Usually with so much snow on the ground, Thomas would already be outside with his friends. Through the window, he could see hordes of children in brightly coloured scarves and gloves, shrieking with cold delight. But the wooden pony drew Thomas’s attention.
‘He is very beautiful,’ Thomas said, noticing the new details his father had created.
‘He?’ asked Father. ‘What makes you think the pony is a he?’
Now, Thomas couldn’t very well explain how he knew. Firstly, he would get into all sorts of trouble for entering the workshop alone. Secondly, he may get into bigger trouble for being out of bed in the midnight hour. And thirdly, well, grown-ups never really understand magic or magical things. His father would no doubt think Thomas’s conversations with the pony were childish, or perhaps even think he was making it up.
So, Thomas shrugged his shoulders. ‘Just a feeling,’ he said meekly.
Father snorted, which was his way of laughing when he found something a little amusing.
Thomas watched his father’s large hands craft the pony.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ Thomas asked.
‘You already have,’ Father replied. He looked up over half-moon spectacles and paused before continuing with his work.
‘Can I ask you another, then?’ Thomas asked.
His father sighed loudly. ‘Dear boy. If you have a question, ask it,’ Father said, still engrossed with the pony. ‘None of this fussing around like a worried hen.’
Thomas bit the corner of his bottom lip and walked towards his father and the pony. He stroked its wooden face, clearly remembering their conversation from the still of night.
‘Can you give him his eyes?’ Thomas asked.
‘Of course, I’ll give him eyes when he’s nearly finished,’ Father said, reaching for sandpaper. Thomas noticed his father’s rough hands covered in blisters and cuts from his labours. He was amazed hands so big could so tenderly work intricate details.
‘Could you give him eyes today?’
Father downed his tools and wiped his hands into his dusty apron. He looked rather puzzled. ‘Well, boy, I usually put the finishing touches on at the end.’
‘But he can’t see!’ pleaded Thomas. He hadn’t realised he was close to tears.
Father looked fondly towards his son and shook his head with a smile.
‘What colour?’ he asked, by way of reply.
‘Hasn’t the owner already chosen the colour of the pony’s eyes?’ Thomas asked in amazement.
‘They hadn’t mentioned it, no. Why don’t you choose?’ Father brought out a drawer full of marble-shaped eyes of every colour. Thomas thought wisely before choosing.
‘Green,’ he said. ‘Because green is the colour of forests and trees and freedom. And surely all ponies long for such things.’
‘Very well,’ Father said, picking out two emerald green marbles. ‘Now, off you go.’ Father nodded towards Thomas’s friends and waiting in the snow outside the window. And in a moment, Thomas left the workshop, donned his winter coat and the most terrific snowball fight commenced.
That night Thomas couldn’t sleep a wink, despite playing in the snow until the lantern burner cast his glows late in the evening. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep when his mother read his bedtime story, but all he wanted to do was talk to the pony again. When the night became still and silent (bar the ticking of the grandfather clock), Thomas crept from his room once more. The pony was waiting for him when he arrived at the workshop.
‘I can see! I can see!’ the pony said as a welcome, and Thomas ran to him. ‘How can I ever thank you?’
‘Oh, you don’t need to thank me!’ Thomas said. ‘I’m so pleased for you!’
The pony was beginning to look remarkable with the new work Father had done during the day.
‘What is your favourite thing to look at?’ Thomas asked, because he didn’t really know what else to ask.
‘I love seeing the colours, of course. But what is this snow you talked about?’ the pony asked.
‘Why, snow is all over the ground outside; you should look out of the window,’ Thomas suggested.
‘I can’t look out of the window,’ said the pony sadly. ‘I can only see what’s right in front of me. Without legs, I can’t move to see anything different.’
Thomas realised the problem immediately, but being a clever boy, he had a solution.
‘Come, let me help you! I’ll take you to the window and you can see the snow for yourself.’
Thomas wrapped his arms around the wooden pony and made to drag him towards the window. But he had not reckoned the pony to be so heavy. He pushed and pulled. He gritted his teeth and huffed and puffed.
‘This is not as easy as I thought,’ Thomas said. With all his efforts, he had only managed to move the pony a few inches.
‘You’re telling me!’ said the pony, who wasn’t enjoying being shunted around too much either. He was patient, though, because he knew the boy was trying to help, and also because he was very interested in seeing the outside world.
However, Thomas did not stop trying until he had pushed and pulled the pony all the way to the window to see the glittering snow.
‘Wow!’ said the pony. ‘It is magical.’
‘Yes, it is!’ said Thomas, watching the street glow white under the moon.
‘It’s so big out there!’ the pony exclaimed, looking up and down the street. ‘What do you do in the outside world?’
‘Well,’ Thomas began, settling into a pile of blankets, ‘outside is where life happens. There are streets and shops and big buildings. There are ponds and rivers and seas. There are fields and trees and parks. All these places you can run free and play. Really, outside is as big an adventure as you want to make it.’
But before the pony could reply, Thomas heard a creak on the floorboards above him.
‘Oh no! Now I’m in for it!’ Thomas said, jumping up and looking for a place to hide.
There was another creak above him and the sound of footfalls.
‘Drat!’ Thomas whispered. ‘I’ve got to rush up to bed quickly before I get caught. I’ll see you tomorrow!’
‘Good luck!’ cried the pony, wondering how on earth he would get back to the place his maker had originally left him.
4
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR
The next morning, Thomas woke with a feeling of dread. He had skipped into bed without getting caught, but he had not managed to return the pony to his original position. Gingerly, he made his way to the workshop.
Before he reached the door, Father bellowed, ‘Thomas!’
His deep voice vibrated all the bones in Thomas’s body. He popped his head around the door to peek into the workshop. His father’s eyes met his own.
‘Something very strange happened last night,’ Father began.
A squeak escaped from Thomas’s mouth as he looked to the floor.
Father continued. ‘The rocking horse I’m working on was not where I left him.’ But the statement was really a question.
Thomas very nearly considered lying. ‘Oh, drat!’ Thomas said under his breath, preparing for an ear bashing. ‘I moved him, Father. I’m sorry, but he had his new eyes and well, I thought he might want to look at the snow.’
Father’s face turned purple. His mouth became a tight line. Thomas feared the worst. Suddenly, Father erupted. But not in anger as you and I and Thomas may have expected. Father erupted into fits of laughter. Tears seeped from his eyes and sawdust fell from his apron as his belly shook.
Thomas wasn’t altogether sure if he preferred being laughed at or told off. But as he didn’t seem to be in any sort of trouble, he decided he would go and play with his friends outside instead.
Before he reached the door, he turned to his father. ‘I have a question – can you please give him legs today and then I won’t have to move him myself, will I?’
Father howled even louder and Thomas escaped, not quite understanding how he had got away with his mi
schief.
By the time Thomas returned indoors for his supper, the rocking horse had four legs finely carved. Father did nothing more than raise his eyebrows at his son, and if he was smiling, his fluffy white beard concealed it. The pony was almost finished.
Thomas was pleased to see how beautiful his wooden friend was becoming, but at the same time, a dark sadness clouded over him. He knew that very soon, the pony would be packed off to his new owner in exchange for a velvet purse full of coins. Thomas left the workshop feeling miserable.
‘One more day and the rocking horse will be complete,’ Father said later at the dinner table. Thomas pushed his unwanted sprouts around with his fork. He couldn’t even pretend to show interest in the pony’s completion. ‘What’s the matter with you, boy? I thought you would be pleased.’
Thomas knew there was little point in telling his father that he didn’t want the pony to go. The pony was worth a lot of money, far more than anything else his father had ever made before. And even though he and the pony had become friends, any grown-up would think their conversations were just Thomas’s fanciful imagination.
‘Why don’t you think of a name for the pony?’ Father asked, trying to find a way to cheer up his son. ‘Every rocking horse has his name carved upon him.’
‘I don’t know what his name is,’ Thomas said sullenly, before adding, ‘I haven’t asked him.’
At this, both Thomas’s parents stifled their laughter and Thomas was so upset he asked to be excused from the table. He went straight to his bedroom and stuck his nose in a book, trying not to think about his friend, the wooden pony.
But it was no good. No matter how much Thomas tried to persuade himself that he needn’t say goodbye to the pony, his heartstrings pulled him downstairs and into the workshop once again.
‘Oh, I’m so pleased you came,’ said the pony. ‘Look, I can walk!’
The pony pirouetted on the spot, his knees reaching high up to his chest. He looked rather majestic. Thomas patted his friend fondly, but before he could tell the pony how sad he was, the pony trotted towards the window.
‘There’s still snow on the ground. Come on, let’s explore the magic,’ the pony suggested.
‘Outside?’ asked Thomas warily.
‘Why, of course! You have told me about streams and fields and adventures. Let us gallop through the streets and seek out the green freedom you mention.’
Thomas didn’t need to think about it for a second longer. He had always dreamt of riding and this, he considered, might be his only chance.
In a swift moment, Thomas donned his winter coat and boots over his nightclothes, and the two friends stepped out into the night. The snow crunched under their feet and the pony looked around in awe.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ he said. The moon was full and cast a bluish light across the snow, which twinkled as though all the stars in the sky had fallen to the ground. ‘Come on, jump on!’
Thomas hauled himself onto the pony. It was not a particularly graceful mount as Thomas had never been taught how to get on a pony before.
‘Wow! You’re so wobbly!’ Thomas said, and giggled as they walked down the high street. He held on tightly to the leather reins his father had attached earlier in the day.
‘You’re very wobbly too.’ The pony giggled even harder, feeling the young boy bounce around on his back. ‘Shall we try a trot? I’m desperate to go faster and test out my legs.’
He didn’t wait for a reply before dancing into a jogging trot and bouncing young Thomas all over. Thomas had to squeeze his knees into the saddle and concentrate very hard so he didn’t fall off. But that did not stop his hoots of laughter.
‘Come on, let’s try a canter!’ the pony said, breaking into a canter as he said the words.
Thomas relaxed a little, for even though cantering is faster than trotting, it’s a lot smoother. Now Thomas could enjoy the wind in his face and the crunch of the snow underfoot. For some time, the pair navigated their way through snow-covered cobblestone streets and small lanes, until eventually they reached a park.
‘When there’s no snow on the ground, all the land here is green and soft,’ Thomas explained, as they meandered through the winter trees.
‘I think we should visit this place again when the snow disappears,’ suggested the pony. Thomas became limp and all the fun they were having seeped out of him.
‘Whatever is the matter?’ asked the pony. Ponies are well known for sensing their rider’s feelings, and the pony felt the sadness seep through into his own skin.
‘I’m afraid we won’t have another time,’ Thomas said, gulping back tears. ‘Father will finish completing you tomorrow and then you’ll have a new owner.’
‘An owner?’ asked the pony. ‘What’s an owner?’
Thomas tried to explain what the word meant. There were lots of words he knew the meaning of, but it is quite another thing to explain what these words mean aloud.
‘Someone is going to buy you. He’ll exchange money and in return, you’ll be his,’ Thomas said. It didn’t sound very nice now he thought about it.
‘But what if I don’t like my owner?’ the pony asked.
‘You don’t have a choice. He will own you. You will be his.’
‘I’d much rather have a friend like you than be owned. Are you owned?’ The pony stopped under a tree and Thomas dismounted. He lost his balance and tumbled onto his bottom on the snow-powdered floor, and the friends laughed, easing the tension.
‘I’m not owned, no. I get told what to do by my parents, but that’s because they look after me. One day, when I’m old enough, I will be able to do whatever I want,’ Thomas explained.
‘Like green?’ asked the pony.
‘Yes,’ Thomas said sadly. ‘Green, like the fields and the trees. Green, like the colour of freedom.’
‘Will I ever be free to do what I want?’ the pony asked in a whisper, and poor Thomas couldn’t lie to his friend.
‘I don’t know if you will,’ he said, wrapping his arms around him.
The pony looked skywards and felt tiny snowflakes rest upon his skin. ‘Look, it’s snowing. Come on. If I only have one night of freedom, let us use it wisely. Let us have the best adventure of our lives.’
And with that, Thomas mounted his pony and they galloped towards the horizon. Snow fell all around them and they both made a wish with every resting snowflake upon their skin.
5
FREEDOM
The oil lamps in the street had gone out. The moon had sunk, and the sun was peeking over the horizon when Thomas and the pony returned home. They were both wet from snowfall and a little cold. And they were both extremely tired. But galloping around the deserted parks, and talking and laughing until their gums ached, had made for the best night of their lives.
‘That truly was the most pleasurable adventure,’ the pony said with glistening eyes. ‘You have been an incredible friend. I will miss you dearly, every day and especially every night.’
Thomas dismounted, with a little more style this time, and opened the workshop door. ‘And I shall miss you too. Every time I see the snow, or the green fields, or taste freedom, I shall think of you.’ Thomas’s words got caught in his throat and he released a little sob. He knew that at any moment his father would wake to complete the pony.
‘Let us not linger on goodbyes,’ said the pony sadly. ‘Let us remember only our adventures.’
Thomas nodded his head, afraid to speak in case his tears took away his words. Back in the workshop, Thomas raised his hand a little, and offered a tentative wave. A thump on the floorboards upstairs told him his father was awake. Thomas gasped.
‘Before we part, dear friend, what is your name?’ Thomas asked.
The pony frowned thoughtfully for a few moments before his features softened. ‘Call me Freedom, my friend,’ he said and winked, returning to the place his maker had previously left him.
‘Freedom,’ Thomas repeated with a smile, and then darted
back to bed.
Thomas heard a bell tinkle, indicating that someone had entered the shop.
‘Oh drat!’ he cursed. He had fallen fast asleep, dreaming of the fun he had shared during the night. Now he feared he had missed the opportunity to give the pony his real name before the new owner took him away forever.
He whizzed down the stairs. ‘Father! Father!’ he called. He crashed through the workshop door and his father stopped what he was doing immediately.
‘Whatever is wrong?’ Father asked. He put down his paintbrush. Father had painted the pony with wonderful black dapples. Only the night before the pony was the colour of wood - now he shone raven black.
‘Oh my!’ gasped Thomas, covering his open mouth with his hands. ‘He is utterly beautiful.’
The pony looked fit for a king, or at the very least, a prince. His emerald green eyes shone majestically and his mane and tail caught the morning light and twinkled like dark stars. Father stood back with his arms wide, gesturing towards the pony. He was clearly very proud of what he had accomplished.
‘He is a beauty, isn’t he?’ Father’s voice boomed. ‘Mother, come.’
Mother entered the room and by the way her eyes twinkled, she too found the pony utterly beautiful.
‘I heard the shop bell,’ Thomas said, looking around to see who had entered. ‘I thought it was the pony’s new owner.’
Father shook his head. ‘No, it was the park’s gamekeeper. He discovered hoof prints all around the grounds this morning. He has been asking around London to find out whose horse has been loose during the night.’
‘Oh,’ Thomas said guiltily, although it was rather touching that the gamekeeper was concerned about a loose horse.
‘I told him that there is no way our little horse could have escaped,’ Father said, patting the wooden pony and laughing deeply.
Thomas gulped.
‘Soon the pony will have his new owner – a very important owner,’ Father continued. Any light-heartedness Thomas felt disappeared. ‘Have you thought of a name for him? Carving his name is the very last thing I need to do before the pony is complete.’
Magical Adventures & Pony Tales Boxset (Vol 1 - 6) Page 9