Lizzie Flying Solo

by Nanci Turner Steveson

  So, I opened one of the new notebooks and started writing.

  TO BUY FIRE

  $1,000

  − 25 (if I win the poetry contest)

  $975 to buy Fire

  On Friday night, I woke up well after midnight and tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom. Angela hadn’t emptied the trash can again—a habit she apologized for every day. The cramped room was thick with odor. I tied up the bag, sprayed linen-scented Lysol everywhere, and slipped out the back door, tossing the bag into the Dumpster on top of the orange-and-black crepe paper streamers that Miss May had already discarded from Halloween.

  Above me, a three-quarter moon hovered in a navy sky. Misty yellow light lingered in the woods, illuminating the start of the path like it was an invitation. Tiny crystals of frost shimmered on swaying branches, and before I knew what I was doing, I was halfway to the chestnut tree, running along the path in only my slippers, flannel pajamas, and bathrobe. I wasn’t afraid of being alone in the night, not in these woods. From the edge of Fire’s old paddock, the strange light almost made the barn look haunted and slightly crooked at the top of that hill. Sprinting through the woods, I scaled the stone wall, darted across the frost-coated ring, and pushed open the big door just enough to squeeze inside. The horses heard me and, thinking it was breakfast time, rattled their buckets and nickered for food. A big chestnut gelding named Samson pawed the floor with hooves the size of dinner plates.

  “Shhhh, Samson, be quiet!”

  Fire was hidden in the darkest corner. I slipped inside his stall and stood by the door.

  “It’s me, Fire,” I whispered. “I’m here.”

  I waited for him to come, just like I’d waited those first days when he was in the paddock by the woods. After a few minutes of coaxing, he moved cautiously toward me, close enough so I could bury my face in his neck and inhale the sweet smell of pony and hay and love.

  “You’re going to be mine someday, Fire,” I whispered. “I promise.”

  By seven o’clock Sunday morning, I was dressed and bouncing around the room, waiting for Mom to wake up. She peeked out from under the covers.

  “Lizzie, it’s too early for all that energy. Go back to bed. We aren’t supposed to be there until ten.”

  She hid her head under the blanket. I pulled it off and got up close to her face.

  “Well, Mom, it’s actually snowing. I was thinking it might take us longer to walk through the woods.”

  I opened the curtains for her to see soft flakes drifting from a gray sky.

  “It’s barely November,” she said. “How can it already be snowing?”

  “Look, there’s even frost on the windowsill.”

  She raised up, her face just showing under a mop of messy hair.

  “That path is probably too slippery for us to walk on today,” she said, trying to hide a grin. “We should postpone.”

  I plunked down next to her and gave the most pitiful, orphan-like expression I could muster. “Don’t you want to see all the places in the woods I love?”

  We were out the door at eight thirty. Even though only a couple inches of snow lay on the ground, we bundled up in scarves and mittens and snow boots for the first time that fall. Mom snuck a real ceramic mug full of hot coffee out of the kitchen to sip on the walk over.

  “That just means you have to sneak the cup back in, you know,” I said.

  She held it between mittened hands and smiled at me over the rim. Steam swirled in front of her face. “And what do you know about sneaking in and out, little missy, hmmm?”

  She had been fast asleep when I’d gone to see Fire in the middle of the night, I was positive. If she suspected what I’d done, she would have said something. I let the moment linger, waiting to see what she actually knew. Finally, I put my hands together in front of myself and bowed.

  “I speak from the voice of experience.”

  She laughed and reached an arm out to squeeze my shoulder. “I haven’t seen you this happy in so long.”

  “I haven’t felt this happy in a long time.”

  She followed me along the path until I stopped at the bend, where a red cardinal flitted about in front of us. We watched him dart from one frosted branch to another, and listened to the hush broken only by the gentle sound of snow falling from the trees to the earth. All around us, the woods were sparkly, magical, and silent.

  “Sometimes it’s like I’m walking through a Robert Frost poem when I come here,” I whispered.

  Mom tightened her periwinkle-blue scarf around her neck. She’d made the scarf herself, with yarn given to her by a man she knew through work who had taught her how to crochet during lunch breaks. Her eyes were the same color as the yarn, and her skin reminded me again of her favorite peach roses from the garden back home. She was so pretty. I resisted reaching out to touch her face and touched mine instead, wishing I looked more like her than like Dad.

  She cupped her hand against my cheek. “What is your favorite poem these days, Lizzie?”

  We walked side by side and talked about things we’d forgotten to talk about for a very long time. Important things, like poems, and ice cream, and books. For a little while, it felt like everything was normal again. When we came up behind the chestnut tree, Mom put her hand out to stop me, staring at the magic that was Birchwood Stables on the first snowy morning of the year.

  “I had no idea it would be so pretty,” she said. “It’s breathtaking.”

  My heart ballooned. I’d been so preoccupied with keeping my distance from anyone who might find out about Dad, I’d forgotten how good it felt to share things that mattered. Especially with Mom.

  “I really wanted you to love it,” I said.

  She took the last sip of coffee and set the mug down in the middle of the path where we’d see it on our way home.

  “How did you find this farm?”

  “Remember the day you went to testify?”

  Her face clouded over for a second and she nodded.

  “I came that day. Then almost every day after you started working.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I sat there,” I said, pointing to my spot at the edge of the woods, “and wrote poems, and drew pictures, and watched the horses.”

  “By yourself?”

  I nodded. She stayed silent for a few minutes, her eyes sweeping over the landscape. I pointed to the far side of the barn near the ring.

  “Over there is a stone wall where I watched people take lessons.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” She pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. “That must have hurt.”

  “Sometimes, but I got to learn,” I said. “Are you mad that I didn’t tell you?”

  Her eyes teared up. “I’ve been so worried you haven’t made friends at school, I’m just grateful you had this place.”

  “Everything is okay, Mom,” I said. “Besides, it’s just until we’re back on our feet, remember?”

  She swung our joined hands in front of us. “Come on, do you think Joe will mind if we’re an entire hour early?”

  Joe didn’t mind one bit. His eyes crinkled when he opened the office door and ushered us in.

  “I had a feeling we’d be meeting early.” He put his hand out to Mom. “I’m Joe, the farm manager. Or at least that’s the rumor.”

  Mom’s cheeks flushed. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “And thank you for—well, for inviting Lizzie and all of this.”

  “Of course, I can tell a real horse-girl from miles away. Horse-girls keep me in business, so—”

  His voice was cut off by a familiar whinny ringing out from the other end of the barn. Fire. He knew I was there. Joe stepped aside.

  “You can see him while your mom and I talk; just don’t go into the stall.”

  Fire whinnied again. I burst out the door and strode down that aisle, past Bluebell and Tiger Lily and all the others, my heart pounding until I reached his stall. He was waiting for me, his head hanging over the half door. I reached up and scratched
under his forelock, my heart soaring.

  Kennedy came half an hour later with a clipboard in one hand, a coffee in the other, and Mom not far behind. “I can’t schedule you for any real working student hours until Thursday,” Kennedy said, “because I’m going on a school trip. I need to be here during your first few days of work. But! We’ll do your orientation now, then you can study everything and be ready to rock and roll on Thursday.”

  She turned away and started calling out horse’s names over her shoulder, pointing to their nameplates on the stall doors as we passed.

  “Note the signs on the stalls, especially when they have to do with grain. Do you know what colic is?”

  I nodded.

  “Founder?”

  I nodded again.

  “Good. Then you know how serious too much grain can be.”

  “Yes.”

  Kennedy rattled on. Tack room. Wash stall. Cross-ties. Bootjack. Martingales. Hay. Shavings. Grain. Feed room. Tack lockers. Ponies. Horses. Don’t give a hot horse cold water to drink. Student list. Lesson schedule. Horse/pony requests. Sign-in and -out sheets. Be on time. Stay through your shift. Answer the phone cheerfully. Wipe sweat and dirt from saddles before putting away. Put fresh saddle pads with clean saddles and throw the dirty pads in the washroom. Dip bits in water and clean off saliva. Pick out hooves both before and after horses are ridden. Smell the hoof pick for thrush.

  “Do you know what thrush is?” she asked, peering at me over the clipboard.

  I nodded again.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  “It’s a fungal infection in their hooves. It damages the sensitive part on the underside and smells really bad and makes them lame if it isn’t treated.”

  “Good work,” she said, making a giant check mark on her list. She handed me a folder of papers. “Read these and study the diagrams at home. Think you’ve got it?”

  I took the folder and nodded. I wasn’t about to tell her the whole idea of memorizing everything by Thursday was so overwhelming, my stomach was shaking.

  “Good,” she said briskly. “I know it’s a lot, but Joe or I will always be here if you have questions, and I think you’ve seen enough over the last few months that most of this should feel familiar.”

  She walked away, her boot heels scraping the floor. Mom and I followed her to the office, where she nodded brusquely to Joe.

  “She’s got it,” Kennedy said, flipping through some pages of the working student logbook. “Thursday, four o’clock, we start. Sound good?”

  I squeezed the folder tight. My whole body felt like it might burst from joy. “Got it.”

  “Great, see you then. Gotta run. Nice to meet you,” she said to Mom before rushing out the door.

  Joe watched her leave and laughed. “She’s a busy one, but thank god I’ve got her on my team.”

  “I have to wait four more days before I see Fire again,” I said wistfully that night.

  “Make good use of the time,” Mom said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “People are reaching out to do nice things for you, Lizzie. This is a great opportunity to pay it forward. Do something nice for someone else.”

  “Like what? And who?”

  “You have a brain. Figure it out.”

  Thirteen

  At dinner on Monday, Angela dragged the three girls into the dining room with dark circles under her eyes. Her hair hung around her shoulders like red tinsel that had been recycled too many times. All three girls clung to her, whimpering. Mrs. Ivanov smiled sadly from her place at the table.

  “Khotel by ya pomoch’,” she said.

  Leonard brought her plate of lasagna and sat down, cutting his eyes at me. “She says she wishes to help,” he said curtly.

  I looked at Mom to see if she noticed the way Leonard always acted like he couldn’t stand me, but just then Hope started squealing.

  “No, no, no!”

  She jerked her arm away from Angela and tried to hit her thigh.

  “No! I say no!”

  Everyone in the room stopped to watch the struggle going on at our table, but no one did anything to help. I grabbed Charity from the floor and buckled her into the high chair, then sat down and helped Faith climb into my lap. Angela was kneeling beside her chair with both arms wrapped tight around Hope.

  “Shhh, sweet baby girl, let’s just get dinner, then we’ll snuggle up in bed and I’ll read you a book, okay?”

  She took Hope by the hand and led her, wailing, to the food table.

  “What else should I do?” I asked Mom.

  “Exactly what you are,” she said.

  She got up and helped Angela bring plates of food for the girls. I opened a purple jar of baby-food blueberries and spooned some into Charity’s mouth, cooing like I’d seen Angela do. Charity smushed the berries around in her mouth and giggled. I separated Faith’s lasagna into bite-sized chunks in a Styrofoam bowl and let her pick up the pieces with her fingers. Mom put a plate of lasagna in front of me and another in front of Angela. Mrs. Ivanov saw I had one baby with a blue face and another kid smeared with red, and she passed down a fresh roll of paper towels. All the while, Angela kept trying to coax Hope to eat.

  “Please,” she pleaded. “The social workers will take you away again if they think I’m not feeding you.”

  Hope tightened her lips and squeezed her eyes shut. For twenty minutes, the three of us worked together to get Angela’s kids fed. Mom refilled our water glasses and wiped faces and hands with a wet cloth. I fed Faith and Charity, then entertained them with Itsy Bitsy Spider and other simple games while Hope flailed her arms and cried. Everyone else in the room ate fast and fled.

  “I’m sorry about your dinner,” Angela said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I’m sure it’s cold by now.”

  “One cold dinner is nothing,” Mom said. “I’m glad we were here to help.”

  “I’m so tired. Sometimes I feel like giving up.”

  I looked quickly at Mom. What did Angela mean, “give up”?

  “We’re all here because we need some extra help for a while,” Mom said quickly. “Never be afraid to ask.”

  “Yeah,” I echoed. “It was fun.”

  “Fun?” Angela smiled for the first time that evening. “What are you doing at dinnertime tomorrow?”

  Later that night I found a folded piece of paper under the soap dish in the bathroom with my name written on it. Inside was a note from Angela and a five-dollar bill.

  I couldn’t have survived tonight without your help. Or the other day when you took the dirty diaper trash out. Thank you. Save this for something special.

  I knew better than to keep the money. With three little girls, Angela’s Back on Her Feet was probably going to take a lot longer than ours. She needed the five dollars more than I did. Still, I hid it between the pages of my notebook. I wasn’t ready to give it up, because holding that piece of green paper in my hand made my dream of buying Fire feel the tiniest bit more real.

  TO BUY FIRE

  $1,000

  − 25 (if I win the poetry contest)

  $975 to buy Fire

  − $5 (Angela)

  $970 to buy Fire

  The next day I took the path to the left and actually did go to the library. Linda had a line of people at her desk and didn’t see me come in. But Leonard did. He caught me moving swiftly through the World History section, where he was running his fingers along the book spines.

  “Zdravstvuyte,” he said.

  I had no idea what that meant, but from the way Leonard glared at me, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know. I ignored him and kept going until I got to the small section of horse and pony books. I bypassed the well-worn paperback series with pictures of perfect ponies and jewels and rainbows on the covers. I’d read Black Beauty three times since we’d moved, plus everything they had in the Black Stallion series, and I had devoured anything else that didn’t seem like the cover should have a unicorn on it instead of a real horse. But ne
ver once had I thought to look for any books on the cost of owning my own pony. Not until Fire.

  There was only one: a hardcover called The Affordable Horse with a picture of a fat white gelding on the cover. I scanned through the pages quickly, then headed to the line to check it out. Leonard snuck up behind me and leaned over my shoulder, reading the title out loud.

  “The Affordable Horse,” he said. “Why do you need that book?”

  I tucked it under my armpit. “It’s for a friend,” I said.

  “You have rich friends you keep secret?”

  His words made my spine cramp. I turned sharply away to move from the line. His hand shot out to stop me.

  “Wait,” he said.

  “No, I have to get something else.”

  I jerked away and rushed up the stairs to the thrift store to hide until he left. From the top of the steps, where the riding apparel was still on display, I could pretend to look at the clothes and watch the desk at the same time. Only three pairs of paddock boots were left. The tall show boots were gone, but above the remaining boots, a navy-blue riding coat hung from a rack.

  “Hey, look who’s here!”

  It was Jasmine, with Jade at her side, coming up the steps.

  “Are you buying something?” Jasmine asked.

  Ever since she had seen me hiding in the woods pretending the stone wall was a horse, I’d been waiting for the moment when she would tell on me to her friends. I’d been dreading it. I covered The Affordable Horse title with my hand.

  “No, just checking how much I might get for my old riding clothes.”

  One hundred percent lie.

  “You don’t get all the money, you know,” Jade said. “You get half and the thrift store gets the other half. That’s my old show jacket, there.”

  She pointed to the blue coat.

  “I’m aware,” I said. “Excuse me, I have to go.”

  I squeezed past them and darted down the steps, disappearing among the rows of books. I found an empty bench at the back near the restrooms and buried my face in the pages of my book, waiting now not just for Leonard to leave but Jasmine and Jade, too. I’d read twelve pages before the coast was clear.

  “Hey there, young lady, how are you?” Linda asked cheerfully when I got to the checkout.