'I'll do the dishes if you like,' offered Shelby, pushing her chair back.
'Would you?' asked her mother.
Shelby carried the plates to the bench and filled the sink with water. She looked into the lounge room at her parents sitting side by side on the couch. Her mother sipped her cup of coffee. Shelby realised that it had been a long, long time since she had seen her mother just relaxing.
After the dishes were done Shelby asked if one of her parents could drive her over to the stables to see how Brat was doing. Her father offered to take her, as he had some chores to do anyway.
Out in the driveway, Shelby waited for her father to open the door. To her surprise he walked straight around to the driver's side. 'I think you're old enough to open it yourself now,' he said. 'But be careful. Just use the handle. And don't slam it.'
Shelby rolled her eyes. Sometimes he was just like Mrs Crook.
On the way, her father asked what she was going to do about Blue. Shelby leaned her elbow on the window, looking at the houses whisking by.
'I want to place an ad in the magazine – like the Mulligans did. I suppose that's all I can do.'
Her father glanced over. 'I think you're taking it rather well.'
Shelby shook her head. 'At first it was really hard. I made myself feel better by thinking that I would see him again in two weeks. That's how I got through the first little bit. When I realised Brat was stolen, I kept having these visions that Blue was hurt somewhere. It made me want to throw up. I hope someone will see the ad.' Shelby shrugged. 'They might not know that he's stolen.'
She bit her lip and tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. 'I guess I'm just trying to make myself believe that he's gone to a good home. I hope they will be kind to him because he's such a hard little worker.'
Her father turned off the main road and they started to drive through horse country on the other side of the gully. There were so many horses here – most with their noses down in the grass, swishing their tails. She would never find Blue. There must be thousands of horses in this valley alone. Where could she even begin to look?
'I'm going to tell you something, Shel,' her father said. 'I've always found that things generally turn out for the best. It mightn't seem like it now, and it might take a little while, but it'll be OK.'
He reached over and squeezed her hand. 'I'm really proud of you. You've made some mistakes – so does everybody – but you're handling them. You're becoming quite independent.'
Shelby smiled. 'Thanks, Dad.'
Her father pulled up outside the stables, promising to come back in half an hour. Shelby walked along the gravel driveway listening to the skittling of loose pebbles under her feet.
Some of the girls were clustered around Miss Anita. A group of younger kids were jumping in the practice arena. Some people were grooming their horses in the yards. Other horses were unattended – dozing and stamping at flies.
Nobody paid much attention to Shelby as she walked in. She was surprised. She expected that everybody would point and whisper to each other, There's that girl with the stolen horse.
She saw Lindsey marching along the laneway between the stables with a wheelbarrow. Lindsey's mouth twitched in a smile.
'How are you today?' asked Shelby.
'You know how it is,' Lindsey replied. 'So much poo, so little time.'
Shelby climbed between the rails of the Crooks' yard and towards Scamp's stable. The bottom half of the door was closed. She leaned on her elbows, peering in and blinking against the gloom. Brat was standing in the back corner eating from a hay net. She stood on her three good legs and leaned the toe of the hurt one on the stable floor. She pricked her ears when she saw Shelby.
It was worse than she had thought. The whole of the side of Brat was a dusty white. Mrs Crook must have washed her for hours to get the dye out. Her mane was still mostly brown but Shelby could see little curlicues of wood shavings from the stable floor in it. Shelby rubbed her forehead.
She heard a voice behind her. 'Have you been here long?' It was Mrs Crook. She stood in the yard in her gumboots, with her hands on her hips. Shelby searched her face for signs of anger or mistrust.
'I just got here.'
'How are you feeling this morning?' she asked.
'I'm OK.'
'I can't tell you how pleased we all were to see you running along that road yesterday afternoon. I was sure you had come off and cracked your head. We came pretty close to calling in the rescue helicopter.'
'Really?' asked Shelby, her eyes widening.
Mrs Crook nodded. 'What happened? Did you come off?'
'No, I was leading her and she got spooked and slipped away from me,' Shelby explained.
'Were you hurt?'
'Just a few blisters.'
Mrs Crook stepped forward and joined her at the gate. 'She looks a fright, doesn't she?'
Shelby looked down at her feet, embarrassed.
'I meant to give her a bit of a rub-down last night, but I needed to feed Echo and Ditto, and then the vet came. After that I had to move the float because it was up near the gate there, and somebody else was waiting to unload. It was all a bit of a rush really.'
'You didn't wash her?' Shelby asked.
Mrs Crook shook her head. 'As it turns out there wasn't much point. We'd just put down a couple of bags of lime – seeing as the stable was empty. It dries it out and makes it smell better. I'd forgotten all about it until she got in there and rolled.'
Shelby's eyes had adjusted, and she could see now that it was a fine layer of white dust that covered Brat all down her side.
'Thank you for looking after her.'
'It's our pleasure,' said Mrs Crook, giving Shelby a quick rub on the arm. 'I wouldn't worry about her too much. The swelling has gone right down, and she's putting weight on it this morning. I think she might be one of those horses that gets selectively lame – a bit of a princess. Where did you get her, anyway?'
Shelby scuffed her foot on the sill of the stable floor. Everybody would find out sooner or later, so she might as well confess.
'I swapped Blue for her. It turns out she's stolen. Her real owner is coming to pick her up in a few days.'
'No!' said Mrs Crook. 'Really? What about your other little horse?'
Shelby shook her head. 'I don't know where he is. The police haven't been much help either.'
Mrs Crook put her arm around Shelby's shoulder. 'You just can't cut a break, can you, kiddo?'
Shelby shook her head. She was afraid she was going to cry again. All morning she had been steeling herself for some kind of combat with Mrs Crook, but it had turned out to be quite the opposite. It caught her off guard. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her emotion in check, but it wasn't working. Tears welled in the corner of her eyes. She tried to blink them away but one escaped and rolled down her cheek. Shelby quickly turned her face so that Mrs Crook couldn't see, but it was too late.
'Cheer up, chicken,' said Mrs Crook, giving her shoulder a squeeze. 'Things will be all right. Trust me.'
Shelby held her hand under her nose, trying to keep it together. 'Thanks,' she whispered.
'You haven't got a float, have you? We can drop her back around to your place tomorrow if you like.'
'That would be great,' Shelby replied. She had always thought Mrs Crook was a bit of a dragon lady, but it seemed she'd been wrong.
She walked back down the gravel driveway to where her father was waiting in the car. 'How did you go?' she asked.
He lifted up a bag from the passenger seat. 'I finally found the perfect floor pedal dust boot. I've been looking around for ages. What about you?'
'It wasn't as bad as I thought.'
'What did I tell you' he asked, reaching out and ruffling her hair.
Shelby gave him a grim smile. Grown-ups kept telling her that it was going to be all right, but she still had an empty hollow feeling in her stomach that wouldn't go away. It wasn't all right and it wasn't going to be until
she knew where Blue was.
15 A Favour for Santa
As promised, Hayley and Mrs Crook delivered Brat to Shelby's paddock the next day. After Hayley climbed out of the car, she put her hand on Shelby's shoulder. It was an awkward gesture and Shelby wasn't quite sure how she was supposed to respond, but then Hayley said, 'Mum told me about Brat being stolen. How terrible for you. I'm so sorry.'
If it had been Erin, Shelby probably would have leaned towards her and they would have hugged, but she and Hayley were too new friends for that. Instead Shelby just nodded.
Once they had the float gate down, Brat backed out without any fuss and Shelby let her go inside the paddock. Mrs Crook looked with her hands on her hips, and Shelby was embarrassed about her rickety fences.
'You've got plenty of feed in there, anyway,' Mrs Crook said.
'Any news about Blue?' asked Hayley.
Shelby shook her head.
'I'm sure he'll turn up,' Hayley said.
Before she got into the car, Hayley called out to her. 'We're not going to be able to watch McLeod's Daughters on Wednesday night after all.'
Shelby knew this would happen. They'd been nice to her because they felt sorry for her, but now that she didn't have a pretty horse any more, Hayley didn't want to know her. At least she was generous enough not to say it in front of everybody.
'Oh well, maybe another time,' Shelby replied, shrugging.
'Do you think you'll be allowed to come over anyway?' Hayley asked. 'We were just going to watch some old movies, but if you have to stay with your family, that's OK.'
'Why would I have to do that? It's holidays.'
'It'll be Christmas Eve, silly,' explained Hayley, smiling. Shelby had forgotten all about it. 'Do you want to ask your mum?'
Shelby grinned. 'Yeah, I will. That would be great.'
She could imagine them all sitting around in Hayley's big house, watching movies and giggling, sharing bowls of popcorn. She'd be one of them, if only for a few hours.
After the Crooks had gone, Shelby used her whole bottle of shampoo trying to get Brat clean. She scrubbed and rinsed, scrubbed and rinsed. She made some good progress on Brat's face, but in the end, the best she had come up with for the rest of her body was a deep strawberry blonde.
When she arrived home for lunch there was a message for her on the kitchen bench.
Ruth rang. Shelby frowned, wondering whom this Ruth could be.
She said to tell you that your bushranger is back???
Shelby snatched up the message. Of course! The lady from the classifieds. Could it be possible that the man was putting Blue up for sale or swap? She rang the number.
'We've just taken an order for a Mr Dan Morgan – text by email and payment from a company, the same as last time.'
'Who?'
'You don't know Mad Dan Morgan? What are they teaching you in school these days? It could be another co-inkydink.'
Shelby smiled. 'Can you tell me what the ad is for?'
'Quiet, sound, chestnut gelding, sixteen years . . .' she began. Shelby's heart started to race. It was Blue. The man had just dyed him like he dyed Brat. It had to be Blue. She held her breath.
'. . . fifteen hands high.'
Shelby exhaled. Blue was only thirteen hands. The man could lie about colour, but he couldn't lie about height – at least not that much.
'Did he give a phone number?'
Ruth cleared her throat. 'Yes, but I'm not going to give it to you. I've already overstepped the bounds for you. The magazine will be out in a few days. You've got a head start anyway.'
'I really appreciate it,' Shelby said.
Her mother was loitering in the kitchen, and gave Shelby an inquiring look when she hung up the phone. She explained that Ruth was the lady from the magazine, and that she thought it might be the same man. She would have a phone number. She wasn't sure exactly what she was going to do with it, but it was a start.
'That's great, Shel. But right now, I want you to clean up your room. Aunty Jenny will be here tomorrow.'
Shelby groaned. She hated cleaning her room. It was always so messy that she didn't know where to begin. Aunty Jenny's visit also meant Shelby sleeping on the lounge. For some reason, whenever her aunt came to stay, Shelby was the one who had to give up her space. Besides that, Aunt Jenny was old and a fuddy-duddy. She had beady eyes and watched all the children as though she was waiting for them to do something wrong.
Aunt Jenny always brought dumb presents too. She gave them lavender soap bags, or tins of boiled lollies – the kind of homemade craft things you can buy from school fetes and community fundraisers. Shelby wondered why her aunt bothered coming for Christmas when she always sat in the background just watching with her lips narrow and closed.
She trudged into the bedroom and used her foot to scrape a path from the door to her bed. First, she grabbed the dirty clothes and threw them in a pile near her bedroom door. She picked up her schoolbooks, putting them in a pile on her desk. She found a crumpled heap of clean clothes on the floor at the end of her bed and refolded them all.
After a little while she looked up and saw her dad peering at her from the hallway. He was carrying a plastic bag. 'Have you got a minute?' he whispered.
'Yep,' said Shelby, keen to avoid cleaning up.
He stepped into the room, half closing the door behind him.
'Shel, do you still have any notions about the whole Santa thing?' he asked.
She smiled and nodded. 'Of course, he comes in through the range hood over the stove. That's what you told me.'
Her father nodded. 'Well, Santa's running behind schedule this year – some kind of elf industrial dispute in the workshop – and he's asked me to help with the wrapping of presents for our family. Your brothers heard there was cleaning going on so they've skedaddled down the back for the moment. Do you think you might be able to help Santa out?'
'What is Santa offering in return?' Shelby asked.
'It just so happens that Santa has bought one or two little things for your family that he's happy to put your name on.'
'Really?' asked Shelby. With all the excitement going on, Shelby hadn't even thought about presents. Besides, she'd spent all her money on Maxshine Celtic Copper and boot polish.
He opened the plastic bag. Inside were two Spiderman figurines, a bottle of perfume in a gift box and a gardening apron with pockets.
'Santa is a champ,' said Shelby.
'I'll pass that on,' her dad replied. 'I'm off to get the rest of the goodies.'
Shelby gave him a hug before he left the room. 'Thank you so much.'
He swung the door open, and after looking furtively up and down the hall, he snuck away.
Almost as soon as he had gone her mother tapped at the window. 'Psst.'
Shelby unlocked the clasp and slid the window open. Her mother thrust a large brown package at her. 'Put this somewhere safe,' she whispered. 'It's from Santa for your father.'
Shelby took hold of it. It was heavier than she anticipated and she stumbled backwards a step. Something plastic cracked under her foot a couple of layers down. She hoped it wasn't a CD.
Shelby shoved the package under her desk, pushed the chair in front of it and then leaned forward to slide the window closed. Just as it clicked shut her father appeared in the doorway with a tower of boxes and bags. Shelby waved at her mum to disappear, and her mother quickly spun sideways with her back to the wall of the house and slid away like some kind of cat burglar. Shelby put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.
Her father dumped the bags and boxes onto the bed. 'Now,' he said. 'You're cleaning your room and you're in a terrible mood, OK?'
'OK,' replied Shelby.
'I've said you're not to come out again until it's sparkling, or you're grounded. Everyone should give you a pretty wide berth that way.'
'No problem.'
Her dad then backed out of the room and closed the door behind him. Shelby cleared a space on the bed and sat down, grinning. I
t was the first Christmas that her parents had treated her like a real grown-up.
She pulled each present out of its shop plastic, turned it over in her hands, and then carefully wrapped it in gift paper. It was just like Christmas morning in reverse.
16 Poppy Goes Home
It was Christmas Eve. The Mulligans were coming to take Brat home – if she turned out to be their horse. There was little doubt about it. Brat pricked up her ears as soon as she saw their float pull up. She whinnied, cantering around the paddock in circles and tossing her head. Shelby's mum stood with her arm around her daughter's shoulders.
Mr Mulligan was a bald, short, roly-poly man with a big smile. His three daughters, Sarah, Louise and Amy, spilled out of the car behind him chattering with excitement.
'Daddy, she remembers us,' said the middle daughter.
'Of course she does,' said the eldest, as she headed towards the fence. Brat skidded to a stop, craning her neck over the wire.
'Why is she pink?' asked the youngest daughter, reaching up with her small podgy hand.
'Because the bad man dyed her,' answered the eldest.
Mr Mulligan extended a hand to Shelby's mother and she took it. 'Nice to meet you.'
'I can't begin to tell you what a relief this is,' he said, turning to watch his daughters slip through the rails, clustering around Brat. He was fiddling with a small book he was holding. 'We were certain we were never going to see her again. I'm sure you can imagine.'
'We don't need to imagine,' replied Shelby's mother with a tight smile.
'Oh, yes. Of course. I'm terribly sorry. I only hope someone will be as honest as you've been.'
Shelby's mother nodded.
He opened the book. It was a photo album. 'I brought these, just in case. I'm sure we will all be more suspicious now, when it comes to these sorts of things.'
Shelby and her mother leaned forward so that they could see more clearly. He flicked through the pages. 'This is the day that she first arrived. Amy is just a wee tot there. This is our place with the three ponies in the yards. Here are all the girls together. Sarah's on a Galloway, but Poppy was always her favourite. And here, on Poppy's birthday. Louise put a party hat over her ear, but she shook it off just after the photo was taken. This is Sarah and Poppy at their first show together.'
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