I don’t want to introduce a wild horse to the pasture herd until we get to know him better.”
“So you want us to keep the pony in our pasture?” Willa asked. “Maybe he can have the stall right next to Starbuck’s.”
“Willa, slow down,” Dad said. “Other than that he likes apples, we don’t know very much about this pony yet, like Grandma Edna said.”
“Can we meet him?” Willa asked her parents.
Mom gave it a thought. She then shrugged and said, “I suppose.”
“Dad?” Willa asked hopefully.
When her father nodded yes, Willa said, “Awesome. Will you be there too, Grandma Edna?”
“I’m afraid not, honey,” Grandma Edna said. “One of the horses here at the farm is upchucking from eating too many weeds. I don’t want to leave him just yet.”
There was a slight pause before Grandma Edna added, “Which is another reason I want you to take in this horse.”
“Is he throwing up too?” Ben asked, wrinkling his nose. “Gross.”
“No, but he might get sick if he eats too many apples,” Grandma Edna explained. “Apples can be hard on a horse’s digestive system, especially a Chincoteague pony’s.”
“Why a Chincoteague pony?” Willa asked.
“For hundreds of years, horses were mainly grass eaters,” Grandma Edna explained. “Their digestive systems evolved to process small grass meals over the course of a day.”
“That’s why horses like to graze,” Ben said. He shot Willa a smirk. “See? I do know something about horses.”
Willa smirked back. Was it just more than a year ago that her little brother was too shy to speak?
“Since the Chincoteague ponies have been isolated on Assateague Island for hundreds of years,” Grandma Edna went on, “they aren’t accustomed to different foods like apples.”
“I’m glad I’m not a Chincoteague pony,” Ben said, grabbing a shiny red apple from a bowl. “I love a good Winesap apple.”
“Okay, everybody,” Grandma Edna said. “If you’re going to rescue that renegade pony, you’d better do it before it gets dark.”
“Good idea,” Mom agreed. “That pony may not want to follow us home in the dark.”
“Unless he follows Starbuck,” Willa blurted. “Let me ride Starbuck to the apple tree. The pony might feel more comfortable around other horses.”
“Or more jittery,” Mom said.
“It’s worth a try, Amelia,” Grandma Edna said. “Worse comes to worse, Willa can just turn Starbuck around.”
“Thanks, Grandma Edna!” Willa exclaimed.
Grandma Edna ended the call. Mom turned to everyone and said, “Looks like Operation Pony Rescue is all systems go.”
The Dunlaps sprang into action. Mom hung up a BE BACK SOON sign in case new guests showed up while they were gone. Dad washed a few baby carrots to feed the wild pony—instead of apples.
“Here’s the address,” Mom said, showing Willa a map she had printed out. Willa studied the map and nodded. She knew exactly where Grandma Edna’s friend lived.
“Oh, and take the phone, too,” Mom said, handing the family’s extra phone to Willa. “Call me immediately if you can’t find the house.”
“I’ll be there,” Willa said. “First I have to saddle Starbuck.”
Willa stopped at the kitchen door, remembering Ben. “Do you want to come with me to the barn?” she asked.
“Me?” Ben scoffed. “I don’t have my own pony, so what do I know about horses?”
Willa heaved a sigh as she stepped out the door. Sarcastic much?
Amos the puppy rushed over to Willa, then scampered after her to the barn. The moment the doors were open a crack, Amos flitted inside.
Closing both doors, Willa heard Starbuck shake her mane and nicker. She turned and walked over to her stall with a smile.
“Hey, girl,” Willa said, petting her pony’s butterscotch-colored forehead with the pretty white star mark. “I know I came by after school, but we have an important job to do.”
Starbuck blew air out of her nostrils. The pony’s warm breath on her arm comforted Willa as it always did. She looked over at the empty stall next to Starbuck. The last pony to stay there was the Starlings’ pony Buttercup.
Sarah Starling was Willa’s best friend. In a very short time Starbuck and Buttercup became good friends too.
“You might get a new barn mate, Starbuck,” Willa explained, swinging open the stall door. “I don’t know much about him, except that he loves apples.”
After loosely tying Starbuck to the hitching post, Willa gave her pony’s back a quick but thorough groom. She then pulled on the saddle pad, followed by the much heavier saddle. Making sure to fasten the saddle to Starbuck’s girth, Willa gave it a safety and comfort check.
“You’re good to go, girl,” Willa said, unhitching her pony. “Now, let’s meet your roomie.”
The Dunlaps’ car had already left by the time Willa rode Starbuck toward the road. Other cars slowed down as they passed Willa and Starbuck ambling along the sandy roadside.
Glancing down, Willa could see more leaves on the ground than on the trees. It was the second week in November and growing dark early like Grandma Edna said. Were the runaway pony’s owners wondering where he was? Were they worried about him?
“I hope you never get lost, Starbuck,” Willa said as they sauntered up the road at a gentle pace. “But if you do, I hope someone helps to bring you straight home.”
Willa had no problem finding the house where Grandma Edna’s friend lived. The woman’s name was Farrah. She had long gray hair worn in a single braid down her back. And by the time Willa joined the others, she was frantic.
“I did approach the pony several times,” Farrah was in the middle of telling Mom and Dad, “but he kept turning his rump to me.”
Willa dismounted Starbuck, holding her harness. Ben stood next to his sister, filling her in on what she had missed: “The tall, skinny guy next to Farrah is her neighbor. His name is Jerry.”
“The pony turned his back on me, too,” Jerry was saying, his eyes wide. “Was it something I said?”
“No, no.” Mom chuckled. “That’s just a horse’s way of saying he’s not interested in you.”
“Nothing personal,” Dad added.
Farrah’s house stood in the middle of a small but well-planted apple orchard. The branches were almost bare but dotted with bright, shiny, late-fall apples.
“Where’s the pony?” Willa whispered.
“There,” Ben said.
Willa looked to see where Ben was pointing. Tucked away in the orchard was an apple tree with low-hanging fruit. Standing beneath it, nibbling away on an apple, was
a chestnut pinto gelding with a shaggy light-brown mane. The stocky little pony had four white patches circling his ankles. They made it look like he was wearing socks.
That’s got to be a Chincoteague pony, Willa thought excitedly. Just like Starbuck.
“How do you think I feel,” Farrah was wailing, “watching my prizewinning apples turn to horse chow.”
“Prizewinning, huh?” Dad joked. “At least we know the pony has good taste.”
But Farrah didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile.
“Just stop that apple-eating renegade,” Farrah said. “Please?”
“Let me try,” Mom said.
Willa and Ben watched quietly as their mother approached the pony. Like Willa, Mom knew never to approach a horse from behind, which might startle him and make him kick. Instead, she spoke gently as she approached, keeping a good distance to his side.
“Hey, boy,” Mom cooed, “is that apple good?”
But before Mom could get near—
“There he goes again,” Jerry said. “He’s turning his back on her, too.”
Quickly Mom stepped back to avoid a possible kick.
“You see?” Farrah wailed, her apple-shaped earrings swinging as she shook her head. “It’s hopeless. Soon all my apples will be gone.”
Still holding on to Starbuck, Willa turned to her parents. “Let me walk Starbuck over to the pony,” she said. “Maybe he’ll respond to her.”
“Go ahead,” Mom said. “Just give yourself and Starbuck enough distance.”
Willa gripped Starbuck’s reins as she led her toward the apple tree. “Look, boy,” she called gently to the horse. “Someone wants to say hi.”
But the other horse did not. With his rump to Willa, he took another step back. So did Willa and Starbuck.
“Maybe we should call Grandma Edna.” Willa sighed.
“But Grandma Edna’s with a sick horse,” Mom said.
“I know, Mom,” Willa said. “But if we don’t get that pony away from the apples, there’ll be another sick horse.”
Mom nodded as she pulled out her phone. “I’ll call her now.” While she stepped to the side to make the call, Dad forced a smile in the direction of Farrah.
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