“You choose, Dad,” Willa said as she gazed out the window.
Winesap seemed to love being out in the paddock. Early that morning Willa had brought Starbuck to the field to join him. The ponies seemed happy to see each other again— rounding their necks and putting their heads together.
“Where’s Ben?” Willa asked. “I’m surprised he’s not outside with Winesap.”
Dad took on a serious tone. “I’m not surprised,” he said. “Ben came down with a fever. He’s in the living room with your mom.”
“A fever?” Willa asked. No wonder Ben had said he wasn’t feeling well.
Willa found Ben in the living room wrapped in a blanket on the recliner chair. Mom looked concerned as she studied a thermometer.
“Under a hundred and one.” Mom sighed. “Looks like you caught that cold that’s going around, Ben.”
“I’ll bet you caught a cold out in the field,” Willa told Ben, “by sitting on the chilly ground yesterday while you were playing with Winesap.”
“I wasn’t just sitting,” Ben said, his voice hoarse. “I walked Winesap around the field too.”
Ben pulled a tissue from a box and said, “When we got tired, I’d read to Winesap— standing up.”
Willa blinked with surprise. “You read to Winesap?” she asked.
Ben blew his nose with a honk, then said, “He likes science fiction.”
Mom turned to Willa. “You can’t catch a cold from a damp, chilly ground,” she explained. “It takes exposure to germs.”
Ben shot Willa a look that said, You see?
“I’ll get a cool compress for your forehead, Ben,” Mom said. She paused at the door. “Oh, before I forget, Grandma Edna called again this morning.”
Ben’s eyes grew huge with worry. “Did she find Winesap’s real owners?” he asked.
Willa held her breath, waiting for Mom’s answer.
“No real owners yet,” Mom said. “Grandma Edna said you should start getting Winesap’s stall ready. They’re predicting snow next week.”
“That means Winesap’s going to stay,” Ben exclaimed as best he could with a fever. “I may feel like poo, but this is my lucky day.”
Willa raised an eyebrow at Ben. Why was he getting excited about Winesap moving into the barn? It wasn’t like he was moving into the inn. Or into Ben’s room.
But as Willa left for the barn to get the stall ready, she knew the real reason. With each day, no real owner meant Winesap might stay for good.
I like Winesap too, but it’s just not right, Willa thought. A pony needs to be with his or her real owners, so we have to find them.
She walked to the field and leaned against the fence. Starbuck’s ears pointed in her direction as her tail swished at flies. Willa couldn’t see Winesap’s ears—that’s how shaggy his mane was.
“Okay, Mr. Socks,” Willa said with a smile as Winesap padded toward the fence. “If you’re moving in next to my pony soon you need to look respectable.”
Winesap reached his shaggy head over the fence and nuzzled Willa’s shoulder.
“That means you need to be groomed,” Willa told the pony gently. “When was the last time your owners did that?”
With a new goal, Willa raced to the barn. In a flash she was back in the field with a bucket full of grooming brushes: a currycomb, stiff and soft brushes, and one for Winesap’s mane and tail.
Starbuck nickered as Willa opened the fence and walked inside. But this time she wasn’t there for her own pony. She was there for Misty Inn’s unexpected guest.
After placing the bucket on the ground, Willa pulled out the currycomb. Standing on Winesap’s left side, she moved the brush in a circular motion to loosen the dirt.
“There you go, boy,” Willa said gently. “It’s getting cold, but soon you’ll be in a nice, warm, cozy stall.”
While she was brushing, Willa’s eyes darted around the field then to the house. Standing at the window of his room was Ben. Her brother’s hands rested on the windowpane as he watched her and Winesap.
Willa sighed to herself as she turned back to her brushing. The longer it took to find Winesap’s owners, the harder it would be for Ben.
“Who are you really, Winesap?” Willa asked softly. “I wish you could tell me.”
Chapter 8
“NOW I’M GOING TO GET hat hair,” Sarah complained as she tugged at the plushy white hat on her head. “I hate that about winter.”
Willa turned to Sarah, who was sitting next to her on the school bus. It was Monday and the first really cold day of the year. Practically all the kids on the bus were bundled up in hats, scarves, and woolly gloves. Sarah had on a hat designed to look like a black-and-white panda head.
“Who cares about hair when you can wear neat hats like yours?” Willa asked with a smile. “And I like winter, especially when it snows.”
“And when I get to wear my cool snow boots!” Sarah said, smiling too.
Willa rubbed a clear spot on the frosty bus window and looked outside “It’s not snowing yet,” she said, “but there might be an early snowstorm right before Thanksgiving.”
“I heard,” Sarah said. “My parents said the airport might shut down, and you know what that means.”
Willa sure did. It meant Sarah’s cousin Paisley couldn’t fly in from California.
“Weather reports can be wrong sometimes,” Willa blurted. She felt horrible for feeling a tiny bit glad. Without Paisley, Sarah would be free to spend Thanksgiving weekend with her.
“Where’s Ben?” Sarah asked. “He didn’t get on the bus with you this morning.”
“He’s home with a cold,” Willa explained. “But I’m sure he’s planning a great escape so he can visit Winesap.”
“Winesap,” Sarah said, rapping her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” Willa asked.
“I showed my dad the picture you e-mailed me of Winesap,” Sarah explained. “He said he thought he recognized the horse from one of the pony swims.”
“No way.” Willa gasped at the news.
Mr. Starling was what Chincoteague Islanders called a saltwater cowboy. They were the skilled cowboys who led the herd of Assateague ponies across the bay to Chincoteague every July.
“My dad said Winesap might have swum over from Assateague nine years ago,” Sarah said.
“Wow,” Willa said. “How did he remember Winesap?”
Sarah shrugged. “Something about the marks around Winesap’s ankles,” she said, “the ones that look like white socks.”
Willa felt her heart thumping excitedly inside her chest. “Was Winesap sold at the pony auction?” Willa asked.
Each summer the pony swim was followed by an auction, where Assateague ponies were sold to the highest bidders.
“Dad didn’t say,” Sarah admitted. “But Winesap must have been sold or else he would have been herded back to Assateague.”
Willa drew in her breath as she leaned back in the seat. The pieces of the pony puzzle seemed to be falling into place, although they still didn’t know who the pony’s real owners were.
“Sarah, your parents let you take a phone to school, right?” Willa asked.
Sarah nodded and said, “For emergencies. Why?”
“I think I have an emergency,” Willa said. “May I borrow it to call my grandmother, please?”
“I guess,” Sarah said. She pulled out a small flip-phone and gave it Willa. “Just don’t let the other kids see it or everyone will want to borrow it.”
“Deal,” Willa said. Ducking down in her seat, she keyed in Grandma Edna’s number. She waited until—
“Miller Farm,” Grandma Edna chirped.
“Grandma Edna, guess what?” Willa whispered. “Winesap swam here from Assateague Island nine years ago. Sarah’s dad told her so.”
“Nine years ago?” Grandma Edna said. “It’s a great start, honey. I’ll check my old vet records and make some calls.”
“You’re the bes
t, Grandma Edna,” Willa whispered. She ended the call and handed the phone to Sarah. “Thanks for the phone—and the scoop.”
“Aren’t your grandparents going to Hawaii for Thanksgiving?” Sarah asked. “How are they going to go if they shut down the airport?”
“I hope they still go,” Willa said with a smile. “After Grandma Edna finds Winesap’s real owners.”
That day at school the kids were super excited about Thanksgiving vacation in just three days. Willa was excited about that and about something else. She couldn’t wait to see what Grandma Edna would find out about Winesap.
After school Willa raced home from the bus, careful not to slip on freshly formed ice. She swung the door open and smiled. Sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a plate of cookies was Grandma Edna.
“Now, here’s the girl I was waiting for,” Grandma Edna said before taking a sip of coffee.
“What happened, Grandma Edna?” Willa asked as she pulled off her winter woollies and draped them over a chair.
“Hello to you too,” Grandma Edna joked. She put down her mug and said, “You’ll be happy to know that Sarah’s tip paid off.”
“Paid off? How?” Willa asked. “Did you find Winesap’s owners?”
“Sure did,” Grandma Edna said. “Winesap is owned by a woman named Marjorie Lundgren. Her house is about a half a mile from Farrah’s house.”
“Where we found Winesap.” Willa gasped.
“The Lundgrens used another vet here on Chincoteague,” Grandma Edna said. “But I was called one night about nine years ago when he was out of town. That’s why Winesap and his description were in my files.”
Grandma Edna bit into a cookie, then said, “I didn’t think to go back so far in my files. Good thing I did.”
Willa was glad Grandma Edna finally found Winesap’s owners, but there was still something she didn’t get. . . .
“Why didn’t Marjorie look for Winesap?” Willa asked. “Didn’t she know he was missing?”
“Not until Marjorie got back to Chincoteague last night,” Grandma Edna explained. “She was in Richmond on an extended business trip. The teenage girl checking in on Winesap was too embarrassed to report him missing.”
“Wow,” Willa said under her breath.
“The pony belongs to Marjorie’s son, Matt, who’s away at college,” Grandma Edna went on. “She admitted to me that Matt outgrew the pony.”
“How can anyone outgrow a pony?” Willa asked.
“Matt became busy with college and his part-time jobs,” Grandma Edna explained, “but he was too attached to the pony to sell him.”
Willa took a cookie from the plate. “What’s Winesap’s real name?” she asked.
“I don’t know, Willa,” Grandma Edna said. “I never wrote the pony’s name in my file, just his description. And Marjorie only called him the pony.”
Mom walked into the kitchen, holding a bottle of green cough syrup. Willa guessed it had been for Ben.
“How is Ben, Mom?” Willa wanted to know.
“Feeling better but not quite one hundred percent,” Mom replied. She looked at her own mother and asked, “So when is Marjorie picking up the pony?”
“Her son is coming home for Thanksgiving break,” Grandma Edna explained. “She said they’d come to Misty Inn after the weekend to claim the pony.”
Willa’s eyes widened at the news. The mystery pony was a mystery no more. So why wasn’t Willa happy about it?
“Mom?” Willa asked slowly. “Who’s going to tell Ben? About Winesap’s owners, I mean.”
“Your dad is out food shopping before the snow,” Mom said with a frown. “So I guess I’m stuck with the task.”
“Oh, I’ll do it,” Grandma Edna said, standing up. “I’ve had animals come and go on Miller Farm for decades.”
As she headed toward the door, Grandma Edna added, “It’s not like I have to be home packing. With that big ol’ storm brewing, our trip to Hawaii isn’t looking very good.”
Willa picked up the plate of cookies, then followed Grandma Edna and Mom up the stairs. Ben was reading in bed when they filed into his room. His nose was bright red from rubbing it with tissues.
Ben looked up from his book. When he saw Willa, Mom, and Grandma Edna standing at the foot of his bed, he frowned.
“Uh-oh,” Ben said with a croaky voice. “Is this about Winesap?”
Chapter 9
GRANDMA EDNA SAT DOWN ON the bed next to Ben. “I did just get some news,” she said gently. “And it is about Winesap.”
Willa watched as Grandma Edna told Ben all about Marjorie Lundgren and her son. As Ben listened, his nose grew redder and he began to sniff. His eyes watered up too.
Was it his cold? Or the news about Winesap?
After Grandma Edna finished talking, Mom said, “You know it’s okay to cry about Winesap, Ben.”
Ben gave a loud sniff then forced a little smile. “It’s cool, Mom,” he said. “If Winesap has other owners, he should go home to them.”
Willa stared at Ben. Was it really okay? And would Ben blame her for trying so hard to find Winesap’s real owners? She sure hoped not.
“Grandma Edna?” Ben asked. “What’s Winesap’s real name?”
“We don’t know yet,” Grandma Edna replied.
“Good,” Ben said with a little nod. “So until they pick him up, he’s still Winesap.”
Mom leaned over to feel Ben’s forehead. “You’re much cooler now. How do you feel?”
Not answering, Ben’s eyes zeroed in on the plate in Willa’s hands. “Are those chocolate chip cookies?” he asked with a sniff.
“With macadamia nuts,” Willa said.
“Then I feel much better,” Ben declared.
When Willa saw Ben’s smile, she felt better too.
“Chocolate chip cookies with macadamia nuts,” she said, “coming up.”
“There you are, Willa,” Ben called as he hurried up the driveway Tuesday afternoon. “I thought you’d never get here.”
Willa blinked snowflakes from her eyelashes as she walked up toward the house. Was she seeing what she thought she was seeing? After he’d stayed home from school for another day, what was Ben doing out in the cold?
“The bus drove slowly in the snow,” Willa said. “Do Mom and Dad know you’re outside?”
Ben was so bundled up, he could hardly nod his head. His voice was muffled from the thick scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth as he said, “It’s okay as long as we work fast.”
“Doing what?” Willa asked.
“Getting Winesap into the barn before the snow gets heavier,” Ben said. “Mom said I could do it as long as you help.”
Willa could see light snow coating Winesap’s horse blanket. She had borrowed the blanket from Starbuck that morning to keep Winesap warm.
“Let’s do this,” Willa said. She slipped both arms through the straps of her backpack to free her hands. Then she and Ben walked against the wind toward the field and Winesap. The chestnut pony blew wind from his nostrils as they filed through the gate.
“His halter is still on,” Willa pointed out. “One of us has to get a lead rope.”
Ben rolled his eyes as he pulled a coiled-up rope from his jacket pocket. “What does this look like?” he asked.
Willa smiled at Ben’s preparedness. She still considered herself the pony expert, but Ben was catching up pretty fast.
The snow began falling more heavily as Ben attached the rope to Winesap’s halter.
“You lead him,” Willa told her brother. “I’ll open the gate.”
Winesap fell into step next to Ben as he led him through the gate. Willa ran ahead to open the barn doors.
“Company’s coming, Starbuck,” Willa called as she entered.
Speaking softly, Ben guided Winesap into the barn. The two ponies nickered at each other like old friends.
“Home sweet home, Winesap,” Willa said.
“At least through Thanksgiving weekend.” Ben sigh
ed.
After removing the blanket, Ben led Winesap into the empty stall near Starbuck. Ben stood inside the stall at Winesap’s side as he turned him around to face the door.
“Good job, Pony Whisperer,” Willa teased good-naturedly as Ben left the stall, closing and latching the door behind him.
Ben smiled as Winesap and Starbuck traded friendly snorts over the wall.
“I’ve got five whole days with Winesap before his owners pick him up,” Ben reported. “If the snow doesn’t get too high, maybe I’ll saddle him for a ride.”
“Maybe,” Willa said. Together she and Ben hung up the heavy horse blanket. They were about to fill the water buckets when Mom stepped inside.
“I was about to go back to the house, Mom,” Ben said. “I feel good. Really.”
“That’s not why I’m here, Ben,” Mom said. “I came with good news and bad news.”
“Good news first,” Willa said.
“Schools are closed tomorrow because of the coming snowstorm,” Mom said with a smile. “You guys have an extra day off for Thanksgiving break.”
When Willa and Ben didn’t react, Mom cocked her head. “So . . . aren’t you happy about that?” she asked.
“Sort of,” Ben said. “After being cooped up in the house since the weekend, I wanted to go back to school. I haven’t seen Chipper in ages.”
“Our new lunch lady Mrs. Wainwright promised us a Thanksgiving dinner for lunch tomorrow,” Willa explained. “There’d be hot, open-faced turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce and sweet potatoes.”
“Well, I thought that was the good news.” Mom chuckled.
“What’s the bad news, Mom?” Ben asked.
Mom’s smile turned into a frown. She took a deep breath then said, “The Lundgrens aren’t coming for Winesap after Thanksgiving weekend.”
Ben’s eyes lit up as he said, “They’re not?”
“No, Ben,” Mom said carefully. “They’re coming tomorrow morning.”
Chapter 10
THE BIG LACY SNOWFLAKES FROM that morning were now a blur as they began falling faster and heavier.
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