The person who was drawing for the other team reached for a card, frowned as she looked at it, and then asked Lisa to time the round. Lisa automatically looked at her wrist. There was nothing there. It didn’t make any difference in the game since they were actually using an egg timer, but it did make a difference to her wrist. She’d obviously taken her watch off sometime, and she had to try to remember where and when.
She flipped the egg timer and set her mind to work while the other team struggled with a drawing of a vegetable peeler.
Pencil. Sword. Lollipop. I mean sucker—you know, the kind with a looped handle. Pot. Pan. Knife.
Lisa remembered that she’d had it on when she and her friends had been riding. She didn’t remember whether she’d had it on when she was working in the kitchen and at dinner.
Lasso. Lasso roping an egg. Lasso laying an egg.
She recalled unsaddling Chocolate and noticing how much lather the horse had worked up. She’d given her a bath, and that must have been when she removed her watch. The memory came back then. She had taken her watch off and hooked it on a nail protruding from a wall in the barn. She didn’t remember taking it off the nail, so it was almost certainly still there. It would probably still be there in the morning, but Lisa didn’t want to take the chance.
Toothbrush. Knife. Kitchen something. It’s a—it’s a—cheese grater? Whisk? Spatula? Rolling pin. No, not that. I mean—peeler. It’s a vegetable peeler!
Lisa had to smile at the way the other team all gave one another high fives for coming up with vegetable peeler. The sketches were unrecognizable to her, but it was enough to make it clear that they had won the match. Kate, Lisa, Stevie, and Carole all conceded good-naturedly and then politely refused the opportunity to get whupped again.
“Tomorrow we’ll try Monopoly,” Stevie said. Then she turned to her friends and whispered loudly, “I’m a shoe-in to pick up Boardwalk and Park Place, and we won’t have to draw a thing!”
“Now wait a minute. Do you play ‘Free Parking’?” asked one of their potential opponents.
As the members of the two teams cheerfully battled over the rules for playing Monopoly, Lisa slipped out of the room. She wanted to get out to the stable to find her watch.
She picked up a flashlight in the kitchen, slipped into a stable jacket, and walked out into the dark, cold desert night. Lisa pulled the warm collar up around her neck and stuck her hands into the oversized jacket pockets. She didn’t need the flashlight as long as she was outdoors. The sky was clear and completely studded with stars. The moon, nearly full, shone down on her, engulfing the whole ranch in its silvery beams. She could see her own breath turn to steam.
The barn was completely dark, and since Lisa had no idea where the light switches were, she clicked the button on the flashlight and looked around her, trying to accustom her eyes to the shadowy darkness. She knew the barn well in daylight. In the dark it was totally unfamiliar, almost threatening.
Just because it’s almost Halloween doesn’t mean there are ghosts in the barn, she told herself. She almost believed it, too. She shivered and tried to orient herself so she could recall exactly where the nail was that she had used to park her wristwatch.
The stomp of a horse’s foot on the wooden floor made her jump. But then there was a whinny, and the sound was so familiar that Lisa found it strangely comforting.
“There, girl, there,” came a human voice.
That startled Lisa even more. She’d thought she was alone.
“Who’s there?” the voice called out quietly.
“It’s me,” Lisa said, and then realized that that wasn’t much of an identifier. “Lisa. Lisa Atwood. Who are you? Where are you?”
“It’s John. And I’m with the mare over here.”
Lisa turned to the sound of his voice. She blinked in the darkness and then noticed a warm glow coming from the box stall at the end of the barn. She found John there, sitting on a stool in the stall. A mare, almost ready to foal, stood nearby, shifting from one side to the other uneasily.
“She seemed restless,” he said. “I don’t think she’s ready yet, but she calmed down when I came in. I figured she just wanted company.” There was a small lantern at his feet.
He reached up and casually patted the mare on her forehead. She nodded slowly.
“Sometimes they get that way,” John went on. “It can’t be easy having a great big foal in her womb, almost ready to be born, but not quite. Mothers have it tough, you know.”
Lisa knew. She’d helped at the birth of a foal once. It had been one of the most exciting experiences of her life, and all during it she’d felt the anxiety and discomfort of the mare, who still seemed to bear it all willingly because there was no other choice. Lisa was also struck by the way John had expressed his concern—mothers have it tough. It made her recall Kate’s suspicion that the rumors about John’s father had to do with his mother. It wasn’t any of her business. She pushed the thought back.
“Should your father know about this?” Lisa asked.
“Nah. He’s sleeping. I’ll take care of the mare tonight. He needs the rest. She needs the care.” He patted the mare again. Then he looked quizzically at Lisa. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting into some hot game of charades or something?”
“Pictionary,” she said. “We lost. I think I left my watch out here this afternoon. I put it on a nail somewhere, and I can’t remember exactly where.”
“Gold watch. White face. Black leather band?”
“Yes.”
“Haven’t seen it.”
Lisa couldn’t help herself. She laughed. John had a dry sense of humor that tickled her.
Slowly he stretched out his right leg and reached into the pocket. “Here it is,” he said, handing her the watch. “I figured it was yours, and I figured you’d be back out here in the morning. I didn’t want to leave it hanging there by the hose all night long. Never can tell who might sneak in here just to see what the dudes have left hanging around.…”
“Thanks,” Lisa said, slipping the watch back onto her wrist and buckling it. John stood up then and stepped out of the box stall. He closed the door softly behind him so as not to disturb the mare, who was now sleeping soundly. He stood near Lisa, and she found herself very aware of him. He was tall with sharp dark features. A shock of black hair hung straight over his eyes. His eyes seemed to see everything, and his gentle smile reassured Lisa. She felt as if she were the mare, being put at ease by this very interesting young man.
“It’s a little spooky out here in the dark,” Lisa said.
“Don’t worry,” John teased her. “I’ll fend off any bats or gremlins who try to attack you or drink your blood.”
“What a relief you’re here,” she teased him back.
“I’ll also walk you back to the main house,” John offered. Lisa was surprised to find that that was just what she’d been hoping he’d say.
“Did you girls have a nice ride this afternoon?” John asked as they headed back outside.
“Oh, yes,” Lisa told him. “We went out and found the herd of wild horses—the ones that are going to be put up for adoption. You know about that?”
John nodded.
“Well, Kate has her heart set on the stallion. What a beauty he is—pure white, with this wonderful nick in his ear.”
“No,” John said abruptly.
“Sure, it’s his right ear.”
“No,” he repeated. “She can’t.”
Lisa was startled by the sharpness of his voice. The gentle young man who was tending to the mare and escorting Lisa back to the house had suddenly disappeared. Lisa could feel his tenseness—almost anger. He halted and faced Lisa squarely. For a second she was almost afraid of him.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“The stallion. She can’t have him. You can’t let her do it.”
“Why not? What is going on here?” Then Lisa thought she knew what was going on. “Now, look. If you want t
hat stallion, you’ve got every right, just the same as Kate, to try to adopt him yourself. All you have to do is register. I’m sure your father would do it for you because you have to be eighteen, but it doesn’t cost much, and—”
“I don’t want the stallion,” John said. “And Kate can’t have him, either. Don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t,” Lisa said. “That’s a beautiful horse. I watched him protecting his mares, and I watched him gallop. He’s going to make a fabulous saddle horse. Kate’s going to love owning him, and imagine what it’s been like for him to live in the wild—”
“It’s where he belongs,” John said. “It’s where he’s got to stay.”
In her mind Lisa replayed the scene they’d come upon this afternoon: the stallion in the middle of his brood, king of all he surveyed, master of the mountains, ruler of the plains, untamed, unowned. Then she remembered what Kate had said about the very real possibility of the horses dying on their own.
“I know why they put horses up for adoption,” John said, as if he were reading her mind. “It’s a great program and it’s well done. The problem isn’t the program, it’s the stallion with the nick in his ear. Kate can’t have him. Nobody can. Just his rider …”
“I don’t understand,” Lisa said.
“Of course you don’t. But don’t let her do it.”
“What—”
John spun on his heel and was gone, walking off in the darkness, returning to the barn, to the mare, to his own secret thoughts. Lisa was about as confused as she’d ever been. Who was this boy who felt the unease of a mare about to foal, kidded about saddles, picked up watches for safekeeping, walked young girls to safety in the dark, and had a mysterious notion about a stallion with a nick in his ear? What did it all mean?
A cold wind whipped through the moonlight and chilled Lisa to the bone. It was time to go back to the main house, alone.
LATER THAT NIGHT Christine Lonetree joined the girls in their bunkhouse for a Saddle Club meeting. This one looked more like a pajama party than a meeting, because that’s exactly what it was.
All five of them were in warm nightclothes—mostly sweatpants and sweatshirts. It was October, and Bunk-house One was heated only by a small potbellied stove and a fireplace. That didn’t matter to the girls, though. They were too busy discussing plans to pay much attention to the occasional chatter of teeth. They also knew that the minute they climbed into their down sleeping bags, they’d be toasty warm. They just weren’t ready to go to sleep yet. There were too many things to talk about.
“It’s this incredible sort of dollhouse that my mother made,” Christine said. She was trying to describe her mother’s latest project. Mrs. Lonetree, in addition to teaching modern European and Russian history at the regional high school, was a potter. Sometimes she made what tourists thought were traditional Native American crafts. Most of the time, though, she did more original and creative work. She also worked with the children at the reservation’s after-school program, when there was a program. Now Christine was telling them about an adobe dollhouse that Mrs. Lonetree had crafted.
“It’s got two levels. Both of them are open so you can see what’s inside, and it’s a good thing, too, because she’s completely filled it with traditional decorations. I mean blankets, wall hangings, even miniatures of the pots she sells to the tourists. It’s incredible, and it’s for you—for your party, I mean.”
“It’s going to be the big prize,” Stevie said. “Kids will be lining up clear to the state line just to guess the number of candy corns in the jar. It’s going to make zillions of dollars for the after-school program. Your mother is amazing—and wonderful. I can’t wait to see it.” Stevie reached for the bag of marshmallows, speared two with the long-handled fork, aimed the fork at the fire’s embers, and carefully began turning them a perfect golden brown while the girls continued to chat about the Halloween Fair.
Once they had decided on several more activities—an archery game with pumpkins for targets, costume parade, and a makeup table—their thoughts naturally turned to the scarier aspects of the season. They turned off all the lights, lit a candle, and began to tell ghost stories.
Stevie was the hands-down winner in any ghost-story-telling competition. When her turn came, her four friends listened in total attention throughout, Finally she came to the conclusion of her story and lowered her voice to an almost inaudible hush. Lisa leaned forward, straining to catch every spellbinding word.
“… and then a second rush of cold air swept through the castle and carried off Count Boscovich, Dante, and the raven. Miranda was alone in the castle, and all that remained to remind her of the horror she’d witnessed was the scratch on her face. And to this day, every time there is a full moon on Halloween, three drops of blood flow from Miranda’s cheek. One is for her lover, one is for her father, and one is for the raven. It is the only proof she has that any one of them ever lived.”
Suddenly a gust of cold air rushed through the cabin, blowing out the candle. Lisa screamed. A second later footsteps approached and the bunkhouse door flew open. This time Lisa and Carole both screamed.
“Are you okay?” someone asked.
The ceiling light flipped on. It took a few seconds for the girls’ eyes to adjust to the light, but when they could see again, they found that John Brightstar was standing there, and he looked very concerned. In fact he looked so solemn that it was all the girls could do to keep from giggling. Stevie actually couldn’t restrain herself. Kate and Carole joined in.
Lisa could feel a blush of embarrassment rise on her cheeks. “We’re fine,” she began. “We were telling ghost stories,” Stevie’s very good at it, and she managed to scare me. Then when the candle went out, well, it just startled me.” Suddenly it struck Lisa that it was very odd that John should just show up. Had he been passing by and heard her scream? She wanted to ask him what he was doing there, but he spoke again before she had the chance.
“You were telling ghost stories?” he said eagerly. “Great. I have a story I want to tell you.” With that, he sat down on the floor, joining the circle the girls had formed around the fire. He cleared his throat and began.
Many years ago, so many my grandfather does not remember it, there were two tribes who lived and battled one another in these lands. They had warred for so long that nobody could remember when they had not warred. Neither could anyone remember why they warred. So deep were their hatred and fear that it was forbidden for members of one tribe to speak to members of the other.
One year, on the night of the first full moon after the harvest, a baby was born in each of these tribes. In the tribe to the north it was a girl, daughter of the chief. He named her Moon Glow, for the first natural beauty he saw after gazing at her face for the first time. In the tribe to the south it was a male child, son of a mighty warrior. His father named him White Eagle, after the great bird which had soared majestically above his home at the moment of his son’s birth.
When Moon Glow was fifteen, she was betrothed to her father’s bravest warrior. As a wedding gift, she chose to make him a cloak of pure white leather, embroidered with eagle feathers in the image of a bison—his totem. She traveled from her village to find the most perfect feathers for the cloak.
At that time, White Eagle was being prepared for the rigors of war. His elders had sent him out in the mountains with only his clothes, his knife, and a flint to make fire. He had to live alone and survive for half the life of the moon— two weeks—with only those tools. He could not see anybody or talk to anybody until he had completed his test. While others before him had died alone and in shame, White Eagle was determined to survive. In the wilderness he had made the weapons of survival—a bow and many arrows, even a spear. He had eaten well, he had slept warmly. He was sure he would survive his test.
White Eagle had been in the mountains for ten days. His only companion was a white stallion who roamed the mountains near his camp.
Suddenly Lisa sat upright. John was talking
about Kate’s horse, the stallion they’d seen earlier! She listened closely as he went on.
The horse ran whenever White Eagle tried to touch him or capture him, but he seemed to like being near White Eagle. The brave knew that the horse was wild, now and forever, and somehow the horse’s very wildness was a comfort to him.
One day Moon Glow walked in the mountains alone, hunting for an eagle from whom she could pluck feathers for the cloak. She did not see the mountain lion who stalked her, nor did she hear him. But the mountain lion saw her. Without warning, he attacked, howling and shrieking in victory as he landed on her back. Moon Glow screamed, knowing it would do no good and hearing in response only the slow, sad echo of her own voice.
White Eagle heard the cry of the mountain lion and leapt up from his fire. Then he heard the cry of Moon Glow and he ran. He was only vaguely aware of the presence of the white stallion—a shadow at his side in his flight toward destiny.
When he found Moon Glow and the mountain lion, the girl was struggling bravely against the overpowering force of the wild creature. Without hesitation, White Eagle drew an arrow from his quiver, slipped it into his bow, drew it back, and let it fly. But he had drawn too quickly. The first arrow sped right past the lion and the girl and struck the ear of the white horse who watched from beyond. The horse flinched momentarily, but stood his ground bravely as the arrow passed right through his ear and landed harmlessly beyond him. Then White Eagle shot again, taking more careful aim. His arrow met its target. The mountain lion fell limp and dead. White Eagle ran to Moon Glow and took her up in his arms. She was almost unconscious and bleeding badly. White Eagle knew she was near death.
All thoughts of himself fled from his mind. He knew only that he must save this woman and the only way he could save her would be to return her to her people. He did not think of the consequences; he thought only of the woman who needed him. He began the long walk to the north, carrying the chieftain’s dying daughter in his arms.
Ghost Rider Page 3