A Horse to Love

by Marsha Hubler

  Another foster home was nothing new for Skye Nicholson. As long as she could remember, she had lived in foster homes, and each one just deepened her anger.

  Her real parents? She wasn’t sure where they were. Al she knew was that when she was two, there had been a car accident and she had been taken to live with strangers. As she grew older, Skye asked Child Protective Services about her parents. They would only tel her that she had been placed in foster care because her parents were involved with drugs.

  But where are my parents? Are they even alive?

  If they are, don’t they want me?

  Those questions haunted Skye at night, and now they ate away at her stomach as she faced more strangers with more rules that she had no intention of obeying.

  Mrs. Chambers, juggling a briefcase and groceries, struggled to find her house key but final y gave up and rang the doorbel . “I know someone’s home,” she said.“We’l just wait a few moments.”

  “What do you think I’m going to do? Run away?”Skye said as Mrs. Chambers rang the doorbel again.

  Running away sounded better the more Skye thought about it, and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’d done it. She pictured the pavilion at the city park and her favorite hiding place behind the dumpster. It sure looked good right now. To be away from everything! Here she was again, doing what she hated the most — moving in with strangers.

  What kind of a mess am I in this time? Skye thought as she scanned the front porch. The house was beige. Windows on each side of the door had blue shutters with carved hearts. A shiny brass knocker hung on the white front door. The cement floor wrapped around to her right, encased in fancy white railings and posts. Skye hated to admit that even though it was one more rotten foster home, this one had a homey feel to it. Just as she turned toward the yard, the door opened.

  “Hi,” a voice said.

  Skye turned slowly.

  “Come in,” said a slender girl a few years older than Skye. The teenager had long, kinky red hair and tons of freckles that clashed with her bright red plaid shirt. And she was sitting in a wheelchair.

  One of Skye’s favorite pastimes was keeping her outside from finding out what her inside was feeling.

  Inside, her mouth hung open. On the outside? A classic pout. This is the surprise? she fumed . Just perfect. Another brat to make my life more miserable. And a crippled one at that. Now I know why I was brought here. Maid service!

  “I’m Morgan Hendricks.” The girl tugged at a joystick on the right arm of her wheelchair, setting it in reverse. She extended her other hand in welcome.

  Ignoring Morgan, Skye fol owed Mrs. Chambers into a spacious living room with country furniture and decorations that made it look like a craft shop.

  Peach wal s surrounded a blue carpet, and the room smel ed like cinnamon. Soft music played in the background.

  In spite of herself, Skye liked the place just a little even though she didn’t see a television — in that room at least. Everything felt warm, friendly, and different from any other foster home. Peaceful even.

  “Welcome home!” A husky man with straight brown hair and a tidy mustache entered, and a familiar odor wafted past Skye’s nose. The man’s green T-shirt and jeans bore a layer of dust and straw. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his feet were covered with poor excuses for white socks. I know that smell, Skye told herself. It’s like Flanagan’s barn two foster homes ago.

  Skye clenched her teeth. Life was moving so fast that her head spun like a ceiling fan. Yet her outside oozed “cool.” She’d been down this road too many times before.

  “So — your name is Skye?” the man asked, shaking her hand. “I’m Tom Chambers. You can cal me Mr. Chambers, Mr. C, or Dad.”

  Though it was clearly the friendliest greeting she’d ever had, Skye yanked her hand free from his and

  stuck her thumbs in the back pockets of her jeans.

  “Not in this lifetime,” she said.

  “O — kay, I’m glad to meet you too!” Mr.

  Chambers kidded. Then he turned and gave Mrs.

  Chambers a kiss on the cheek. “How was your day, dear?”

  “Very interesting,” she said. “Did you find the frozen beef stew?”

  “Yep. Morgan has it simmering on the stove.

  Right?” He looked at the girl listening intently from the wheelchair.

  “Yes, sir. Supper’s just about ready,” Morgan replied, turning her chair and heading to the back of the house.

  “Looks like the van needs to be emptied,” he said, glancing out the open door.

  “Let’s eat first,” Mrs. Chambers suggested. “Then while you bring in Skye’s things, I’l show her around.”She walked toward the kitchen. “This way, Skye. Supper wil be ready in ten minutes, Tom.

  After we unpack, it’l be time for Skye’s surprise.” After supper, Mr. Chambers unloaded the van while Morgan cleaned up the “special needs” kitchen: spacious floor, low counters, pots on low hooks, and faucets accessible to kids in wheelchairs.

  Humph! was the only word Skye’s brain could muster since compliments of any kind were not part of her vocabulary. Stil , she caught herself staring as Morgan maneuvered with ease in the kitchen.

  “Skye, come with me.” Mrs. Chambers pushed away from the table and headed down a long hal way. While she talked about this bedroom and that room and how they’d al be fil ed during summer camp and blah, blah, blah, Skye planned how to get control of her life again. In addition to restricted use of the TV, there were ridiculous limits on the phone .

  Skye paid little attention to Mrs. Chambers’ words until they reached the end of the hal way and she heard, “This is your bedroom.”

  Bedroom. My bedroom? Yeah, right. My bedroom, Skye thought sarcastical y. Sure.

  She had slept in basements, dens, and even a makeshift “bedroom” over a garage. The only real bedroom she ever remembered was big enough for two, but it housed three sets of bunks.

  “We want you to have some privacy,” Mrs.

  Chambers said, turning toward Skye. “This is your bedroom and no one else’s. I’m sure that’s different from other foster homes you’ve been in. We’l respect your privacy as long as you don’t give us any reason not to.” She winked before opening the last door on the right.

  Like a book cover to a fairy tale, the door revealed a room with a single bed dwarfed by a white spread so fluffy it looked like a summer cloud. Strangely, there were no curtains on the two windows, al owing the late afternoon sun to bathe everything in gold dust. Dark hardwood floors gave the room a look of royal elegance. Despite there being no pictures on the wal s or decorations on the dresser or desk, Skye was impressed. Aware that her mouth had just fal en open, she snapped it shut and plunged her thumbs in her pockets to cover up her delight.

  “As you can see, it’s nice and roomy,” Mrs.

  Chambers said. “As for the curtains, pictures, and things like that, we were sure you’d have some ideas of your own. We’l go shopping soon and you can pick out some things that would make this room just right for you, including another bedspread if you don’t like this one. And you can unpack later. First there’s someone I want you to meet.” Skye’s pout took hold again as she fol owed Mrs.

  Chambers down the long hal way into the living room. Now what?

  “Okay, Tom!” Mrs. Chambers yel ed.

  Skye heard a door open and before she could take her next breath two smal white dogs tore into the room, barking, jumping up against her legs, squealing, and squirming.

  “Get them away from me!” Skye screamed as she flopped backward into a cushioned chair, pushed herself farther back into it, and kicked at the dogs.

  Her outside “cool” completely vanished, overtaken by a panic that screeched from her voice. “I hate dogs; they’re dirty and they bite!”

  “Here, boys,” Mrs. Chambers ordered as she relaxed onto the sofa. Both dogs launched themselves next to her, wiggling, barking, and licking her face.

  “Sky
e,” Mr. Chambers said as he entered the room, “you’re only afraid of things you don’t understand. Dogs are some of the friendliest creatures God put on this earth. Their one desire is to please us.” He sat next to his wife, patted the dogs, and scratched their backs.

  “I don’t care,” Skye replied. “I hate dogs.”

  “They won’t hurt you,” Mrs. Chambers said. She stood up and held her hand shoulder high. Both dogs hopped to the floor and watched her hand without moving a muscle.

  “Now watch,” she continued. “Dogs can be trained to obey your every whim. There’s no need to be afraid of them, particularly these West Highland terriers. They love kids, especial y girls. Skye, meet Tippy Canoe and Tyler Too, better known as Tip and Ty.”

  One dog sat on his haunches, raising his front paws like he was praying. The other one walked on his hind legs in a circle and barked.

  “Aren’t they adorable?” Mrs. Chambers asked.

  “Say hel o, boys.”

  A barrage of friendly barks echoed off the wal s until Mrs. Chambers lowered her arm. The dogs sat down.

  “In about three days, they’l desert Morgan and start looking for you at bedtime,” Mr. Chambers said.

  “They love the new kid on the block. If you don’t become bosom buddies, it won’t be their fault.” Skye stared viciously at the dogs. “Was this the big surprise?”

  “No, that’s out back,” Mr. Chambers said.

  Mrs. Chambers added, “I think it’s time you meet someone very special.”

  Skye could hardly take another surprise. The last month had been ful of surprises she could have done without: thrown out of one more foster home, battling Judge Mitchel , juvie hal again, stuck in another strange place with more strangers who were going to “help” her, attacked by two wild beasts, and now what? To her this al seemed like one big, cruel joke orchestrated by none other than Hannah Gilbert.

  Wouldn’t she just be thrilled to death to see me now? Skye fumed.

  “Come on, Skye,” Mrs. Chambers said as she walked toward a sliding glass door in the dining room. “Let’s go outside. Morgan, we’l finish the dishes later. Come with us.” She slid open the door.

  Mr. Chambers led, fol owed by his wife, Morgan in her wheelchair, the two white dogs, and Skye in the back, her face as red as her T-shirt and her fists stuffed into her pockets. The wooden deck outside led them down a long wooden ramp onto a sidewalk.

  The parade made its way down a gentle slope through the lawn to a white fence enclosing a red barn and spacious pasture.

  The afternoon sun had already given way to evening shadows, and the air now felt crisp and damp. Everything had a pinkish cast to it that made the scene look like a Saturday morning cartoon. A strong “Flanagan’s barn” smel permeated the air.

  Skye felt like screaming as she brought up the rear. She hated fol owing directions, and she real y hated being last. It didn’t matter how nice this place was. She had to get out of this trap. But how? Dark thoughts pul ed her face into hateful contortions.

  “This is ridiculous!” she yel ed. Her words fel on deaf ears as everyone focused on the large meadow on the other side of the fence.

  Skye scanned the field before her as she slowly approached the fence. In the distance, near a pond and under a clump of trees, stood a smal herd of horses.

  Mr. Chambers leaned on the fence with his elbows, stuck his fingers in his mouth, and released a shril whistle.

  Skye stepped back, glaring intently as the horses lifted their heads and started running toward the fence. They came up the gentle slope, manes and tails flying in the breeze. One, two, three, four, five, six! Skye counted as she backed farther away. As they charged toward the barn, Skye focused on the horse in the lead, smal er than the rest but fast as the wind.

  The rumble of their hooves on the ground took Skye back to when she was younger, alone in bed during a terrible thunderstorm, and she backed onto the sidewalk . “Just what I need to make my day perfect,” she yel ed.“Stinking horses!” Mr. Chambers crawled onto the top of the fence just as the herd came to a sliding halt in front of him.

  “I’l get their oats,” Mrs. Chambers said, unlatching a chain around the gate. “Stay!” she ordered Tip and Ty as she squeezed through the opening and hurried into the barn. Both dogs retreated, lying down next to Morgan.

  Mr. Chambers jumped into the pasture and singled out the lead horse from the cluster now shuffling in front of the barn. Snapping a rope into the halter, he maneuvered it outside the fence and closed the gate.

  From inside the barn, Mrs. Chambers slid open a big steel door and, single file, the other five horses hurried in.

  Morgan backed up, pivoting her chair to watch what would happen next.

  “Skye, this is Champ, our registered Sorrel Quarter Horse. We cal him Champ because he is one. The big bay mare is his mother, Pepsi,” Tom said, pointing toward the open barn door.

  “Champ, meet Skye.”

  The horse nodded three times, then let out a whinny that edged Skye back a few more feet.

  You only fear things you don’t understand. Mr.

  Chambers’ words echoed in Skye’s mind. But Skye wa s afraid. She had always hated and avoided animals, especial y big ones. And this thing was so

  — big! Now there was no escape. Skye scanned the creature from head to tail as she stood glued to the ground.

  Slowly, Mr. Chambers led the horse closer to where Skye stood. Champ inched forward and reached his head toward Skye.

  Skye stiffened, ready to back away again.

  “Don’t move. He’s sniffing you,” the man said. “He won’t hurt you. Champ is one of the sweetest horses I’ve ever known.”

  Hanging on the man’s words, Skye tried to relax but felt her knees starting to shake. Brave? Put hotshot juvenile delinquent Skye Nicholson up against any human, male or female, and she’d throw the last punch. But animals? Horses? She was a bowl of Jel -O. “Does he bite?” she asked sheepishly.

  “Only apples, and I think he can tel you aren’t wearing one.”

  Gently, the horse inspected Skye’s bare arms, snorting, and then he licked her with his warm, sticky tongue. It felt clean and moist.

  “Let him smel your hands,” Mr. Chambers said.

  He pul ed the rope gently to lift the horse’s head.

  Skye crept her hands out of her pockets and opened both palms under the horse’s muzzle. The horse sniffed and snorted, and then licked her again.

  Amazed, Skye released a tiny giggle. It was the first time she could remember laughing in an awful y long time.

  “What’s he doing?” she asked.

  “He’s getting to know you. I’l tel you right now he likes you a lot. He doesn’t nudge his muzzle up to just anybody. Yep. He likes you a lot.” Skye found herself with strange, new feelings. She had never touched a horse. She hated animals, or at least she thought she did. Her short stay at the Flanagan’s consisted of watching the cows from the back porch of the house. But now, deep inside, she felt a warm glow as she looked into the deep brown eyes of this gorgeous, friendly animal.

  Animal? This is no animal, Skye told herself. It’s a horse — the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.

  Its sharp ears pricked forward as if it could read her mind. A white stripe ran down the middle of its face, and its soft mane and tail blew in the breeze like corn silk. Its reddish-brown coat, sleek and smooth, sparkled in the sun. And the smel ? Like sweet, fresh-mown hay.

  “Can I touch it?” Skye asked.

  “He’s not an ‘it.’ He’s a gelding,” said Mr.

  Chambers.“That’s a male horse that’s been fixed so he can’t reproduce. It takes the wildness out of them.

  Sure, touch him, but move slowly. I’l hold his halter.

  Pet him on the nose and feel how soft he is.” Skye inched her right hand forward and stroked the warm nose while the horse licked her other hand like a lol ipop. The soft furry hair felt like a velvet pil ow. For that moment, Skye forgot who she was
, where she was, or even why she was here. She was speechless.

  “He’s a good one, al right,” Mr. Chambers said.“Only fourteen and a half hands high. Just the right size for you.”

  “Me?” Skye shrieked. “No way!”

  chapter three

  Despite meeting Champ, settling into a new foster home was as exciting to Skye Nicholson as math homework. In five minutes, she had unpacked her beat-up

  suitcase

  and

  tossed

  her

  world’s

  possessions into three dresser drawers. Most importantly, she had unpacked a tiny tablet of ragged notepaper and a lighter — both tucked away in rol ed-up socks. The tablet was her lifeline to good times — phone numbers of “friends” who helped her get what she needed to make it through each miserable day.

  Living with a new set of strangers and al their rules made Skye so anxious that she felt like throwing up. She glanced at the darkness outside the window and then looked at her watch. Only 9:30.

  Skye bel y-flopped across the bed and closed her eyes.

  One day down and a few dozen to go before I’m kicked out of here, she told herself. Then I’ll move on to the next nightmare.

  Someone tapped on her door a few times before opening it. Mrs. Chambers carried in a bunch of baby-pink roses stuck in a shiny brown vase. Tucked under one arm were a navy blue sweat suit and some kind of stuffed animal.

  “Skye,” Mrs. Chambers said, placing the vase on a desk in the corner, “I want to official y welcome you to our home.”

  When her new foster mother sat down beside her, Skye rol ed away, placed her hands behind her head, and stared at the ceiling.

  “I know you’ve been through an awful lot,” Mrs.

  Chambers continued. Skye didn’t say a word. “I want you to know we’re here to help you. With God’s help, you can make it, kiddo.”

  God? You’ve gotta be kidding, Skye thought. If there is a God, he’s sure not interested in me. I’ll give it a month before I’m shipped off to the next rat hole.