The Island Horse

by Susan Hughes

  The waiting man leapt from his horse and ran to meet him.

  Through the gray sheet of rain, Ellie glimpsed a wooden boat emerging from behind the pair of horses. It looked heavy and moved clumsily through the sand. It was a surfboat, perhaps the one from their beach. There were five men alongside the boat as well, pulling.

  Ellie clasped her hands together. They would rescue the people on board! No one would drown, she decided. The ship was wrecked, but the people would be saved!

  The girls stared together at the boat on the beach, at the ship, then back to the beach. Ellie strained to identify the shoremen. The men were urging the horses forward, closer to the water’s edge. The man holding the bridle gestured, and two of the men began detaching the boat from the harness. It was done quickly, and the man moved the horses away.

  Sarah leaned close and shouted, “Is your father there?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell,” Ellie yelled back. “Is yours?”

  Sarah didn’t respond, seeming not to hear.

  The six men held the rescue boat, three on each side. Its bow was in the water. The waves crashed over and into it. There was a yell, and they all began hauling forward, bending like trees falling. They went out to their knees, their thighs. One wave, two, three.

  Then suddenly, all the men leapt aboard, and quickly each grabbed an oar. Straightaway they began to row.

  “Pull!” Sarah burst out. “Go on, pull!” Her arms were wrapped tightly around her legs. Her fists were clenched.

  The men pulled on the oars, and, unaware, Ellie leaned with them, bending in time with each stroke. The surfboat began to head offshore slightly.

  But the waves and the wind were fierce. They pushed back at the small boat.

  The men hauled on the oars again, straining incredibly. Ellie held her breath. The shoremen fought to get beyond the shallows. The surf was breaking over the bow, soaking the oarsmen, filling the vessel with water.

  It was dangerous. The surfboat might capsize.

  What if my father vanished into the sea? Ellie wondered with a shudder. What if he slips away from me, too?

  She could not stay, but she could not go. She could not watch, but she could not tear her eyes away.

  The surfboat was slammed head-on by one huge wave. The shoremen’s oars beat against the sky and could not get purchase. Ellie cried out. The boat was bucking on the crest, as if it were a wild horse and the men were riding it.

  The wave shot the boat back toward the shore. One man, letting go of his oar, fell out over the side, and was catapulted onto the beach. He struggled to his feet. The water was only knee-deep, and though the waves rushing back out to sea sucked at him, pulling him in, he staggered to shore.

  Another wave, even larger than the last, carried the boat right back onto the beach, tossing it onto the packed sand like flotsam.

  The remaining men jumped out. Four of them grabbed the sides, intending to try again. But the fifth man, at the bow, shook his head no and waved his arms. He must have been the captain of this patrol, for the others obeyed without protest. It was clear the sea was too fierce, the surfboat was no match for it.

  The men, defeated, could only pull the boat farther up onto the beach, then stare through the pelting rain at the tilting vessel and wait.

  Finally, Sarah spoke. “Come, Ellie,” she said. “Come. We need to go.”

  Ellie was shaking so hard she could barely straighten her knees, her spine. She could hardly lift her head. She was cold. Water streamed down her face.

  “Come, Ellie,” Sarah repeated. And Ellie let Sarah help her onto the horse, Shannon. Sarah climbed up and slipped in front of her. Shannon’s flanks were wet, but their warmth told Ellie how cold she was. Ellie could not stop shaking. Sarah reached for her hands and placed them on her slim hips, saying, “Hold on to me, Ellie. Don’t fall off.”

  When they reached the second station and Ellie saw their clapboard house, relief welled up in her.

  She slid from the horse, her soaked skirt clinging to her legs.

  She stood in the rain, looking down at her boots, at Shannon’s black hooves, and said to Sarah, “Thank you.”

  And then she repeated it louder, above the sound of the rain and the wind, and the beating of her heart.

  Ellie didn’t know why Sarah would be so generous, so forgiving, but the freckled girl said, “Ellie, if you ever need me, fly a white flag on your flagstaff, and I’ll come.”

  Ellie lifted her face, the rain falling full onto it. Sarah grinned and made a silly face. Then she turned her horse, twirling Shannon like a fairy might on a fairy steed, and off she flew.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ellie’s father was seated at the kitchen table, buttering his toast. The worst of the storm had passed. Now, this morning, sunlight was spilling through the windows. It touched the pot of tea, turning it a soft yellow.

  Ellie reached out her hand. She slid it into the sunshine, across the wood of the tabletop to the warmth and light.

  Her father had not returned until very late last night. Ellie had eaten alone. She had made a small fire in the fireplace, curled up in her quilt on a chair and waited.

  When she wakened, she found herself wrapped tightly in her father’s arms. He was carrying her to bed. His hair was wet, his face exhausted but happy. “Pa,” she breathed in relief.

  He told her of the ship run aground on the shoal, the crew aboard. He described the first rescue attempt, the desperate rowing and the failure to break free of the beach.

  Gently, he had settled Ellie into her bed and tucked the covers around her. “But we saved them,” he had continued. “We waited for hours until the wind and the surf died down and the heavy rain let up. Then our men got the surfboat off the beach and out to the ship, and they brought all seven crew ashore. All seven! Saved!” Sitting on the side of her bed in the darkness, he laughed with relief.

  “I only waited ashore,” he explained, “showing our light to the ship. Trying to give them hope that we wouldn’t abandon them. I’m not experienced enough to help with the surfboat yet.”

  Ellie hesitated. She was, of course, filled with relief that all the men had been saved. She was also overcome by a fierce happiness as she realized that her father had not been in danger. But there was another feeling as well that surprised her. “Pa, you did well,” she said softly, proudly.

  Today, her father had the day off. They did the chores together. Then her father boosted her up onto Cora and swung himself up into the saddle in front of Ellie. “Just hold onto me, sweetpea,” he instructed. “Don’t worry, we’ll go slowly!”

  The sky was clear, and one of the other patrolmen, Ross, was taking them fishing on Lake Wallace. Her father explained that the lake was brackish, neither freshwater nor seawater, but something in between. Fierce storms caused ocean surges, the water rushing over the island beach and into the low-lying lake. The wild horses would not drink this water, Ellie knew.

  “We have to head inland,” her father told her, and they turned their backs on the sea and rode with the sun on their left.

  At first, there was sand underfoot. Then it turned to scrub and tough short grass. They could no longer hear the sound of the surf swooshing on the beach. The wind was not so fierce today.

  “They tell me that Sable Island is one of the windiest places in the whole country. Because of the wind, and the sea salt, too, trees can’t grow here, and plants don’t grow very tall. This place might almost blow away.” Her father said it without a trace of fear, incredulous, marveling. But Ellie pictured floating on a bar of sand, adrift. She shivered.

  “Except for the marram grass,” he told her reassuringly. “That’s marram grass.” They were riding along the edge of a dune, and her father pointed to the tall grass growing there. Then he surprised Ellie by halting Cora and jumping off. “Here,
look!” he cried. He grabbed some of the grass and pulled and pulled. But he couldn’t yank it out. “See? See how tough it is? The roots of this grass grab onto the sand, deep, deep down. There’s nothing there to hold onto, but they do anyway.” He patted Cora’s neck and picked up the reins. “The grass holds on and won’t let go, and this lets the dunes form. The grass keeps them intact. There aren’t any dunes to protect Lake Wallace. But the dunes protect the island’s two or three freshwater ponds from the salty seawater. The horses need those ponds to survive.” He smiled at Ellie. “This grass won’t let the island blow away, Ellie. It’s tough!”

  Ellie sat alone on Cora’s back, uncertainly.

  “Here, Ellie, scoot forward and sit in the saddle,” her father suggested, helping her.

  He began walking, leading the little horse. “Hold Cora’s mane if you like,” he suggested. “That’ll keep you steady.”

  After a time, to her surprise, Ellie felt safe.

  The island stretched on either side of them. Now, for the first time in days, Ellie could not see the ocean at all. She was without it.

  “Ellie, look. There’ll be berries here,” her father said, pointing. Tiny buds decorated low spindly branches on bushes. “Look at all these! This is a place to remember.”

  Ellie imagined the bushes bursting with red, blue, purple. She thought of Sarah. Before she could push the thought aside, it came: Will Sarah and I come berry picking together here?

  Then, she asked the question she had been harboring since yesterday afternoon. “Was Sarah’s father there last night, too?” she asked her father. “At the rescue?”

  Her father walked on in silence for a moment. Cora’s saddle creaked. A gull screeched overhead, soaring.

  “No, sweetpea. Sarah’s father is dead,” Ellie’s father finally said. He patted Cora’s neck as he walked. He didn’t look back at Ellie. “One of the other men told me that he drowned on a rescue two or three years ago. But this island is now Sarah’s home, and her ma’s. So Sarah’s ma stayed on here as cook.”

  Ellie’s eyes filled with unwanted tears.

  This island is not a home, she thought fiercely. It’s just sand. Some buildings on sand. A place to get shipwrecked. A place to rescue others from. A place to leave.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Up they went, over a rise. Ellie’s eyes opened wide. A thin lake like a pointed finger stretched out before her, so far that she wasn’t sure whether she could see either end. Lake Wallace.

  Lush green plants and clusters of white flowers bordered the water. Four mallard ducks slept, their heads under their wings. A flock of sparrows chattered at the edge of the lake, then rose as one.

  Near the shore was a burly, busy man, Ross. He was loading fishing gear into a small sailing boat. He saw them approaching, smiled and called, “Hallo, Andrew! And you must be Ellie. All set for some fishing?”

  Her father greeted the man, and quickly they hitched Cora on a long lead to a nearby bush. They got into the craft and pushed off.

  Ellie pushed her bonnet back and let it dangle from its straps. She unbuttoned her sweater. The sun felt good.

  The white sail billowed out, and the boat shot forward. They seemed to race across the water.

  Ross talked as he held the lines. “In the summer, Wallace is sometimes only half a mile long. But in the winter, when storm waves flood the lake, it can stretch for many miles,” he boasted. He told them lurid stories of hurricanes, shipwrecks and drownings.

  Ross tacked the boat back and forth across the narrow lake. The wind here was fine, manageable. Ellie trailed her hand over the side of the boat, feeling the warmth of the water. She gazed at the shore, her thoughts turning to Orchid. He wouldn’t bring his herd here to drink. But would they come to graze along the shore? she wondered suddenly. Ellie sat up, scanning the shoreline carefully.

  Nothing. The sailboat skimmed on across the water.

  But then, when she had almost given up, Ellie caught sight of a group of small figures in the distance, on the crest of a small rise. She looked intently. Horses! Wild horses! She counted. Four adult horses, and three small ones, the foals. It was not Orchid’s herd. There were seven, not six, and Orchid was not there. Yet they were lovely all the same.

  Ellie turned to share this small gift with her father. But they had reached a curve in the lake. Ross was dropping the sail, and Ellie’s father watched, eager to help. Ellie could not catch his eye.

  “We’ll try for flatfish here,” Ross said, anchoring.

  “All right,” her father agreed cheerfully.

  “Want to have a try?” Ross asked Ellie.

  “No, thank you,” she replied politely, then turned back to watch the horses. But already they were leaving, moving over the rise and out of sight.

  “Maybe next time,” said Ross with a shrug, and he baited two hooks.

  The boat bobbed on the water, and Ross talked even more as he and Ellie’s father fished. He told them about the history of Sable Island. How it had been sinking ships for hundreds of years. How it sat astride the great route that the sailing ships traveled from the east coast of North America to Europe. How it was known as the Graveyard of the Atlantic.

  “The first lifesaving station was put here in 1801,” he said. “I’ve been here myself for fifteen years, and I’ve seen many a poor fellow drown. We need more than the one main life station here. We’ve got the second station now. Your station.” Ours? thought Ellie uncomfortably. It didn’t feel like theirs. It couldn’t be her home. Not ever. “But we need a few more,” added Ross. “And we need some better lifeboats. And a lighthouse.”

  Ellie’s father nodded, jerking his line.

  “It would help prevent some of the tragedies,” Ross said. “We do our best, with our dozen and a half men or so and our two surfboats, but it’s a dangerous place, and it’s taken many lives …”

  Ross reeled in his line. There was a fish on the end, struggling. “Here we go!” he grinned, pleased. “A nice flounder!”

  “Tell us about the wild horses,” Ellie’s father suggested. His hook was empty. He rebaited with another small mud minnow, and tossed it back in.

  Ross turned to Ellie. “Have you spotted any of them, the wild horses?”

  Ellie hesitated. But Ross did not wait for a response. “Well, they eat hearty all spring and summer, so they can make it through the winter. In the cold season, they have the dried-up marram grass to eat, and they have to break the ice on the ponds with their hooves in order to drink. But their shaggy winter coats and their long manes keep them warm.” He gripped the fish’s flapping body and took the hook from its mouth. “They’re used to people, somewhat. You can look at the horses. But you can’t get too close. They’re just too wild.”

  Ellie smiled to herself. She recalled Orchid’s breath on her hand, his lips brushing her skin.

  Ross slapped one hand on his knee. “Say, if you’re interested in the horses, you’ll want to come to the roundup. It’s in three days’ time. This Saturday. It’s always quite an event. Have you heard about it? We chase the herds of horses across the island,” he said excitedly. Ross made a rough circle with his arms. “Chase them toward the corrals that we set up.” The fish continued to flop in his grip.

  A roundup? Ellie’s throat tightened. Ross began closing the circle of his arms, like a noose, as he explained, “We corral as many of them as we can. We might catch twenty or thirty.”

  Ellie saw it. She could see the whites of the eyes of the wild horses. Their tails lifted high. Shaking their heads angrily.

  “Then we choose the best ones. We take them to the seashore, and we tie them down, kicking and screaming. Then we lash the horses to something like a stretcher, and we get them to the surfboat, load them up two or three at a time. Out they go to the Eagle, where they’re hoisted aboard with ropes.” Ross gestured,
making a scooping motion with one arm.

  Ellie saw the kicking hooves, the horses screaming for help. She saw the heavy bodies airborne. They were swinging over the water, rolling eyes wide and white. “The other horses in the corral we let go. But those ones — the best — we ship to the mainland. They can fetch a good price there. The funds help to pay for running the station.”

  Finally, Ross threw the fish into the bucket. It flopped about among their other catches of the day.

  Ellie’s stomach lurched. She saw the shiny flat bodies of the fish twitching. Their eyes stared. Their gills flapped. Caught.

  Ross and her father turned to talk about other things, eel spearing on the lake by lantern light. “Eels make a good stew,” said Ross.

  But Ellie wasn’t listening. She was imagining her island horse chased, thrown, tied. She imagined him unable to rear, to turn and gallop away, sand flying. Then, worst of all, she imagined Orchid being shipped away. She imagined him being shipped away from his island home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  What should I do? What can I do? worried Ellie.

  It was the next morning, Thursday, and Ellie was hurrying to the dunes.

  She hoped to see Orchid. Her heart ached to see him. She was starting to love him. She couldn’t help it, even though she knew she shouldn’t. Because what if she loved him, and he was captured in the roundup and lost to her forever?

  Ellie reached the dunes by the shore. She climbed to the top, and she sat and waited.

  The horse arrived before too long. This time he trotted up from behind her. Her heart jumped when she knew he was there. He stopped in front of her, stood and looked at her. Still, he was not afraid.

  He grazed near her feet. He came so close.

  Maybe I should leap on his back and ride him, she thought crazily. Capture him. Throw a rope around his neck. Put him in the barn at the second station. Hide him.