May Goes to England (Pony Tails Book 11)

by Bonnie Bryant

  “That’s us,” said Corey cheerfully. Later, she knew, she and Jasmine could have a giggle over being called gells.

  “I’ll fetch him directly,” the woman said. “By the way, I’m Mrs. Neill.”

  It sounded so formal that Corey wondered if she should curtsy or something.

  “I’m Corey,” Corey said.

  “I’m Jasmine.”

  “Indeed you are,” Mrs. Neill said. She smiled in a rather stiff way and left.

  Corey and Jasmine exchanged looks.

  “May is going to owe us big-time,” muttered Corey.

  A minute later Mrs. Neill came back with a boy who had long brown hair and a high forehead. He had solemn brown eyes and a serious mouth. He was wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt, but Corey figured that he was probably trying to go native, wearing what dumb Americans wore.

  “I live next door,” Corey said. “I’m Corey.”

  “She has a totally insane dog,” Jasmine said. “Maybe you heard him howling. If you think he’s bad, you should meet her parrot. He’s even worse. And then there’s her goat, Alexander, otherwise known as Alexander the Goat.” The girls giggled.

  “Rather,” Wilfred said without smiling.

  Corey and Jasmine exchanged looks. Wilfred was not going to be a barrel of laughs. But a promise was a promise.

  “Do you want to come with us to visit Macaroni?” Corey asked.

  “The little yellow pony?” Wilfred said. “Indeed, I’ve been riding him.”

  Corey was steamed. Macaroni was not a little yellow pony. He was the greatest, the gentlest, the smartest, the funniest. He was not some ordinary little yellow pony.

  “I guess you could say that,” Corey said crossly.

  The three of them walked out to the barn in silence.

  “I suppose you have a zillion ponies at home,” Jasmine said. “Living on the edge of the moor the way you do.”

  “Not a zillion,” Wilfred said. “That would be rather much.”

  Behind his back, Corey and Jasmine exchanged looks.

  They took Wilfred into Macaroni’s stall. Macaroni nuzzled them and looked at them with worried brown eyes, wondering where May was.

  “Hi, Macaroni,” Corey said. “I know you miss May, but I’m sure you’re enjoying taking Wilfred for rides.” But then Corey wondered if she was lying to the pony.

  “Actually, we have been enjoying one another,” Wilfred said. He tickled Macaroni on his forehead, under his forelock.

  “Mac could probably use a ride right now,” Corey said.

  “So we’ll saddle up then, shall we?” Wilfred said.

  The girls raced off to get their own ponies, and fifteen minutes later they were all riding around the ring. It was obvious that Wilfred knew a lot about riding. His seat was firm. His heels were down. He held the reins with a light but firm touch. Macaroni looked content.

  Corey realized that she and Jasmine could learn a few things from Wilfred, but on the other hand, who wanted to? She had the distinct feeling that Wilfred was showing off.

  “Would you care to trot?” Corey said.

  “Rather,” Wilfred said.

  As they trotted, Wilfred posted easily. And when they cantered, Corey thought Wilfred looked positively bored. This wasn’t like riding with May. There was no friendship, no fun, no jokes.

  After a while Corey said to Wilfred, “Well, I guess we’ll take off. We’ve got lots to do.” She looked at Jasmine.

  “Actually,” Jasmine said with a grin, “what we have to do is go to my house and have homemade cookies and apple juice. Want to come along?”

  Corey made a face. She’d had enough of Wilfred for one day.

  “Rather,” Wilfred said.

  As Corey and Jasmine rode off, Corey said, “Why did you have to do that?”

  “He’s a guest,” Jasmine said. “He’s a stranger here.”

  “Strange is right,” Corey grumbled.

  Half an hour later Corey and Jasmine were sitting at the round table in the Jameses’ kitchen. Jasmine had set out three glasses of apple juice and a plate of her mother’s homemade peanut butter cookies.

  “This is going to be a laugh and a half,” Corey said.

  “Will you lighten up?” Jasmine said.

  There was a knock at the door. Jasmine went to open it. Wilfred was standing there, holding a baking pan filled with custard, cake, and fruit.

  “Come in,” Jasmine said. She led Wilfred through the mudroom into the kitchen.

  “This is for you,” he said shyly, holding out the baking pan. “My mother made it. It’s a trifle.”

  “It’s not a trifle at all,” Jasmine said, gazing down at the yellow, delicious-looking concoction. “It looks like a big deal to me.”

  “Er,” Wilfred said, “trifle is a name for an English treat.”

  Jasmine put the pan on the table. She got three plates and three spoons. She passed them out, and then the three of them sat there looking at the trifle. “You first,” she said to Wilfred.

  “No, you,” he said.

  We could spend the rest of our lives waiting for someone to go first, Corey thought.

  With a grin Jasmine pulled the trifle pan closer and gave herself a large serving. “Somehow I think I’m going to enjoy this,” she said. She looked at Wilfred and Corey, and since the two of them were just sitting there staring, she took a bite.

  Jasmine’s eyes opened wide. “This is good.” She took another bite. “It’s not good, it’s outstanding.” Jasmine looked at the pan of trifle as if she was figuring out how large a second helping she could take.

  Corey’s stomach growled. She was always hungry after riding. And now she was truly hungry. She had been planning to ignore the trifle, but now she realized that if she waited too long, it would be gone. She pulled the pan toward her and scooped out a small helping. She took a bite. It was creamy with chunks of fruit. It was so-so, she thought. But maybe she should give it another chance. She took another bite. It was not half bad.

  Next thing Corey knew, she had emptied her bowl. She looked up and saw that Wilfred had served himself and that Jasmine had taken a second helping, but there was still plenty left for her. She gave herself a large serving because, after all, her last serving had been pretty small. She started eating quickly, but then she slowed down because she wanted to make this trifle last.

  “I really like it,” Corey said. And then she couldn’t help herself and she said, “Rather!”

  Wilfred burst out laughing.

  Corey took a second look. Perhaps Wilfred was human after all.

  “You know what?” she said. “I think Mac likes you.”

  “Mac is great,” Wilfred said.

  Corey realized that maybe she’d been mean to Wilfred. She remembered when she had been new in Willow Creek. She remembered how shy she’d felt. She remembered how worried she’d been that Jasmine and May wouldn’t like her.

  She ran her spoon around the bowl, hunting for a last crumb of trifle. She found one and licked her spoon. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Ask away,” Wilfred said.

  “Where’d you get your name?” Corey asked.

  “Corey!” Jasmine said.

  “I don’t mind,” Wilfred said. “Wilfred is kind of wet.”

  “Wet?” Corey said.

  “Er … dorky,” Wilfred said. “Isn’t that what you Americans say?”

  Corey and Jasmine burst out laughing. “Sometimes,” Jasmine said.

  “But what I can do? I’m a Wilfred,” he said.

  Corey was struck with a sudden burst of inspiration. “When you’re in America you’re not a Wilfred, you’re a Will.”

  “I’m into it,” he said with a grin.

  “Will,” Jasmine said, “have one of my mother’s cookies. They’re almost as good as your mother’s trifle.”

  Will took a cookie and bit into it. “Better, I should think,” he said.

  The three of them munched happily on the cookies.

 
; “What’s your house like?” Corey asked.

  “A terrible old dump, really,” Will said.

  “That means you like it,” Corey said with a grin. “You see, I’m learning to understand English English.”

  “It’s in a valley,” Will said, “but if you ride up the hill you’re on the moor. A moor is …”

  “Treeless and boggy,” said Jasmine, remembering the guidebook. “A place where travelers get lost.”

  Will looked serious. “A moor is the best place for riding—ever.”

  4 Four Kinds of Jam

  “We’re going to have a nonriding day today,” Mrs. Grover said. “I promised your sisters. If we don’t, they’ll become unbearable.”

  “Gee, I thought they were unbearable already,” May said.

  Mr. Grover walked into the kitchen. He was wearing pants and a sport shirt instead of his usual riding breeches and hacking jacket. He looked handsome.

  Something appeared in the doorway. It was black, orange, and leopardy. It was Dottie wearing a black miniskirt, orange shoes, and a fake leopard top.

  “Dottie, you can’t wear that,” said Mrs. Grover in horror. “We’re going to a tea shop.”

  Dottie put her hands on her hips. “I suppose you want me to wear some kind of stupid flowered dress.”

  “Flowered dresses are very nice,” said Mrs. Grover.

  “That’s it!” Dottie threw herself into a chair. “It’s not like this vacation wasn’t a nightmare to begin with.”

  But no one was looking at her because Ellie had entered. She was wearing a purple satin dress with a huge gold belt, earrings that went down to her shoulders, and bright green shoes.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Grover said. “You know, dear, I don’t think that’s exactly right.”

  “This is the first time I look decent all vacation and you want me to change,” Ellie said bitterly.

  “Ahhh-hem,” came a sound from the other side of the room. Everyone turned.

  Mr. Grover was usually cheerful and easygoing, but it was clear that he was steamed. “It’s time to get started,” he said.

  “Come on, you two fashion statements,” May said to her sisters. “Let’s go.”

  The family piled into the car.

  “We’re going to the Lizard. That’s a famous peninsula with cliffs and moors,” Mr. Grover said.

  “Be still, my heart,” Dottie muttered.

  “But first, we have to pass through Gweek,” Mr. Grover said.

  “Hey, they named a town after you guys,” May said to Dottie and Ellie.

  As they drove through Goonhilly Downs, which was a moor, Mr. Grover explained that there used to be wild ponies there. He said that they’d been dark bay, like the Bodmin Moor ponies.

  “Fascinating,” Ellie muttered.

  May looked out the window at the fuzzy green hills, trying to imagine ponies. Too bad they were gone.

  The car reached the top of a hill. Below, May could see the ocean. It was blue-green and endless. It’s kind of like the moor, she thought. It would be easy to lose your way.

  The cliffs were dotted with tiny bright flowers. May opened the window, and in floated a wonderful smell, a combination of flowers and sea and sunlight.

  “You’re ruining my hair,” Dottie said.

  “That would be impossible,” May said as she sat back.

  Mr. Grover drove the car into a parking lot on the top of the cliffs. “Who wants to walk down to the sea?” he said.

  “I do,” said May.

  “I do,” said Mrs. Grover.

  Dottie and Ellie didn’t say a thing.

  Mrs. Grover said, “You two are not going to spend the whole vacation inside the car. You are joining us.”

  Dottie and Ellie groaned and dragged themselves out of the car.

  The trail zigzagged past the tea shop, which was halfway down the cliff. May, who was wearing sneakers, didn’t have any trouble. But Dottie and Ellie slipped and slid and bumped into bushes. By the time they got to the bottom, they were covered with dust.

  “That look is you,” May said.

  Ellie’s eyes filled with tears.

  “What’s wrong?” Mrs. Grover asked, looking worried.

  “I broke a fingernail,” Ellie said.

  Mrs. Grover sighed. “You’ll feel better after a nice cup of tea.”

  They walked back up to the tea shop by an easier route.

  “This is England’s southernmost tea shop,” Mrs. Grover said.

  “Tea,” Dottie said. “Gross.”

  “And scones, and jam, and cream,” Mrs. Grover said.

  Dottie and Ellie looked slightly more cheerful.

  When they got to the tea shop, every woman and girl there was wearing casual clothes. Dottie and Ellie looked strange, to say the least. But no one stared at them. In England, May realized, people don’t stare.

  Dottie and Ellie looked uncomfortable. “Who needs scones?” said Dottie to Ellie. “Let’s go for a walk.” They took off.

  May loved teatime. There were scones, still hot from the oven, thick clotted cream, a bowl of fresh strawberries, and four kinds of jam. Since May was planning to write to Corey and Jasmine to tell them about life in England, she felt that it was her responsibility to try all four kinds of jam. All four were delicious, but she liked the gooseberry jam the best. It was greenish—not a great color for jam, May thought—but it was tangy and sweet.

  As Mr. and Mrs. Grover and May sat back after finishing their tea, May said, “Cornwall is great.”

  “I knew you would like it,” Mr. Grover said.

  “Wild ponies, four kinds of jam—what could be better?” May said.

  When they got to the parking lot at the top of the cliff, Dottie and Ellie were sitting on a bench, deep in conversation. Dottie was holding a bag.

  “So what were you girls up to?” Mrs. Grover said.

  “Nothing much,” Dottie said.

  “What did you buy?” Mrs. Grover asked.

  “Dumb Cornwall stuff,” Ellie said. “You have to buy something. I mean, if you don’t buy something, all your friends will laugh.”

  They got back in the car.

  “Let’s take the coast road home,” Mr. Grover said.

  “Good idea,” said Mrs. Grover.

  The road wound along the edge of the cliff. From below, May could hear the crashing of the waves. Suddenly the car stopped.

  “What’s up?” May said.

  “It’s one-way traffic here,” Mr. Grover said. “We have to wait for the cars from the other direction to come through.”

  May looked ahead and saw that the road was very narrow.

  “How come they don’t make the road wider?” May asked.

  “If they make the road wider, piskies tear it down,” Dottie said.

  “Gee, how come I didn’t know that?” May said.

  “You know why the cliffs are so steep?” Ellie said. “Giants split the rocks with their bare hands.”

  “You guys should get other interests,” May said.

  The road ahead was clear, and it was time for the Grovers’ car to pass through. Mr. Grover steered along the narrow road.

  May closed her eyes. She could ride a pony all day long without getting tired, but a car journey was something else. She felt pooped.

  A while later she felt the car turn and stop. She opened her eyes and saw that they were back at the farmhouse. It was beginning to get dark.

  “That was a wonderful drive,” Mrs. Grover said.

  May climbed out of the car and stretched. They had been away from the farm all day. She realized that Cheddar might be lonely. She went into the kitchen and grabbed an apple and went out to the barn.

  When she walked into Cheddar’s stall, he turned and looked at her as if he’d been wondering where she was all day.

  “We went to the Lizard,” May said. “And then we ate in England’s southernmost tea shop.”

  Cheddar sighed.

  May put the apple on her palm. Cheddar bit it and t
hen chewed. He looked at her as if to say thank you, and then his eyelids dropped and his eyes closed. He was dozing. This was a sleepy kind of day, May thought.

  When May got back to the farmhouse kitchen, Dottie and Ellie looked almost normal. They were wearing blue jeans and T-shirts and sneakers.

  “Dottie and I are going for a walk,” Ellie said.

  “Good for you,” Mrs. Grover said. “I’m glad you’re finally beginning to enjoy this vacation. But don’t stay too long. It’s getting dark.”

  May yawned. She climbed the stairs to her room. In the doorway she stopped to look. True, her room was a bit messy. But right this minute she was sleepy. She’d pick up in the morning.

  She took off her dress and dropped it on the window seat, and then she slipped into her pony T-shirt and her pony shorts. She walked over to the bed. It looked so soft, so welcoming. She dived under the covers and fell fast asleep.

  In her dream May smelled heather. She could feel a pony moving under her. She looked down. He was a dark bay and he was running with fast, easy steps. The pony jumped a creek. Something tickled her hands. It was the pony’s mane blowing back in the wind. He was heading upward toward the moon, which got larger, and larger, and larger.

  The moon exploded.

  May sat up, her heart pounding, her breath coming fast. This wasn’t a dream. It was real. A beam of blinding light filled her room.

  5 Alexander Is Missing!

  “This is weird. Alexander is always here,” Corey said.

  Corey and Jasmine were saying goodnight to Samurai, Corey’s pony. Usually Alexander the Goat slept next to Samurai in his stall. But Alexander was nowhere to be seen. Samurai, otherwise known as Sam, looked lonely.

  “We’ll find him,” Corey said. Sam might be as bold and brave as a Samurai warrior, but he was also sensitive. Corey could tell he missed the goat.

  The door to the feed room was closed, and so was the door to the tack room.

  “It’s a mystery,” Jasmine said.

  They checked the field behind the Takamuras’ barn and the yard next to the Takamuras’ house. They checked the Jameses’ yard and barn and didn’t find him.

  “Let’s go ask Will if he’s seen Alexander,” Corey said.

  They followed the Pony Trail, which was a path that led through the backyards of the three Pony Tails’ houses. They knocked on the Grovers’ back door.