Chapter 10
Twig?” a voice called into the night.
Twig jolted and spun around. Mrs. Murley’s silhouette was framed in the doorway. Twig didn’t know whether to feel relieved or to wish Mrs. Murley would go away. She’d never know now if she had the guts to go into that stable.
“What is it?”
Twig glanced at the stable, then back at Mrs. Murley.
“I don’t suppose you’re planning on running away, barefoot and in your pajamas?”
Running away? Twig’s mini-backpack rubbed against her hips. Oh. She shook her head.
“Well, your stepmom will be here tomorrow if you want to talk about going home.”
Twig just shook her head again. Her head was full of half-formed sentences, attempts to say something, to do something about what she’d just seen. Mrs. Murley, there was a ghost boy in the yard. Mrs. Murley, I think there might be a ghost horse in the stable. Mrs. Murley, you need a higher fence. Mrs. Murley, didn’t you hear those cries in the woods? There’s something out there—a pack of them, a herd. And rattling around those thoughts was the name Caper along with Casey’s words, The wild horses ate him, and He’s a good pony, not like those things in the woods.
The ponies were just innocent animals, and the girls loved them. Twig shook her head again, this time at herself.
“Well, then, why don’t you come back in, and I’ll make you some tea. Or,” Mrs. Murley said with a new spark of hope and enthusiasm, “hot chocolate?”
So she’d noticed how much Twig had liked that particular part of breakfast.
Twig let out one last shudder as Mrs. Murley bolted the door behind them.
“Don’t even know why we lock it,” Mrs. Murley said absently. “Just a habit I guess. There’s no one else on this island.”
“You should lock it,” Twig said firmly.
Mrs. Murley let out a little, “Oh.” But then she smiled. “There are some throw blankets on the couch. Why don’t you grab one and come in the kitchen and I’ll make that chocolate?”
***
When Twig’s eyes flashed open, someone was leaning over her. Ghost Boy? He wanted to feed her to the forest. Twig shoved at him. There was a thump and a little yelp.
A little, girlish yelp.
Twig blinked the dream out of her head. Casey’s big brown eyes stared up at her from the floor. Twig had knocked her off the bed.
But Casey bounced right up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but you wouldn’t wake up. Come on. We have to go feed the ponies.”
Twig was too tired to move, certainly too tired to care about keeping Rain Cloud waiting for his breakfast. She’d been up late listening to Mrs. Murley talk about her first pony when she was a girl, and drinking hot chocolate and nodding.
Mrs. Murley hadn’t expected Twig to say anything back. Not like her teachers. She’d stopped talking to them when Daddy got deployed. She’d gotten so full of stuff on the inside that she made herself blank on the outside. She’d written “Twig” on the top of her papers and she’d left the rest blank—clean, white spaces; fresh blue lines.
When the hot chocolate was gone, Twig had lain in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, jolting awake as soon as she nodded off, convinced she’d heard more of that strange horse-howling in the woods.
Twig sat on the edge of the bed, unmoving, while Casey pulled on jeans and a sweater. Twig had decided her pajama sweats would do. She could hear Mrs. Murley banging around in the kitchen. Getting their breakfast, she hoped. Was she tired too, after being up half the night?
Was Twig going to have to do this every morning? Were the hungry howls of ghost horses going to haunt her every night? Was Ghost Boy going to stare at her in her nightmares?
Keely would be here after breakfast. If Twig went with her, she could sleep in the car the whole way home. She could eat Keely’s predictable Mediterranean diet dinners, get woken up by slamming apartment doors and honking horns, and be the same old blank paper Twig.
She stumbled after Casey and the other girls to the stable. By the time she got there, the doors were wide open and the ponies were nickering their morning greetings. Taylor came running back toward the door, her unzipped jacket flopping as she waved her arms.
“Oh!” Taylor gasped, her dark, serious eyes widening. “There’s a horse. A real horse in there.”
Twig was wide-awake now. Run, she wanted to scream. It’s a ghost horse. But, remembering her cowardice the night before and not wanting to repeat it, she darted between the other girls, under Taylor’s pointing arm, into the stable. What if it had devoured all the ponies and Feather? What if it had decided it liked it there and now it was going to haunt the stable forever?
She glanced from side to side as she ran, seeing only the curious faces of the ponies poking out of their stalls. Where was the horse?
As soon as she asked herself the question, Twig knew the answer: Caper’s stall. That’s where she’d have put it if she were Ghost Boy. Sure enough, the back of a white head was visible over Caper’s door. Determined, Twig unlatched it. She took a breath, then flung it open. There was a wild neigh. Then the creature turned toward her, raised its head high, ears pinned back, and began to rear. The horse’s coat was a glaring, surreal white, but the animal itself looked solid, absolutely real. If this creature kicked her, there would be no walking through the blow as if through the mist.
Twig almost screamed. Almost. But Casey was standing right next to her, mouth open, frozen. And she remembered what Mrs. Murley had said. She had to be calm. She had to be confident. Whether or not it was a ghost horse, it was still a horse of some kind, and she was the idiot who’d opened the stall door, who hadn’t said a word to Mrs. Murley last night. Now it was up to her to keep them from getting trampled.
Chapter 11
Easy, girl,” Twig said soothingly. “Nice and easy.”
The hooves lowered. The horse glared at her and pawed at the wood shavings. Its ears cupped forward, toward Twig.
“That’s a good girl. Are you a girl? Are you a good girl?”
It was a stupid thing to say, but it was all Twig could come up with.
“That’s it.” The creature backed up a step. “That’s a girl. Get the door, Casey, nice and slow.”
Casey eased it shut. She slid the latch in place with a swift click.
“Keep talking to her, Twig,” Janessa said. “I’ll go get Mrs. Murley.”
Twig didn’t want to keep talking. She wanted to run out of that stable. But the solid wood of the stall door seemed to be enough to hold the animal back. The other girls whispered to each other behind her while she kept whispering nonsense. As she calmed the horse, Twig felt herself calming too. The other girls were transfixed, but not scared. If she could settle this thing like an ordinary horse, then maybe it was just an ordinary horse, not a ghost at all. Though the word ordinary hardly fit such an animal.
Aside from some mud spatters, its coat was dazzling white. It was smaller than Feather, but bigger than the ponies. Its build was strong but slender, all sleek and well-defined muscles—except for an oddly pronounced roundness to its belly.
Soft, pink skin showed through the white fuzz on its muzzle. Its mane was long and silky, almost shimmery. The ponies’ manes were coarse as straw in comparison. Its forelock lay in a graceful curl above strange, gray eyes—flowing quicksilver eyes that regarded Twig, not with Rain Cloud’s disdain, but with swirls of wild understanding and wilder fear.
Twig could’ve stared into those eyes forever, but Mrs. Murley’s pounding feet just outside the stable, then her voice saying, “Janessa, you saw this horse?” brought her back to reality.
“Yes, Mrs. M, I saw it! It’s not just one of Casey’s stories. It’s wild! It reared at us and—”
“Coming through, girls.”
The girls parted, and Mrs. Murley’s eyes moved from Twig, at the
stall door, to the horse’s magnificent head. “Oh my. How…”
Twig stepped aside, grateful to relinquish her horse-calming duty, to stand back and stare at the creature instead. She might be wild. She might even be dangerous. Twig wasn’t sure exactly what she was, but she was certain she was no pony eater. She wasn’t evil; she was magnificent.
“Hello, pretty lady,” Mrs. Murley said in a quiet, awed voice. “How did you get here, girl?”
“Maybe she’s a surprise from Mr. Murley,” Regina said.
“Is it your birthday?” Janessa said.
Mrs. Murley shook her head and laughed anxiously. She held a hand out to the horse, and the horse sniffed it. “Stand back, girls, and be still. I’m going to have a closer look.”
She undid the door and slipped into the stall with the mysterious horse.
“Well, Twig, she’s good and calm now, isn’t she? It seems you’re getting to know your way around horses quicker than anyone expected.”
Casey smiled at Twig proudly, and Twig shrugged her shell up over her mouth.
“She’s a true white. That’s very rare. And she’s unshod. Oh!” She gasped. “But that’s not possible!”
“What?” Mandy pushed past Taylor.
Casey peeked through the crack of the unlatched stall door. “Her hooves are weird.”
Twig nudged the door open a bit more with her boot, though she kept her distance while she bent down. It was true. They looked more like a deer’s than a horse’s.
“Cloven hooves!” Mrs. Murley said.
Mrs. Murley composed herself and proceeded with her examination, but Twig could tell the hooves were bothering her—really bothering her.
“She can’t be wild, not entirely. She’s restless, but she’s used to people. And she seems well cared for. But we’re in for another extra horse.”
Twig gulped. Did Mrs. Murley know about the other one? About Ghost Boy?
But Mrs. Murley said, “She’s about to foal. Soon.” She straightened up and put her hands on her hips and took a step back to look the whole horse over. “Taylor,” she said with a slight tremor in her voice, “go and get Mr. Murley, please. Quick, before he leaves for the boat.”
Before he leaves to get Keely, Twig thought.
A moment later, Mr. Murley came in, panting, forehead crinkled in confusion, jogging after Taylor. He didn’t say a word until Mrs. Murley had slipped out of the stall and opened the door so he could see.
“How did this happen? Even if there are wild horses on this island, how did one get in here?” His whisper was so low, Twig had to concentrate hard to hang on to it. “Maybe I should contact the sheriff.”
“David,” Mrs. Murley whispered back, “there’s more to this mystery mare. Have a look at this.” She pointed to the horse’s feet.
“Some sort of crossbreed? Maybe we should get the vet to have a look.”
“No!” Twig cried. The mystery mare was so beautiful, and she was left here all alone, and she was their secret. “She’s not—she’s not an ordinary horse. They’ll think she’s strange. They’ll take her away and—”
“Run experiments or something!” Regina came to her side.
“Maybe she came to us for a reason,” Taylor said.
“But if she’s having a baby, and she’s always been here on the island,” Casey said, “that means—”
“There’s another one.” Mandy frowned. “Another something. It’s creepy. I don’t like it.”
“You don’t like anything!” Casey snapped.
“Girls!” Mr. Murley said in a stern, carefully low voice. The mystery horse had begun to lower her ears and snort in agitation. “Go and feed your ponies.”
The other girls did as he said, but Twig lingered near Caper’s stall for a moment.
There was another one. Her mate. It had to be Ghost Boy’s horse—a stallion. Why would he just leave the mare? It was hard to imagine anyone not wanting her anymore, even a wild boy.
Yes, a wild boy. This horse was no ghost horse, and that meant Ghost Boy must not be a ghost after all. But still, the mystery mare was more than just an ordinary, tame horse, more even than a wild horse. So what did that make the boy? Was he something more than wild too?
A waft of warm breath breezed through Twig’s tangled hair. Slowly, cautiously, she turned. Her pale blue eyes met the enormous, deep, silver eyes of the mystery mare. Something inside Twig felt like it was turning over. Mystery shook her forelock back and nickered faintly, a reserved sort of gratitude. Twig brought her hand up, slow, calm, and Mystery let her place it on her muzzle. Out of the corner of her eye, Twig saw Mrs. Murley open her mouth—to warn her that she was wild, that she might bite, Twig supposed—but Mr. Murley put a hand on Mrs. Murley’s arm, and she said nothing.
“Mystery,” Twig whispered. That was all, but she meant, You’re welcome. And also, Thank you. And she knew that Mystery understood it.
“Well,” Mr. Murley said quietly, “I’d better get going.”
Keely! Twig didn’t want her here, not even just to check on her; Keely didn’t belong here. “Don’t bring her here. Please. Tell her I want to stay.”
“I’m glad you want to stay, Twig, but she’s expecting—”
“I’ll call her. I’ll explain.”
Mr. Murley was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “All right.” He handed his cell phone to her.
She went outside, around the end of the stable. Under the shadows of its eaves, she dialed Keely’s number.
“Hi.”
“Twig?”
“Yeah. You don’t need to come, okay?”
“But, Twig, I should—”
“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. I need to stay here and I know it, and so you don’t need to come.”
“Well, I’ll just come and see how you’re doing and say good-bye.”
“There’s nothing to see, and we already said good-bye.”
“You like it there?”
“I want to stay.” Liking it here didn’t have anything to do with anything. She wasn’t going to ask Keely to take her back, and she wasn’t going to leave before she found out who the wild boy was and what he was doing on this island. And she wasn’t going to leave the mystery mare. Not yet.
Chapter 12
Twig made her eyes open. Someone was calling her name, someone much nicer than the people in her dream. She wanted to come out of it, but it was one of those heavy dreams that hung on her. The voice was just as insistent as the dream in its own way. It was a woman’s voice, excited and soothing at the same time, saying, “Twig, Twig.”
Mrs. Murley.
Twig opened her eyes again. This time they stayed open and they focused.
“Twig, do you want to see a miracle?”
Twig pushed herself up on her elbow and blinked into the night-lighted room. Was Mrs. Murley crazy? There were no such things as miracles.
“Our Mystery is foaling any minute. Hurry, or we’ll miss it.”
Twig pushed back her covers.
Mrs. Murley glanced at Casey, still curled up tight in a sleeping ball. “Let’s be careful not to wake the other girls. Too many of us will make her nervous.”
In the entryway, Mrs. Murley handed Twig her jacket and her ragged shoes. Then she opened the door and flipped on a flashlight. Still half asleep, Twig dragged her feet in the grass. Her ripped-open shoe caught on the ground and she stumbled. Mrs. Murley caught her by the hand. She didn’t let it go and Twig didn’t pull it away.
“I woke up, and I just had this feeling. Does that ever happen to you, Twig?”
Twig nodded, though Mrs. Murley’s eyes were dancing with a joyful sort of nervousness Twig wasn’t sure she’d ever felt.
“I just knew I needed to check on her, and sure enough, she was ready. Now, she might not like us watching. If she stops foaling, we’ll ha
ve to give her some space. But we’ll give it a try. What do you think we’ll have, a colt or a filly?” Twig frowned her confusion. Mrs. Murley squeezed her hand and laughed softly. “Boy or girl?”
Twig couldn’t help smiling back. “Girl,” she guessed.
“Well, we’ll find out soon enough.”
Mrs. Murley quietly opened the door to Caper’s old stall. They settled cross-legged, side by side, in the open stall door. Mystery, a curl of white in the bed of cedar shavings, lifted her head and turned her ears in their direction. But the acknowledgment lasted only long enough for Twig to see and admire the liquid determination swimming in her eyes. Then the mare turned her attention back to her task.
Mystery’s nostrils flared and she twisted and thrashed and cried out, and the ponies cried back at her. Mystery stilled. Twig held her breath. The ponies quieted as though they too were holding their breath.
Mrs. Murley slipped into the stall with Mystery and whispered to the mare as she looked her over.
“What’s wrong?” Twig scrambled to her feet.
“I don’t know. Everything looks fine, but Mystery seems distressed.”
Mystery thrashed again, less energetically, and Twig caught the darkness of fear in her eyes. She pinned her ears back and made a low sound in her throat, like a dog giving a warning growl. Mrs. Murley pulled Twig back a step.
Mystery’s head drooped back down. She tucked her chin in and worry lines creased above her eyes. The still of the night, the thick of the tension, were broken by a high, thin creak.
Mrs. Murley’s eyes got wide. “That was the gate.”
The whites of Mystery’s eyes showed, and she let out a desperate whinny, then a pleading, fear-filled scream. The ponies erupted with their own wild, nervous chorus.
“Stay here, Twig. And keep your distance, no matter what. She won’t hesitate to hurt you if she thinks she’s protecting her foal,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried out of the stable, leaving the door open behind her in her haste.
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