Phantom Horse 1: Phantom Horse

by Christine Pullein-Thompson

  7

  I got up very early. I wanted to say goodbye to all the animals before I left. I had an idea it would be ages before I was allowed to see the Millers' house again.

  George and Joe were milking the house cows. They asked after Angus and let me try my hand at milking. They were very pleased that Angus wasn't hurt. I had never seen a cow milked by hand before and I wasn't much good at it. I wandered back to the house and met Pete. “You get earlier and earlier,” he said.

  We fed the horses together and Pete asked whether I would like to take Easter and the bay mare back to Mountain Farm. I said that I'd better ask my parents first.

  I hardly ate any breakfast because of being sad about leaving. When I had finished I said goodbye to Annie, and then I heard Dad hooting impatiently outside the front door. I rushed into the dining-room, where the Millers were still eating, and shouted goodbye to everyone. I kissed Cop, and rushing outside I ran straight into a pillar.

  Dad said, “Do look where you're going. Have you hurt yourself? We don't want any more accidents.”

  I rubbed my head. “No, I'm okay,” I said, but I hit my head again as I got into the car.

  “You seem determined to do yourself in,” Dad remarked.

  I felt cross. “How's Angus?” I asked.

  “Completely recovered,” Dad replied.

  I waited for him to ask how we came to be in the mountains. But he didn't. We drove away from the Millers' house, down the long drive, in silence.

  Mountain Farm looked very small. The yard seemed tiny. Dad said, “I'll just drop you and drive on. I'm late already.”

  Angus was waiting by the front door. “Hello,” he called.

  He looked marvellous, but tiny after Phil and Pete. “I only had concussion,” he said. “The hospital was awful; they kept me in a darkened room and there was absolutely nothing to do.”

  Angus and I wandered round to the stable after I had seen Mum. “You know we're not to ride again for the whole holidays, don't you?” he asked. I felt a huge lump rising in my throat. “I told them everything. What else could I do?” he asked.

  “Of course. You couldn't do anything else,” I said.

  “It sounded so awful when I started to explain. Not at all like it really was. I expect you could have told them better,” Angus said. “They were nice about it really. I mean I suppose we had to have some sort of punishment, I expect if we had children, we'd do just the same.”

  “You mean about punishing them?” I asked. “Personally, I'd much rather be smacked or made to write I must do what my parents tell me five hundred times. Wouldn't you?”

  “Much. But the point is they wanted to choose the worst punishment they could think of,” Angus said.

  “Well, they've certainly succeeded,” I replied. I saw the rest of the holidays stretching before us, long sunny days, beautiful early mornings. I saw the mountains calling us, their trails waiting to be explored. And we'll be stuck here, I thought, with no horses to ride. We'll see the Millers riding past, horses grazing in the valley, and we'll know that till term starts we can't ride anywhere, not even to the end of the dirt road and back. “We'll never catch the wild horse now,” I said.

  “Well, it's our own fault. We can't blame anyone else. It's no good being cross. We'll just have to make the best of it,” Angus replied.

  “Can we walk where we like?” I asked.

  “Not off the property for a week,” Angus replied.

  “That’s so unfair! A week? It might as well be a lifetime!,” I said.

  “Don't be so hysterical. What's a week or a month? A mere drop in the ocean of our lives,” Angus replied.

  I could see that my brother had been considering our punishment for some time and was now determined to make the best of it. I started to tell him about my stay with the Millers.

  “They were all incredibly nice, though I think I like Pete best,” I finished.

  “And what did you do with the chocolates?” Angus asked.

  “Ate them of course. I've still got the pen though,” I replied.

  “You might have kept some for your poor sick brother,” Angus said.

  “I decided that you probably had piles of grapes and peaches. Sick people always get masses to eat,” I replied.

  We wandered into the house and out again. There seemed absolutely nothing to do. Mum told us to tidy our bedrooms, which she said were like pigsties. I began to dread the next week.

  “We'll have to write poetry or something,” Angus said in desperation.

  After lunch Pete rang up. He wanted to know whether we'd like some horses brought over. I explained about our punishment and he said, “Tough luck. Never mind, if you can't come to us, we'll come to you. We've got two-thirds of the harvest in. There's nothing to stop us bringing sandwiches and spending the whole darned day with you. So cheer up, we'll come right over tomorrow, Jean.”

  I said, “That'll be great. But remember we can't ride. What will you do all day?”

  “Plenty. I've got all sorts of ideas,” Pete replied. “Be seeing you.”

  I told Angus what Pete had said. He looked worried. “I can't see what the heck they'll do here all day,” he said. “They're not the sort of people who can sit about and read for hours.”

  “Well, it's no good worrying. I've told them how the land lies,” I replied.

  We spent the afternoon reading books. We told Mum about the Millers' impending visit, and she said, “I can't imagine what they'll do all day. I should think they'd be bored to tears.”

  The paddock and the stable looked horribly empty without any horses. The evening dragged slowly on till bedtime.

  I woke up the next morning filled with trepidation. I was certain Mum was right: the Millers would be bored to tears. I pictured them yawning and looking at their watches. I wished that they hadn't decided to visit us. Angus felt the same. We both appeared for breakfast with dismal faces.

  It was another perfect day. “If only we had a swimming pool,” Angus said.

  “Or a tennis court, or even a swing,” I added.

  “I'm glad you haven't either. You're dangerous enough as it is,” Mum said.

  “I can't see that there's anything dangerous in a swing,” Angus replied.

  “Can't you?” Mum answered. “For one thing, you'd probably knock each other's eyes out with the corners, or go so high that you'd become entangled with a tree.”

  I was furious that Mum could think we'd be so silly. I'd often played with swings before. It was maddening not to be trusted at all. One day we'll show Mum and Dad what we're really like, I thought.

  The Millers arrived in the Jeep at ten o'clock. Phil was driving. Apparently, you can have a licence at fifteen in most states as long as your parents agree.

  “We've brought some paint. We thought we'd start on the inside of the stable,” Wendy yelled.

  “Great idea,” Angus said.

  Phil drove the Jeep into the yard and we all helped pull out brushes and tins of emulsion.

  “We wanted to bring a couple of the men along to help some. But the old man wasn't agreeable,” Pete told us.

  “I'm starting on the cobwebs. Do you think you could get the long brush out of the kitchen for me, Angus?” Wendy asked.

  “I expect we'll have to brush down the walls first,” Pete said.

  We spent the entire day painting the stable. Wendy broke the brush she was using and insisted on going indoors to apologise to Mum. Phil cracked jokes all the time. The Millers wouldn't come in for lunch. They said they'd only upset our parents, and anyway they weren't suitably dressed.

  By the time the Millers left the stable looked marvellous. They had to return the Jeep by six o'clock, when the men would need it to take them home. Before they drove away I thanked them all again for having me. They said silly things like “Darned generous of us” and “Can't think why we did.”

  Angus and I watched the Jeep disappearing along the dirt road. “You can't say today's been dull,” Angus sai
d.

  “Far from it,” I agreed.

  The next few days were terribly dull. I wrote some very bad poetry; Angus made two saddle-racks to hang in the stable. Mum bought us a pot of paint and we painted the loose box doors dark green.

  We spent one afternoon visiting our new school. Mr Miller came with us and Mum and Dad, and introduced us to the headmaster. It was a school for boys as well as girls. Pete and Phil had just left it for a military academy; Wendy would be leaving after Christmas. There was a baseball pitch, and the buildings were low, modern and rambling. The headmaster, Mr Beeton, was tall, with narrow shoulders and fair hair. He gave us all tea in his small, two-storey, brick house. He was not at all frightening, and talked to Angus and me as though we were grown-ups. We discovered that our education was in advance of American children of our age. Mum and Dad seemed well pleased with the school, and Mr Beeton. And we thought it very nice of him to give us tea, which is not a usual American meal.

  Before Pete and Phil left for the military academy they brought back the bay mare and Frances to Mountain Farm. We were all very sad now that the summer holidays were over; and we hadn't managed to catch the wild horse. The weather was still marvellous; the mountains had become a mass of greens, browns and oranges; there was a feeling of autumn – what the Millers called the fall – in the air.

  Phil and Pete said goodbye on a misty morning. They looked very dashing in their uniforms. They had gleaming white belts, and every buckle and button on their tunics was shining.

  We stood together in the yard and Phil said, “It's not long before we'll be back again and then we really will catch that darned horse.”

  “If you haven't caught him already,” Pete added.

  “You'll be pretty smart if you do,” Phil said, using smart in the American sense when it means clever, cunning or sharp, or really a mixture of all three.

  “I don't think we will,” Wendy replied.

  “We're jolly well going to try, anyway,” Angus said.

  Pete kicked a stone and we stood and said nothing, while the mist cleared from the mountains and the sun shone on the valley.

  “I hope you get on all right at school, Jean. I guess you may find it kind of rough after life in England,” Pete told me.

  “I'll look after her all right,” Wendy said.

  “She's champion wrestler in the school and captain of the baseball team,” Phil told us.

  Pete and Phil left at last and when they had gone the holidays seemed really over.

  Tomorrow was to be our first day at school in America.

  8

  On an October evening when Angus and I had finished riding and were just starting our homework, Wendy telephoned. I answered and she came to the point straight away.

  “I say, Jean, we've just realised it's the opening meet of the Jameson hounds next Saturday, and we just wondered whether you and Angus would like to come along with us,” she said.

  The Jameson hunt is one of the smartest packs in Virginia. The subscription is something like a thousand pounds. I wondered what the cap would be.

  “We'd love to. But I shall have to ask Mum and Dad. Is the meet near? I mean, can we hack?” I asked.

  “Don't be dumb. Your horses can travel with mine in the truck,” Wendy replied.

  “Thanks a million. Hang on,” I said.

  Mum was reading. Dad was writing letters. It was a bad moment to ask a favour. “It's Wendy,” I said. “She wants to know whether we can go to the opening meet with her on Saturday.”

  Angus had listened to the telephone conversation on the other phone. “She will take our horses with hers in their truck,” he added.

  “What's the cap?” Dad asked. “How much will you have to pay?”

  “Who'll look after you?” Mum inquired.

  “Why do we need looking after? We hunted on our own in England,” Angus said.

  I could hear Wendy's voice coming from the receiver in the hall.

  “I forgot to ask,” I replied.

  “You'd better find out then,” Dad told me.

  I rushed back to the telephone. I suddenly wanted to hunt very badly. “Hello,” I said. “Dad wants to know who'll look after us, and what's the cap?”

  “Heavens above, you're not kids of six!” Wendy said, and I thought there was a scorn in her voice. “Dad will be following in the station wagon and you'll be our guests, so there won't be any caps.”

  “Thanks! It's ever so nice of you,” I replied.

  “Don’t mention it,” she said, sounding bored. I imagined her thinking: Molly-coddled English children! Wendy could be very scornful.

  I rushed back to my parents and gabbled, “There's no cap to pay. Mr Miller will look after us.”

  Dad said, “Do speak more slowly.”

  I repeated what I had said, adding that we were to be the Millers' guests for the day.

  “I must say that's very good of Charlie,” Dad remarked.

  I could still hear Wendy's voice in the hall. I thought: In another moment she'll be fed up and ring off.

  I said, “She's still holding on.”

  Dad turned to Mum and said, “What do you think, Angela?” in that maddeningly slow way parents sometimes have when you're in a hurry.

  “I don't see why they shouldn't go, if only they can be sensible,” Mum replied.

  I rushed to the telephone. “Yes, we can go. Thank you so much,” I cried.

  “That's great! See you tomorrow at school,” Wendy said.

  I felt quite limp when I had put down the receiver. I had never imagined that we would hunt – not in my wildest dreams, and certainly not with the Jameson hounds. I stood by the telephone for a moment, seeing hounds drawing a tiny covert, myself riding Frances, Angus well mounted on the bay mare. Oh, we are lucky, I thought. To think that we're really going to hunt in America.

  Angus was overjoyed. Only our parents were dubious.

  “Remember it's better to go round a fence than to risk a broken neck,” Dad warned.

  “We really will try to be sensible,” Angus replied, and he sounded as though he really meant it.

  I remembered the last time he had promised the same thing. And this time he really will, I told myself.

  For the rest of the evening Angus and I could think of nothing but hunting. The next morning we rose early and groomed the ponies for hours. We collected information about the Jameson hounds at school. We discovered that they belonged to a very rich family called the Smythes and had been started in 1908. We also discovered that the Smythes were the owners of the wild horse.

  Wendy told us that we must bring our horses over to the Millers' place by ten o'clock. The meet was quite close, but no one seemed to consider hacking.

  Angus and I spent a great deal of time sponging and pressing our riding-clothes. We could think of nothing but the meet and we increased our horses' oats and corn by several double handfuls and ears. Our parents decided to attend the meet. They also invited people to stay for the weekend.

  The weather stayed warm. Thursday arrived and we found that Frances had a loose shoe. A terrible search for a blacksmith ensued. At last we heard of one, who came in an enormous pick-up truck and shod Frances at seven o'clock in the evening.

  Friday was warm but there were a few scattered showers. I was kept in after school because I hadn't attended to a history lesson. Angus was furious, and he, Wendy and Mr Miller had to wait for me. And though they were all very nice about it, I felt horribly guilty.

  Angus and I rode for about twenty minutes when at last we reached home. Then we cleaned the tack, which wasn't very dirty. We groomed the ponies until it was dark, and gave them three ears of corn each and a large feed of oats.

  “I hope they won't be too fresh,” Angus said. “I wish we were hacking to the meet.”

  “What sandwiches would you like? Ham, egg or cheese?” Mum asked, when we entered the kitchen.

  “Ham, please,” we both answered.

  It seemed funny to be preparing for
hunting again. Particularly so far from home. I couldn't believe that we would ever really arrive at the meet. It all seemed a little too good to be true.

  Angus charged about the house collecting his clothes and singing “John Peel”. Mum gave us lots of advice. I decided that we must get up at six, have mucked out by six-thirty and have the horses ready by nine. Angus said I was mad and if we got up at seven we would still have plenty of time. In the end we agreed to split the difference and set the alarm clock for six-thirty.

  I don't think I slept much that night. I was so excited, and a little apprehensive because I knew that neither the bay mare nor Frances had hunted before. I was determined that Angus and I would behave sensibly – I dreaded another accident – but would our mounts be sensible, I wondered, tossing and turning in bed. I could see the bay mare in my imagination, kicking other members of the field, cantering sideways, barging into horses with her quarters. Frances, I decided, would probably buck. I saw myself falling off in front of the entire field. In more optimistic moments I saw both our horses behaving beautifully, and us patting them enthusiastically at the end of the best run for many seasons. I dreamed about school when I finally fell asleep. Angus and I were playing baseball and then suddenly the baseball bat became a hunting-horn and we were running madly across fields in pursuit of hounds. I wakened to the shrill ring of the alarm clock.

  The morning was warm and still. I shouted at Angus, washed and dressed quickly and rushed down to the stable. Frances was lying down. The bay mare was gazing over her door at the new day. I gave them both water and a little hay. Frances was very dirty and I had to fetch hot water and soap from the kitchen. Angus appeared still half asleep.

  “Thank goodness my mount's bay,” he said.