Horse Dreams (4 page)

Mom plops into a chair. She slides down so that her legs sprawl all the way under the table. Her short black hair is sweat-glued to her forehead. “Well, let's see,” she begins. “How
was
my day? I guess it was fine . . . right up to the part where I lost a horse.”

5

Lost

“Mom, did you say you lost a horse?” My mind is racing.
A horse?
My mother lost a horse?

“How could you lose a horse, Bev?” Dad asks.

“Well, it wasn't all that hard,” Mom says as if she's about to explain how she lost a game of Go Fish. She scratches Munch. The giant dog lays his head in my mom's lap.

“I was on my way to the cat farm,” she begins. “Then I remembered I'd promised to stop by the skilled nursing care center. I do love volunteering there—you know how much I love the elderly. But this morning, Mrs. Sanders insisted on planting violets. I said I'd be happy to do it for her. But
no
, she had to do it herself—with my help, of course. Now, it's no secret that Mrs. Sanders is a couple of sandwiches shy of a picnic. But let me tell you, that woman has more energy in her little finger than any two people combined.”

Mom has said all of this without taking a breath. Colt says my mother could get into
Guinness World Records
for longest talking without breath taking.

Mom inhales and continues. “But that was nothing. Off to the cat farm I went. And the minute I arrived, things went completely catawampus! Mary Louise was in a tizzy because someone had called to say they were dropping off a new rescue. I thought it a bit odd because people generally don't announce when they're ditching their cats. We've taken on a dozen cats at once before, so I didn't understand why Mary Louise was so bothered by a single drop-off rescue cat. Except that the woman—and I love her to death, you know I do—can have a cow over breaking her fingernail. So of course I told her not to give it another thought. I'd be happy to handle the new rescue by myself.”

I'm dying for her to get to the part about losing a horse. But you can't hurry my mom. Believe me. I've tried.

She takes another breath. “I found an old crate in the barn and made a fine bed for the newcomer as far away from the other cats as I could. Well, I was just about finished when I heard Mary Louise holler, ‘Land o' livin'! Bev! You'd best come out here and see for yourself!' So I did just that. And what do you think I saw?”

“A horse?” I ask, hoping we're finally getting to the good part.

Mom shakes her head and takes in a giant breath. “A long black trailer, that's what! ‘Why would they waste a trailer on a cat?' I asked nobody in particular because Mary Louise had disappeared. I admit the thought occurred to me that
cat
might also mean lion, tiger, and the like. So it was with great caution that I made my way to that trailer.”

“And . . . ?” I urge.

“Don't tell me—!” Dad says.

“
Do
tell
me
!” I beg.

Mom looks from Dad to me and back before she goes on. “Well, I got up all my courage. I walked to the trailer and peered in. And what do you think I saw?”

“A horse?” I cry.

“A horse!” Mom exclaims. “I'll be an ant's aunt if I didn't!”

I can't believe this. I've helped Mom at the cat farm before. There's a barn there, and I guess it has stalls. But the whole barn is filled with cats.

Mom takes in a deep breath and turns to me. “I wish you had been there, Ellie. You know I'm as useless as a trapdoor in a canoe when it comes to horses. But the driver of the trailer unlocked the tailgate and told me the horse was all mine. Then he just disappeared.”

“What did you do?” I press.

“I put down the tailgate and walked into the trailer. That poor old horse seemed half dead, tied up so tight it couldn't move. So I untied it. I told it to stay put while I cleared the cats out of one of the stalls. And that's exactly what I did. I went to the barn and chased the cats out of the corner stall. Only when I went back to the trailer . . .”

“The horse was gone!” I shout because I can't stand it another minute. “Mom, did that horse have black-and-white spots?”

“Why, yes. It
was
spotted. I can't say, though, if it was black with white spots or white with black spots.”

“And did it look like it hadn't had a good meal in a long time?” I ask.

Mom looks amazed. “Oh, my, yes. That poor creature would have to stand up twice to leave a shadow.” She stops talking and stares at me. “Ellie, how on earth did you know that horse was skinny and spotted?”

“Because you lost the horse I imagined! Mom, I found your horse!”

6

Coincidence?

Dad and I do our best to bring Mom up to speed on my “imaginary” horse and Dad's call from Principal Fishpaw. Then Ethan comes in. And we have to explain all over again.

“Well, if that don't beat the band, as your granny used to say!” Mom exclaims.

“Some coincidence, all right,” Dad agrees.

I grin at Ethan. I know what he's thinking. Ethan says there's no such thing as a coincidence. Only God-things—events only God could bring together.

I have to agree with my brother on this one. My seeing the same spotted horse Mom lost? Definitely a God-thing. “So wait a minute. Where's the horse now?”

“I have no idea,” Mom answers.

“Are you saying the horse is still out there? She's not still lost, is she?”

“Mary Louise has the entire Hamilton police force out searching,” Mom says.

“Mom, the entire police force means Sheriff Duffy and his deputy, right? And Sheriff Duffy is scared to death of horses. Not to mention cows and sheep.”

“True,” Mom admits. “That sheriff is pretty much all hat and no cattle.” She yawns, stretching her long arms and knocking the plaque with our family crest off the wall. She picks it up with a broad sweep of her arm. “Mary Louise said if they had any trouble, she'd call the animal control people to come help.”

“No!” I cry. “You can't let animal control get to that horse! You know what they do to homeless animals!”

I
know what they do to them. They “put them to sleep.”

“I didn't think of that,” Mom admits. She grabs her keys off the table. “You're right. I lost that horse. And it's up to me to find it. It's my civic duty.” She aims a half smile at my dad, who is used to her civic duty. “There's meat loaf in the fridge, Lenny.”

“Bev, do you have to go?” Dad begs. “Can't they get along without you for once?”

Mom shakes her head. “I feel responsible. I've never lost a horse before.”

Dad frowns at the papers scattered across the table. Then he scoots his chair back and stands tall. If my dad had two heads, one on top of the other, he'd be almost as tall as my mom. “I'm coming with you. You're going to need help.”

Mom leans over—and down—to kiss Dad's cheek. “You are one sweet man, Lenny James. But a cowboy you are not.”

That's saying it nicely. I've never seen my dad on a horse. As the story goes, he only rode once, when he was a toddler. I guess he fell off and landed on his head.

I take Mom's hand. “Come on, Mom! We have to find that spotted horse before the animal control guys do.”

Mom doesn't argue. She knows I'm her only chance of rescuing that rescue horse.

We jump into the car, and Mom heads toward Main Street. Gravel crunches under our wheels. After two blocks, Mom turns onto Main Street. It's the only street that goes through town. She drives past the library, the bank, and the hardware store and up to the only stoplight. It blinks red instead of changing colors. She stops for half a second, then goes again.

“Maybe we should check out by the cemetery,” I suggest. “People would have noticed a horse on Main Street.”

Mom spins a U-turn, hangs a left, and drives toward the cemetery.

“What if they already caught the mare?” I ask, bouncing with the bumpy road.

“Mary Louise promised to call me if they did,” Mom says. “And I haven't heard from her yet.”

I scan each cross street we pass. When the gravel turns to dirt, I look for hoofprints. But I don't see any.

Mom drives out of town a couple of miles in each direction. Usually I gaze out the window and imagine riding my black show horse over the green Missouri hills. But right now I'm too busy searching for a runaway horse.

Mom's cell phone rings.

“I'll get it.” I'm scared to death it's going to be Mary Louise telling us the animal control people have the horse.

The cell is in the bottom of Mom's huge purse. The ringtone is almost over—an Elvis song that makes me want to fling the whole purse out the window—when I finally get to it. “Hello?”

“Ellie?” The caller sounds confused. I think it's Colt.

“Colt?” I'm the only kid on the planet who doesn't have a cell phone. So Colt calls Mom's if he thinks I'm with her.

“Yeah. It's Colt.”

“I can't talk now. Mom and I are trying to find a lost horse before—”

“I know!” he shouts. “I called your house to tell you. Your dad said to call the cell. They found it!”

“What?”

“The horse! They found the horse,” Colt says.

“Where? Is she all right?”

The phone crackles. I turn to Mom. “Hurry! Head back to town.” Then I scream into the phone, “Colt? Where's the horse?”

Colt's voice mixes with the crackles of the phone. “At school! And you'd better get here fast. I have a feeling this old nag is running out of time.”

7

The Chase

“Hurry, Mom!” I grip the dashboard as Mom wheels back to town.

“Sorry, Ellie,” Mom says. “I can't afford to get another speeding ticket.”

“But what if we're too late? What if the animal control guys get there first? What if—?”

“Stop what-iffing. Your engine's in overdrive and nobody's driving.”

I'm not sure I get that one. I try to stop imagining what might be happening at the school right now. Only I can't stop.

The muddy, spotted horse staggers across the school lawn. She wobbles in the fading sunlight, dazed, sides heaving. Four animal control guys dressed in white stand in the corners of the yard and hurl a net into the air. It crashes down on the poor horse, knocking her to the ground.

A guy from animal control smirks at the crowd. His face is scarred. His eyes are glowing beads of fire. “What say ye?” he asks the crazed crowd.

A hundred fists rise. A hundred thumbs turn down. “Death to the nag!” they cry.

The people in white yank the net. It closes on the horse. They drag her off to their cage on wheels and . . .

Thankfully, Mom slams the brakes, stopping the car and my imagination.

“Will you look at that crowd!” Mom exclaims.

I gaze out my window at all the people in the streets, in the school yard, everywhere.