But I’m done thinking about Larissa.
Colt is quiet, but I never worry about making small talk with him. That’s one of the best things about Colt and me, most of the time. We don’t have to be talking to know everything’s okay between us.
“This is my first trail ride,” Colt says when the Harpers’ stable appears in the distance.
“Mr. Harper took us on a trail ride for an hour last year, out at Brookfield,” I say. “But this one will be way better. And longer.”
Colt reaches behind his saddle and pats his saddle bags. “That’s why I packed enough food for the whole day.”
I stare at his saddle bags. I thought they were just decoration. “Um . . . I didn’t think about that. I haven’t packed anything.”
“No sweat.” Colt strokes Bullet again. “I made plenty of peanut butter sandwiches. I even made those apple-carrot horse treats from your blog. Bullet will share with Dream. Won’t you, boy?”
“Well, Dream and I both thank you two.” And I know right away this day is going to be something I’ll never forget.
Only just as I think this, I feel that worry-cockroach crawling back up my neck. I stare at the blue sky and bright sun. But I imagine a black cloud lurking over the horizon. And I’m pretty sure that nasty cloud is Larissa-shaped.
6
Joy
Mr. Harper waves to us as we ride up. He’s busy leading three of his horses to a hitching post. The Harpers have so many horses that Mr. Harper always lets kids who don’t have horses ride some of his.
That was me for a long, long time. Every horsemanship practice I’d ride one of the Harper horses because I didn’t have a horse of my own. I shoot up a prayer of thanks to God that now I have Dream.
Ashley Harper comes yawning out of the barn. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt like me. Only she looks like she’s stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. She shields her eyes from the sun and then waves.
“Hey, Ashley!” I call. “Which horse are you taking out?”
She holds up one finger, then jogs back to the barn. When she comes out, she’s leading Galahad, a young quarter horse that has already won three ribbons.
Mr. Harper takes off his cowboy hat and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Can you believe that girl nearly forgot her horse?” he asks.
I’m not sure Ashley would ride if it weren’t for her dad taking her to the shows. She doesn’t love horses the way Colt and I do.
I’m surprised when Rashawn walks out of the barn behind Ashley and Galahad. Rashawn’s coal-black hair is caught up in a clip that matches the clip in Ashley’s long blonde hair.
Rashawn is leading her horse, Dusty. Next to Galahad, Rashawn’s farm horse looks like a giant. She tries to get Dusty to hurry up, but that horse has a mind of her own.
“What are you doing here already?” I ask Rashawn. “I thought you and Cassie would ride over together.”
“My fault,” Ashley says. She yawns again. “Rashawn and I are so far behind on our blog that she had to stay over last night so we could work on it. I’m a terrible partner.”
“No, you’re not,” Rashawn says. “We got a lot done yesterday.” Rashawn is a great student, and she always works hard. I haven’t heard her complain once about Ashley not doing her share of the work.
“How on earth did you and Colt get here so early?” Ashley asks.
Colt grins. “Our horses are lightning fast.”
“Anybody want to give me a hand here?” Mr. Harper shouts.
Colt helps Mr. Harper saddle the horses he’s letting people use while Ashley saddles Galahad.
I follow Rashawn back to the barn and help her with Dusty. Once we’re out of earshot, I quiz her. “What was it like staying at Ashley’s?”
“Aside from the fact that her room is bigger than my whole house, you mean?” Rashawn laughs. “It was cool. You should see her room. Seriously. She has a king-sized guest bed—for moi. I had to beg Ashley to show me her trophies. She keeps them in a trunk. And she doesn’t have her ribbons hanging on the wall like Larissa does.”
I’ve never seen Larissa’s or Ashley’s rooms. “What else did you do?”
“We really did work on our blog. The project would have been easier if Ashley hadn’t begged me to stay away from anything related to horses. So we’re doing presidential candidates. Neither of us knows anything about that one. Or cares. That’s the problem.”
It takes both of us to brush Dusty and hoist the saddle onto her back.
“There you are!” Cassie runs up to us. She’s leading her pony. At 14 hands, Misty is a true pony, and Cassie is fine with that . . . except when Larissa calls Misty Phony Pony.
“Cassie!” Rashawn hugs her friend and launches into a detailed account of her overnight with Ashley.
After a minute, I slip out of the barn and back to Dream. My horse is standing all by herself. I look around for Colt and Bullet. Finally I spot them on the other side of the stable with Lance and Brendon. Brendon only comes to horsemanship a few times a year. Lance doesn’t even like horses. He only shows up at horsemanship events because he knows Ashley will be there.
But they’re the only other guys here. So I know Colt will want to hang with them.
Mr. Harper has us line up. “A few rules before we start. Rule number one: You’re not the only one on this ride. Look out for each other. Rule number two: Stay on the trail unless I give you the go-ahead to explore. Rule number three: Keep a horse’s length between you and the horse in front of you. Rule number four: Have fun, riders!”
Cassie and Rashawn fall in right behind Mr. Harper. Cassie turns in her saddle and shouts back, “Ellie! Come on up here with us.”
Rashawn nods and waves me up too.
That’s one of the best things about Cassie and Rashawn. Even though they’re best friends with each other, they always try to include me.
I glance around for Ashley. She’s the last rider in the pack. I wave to her. But she has her head down on her horse’s neck like she’s taking a nap.
Mr. Harper leads us through two of his pastures and out to the woods. The trail is covered by a blanket of pine needles and spreads between jagged rows of evergreens. Our horses’ hooves sound like they’re in stocking feet, swishing across a silk carpet. Sunlight flashes between the branches. The scent of pine mixes with horse, smelling so good I’m a little dizzy.
“Is all of this your land?” Cassie asks Mr. Harper.
“This part is,” he answers. “But we’re headed over that ridge into woods that are publicly held. I love these woods.”
“Me too,” I whisper, so low that nobody can hear me except Dream and God. I feel as much pure joy as when I wake up on the first snow day of the year. I want it to last forever.
After a while, the voices grow softer. We’re spread farther apart. Horses snort and sneeze. They whinny secrets back and forth.
Cassie and Rashawn fall back so I’m between them again.
“Where’s Larissa?” Cassie asks.
I feel like somebody popped the bubble I’ve been floating in. “You had to ask.”
“What?” Cassie sounds concerned. “What did I say?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell us, Ellie,” Rashawn urges. “What’s up?”
So I tell them about Larissa’s blog and the scare it gave me.
“You must have gone crazy!” Cassie exclaims.
“Really! You should have called us,” Rashawn agrees.
That makes me feel good, that they’d want me to call them. I’m sure they call each other about everything. “Once we figured out it had to be Larissa writing the comments, I went from crazy to crazy mad.”
They laugh. We ride without talking for a couple of minutes. Then Rashawn says, “So . . . so you’re sure Larissa made the comment, right?”
I frown at her.
“I mean, did she admit she wrote that—about Dream being her horse?” Rashawn tugs her hair the way Miss Hernandez does when she’s upse
t.
“Larissa wrote it, all right. She may not have admitted it. But come on. Who else would do a thing like that?” I ask.
Cassie laughs. “You have a point. I vote we forget about it.”
“And I vote we forget about voting,” Rashawn says. “It reminds me of our presidential blog. And it’s much too beautiful out here to think about that now.”
The rest of the ride is even better. Dream loves it as much as I do. It’s like we’re reading each other’s mind. I start thinking how much fun it would be to trot. And the next thing I know, Dream breaks into a trot. When we go down a hill and it feels too fast, Dream slows down before I even signal her. And when we eat lunch, Dream enjoys her horse treats as much as I love Colt’s peanut butter sandwiches.
On the ride back, Colt still hangs with the guys. But he manages to pull Bullet in front of me and Dream. And now and then he loops his reins around the saddle horn, sticks his hands behind his back, and signs something. Did you see that hawk? Or How’s Dream holding up? Or Want another sandwich?
When we get back to the Harpers’ stable, I can’t believe we’ve been gone for over four hours. I’d happily turn around and do it all again.
Instead, Mr. Harper invites us to stay for some classic old horse movies. While we watch National Velvet and The Black Stallion, Mrs. Harper brings out so much food we can’t even eat it all.
By the time Colt and I head home, the sun is setting. I’m thinking it’s been a perfect day, even better than I imagined. As we ride up the dirt road toward our houses, I relive every detail of the day. Without words, I tell God how thankful I am for all of it. Who wouldn’t be? A day like this. Friends like these. And a horse like Dream.
The road turns to gravel, and I know my house is just ahead. But the sun is so low it’s hard to see.
“Hey! What’s that about?” Colt asks. He stands in his stirrups and shields his eyes. “You expecting company?”
“Not that I know of.” I tilt my head and try to see what he’s talking about. A strange car is parked in front of my house. “Whose car is it?”
“I don’t recognize it. It’s a cool old car, though. It doesn’t look like it’s from around here.”
We’re almost to my house when the front door flies open. Out comes a boy I’ve never seen before. He stomps over to the road and points right at me. “There! Is she the one? Is she the one who stole my horse?”
7
Prove It
“What did you say?” Colt demands. He rides Bullet forward, placing himself between me and the tall, gangly boy with slicked-back black hair.
“You heard me,” the boy says. “I want to know if she’s the one who stole my horse.” He points at me again. “She obviously is. I’d know my horse anywhere.”
“You’re crazy!” Colt snaps.
I should be jumping in here, but I can’t. My head is forming words, but my mouth can’t get them out.
My dad steps out of the house. I expect him to agree with Colt, to kick this stranger out of our yard. “Let’s all be calm here. Colt, you need to go home now.”
This isn’t making any sense. “Wh-why, Dad?”
“Please,” Dad says.
Colt glances back at me. I don’t want him to leave. He frowns from my dad to the boy to me. Then he signs, Call me. And he gallops away on Bullet.
I want to gallop after them.
Mom comes out of the house. Behind her is some woman I’ve never met. She’s a head shorter than my mother but about twice as big around. Her light-blonde hair is wound on top of her head like a snake ready to strike. “Grayson,” she says, “I told you to stay out of this.”
“Why should I?” he fires back. “It’s my horse, Aunt Deb!”
My fingers grip Dream’s reins tighter. “This is my horse.”
“Oh yeah?” the boy shouts. “That’s Jinx, and I can prove it!”
“Jinx?” At this point I know he’s crazy.
His aunt steps up behind him. Now I can see that there’s another person behind her. A tall, thin girl with strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s younger than I am—maybe Ethan’s age. She looks like a lost ballerina.
“Ellie,” Mom says, “this is Mrs. Ford and her daughter, Annika. And Grayson, Annika’s cousin. He’s staying the summer with them in Cameron.” Cameron is a little town a few miles down Highway 36.
Without so much as a glance at the strangers, I ask Mom, “Why are they here?”
“Ellie, honey,” Mom begins, “put Dream away and meet us inside. We need to talk.”
I turn away from them and walk Dream off toward the backyard. I don’t want to talk.
When I get to the gate, Ethan opens it for me. I slide off Dream and sign, What do you know about this, Ethan?
He signs back, They got here an hour ago. I missed most of it because nobody is signing. From what I can tell, the boy keeps saying Dream is his horse. I think he saw pictures on Larissa’s blog.
Larissa. I should have known.
I take my time brushing my horse. Ethan helps me. When I’m finished, I kiss Dream good night. There’s nothing left to do but go in.
Annika and her mother are seated with Mom on the couch. Dad and that boy, Grayson, are sitting in the recliners. When I walk in, the room goes silent.
“Took you long enough,” Grayson mutters.
“Grayson,” his aunt says, “if you can’t be civil, you can wait in the car.”
“Good idea,” I mutter back.
The woman turns to my mom. “Would you like to explain?” she asks.
Mom nods, then gets up and starts pacing. She circles the couch, her purple peasant skirt flowing behind her. “I don’t have any idea how to explain. This whole thing makes about as much sense as hot sauce in a berry pie.”
Mrs. Ford turns to me. “I’m so sorry about this, Ellie. It’s easy to see you’ve taken great care of that horse. We saw the before and after pictures on that girl’s website.”
“There was an after picture on Larissa’s blog?” The only picture I saw of Dream was the scraggly one.
“The pinto was in the background,” Annika explains, so softly I can barely hear her. “Larissa was getting a trophy. But the pinto outside the ring looked great.” She glances at her cousin. “When Grayson saw how good the horse looks now, that’s when he wanted to find her.”
“That’s not true!” Grayson protests.
I sign to Ethan as fast as I can, trying to fill him in.
“Like I said, my nephew is visiting us for the summer,” Mrs. Ford continues. “A friend of Annika’s was over, and she showed us the blog. She and Larissa go to the same horse shows. When Grayson saw the photos, he started screaming that it was his horse. He called his father, and Martin asked me to check things out. Annika’s friend contacted Larissa, and that’s how we ended up here. I wasn’t even sure it was the same horse. But I knew we’d never hear the end of it if we didn’t at least check it out.”
“It’s the same horse, all right,” Grayson insists. “You’ve got Jinx, and I want her back.”
“Grayson?” Mrs. Ford sighs.
Ethan steps in and signs to Dad. Even if it’s the same horse, they gave the horse away. They can’t change their minds now, can they?
Dad turns to Mrs. Ford and repeats Ethan’s question.
“We didn’t give Jinx away!” Grayson shouts. “We thought she ran away. She was always jumping the stable fence. The last time she did it, we were on vacation. Nobody told us. By the time we got back, we couldn’t find her. It wasn’t our fault. We thought she’d run off for good.” He glares at me. “Only now we know the truth. You stole my horse!”
“She is not your horse!” I shout back.
“Believe me,” Mrs. Ford says. “I don’t like this whole business any more than you do. Maybe the first thing to do would be to identify the horse.”
“How do you propose to do that?” Dad asks, his voice sharp as tacks.
“Well,” she continues, “Grayson’s father say
s their pinto had black-and-white spots.”
“A lot of horses do,” I snap.
“Do a lot of horses have one big spot that looks like a saddle?” Grayson demands. “Jinx does.”
I can’t answer. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach by a wild horse. My favorite spot. Dream’s biggest spot. It’s shaped like a shiny black saddle.
8
Fiery Furnace
Sunday morning when I wake up, my head hurts. I know I’ve had a horrible nightmare. Only I can’t remember it.
Then I do remember. The worst nightmare I’ve ever had . . . and it was real.
Someone wants to take away my Dream.
Panic stabs both sides of my head. I rush to my window, open it, and scream, “Dream! Dream! Dream!”
Dream gallops to my window. She sticks her head inside. I sit on the window ledge and run my fingers down her blaze. I memorize this jagged streak of white lightning that spreads down to her nostrils. A miracle of God’s creation.
I stay like this, afraid to leave my horse, until Mom hollers that I have to get ready for church.
I can’t eat, so I just pick at my scrambled eggs until they look like my brain feels. After a few minutes, Mom tells me to get dressed.
I pull clothes from my closet and put them on. But if somebody were to ask me what I’m wearing, I’d have no idea.
A horn honks. Suddenly I realize the house feels really quiet. Everybody else must be in the car already. I take one more long look out the window to make sure Dream is still there. Then I drag myself to the car and climb into the backseat.
“Where’s Ethan?” Dad asks. He signs it too, as if Ethan were here to sign back.
I shrug.
“That boy’s never late,” Mom says. “He’s probably worried about that little fish that’s looking so poorly.” She squints out the back window. “There he is. I think he’s coming from Colt’s house.”
Night Mare Page 3