Rescue

by Jessie Haas

  Chess was white-faced, but her chin was up. Her eyes met Mrs. Abernathy’s. “I don’t.”

  Mrs. Abernathy gave a bark of laughter. “Bless you, child, you know what you think, anyway! Why don’t you two go look at the horses?”

  They were being dismissed, like little kids! Chess hesitated for a second. Then she got up from the table. Joni followed, feeling that she’d just had a narrow escape.

  The minis were dozing indoors, away from the warm sun and the flies. They wore their grazing muzzles, baskets made of nylon straps that hung over their mouths. Joni missed being able to see their adorable noses, but grazing muzzles were a great idea. They reduced the amount of grass a horse could eat. A little bit stuck through the basketwork, so horses could nibble all day without getting fat. Maybe she should get one for Archie.

  The barn was only a garden shed, but it was the perfect size for minis. Half held hay and equipment. The other half was set up as a run-in, with a gate so they could be closed inside. There were two tie rings, very close to the ground, and two salt bricks in wall-mounted holders, one white and one the red, mineral kind. You were supposed to give horses a choice of salt, but Joni didn’t know anyone who did. Mrs. Abernathy did everything by the book—

  “Poor babies,” Chess whispered. “Look how depressed they are!”

  “What?” The minis stood with their heads low and their eyes were half-shut. “They’re asleep!” Joni said.

  Kubota lifted his head and pricked his ears at her. After a moment, he walked over and put his nose up. His long whiskers, sticking out between the crisscrossed straps of the muzzle, trembled pitifully. Joni laughed. “You are so not starving!”

  “Those things are horrible!” Chess said. “They should be running free, like the mustangs! They should be eating that grass—” She pointed to the lush grass growing outside the door.

  “They’d eat themselves to death!” Joni said. “You don’t understand. Horses can’t have too much grass. They’ll founder—”

  But how could she explain founder? It was one of the strange things about horses, that eating too much could hurt their feet. Fatally hurt their feet. She’d need a diagram to show how the inner lining of the hoof swelled up, with no place to go because it was contained inside the hard hoof wall. She would have to explain how a foundered horse shuddered and sweated in pain, how he tried not to put any weight on his front feet. And how could she do that when Chess wouldn’t listen? Instead she was pulling fistfuls of grass.

  Kubota followed her along the inside of the electric fence. JD joined him, nickering as Chess straightened with a large armful. “See how hungry they are!”

  “They’re horses. Of course they’re hungry! Watch out!” Chess was reaching over the fence to give Kubota the grass. “That’s electric,” Joni said.

  Chess stepped back. “It looks like string.”

  “It is string, but it’s got electric wire running through it. Here, give me the grass. I’ll put it inside for them.” Normally, Joni wouldn’t open somebody else’s gate, or feed their animals without asking, but nothing was normal about this visit. She took hold of the plastic gate hooks. The wire sagged, and Kubota stepped toward the gate. Quickly, Joni tossed the grass in and closed it. Animals! They looked like they were paying no attention, but open a gate, only for a second, and even a sheep was smart enough to take advantage.

  Chess put her hand on the top gate hook. “I don’t feel anything.”

  “You would if you touched the wire!”

  “Really? How bad is it?” Chess put her finger on the black-and-white twine. There was a loud snapping sound. A spark flew, the minis bolted, and Chess fell down, all in the same instant.

  Joni dropped to her knees beside her. “Are you okay? Chess?”

  Chess sat up, rubbing her elbow. “Ow,” she said after a moment. “Okay—ow!” Tears started to trickle down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” Joni said. It wasn’t her fault, but she felt like it was. Getting zapped by a fence was horrible. It hurt you all over, and worst at the nearest large joint, which made no sense to Joni even after Dad explained it to her. Should she give Chess a hug? But maybe Chess didn’t like hugs. Not everyone did. “You’re not going to do it again, right? I mean, you’re smarter than Ray, right?”

  Chess raised her eyes to look at the minis. They huddled in the middle of the paddock, pricking their ears warily.

  “How often does it happen to them?”

  “Never. I mean—hardly ever. Animals learn fast. All they have to do is touch the fence once.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes!” Joni said. “Even sheep! They practically never touch it. You’re okay, right?”

  Chess stood up, hugging her arm close to her body. She nodded, but Joni knew how she really felt. The deep ache would last for hours. So would the hurt feelings—which was silly. A fence wasn’t a person. It didn’t shock you on purpose. But it felt like someone you trusted had suddenly knocked you down. Did animals feel that way? They acted as if they did. The sheep always had—well, you had to call it shocked—looks on their faces as they raced away.

  “It keeps them in,” she said, answering what Chess must be thinking. “It keeps them safe.”

  “But—baby lambs? You let baby lambs touch that?”

  Joni nodded. She didn’t think most lambs ever did touch the fence, actually. They must learn from their mothers that a fence was something to stay away from, without knowing why. But some must touch it, and it must be awful for them. “It’s better than being eaten,” she said.

  Chess turned dark eyes on her. “They’re going to get eaten, anyway.”

  “Yes, but … coyotes …” Chess had never seen a lamb that had been torn apart by coyotes. She didn’t understand.

  Dad drove up just then. They got into the truck, and he dropped Chess off at her house. “Wow,” he said after a moment. “That’s one opinionated kid.”

  Joni didn’t know whether to defend Chess or agree. Or maybe just nod. Nodding worked. Dad took the hint and didn’t ask questions. They drove home, where they found an old white van with New York license plates in the yard, and Olivia getting out.

  TWELVE

  A Dog Crate

  Olivia’s face lit up when she saw them. She ran over and hugged Joni, then Dad, and turned back toward the van as two other people got out, a short dark-haired girl Olivia’s age, and a tall young man. Joni did remember Rosita, sort of, from the crowd of friends at Olivia’s graduation. But who was this guy?

  Olivia said, “Daddy, Joni, you remember Rosita, right? And this is Tobin, a friend of hers from high school. We visited him last night, and it turns out he’s studying soil carbon and looking for a farm internship this summer. So he decided to bring us the rest of the way and talk to you. Isn’t that amazing!”

  Joni didn’t think it was all that amazing. Olivia was beautiful, tall and slim with honey-colored hair like Dad and long, tanned legs. The guy, Tobin, wasn’t staring at her, but Joni could see that he had to work at it. He’d grown up on a small farm, he told Dad, and gotten interested in soil science, but now he wanted some practical experience to give him some perspective.

  “Well, you just delivered my two substitute interns,” Dad said, “but it’s haying season, so it’s easy to tempt me. Come in and have lunch, and let’s talk about it.”

  They talked about it. And talked. Afterward, Olivia showed Tobin and Rosita around the farm, and they all talked some more. It would be a long time before Joni had Olivia to herself, she could see.

  Tobin stayed for supper, too—hummus, chips, and wine, brought by Rosita, grilled lamb and a green salad from Mom’s garden, with last year’s cheese crumbled on top, and lots more talk—Dad and Olivia, mostly, explaining more about the farm. “Amazing!” Rosita kept saying. Tobin just took it in, eyes wide and shining. But every time Olivia stopped talking, he asked her a question, a smart question, about pasture rotation or cheese. The questions made Olivia look at him, and pretty soon the wh
ole supper seemed to be about the two of them getting to know each other. Joni sat picking off flecks of cheese rind and feeding them to the dogs, until suddenly she felt an arm around her shoulders.

  She looked up, and Mom smiled down at her with a look that said, “I know!”

  “So, Jon-Jon!” Olivia said, interrupting herself. “What’s been going on for you?”

  Sixth-grade graduation? Chess yelling at Mrs. Abernathy? “Kittens,” Joni said.

  Olivia’s face lit up. “In the barn? Show me in the morning, okay?”

  “Okay.” Maybe Tobin would be gone by then.

  But by breakfast, it had been decided that Tobin wasn’t leaving. Olivia and Rosita had the barn apartment, where the interns usually stayed, but Dad said he could park his van, which was also a camper, in the yard. Joni saw Mom roll her eyes. She liked privacy. Dad was a more-the-merrier kind of person, especially in haying season.

  Fewer people would be fine with Joni right now. Like, subtract Rosita and Tobin! Without them, Olivia wouldn’t be talking about how grazing animals could put carbon back in the soil and even reverse climate change, about grass-fed this and pastured that. “It’s just the way I was brought up,” she said. “I never realized we were activists until I went to college.”

  Joni mopped up the last of her egg with a bit of English muffin. It was the way she was brought up, too. This egg came from a hen that got to run around outdoors and scratch in the dirt. But it was just an egg. It was just the way they lived. How was it being an activist? It didn’t comfort the afflicted, or afflict the comfortable.

  “Olivia, let’s go see the kittens,” she said.

  “I’ve seen them!” Olivia said. “Their mom moved them into the apartment at two o’clock this morning! Rosita’s not a cat person, so guess whose bed they’re on!”

  “It’s time they came in the house, anyway,” Dad said. “I’m going to cut hay this morning.”

  “Come on, Jon-Jon, I’ll help you bring them over.”

  Finally! Some time for just the two of them. Joni followed Olivia out to the apartment. It was one rustic room, with a sink, a stove, a table and chairs, and bunk beds. The kittens were exploring the unmade bottom bunk, their tails upright with excitement.

  Olivia made her hand into a spidery monster, creeping over the blankets. The gray-and-white kitten arched his back, fluffing his tail and the hair along his spine. He spat at the scary hand, then hauled off and smacked it with his tiny paw.

  “Oh, honey, you’re really scared, aren’t you?” Olivia picked him up, stroking and soothing him.

  “Doesn’t he have a great purr?” Joni said. “I have a new friend who really likes him, but … she can’t have pets.”

  “Allergies?”

  “No, they don’t … they don’t believe in keeping captive animals. They’re vegans.”

  Olivia’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Most people who use that term are talking about zoo animals. I mean, my vegan friends all have cats! But I guess if you’re a purist …”

  A purist. That was Chess. Joni said, “She’s an activist, too.”

  “And she’s your age? Because a sixth-grade activist—”

  “We’re not sixth graders anymore,” Joni said.

  “That’s right! Congratulations! But who is this kid? Where is she from?”

  “California. They moved into the white house on North Valley Road, and—she’s really into animal rescue.”

  Olivia frowned. “Animal rescue, or animal rights?”

  “Um—I don’t know. Why?”

  “Rescuers help animals who are in trouble. Some of the rights people think they’re all in trouble, that they should have never been domesticated. They get people’s farm animals taken away, for, like, being kept outdoors! And they let lab animals out of cages.”

  “But—” Joni said. “I mean, poor mice!”

  “I know,” Olivia said. “I have mixed feelings about that one. Still—what’s your friend’s name?” She pulled out her phone.

  “Chess—I mean, Francesca. Ventura. I think.” Joni’s stomach felt cold. She watched Olivia’s thumbs hover, tap, hover.

  “Yeah, Ventura,” Olivia said. Tap tap tap. A tiger kitten was drawn to the sound. It crept toward the phone, ears flattened, chin high, ready to kill.

  Olivia made the scary hand shape. The kitten shot a foot into the air, hissing. Joni gathered it in. It felt like it was made of wires. She kissed and cuddled it, coaxing out a purr. Chess loved these kittens, but she also thought they shouldn’t exist. Maybe no animals should exist, except in the wild—but that wasn’t working out so well for wild animals, and—

  “Oh, boy!” Olivia said. “You’d better see this.” She turned the phone around.

  A headline read, “ANIMAL RIGHTS GROUP PROTESTS CIRCUS.” The picture underneath was confusing—a lot of people standing around a large plastic dog crate. Joni could see a lime-green shape inside it. Beside the crate, a sleek-haired older woman wearing a ringmaster’s red coat faced the camera. The hair and the dark eyes seemed familiar, very familiar.

  The text read:

  Selina Bowman, prominent animal rights activist, exhibited her twelve-year-old granddaughter in a dog crate outside the Page Brothers Circus yesterday to protest the mistreatment of animals. “(She) volunteered to do this,” Ms. Bowman said. “I’m very proud of her.”

  But the child’s father, Paul Ventura, who received word of his daughter’s involvement in the protest from multiple friends via social media, arrived twenty minutes after the protest began and removed her. He declined to comment for this story.

  Below the text was a second photo. A girl in a lime-green T-shirt, artfully layered over another shirt, walked beside a tall man. Her face had been digitally blurred, but Joni knew those thin shoulders. She knew that hairstyle. “When did this happen?”

  Olivia reached for the phone. “Back in February.”

  Just a few months ago. Was this why Chess’s family had moved all the way across the country?

  “If she pulls some kind of stunt like that on this farm, it could be damaging,” Olivia said. “Daddy doesn’t need any weird publicity. Does she come here a lot, your friend?”

  “She came once,” Joni said. “To see the kittens.” Her voice sounded funny. She cleared her throat. “She loved them.”

  “Well—hey, Joni!” Olivia gave her a quick hug. “It’s probably okay. She’s just a kid. Maybe she was being manipulated.”

  No, Joni thought. If Chess got into that crate, it was because she thought it was the right thing to do. It was exactly like her.

  They carried the kittens to the house, with the mother cat twining around their ankles, meowing anxiously. Joni put them in her room and watched them explore their new planet, full of alien things like shoes, hairbrushes, and horse models. The kittens sniffed and challenged each new item. Their tiny earnest tails stuck straight in the air, fluffed out like miniature bottlebrushes.

  The mother lay watching, but as soon as Joni opened the door, she snatched up a kitten by the scruff of its neck and darted through. Joni caught her and stuffed her back inside. “Sorry. They have to be captive animals for a while.”

  She was met with an accusing, green-eyed stare.

  “I get it, I get it!” Joni said. “But it beats them getting squished, okay? Anyway, you should be spayed. You know that, right?”

  The cat stared for a moment more, then turned away as if Joni was a moron and scratched at the door again.

  THIRTEEN

  Patrick

  Joni spent a lot of the day on kittens. Messages from Chess piled up, and Chess would love watching for that earnest, I-need-to-poop-right-now expression, and swooping kittens into litter boxes. But Joni didn’t call her back.

  The dog crate was what Chess meant by being an activist, not eating a free-range egg. Joni wasn’t supposed to know about the dog crate. How was she going to deal with that? Putting it off until tomorrow was the best she could come up with.

  That nigh
t, the kittens kept her awake for a long time, exploring, getting lost, squeaking to each other, then finding her and purring like electric razors. It was the most exciting night of their lives, and a long one for Joni. When she woke up, everyone else had eaten breakfast, and before she could finish hers, it was time to go to Kalysta’s. She had meant to ask Chess to come, to see what a horse rescue was like. But now she wasn’t sure, and anyway, it was too late.

  The three teenagers—Li Min, Willow, and Tod—were already at Kalysta’s when Joni and Danae arrived, looking at the horses in the paddocks. “Anybody new?” Danae asked.

  No, but there was one horse Joni didn’t see. Her stomach knotted. “Where’s Hooper?”

  “He was getting better,” Danae said quickly. “I’m sure—no, look, she’s bringing him out.”

  Kalysta was large and hardly ever moved quickly, but even she had to slow down for Hooper. The big pinto leaned back as he walked, keeping his weight off his front feet. His hind feet stepped far under his body, trying to bear all the weight. Walking was still torture for Hooper. Standing was torture, too, so he lay down a lot, and his tail was full of shavings. Kalysta led him to the closest paddock, next to the barn. When his halter was off, Hooper shook himself and hobbled to his hay net.

  “That looks a little better,” Willow said. “Last week, he would have just stood there.”

  Kalysta let herself back through the gate. “The vet’s coming tomorrow, so we’ll see. If he doesn’t make real improvement soon, I’ll have to make a decision.”

  Joni knew what kind of decision. It wasn’t fair to keep Hooper alive if he had to be in terrible pain.

  “Don’t give up the ship, kiddo,” Kalysta said. “There’s a new treatment the vets at Countryside want to try. They’re somewhat hopeful.”