The girls stood beside Hope and Mouse as the young horses drained the bottles. Milla was happy to be near Hope again. She stroked the foal’s neck and thought back to that day she had found her alone in the field. It was a wonderful feeling to bottle-feed the little orphan. Carrie was scratching Mouse between the ears and looked over at Milla. “I wish we could take them home, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yeah,” sighed Milla, “but I’m not even allowed to get a puppy. How would I talk him into a horse?”
“True,” said Carrie. “I’m not even sure where I’ll be living once my mom finds a job. I can’t keep a horse at the B&B, that’s for sure.”
They finished feeding the foals and Mrs. Burke looked over and smiled as the two girls walked the baby horses around the pen. They reminded her of mothers pushing their infants in strollers. Milla and Carrie led the horses and chatted about parents and bullies and silly fathers. After a while the girls stopped talking and the foals looked tired. Milla yawned.
Carrie put her arm around Milla’s shoulder and said, “Come on, sleepy head. It’s time for everyone’s nap. Look, my mom’s car is waiting for us.”
Milla looked up and was relieved. She was tired—tired of Foot and his mean ways, tired of waking up in Mrs. Adams’ house, but most of all just tired of not being able to talk to her grandma. They returned the foals to Mrs. Burke, gathered their things, and headed toward the parking area. Milla noticed Mrs. Preston packing up her car and waved. Talking to someone who knew her grandmother comforted her. She thought of the art lesson and how she had imagined being with her grandmother. She really is with me all of the time, Milla thought. All I have to do is close my eyes, and after climbing into the back seat she tried it and fell soundly asleep.
Chapter 45
Shannon could hardly contain her excitement. She wished her mom would drive faster. Brian was still in his pajamas and hadn’t moved a muscle since being scooped up and buckled into his car seat. It was Grandmom’s day to watch them. Grandmom had called the night before to tell Shannon about an important piece of mail waiting for her. Shannon rarely received mail unless it was a birthday card or holiday gift, but those were always mailed to her home. This mysterious mail addressed to Shannon was sent to her grandmother’s address.
“Move it, lady,” Shannon yelled to the car in front of them. “Geez, what a slow poke.”
“Relax,” her mom, Jodi, said. “We’ll be there in a minute. Honestly, you sound just like your father when he drives.” They soon turned into Grandmom’s driveway and Shannon jumped out of the car and raced to the house.
“Wait! Hold your horses and get back here and help me,” Jodi shouted as she tried to carry a sleeping child and two backpacks. Shannon ran back, hefted the packs onto her shoulder, and dashed to the door, almost knocking her grandmother over.
“Where is it…where is it?” she asked breathlessly.
“Good morning to you, too. Hey, hey, where’s my hug?”
“This kid hasn’t been able to sit still since you called last night. I doubt she slept a wink,” Jodi said as she carried Brian to a back bedroom, where she tucked him into bed and loosened the strap of his helmet. When she tried to take it off, his hands shot up and held tight. She shrugged and closed the door behind her.
Shannon was trying hard to locate her mail without appearing to snoop. “Stop digging through your grandmother’s things and behave yourself today,” Jodi said, kissing her daughter and waving goodbye. “I’ll see you later.”
“Calm down, calm down,” Grandmom said. “It’s right over here. I’ll get it, I’ll get it…now sit still.” She pulled out a large brown envelope and Shannon examined it with wide eyes, looking at the return address. It was from the Meadowbrook Pediatric Hospital in St. Paul, Minnesota. Shannon carefully opened the envelope and took out an official-looking letter along with a few photos.
Dear Miss Shannon Miller,
The entire staff of the Meadowbrook Pediatric Hospital would like to thank you for all of your hard work in creating this beautiful handmade quilt. Your patchwork quilt was selected and given to a newborn baby named Jonathan. We thought you might like to see how your quilt is being used in the hospital. Jonathan’s parents send their heartfelt appreciation. A photo of your patchwork quilt will be displayed in our lobby.
Thanks again,
Monica Taft, RN
Shannon looked at the photos and glanced up to see her grandmom wiping her eyes. She hugged Shannon and said, “I’m so proud of you. Look at the smiles on his parents’ faces. And look how teeny-tiny he is.”
The first photo showed a baby in an incubator with the quilt draped over it. The second was a photo of Jonathan’s parents touching his tiny fingers. “I didn’t know babies came that small,” Shannon said.
“They’re usually bigger, honey. That’s a premature baby; they’re called preemies,” Grandmom explained.
“So when we make our quilts the people we send them to decide where they go?” Shannon asked.
“Yes. They have long lists of different hospitals around the country with children and babies, just like Jonathan, who can use the quilts.”
Shannon tucked the letter into the envelope while Grandmom hung the photos on the refrigerator. This was the first time she had ever received such an important letter and it made her feel special. She put it into her backpack. “Wait ’til I tell Carrie!”
The sunny morning turned into an overcast afternoon as the children played a few games, colored some pictures, and helped their grandmom with chores. Cloudy days kept them out of the pool so Shannon settled onto the couch to begin sewing her next quilt as Brian flopped down in front of the TV. Shannon thought of the letter from the hospital. Seeing those photos inspired her and she wanted to take extra care with every stitch. Her first few quilts were nice and all, but she knew she could do even better. Grandmom had already made eight quilts since they began and Shannon set a goal for herself of at least six quilts by the end of the summer. She loved picking through the colorful square patches and Grandmom was showing her how to make different patterns. They had gone to the library and found a book with lots of illustrated examples. Shannon was working on a pattern called Log Cabin and Grandmom was stitching a design known as Jacob’s Ladder. Since the quilts were made in a small size for a baby, they could be completed in much shorter time than a normal-sized quilt. Grandmom had made several larger quilts and Shannon had one on her bed. It was called the Rail Fence pattern and it was made up of bold colors that created a diagonal zigzag across her bed. She had recently taken a closer look at her favorite blanket and now realized it was a tricky pattern. “Do you think you can teach me to make bigger ones someday?” asked Shannon.
“These smaller ones are great practice. Once you really get the hang of it, and if you still want to make a bigger one, then, yes, I’ll be happy to teach you,” said Grandmom, smiling. “Keep in mind that it takes months to finish one quilt, not like these little ones. These only take a few days.”
Shannon didn’t answer and was thinking of how difficult finishing the tiny quilts were. Maybe she would just stick with the small ones for now.
The phone rang and Grandmom answered it. “Hi, how are you enjoying Nevada?” Shannon jumped from the couch and ran to the phone, hopping up and down. Grandmom nodded as she spoke in the receiver. “Yes, she’s right here. It was so nice to speak with you, honey. Say hi to your mom for me. Here she is. Bye, bye.” She handed the phone to Shannon.
“Hi. Boy, am I glad to hear from you!” Shannon exclaimed as she walked out to the back porch. She sat down and hooked one of her legs over the arm of the porch swing and pushed off, rocking back and forth as Carrie began to tell her all about camp. “You would love it here. They’re teachin’ us how to communicate with horses through a kind of horse body language.”
“Like how?” asked Shannon.
“Like when they flatten their ears back it means they’re angry or afraid and when their ears move back and forth it means
they’re unsure of something,” said Carrie.
“That’s cool, but why do you need to know horse language. I mean, it’s not like you’re getting a horse or anything.”
“Well, who knows? I’m thinking about it, but I haven’t asked my mom yet. Besides, they teach this stuff because we get to help train the foals,” Carrie explained.
“Just like Flannel, you’re actually gonna train a baby horse?” asked Shannon in disbelief.
“Not exactly. It’s not like that—it’s more like getting them to trust people. They have to learn to live differently than what they’re used to in the wild. Stuff like walking on a lead line, having their feet picked up, standing still while we groom them. You know, simple things.”
“Wow, do you get to ride them too?”
“They’re way too little yet. First they come here and grow a bit and then the Adoption Center finds homes for them. I think they go to their new homes around six months old,” replied Carrie.
“Where do they come from? I mean, how do you suddenly just get foals? Where are their mothers?” asked Shannon.
“Well, actually, they come from the wild horses that live near the Calico Mountains. Sometimes they lose their moms by accident and they need to be rescued and sometimes they end up here.”
“Wait! Did you say Calico Mountains?” gasped Shannon.
“Well, yeah, I know, it’s crazy. The mountains turn different shades depending on which way the sun hits and people call them the Calico Mountains. I freaked when I found out the name, Shannon. I am still having those dreams.”
“Oh, wow. Do you think you’re gonna get a Calico horse? Wow, I cannot believe you’re getting a horse. I’m so jealous!”
Carrie looked around to make sure no one could hear her. “Well, don’t say a word about it, Shan. I have to work on my mom first. She hasn’t found a job yet and we’re still staying with her friend. I can’t get one and keep it here, ya know.”
She told Shannon all about her dreams and how they each had calico patchwork in them. Shannon told Carrie she thought she was becoming a psychic and Carrie laughed hard. The girls continued talking and Shannon told Carrie all about the patchwork quilts she was working on and about the photos and the letter. The girls shared stories of Lizzie’s mean cousin and the sidewalk incident and Carrie told Shannon about Milla and her dilemma with Foot. They promised to stay in touch and finally said goodbye. Shannon continued to swing a bit and thought over the conversation. This was the first time she had heard Carrie sound happy. Horse training and art classes sounded exciting and Shannon laughed when she remembered Carrie’s reaction when she said, “I told you so.”
Although it felt great hanging out with her on the phone again, it made Shannon feel kinda empty after she hung up. She could hear Brian’s giggles and Grandmom’s laughter, but she really didn’t feel like going in just yet. It was a cloudy afternoon in July—a perfect day to spend rocking on a porch swing thinking about patchwork quilts, calico mountains, infants, and orphaned foals.
Chapter 46
Several weeks had passed since the outbreak at the Painted Ridge Wild Horse and Burro Adoption Center. The horses were examined daily and so far there had been no new cases of the illness. Ten horses had died, two of them pregnant mares. Each day the vets would make their rounds and write their reports. The center was still under quarantine and no horses would be moved in or out until they got a green light from the team of doctors.
It had been another long day and Devon picked up his hat and headed toward the door. “I’m taking off tomorrow, Brit, but I’ll check in with you in the morning. Goodnight,” he said.
“Okay. Say hi to Milla for me. I’ll bet she’ll be happy to see you.”
I doubt that, thought Devon, as he climbed into his truck. He drove slowly down the long graveled driveway and surveyed the horses. He wondered if he should reconsider taking off a day, and just then he saw a foal standing alone in the corner of a pen, reminding him he still needed to call Anne Burke. She had phoned a few times and he hadn’t returned her calls. No, he needed a day off. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Milla actually had a conversation. It seemed she was either silent or in tears and when she did speak, it was usually complaining about her stay with Mrs. Adams. She seemed to like camp, he thought, or did she? He couldn’t remember what she had said about it. Yep, he definitely needed a day off.
He arrived home to find a pile of mail on his doorstep. Oh, man, he thought. I haven’t even checked my mailbox in days. He went to check the overstuffed box and waved when he saw Fern skating by, but she quickly looked away. That’s odd, thought Devon. She’s usually very friendly. Maybe she had a fight with Milla. More drama, he thought—I’m not even gonna ask. He threw the pile of mail on the counter and poured himself a cold glass of lemonade. He sighed, looking around the house. He’d put off so many of his usual chores and the place was a mess. Well, I’ll get to it when I can, he thought. He looked at the clock and wondered when Milla would be home. She had been staying at Carrie’s the past few nights and wouldn’t be taking the camp shuttle home or would she…he couldn’t remember.
“I don’t want to go home,” Milla said to Carrie. “It seems like everything’s changed between my dad and me. It’s awful.”
“I know, I get it, believe me,” said Carrie. “I used to feel the same way when my parents were fighting. I stayed over at Shannon’s house a lot. But eventually you have to go back. I know, trust me…it really stinks.”
“I just don’t know how to get through to him. It’s like he doesn’t even hear me. He’s always frowning or just quiet and he’s so miserable. When Grandma was here, everything was so different, but now it’s…well, it’s, it’s like he wishes he were somewhere else,” said Milla.
Brenda hollered up the stairs. “Milla, your dad’s on the phone.” Milla shot Carrie a look of disappointment and slowly turned to get the phone. “Hi, Milla, what’s goin’ on?” Devon asked.
“Nothin’ much, Dad. Can I stay here a little longer?”
“No, I’m going to swing by and pick you up soon.”
“Can’t I just hang here? Mrs. Anderson already said it’s okay,” she begged.
“I’m taking the day off tomorrow and I figured you’d want to come home.”
“Not really,” she said meekly.
“What are you talking about? All your complaints about me not being home and now I tell you I’m taking off tomorrow and you don’t want to see me?” Devon was clearly confused. Milla didn’t reply, as she didn’t know how to tell her dad how hurt she felt.
“Look, this isn’t open for discussion. I have a few phone calls to make and then I’ll be on my way. See you in a few.”
His next call was to Anne Burke. “Hi, it’s Devon Spencer returning your call. How are the foals we dropped off?”
“They’re doing fine, Devon, but actually I was calling about Milla. Do you have a few minutes?” she asked.
“I’m all ears. How’s she doing in camp?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m not sure how to put it—she’s just not her usual self. She really loves working with the foals and I actually saw her smile a few days ago but something’s off with her. Have you noticed anything at home?” she asked.
Devon felt himself flush. He wasn’t expecting to talk about his daughter’s mood swings. How the heck was he supposed to notice anything different at home when he was dealing overtime with a crisis at his own facility? And lately, Milla hadn’t even been home. “Geez, Anne. I thought you were going to tell me she’d gotten into trouble or something like that. You know what’s been going on at the center, I’ve got my hands full and to be quite honest, I had to find other arrangements for her. We haven’t really seen much of each other.”
“Yeah, I understand, I’m not trying to pry; I’m just concerned about her. I know what you’re dealing with, believe me. I’m just calling to let you know what’s been going on here at camp. Her teachers say she’s really a
talented artist but she’s almost invisible the way she’s keeping herself apart from the other kids.”
This made Devon sit up. It didn’t sound anything like Milla; she was outgoing and pretty darn feisty. She oozed confidence and this news rattled him. “She is a good artist, and I keep telling her that. I’m not sure about this sulking business, Anne. It doesn’t sound like her.”
“I wouldn’t call it sulking, Devon. Kids have a silent body language much the same as animals. Heck, you know all about horse language. She’s sending signals that she’s clearly unhappy and I just wanted to pass a heads-up to you, that’s all. Your mom was huge in this community and we miss her dearly. I can only imagine what it must be like for both of you.”
“Yeah, well, thanks, Anne. It’s been a rough year—the kid feels as if she lost two mothers, I guess. My mom raised her since my wife died six years ago.”
“Does she talk about it with you at all?” Anne asked.
Now Devon was in a hurry to get off the phone. This was getting too touchy-feely. Anne was clueless as to how hard it was to be a single parent, let alone talk about personal stuff with kids. “Listen, thanks for the call and all, but I have to run and pick her up now,” he said.
“Okay, Devon. Just remember—I meant what I said.”
“Yeah, sure, thanks, Anne. Keep me posted on those foals,” he said and hung up.
Anne stared at the phone, she heard his voice switch into business mode and she wasn’t sure if her call had made any difference. He has his own language as well, she thought. He was sending signals by his tone of voice to back off. Oh, well, I tried. She had seen too many confused kids come into camp. Some arrived with dark circles under their eyes, some acted out for attention, and some were simply silent. Most kids were happy as larks, but when something felt odd, she always reached out to their parents.
Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail Page 21