by Nick Garlick
“They do?”
“Oh yes,” Mr. Bouten said. “It’s always a good idea to talk to horses. Helps them relax. Did someone teach you that?”
“No,” Flip said. “It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
Mr. Bouten smiled. “See,” he said. “I was right.”
“About what?” Flip asked.
“You,” Mr. Bouten said. “You do have a way with horses.”
And the horse let out another long snort and rubbed his muzzle up and down against Flip’s back, as if he were nodding his agreement.
FOR THE NEXT three days, a lot of people spent a lot of time trying to find out who the horse belonged to. The mayor made telephone calls. The vicar got in touch with his colleagues on the other islands. The police came over from the mainland, followed by two insurance company men in suits and hats, carrying big briefcases. They marched all over Mossum, taking notes.
All any of them managed to do was identify the man whose boat had sunk the day the horse arrived on the island. He was a farmer who’d lived alone on an island to the east. He’d had no family. He’d had no friends. The man he’d been going to visit on Vlieland, an island to the west, had agreed to buy three horses. But he hadn’t agreed to buy a black Friesian. The farmer on Vlieland didn’t know anything at all about a black Friesian gelding.
To make matters even more complicated, when the insurance men in suits and hats and big briefcases finally visited the dead man’s home, they found a dilapidated farmhouse crammed from kitchen to bedrooms with all kinds of indescribable junk. Yet nowhere in any of that junk was a single mention of any horse even vaguely resembling the one Flip had rescued.
There was no proof he’d ever belonged to anybody. So what was to happen with him? The mayor of Mossum, Mr. Balkensten, paid a trip to the farm to explain. He started speaking in Fries to the grown-ups until Aunt Elly stopped him. She pointed out that since Flip had rescued the horse, he should be able to listen as well. The mayor looked puzzled, as if worrying about what children thought was silly. But he did what she asked.
It was a strange case, he said. By law, anything that washed up on shore had to be reported to him. He then decided what happened to it. If it wasn’t worth anything, he usually let the finder keep it. If it was a valuable item, he arranged a public auction in conjunction with the insurance company and saw that the proceeds were split appropriately.
None of that, however, helped with the horse. It was definitely valuable; it was after all a sound, healthy Friesian. But there was no record of its existence. Nobody could prove they owned it. The only person who could have done so had drowned when his boat sank.
“So what I think,” said the mayor, “is that we treat it as lost property. Whoever finds something keeps it for a year. If nobody comes forward to claim it during that time, then it will belong to the person who found it.”
“Which is Flip,” Aunt Elly said.
“Well, yes,” said the mayor. “But seeing as how he’s a minor, I think nobody would argue with me were I to say that I think it should go to Mr. Bor, the boy’s uncle.”
“But I don’t want another horse,” Uncle Andries said. “There’s only enough work for Leila. There’s nothing for another horse to do.”
“I quite understand,” the mayor said. “And I wouldn’t dream of forcing you to take it. But I don’t think it’ll be a problem. I’m fairly certain I can find another home for it.”
Uncle Andries looked up. “You can? I don’t know anybody on Mossum who needs a new horse. Keeping a horse is expensive and there’s not that much money on the island.”
“I know someone,” Mr. Bouten said quietly.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“Mr. Mesman. He’d find a use for it.”
The mayor nodded. “He has expressed an interest,” he said.
“But he can’t! You can’t let him go there!”
It was Flip who’d spoken. Practically shouted. Now everyone in the room turned to look at him.
Uncle Andries was furious. “How dare you speak to the mayor like that!” he said. “Apologize this second!”
Flip felt himself blushing as he said, “I’m sorry.” But then he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “You really can’t give the horse to Mr. Mesman!”
“That’s enough!” Uncle Andries snapped. He turned to the mayor. “If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like a word with my nephew. In private.”
“Of course,” the mayor said, and stepped outside.
Uncle Andries turned to Flip. “How dare you talk to him like that? Is that how you talked back in Amsterdam?”
Flip shook his head. Actually, he’d never talked back to anyone in Amsterdam. Certainly not grown-ups. His dad had never allowed it and nobody did it at school with the teachers. He hadn’t wanted to do it now, either, but he just couldn’t keep quiet.
“The mayor is the queen’s representative on this island,” Uncle Andries said, “and you’ll treat him with the respect his position deserves. Is that quite clear?”
“Yes,” Flip said.
“I certainly hope so.” Uncle Andries stared at him for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. “Now,” he said quietly, “why can’t Mr. Mesman have the Friesian?”
For the last three days, Flip had helped feed the horse and brush him, tending to his wounds, and he’d enjoyed every single moment. The thought of not being able to go on doing that was awful. The thought of him going to the Mesmans was even worse. And he didn’t like the way the mayor kept calling the horse it.
“Because I don’t think he’d look after him,” he said. “And all his sons do is kill birds with their slingshots. They definitely wouldn’t look after him. Not properly. I just know they wouldn’t.”
“Those three are terrors when it comes to animals,” Mr. Bouten agreed. “I can’t see them looking after one to save their lives.”
“Nor their father,” Aunt Elly added. “I think he just wants to own the horse. Like he wants to own the island. And even if he didn’t hurt it on purpose, he’d end up doing just that because he wouldn’t know any different.”
Uncle Andries nodded slowly. “I can’t argue with a single word of that,” he said at last. “But the horse can’t stay here because I haven’t got the time to look after it. And that’s all there is to it.”
“Then let me,” Flip said. “Let me look after him.”
His aunt and his uncle were astonished. “You?” they said in unison.
“Yes,” Flip said. “Me.”
Uncle Andries shook his head. “No,” he said. “Out of the question.”
But Flip wasn’t going to give up. He couldn’t. For his sake. And more importantly, for the horse’s. “I know I can. Ask Mr. Bouten. He said I have a way with horses.”
Mr. Bouten smiled. “I did,” he said. “I’ve seen him. The boy’s a natural.”
“But he doesn’t know anything about them,” Uncle Andries said.
“He’ll learn,” Mr. Bouten replied. “If you give him the chance. And I bet he’ll learn quicker than most.”
“Are you sure about that, Hendrick?” Uncle Andries asked.
“Yes,” Mr. Bouten replied, looking calmly back at Uncle Andries. “I am.”
Uncle Andries scratched his head. “Well, it’s summer, which means there’s plenty of grass in the field. Enough for him and Leila. But what about when winter comes? How do we pay for him then?”
“Probably won’t be here by then,” Mr. Bouten said. “Somebody’s bound to turn up eventually and claim him, good horse like that. But until that day comes, I say let the boy look after him.”
Uncle Andries turned to Aunt Elly. She thought about it for a while, then slowly nodded her agreement.
“All right,” Uncle Andries said. “The horse can stay here.”
Flip could hardly believe his ears.
“But,” Uncle Andries continued, “it’ll all be up to you. Not me. Not Mr. Bouten. Not your aunt. You will be responsible for that hors
e and for everything it does. I hope you understand that.”
“I do,” Flip said. “And I will. I promise.”
“And I won’t have it interfering with your work here on the farm. Do you understand that too?”
Flip was too excited to speak, so all he did was nod.
“Then,” said Uncle Andries, getting up from his chair, “I’ll go and tell the mayor.”
The mayor listened to his decision, said that would be fine, and set off back to the village. Flip went straight out to the barn to see the horse. Renske followed him.
“He’ll have to have a name,” she said. “Otherwise he won’t know who we’re talking to when we talk to him.”
“What if he already has a name?” Flip said. “He won’t recognize a new one.”
“Oh no,” Renske said, shaking her head. “He’ll soon learn it. Horses are clever. And you have to name him because you saved him. I’m sure that’s what he’s expecting.”
Flip leaned on the stable door, thinking. It didn’t take him long.
“Then I’ll call him Storm,” he said. “Because that’s where he came from.”
The horse looked up and snorted. He stuck his head over the stable door and let the children scratch his muzzle.
“See,” Renske said. “He likes it. He thinks it’s a good name too.”
What neither of them realized was that it was a name Storm would more than live up to.
THE MORNING AFTER the mayor’s visit, Mr. Bouten inspected the wound on Storm’s shoulder, and announced that it was healed and that he was ready to go out into the field with Leila.
“But first,” he added, producing a box of brushes, currycombs, and hoof-picks, “we’ll give him an extra-good clean.”
Flip liked grooming, but it was hard work. Harder than he’d expected. Working the brush over the broad chest and flanks, smoothing the knots out of Storm’s mane and tail, getting him to lift his great big hooves up off the ground so they could be cleaned took all Flip’s energy. He ended up with aching arms and sweat dripping from his forehead.
But he loved being next to the horse, feeling the warmth of his coat and listening to his slow, steady breathing. And he loved seeing how the brushing and combing made Storm’s coal-black coat practically gleam. He knew Storm liked it too, because when he was with him in the stall, the horse calmed down, stood still, and acted as if there was no other place he’d rather be.
So it was a little disappointing that the moment Flip and Renske led him out to the field to join Leila, Storm took one look at the other horse and trotted across the grass toward her. He didn’t look back or even hesitate.
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Bouten said when he saw Flip’s expression. “He hasn’t forgotten you. He’ll be back. But right now he’s got a horse friend to make.”
Out in the middle of the field, Storm slowed and began examining his new surroundings, flicking his ears, sniffing the air for signs of danger. Leila was doing the same. The two horses walked slowly forward, tails swishing, each taking cautious sniffs of the other.
Then Leila put her head down and, with a little squeal, kicked up her hind legs and started to gallop. Storm set off after her. For the next ten minutes, the two horses raced furiously back and forth, Storm in the lead, Leila following, clods of mud and grass flying up from their hooves in all directions.
“What are they doing?” Flip asked.
“Working out who’s in charge,” Mr. Bouten said.
“And then what?” Flip asked.
“Oh,” Mr. Bouten said, “once that’s all sorted out, they can be friends. They can relax.”
“How will they know who is?” Flip asked. “In charge?”
“The one behind’s the one in charge, telling the horse in front to keep going.” He smiled. “And this is Leila’s field. So she’s not going to let anyone come in here and tell her what to do.”
Eventually, Leila slowed her pace and ambled over to the water trough for a long refreshing drink.
Storm followed, breathing hard and shaking his head. When Leila had finished, he took a drink as well. Then he sank to his knees in a patch of muddy grass and rolled onto his back. Almost immediately, he jumped back up and took a quick look around. Satisfied that he was safe, he lay back down and went on happily rolling.
As they stood watching, Flip sensed movement beside him and turned to see the Ghost Girl step silently up to the gate. She didn’t look at him, or at Renske or Mr. Bouten. All her concentration was focused on Storm.
When he clambered back to his feet his mane was tangled, his tail was knotted, and there were mud and grass stains on his legs and flanks. He looked worse than he had the day he’d emerged from the sea. There was little trace left of the gleaming black coat he’d gone into the field with. The Ghost Girl giggled.
It was the first sound Flip had ever heard her make and, like Renske, all he could do was stare, wide-eyed with surprise. The girl ignored them and giggled again. When she giggled a third time, Renske joined in. And that eventually made Flip smile. It was only dirt, he thought. He’d just brush it away the next time he cleaned Storm.
But his smile vanished when he looked up to see the Friesian was now busy looking for ways to escape. It had taken him practically no time at all to spot a gap in the hedge at the far end of the field, closed off with three old wooden boards. The boards had always kept Leila in, but to Storm they were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He nudged them with his nose until they came loose and fell to the ground, then he strolled into the next-door field to begin grazing happily on the lush new grass it contained.
Flip followed him and guided him gently back through the gap. Then he helped Mr. Bouten close it off properly. But no sooner had they finished than Storm was off again, pushing his way through a tangle of weeds and bushes at the base of a tree on the other side of the field.
Flip went after him a second time, led him back, and held tight to his mane while Mr. Bouten fetched an old wooden door from the barn and jammed it upright between the bushes.
Flip couldn’t help feeling disappointed. First, Storm had trotted off the moment he saw Leila. Now it looked like he was trying to get away from the farm. And from the people who’d rescued him and looked after him.
“Why does he keep trying to escape?” he asked.
“Probably trying to see what he can get away with,” Mr. Bouten said. “A horse brave enough to jump into the sea and try to swim to safety is bound to be independent.”
Or perhaps he just wants to go home, Flip thought. And be with whoever had looked after him. Just like Flip wanted to be back with his mom. He could certainly understand that.
At lunchtime, he recounted everything that had happened.
“Too much energy,” Uncle Andries said. The look on his face said he’d been expecting something like this. Clearly, he wasn’t too happy about it.
“Well, why don’t you give him a job to do?” Aunt Elly suggested. “Take his mind off things for a while? While he settles in.”
Mr. Bouten agreed. “There’s always that tree,” he said.
In the far corner of one of the farm’s fields, a tree had been struck by lightning a month before Flip’s arrival on Mossum. Ever since, it had lain where it fell, blocking a ditch and covering the remains of a gate it had smashed in its fall. Uncle Andries, who wanted the ditch unblocked and the gate rebuilt before winter, thought that Leila and Storm’s combined strength could drag the tree free. That would let him complete the necessary repairs without having to spend hours sawing the trunk into pieces first—hours he didn’t have to spare in the busy summer days.
So with Flip’s help, the two men led Leila and Storm over to the barn to fit them into the harnesses required for pulling a heavy object. Storm stood patiently by while Leila was prepared, but the moment the ropes and harness came near him and his shoulders, he bucked and stamped his hooves and backed away until it was removed. No matter how carefully and patiently they tried, Storm refused to be harnessed. S
o, much to Uncle Andries’s obvious irritation, back into the field the horses went.
“What about the lifeboat?” Flip asked.
Mr. Bouten shook his head. “If he’s like that here, think what he’d be like there. He panics and starts kicking with those big hooves of his, no telling what damage he’ll do. To the horses and the boat. No, we can’t have that.”
“Can’t you train him?” Flip asked.
“More than likely,” Mr. Bouten said. “But that takes time.”
“And this is summer,” Uncle Andries broke in. “We’ve got more than enough to do on the farm.” Not bothering to hide his frustration, he strode off back to work.
Flip walked over to the gate and watched the two horses trotting around the field, snorting and squealing and having the time of their lives. He couldn’t understand why Storm was being so difficult. Or what he could to do to help him stop. All he could do was hope the horse would settle down and behave himself soon.
But worse was to come the next day.
IT ALL STARTED because Renske knew how Leila went to the bathroom.
It was just before lunch and she was sitting at one end of the gate, watching the two horses. The Ghost Girl, who’d once again appeared without a sound, was now sitting silently at the other end. Flip stood in between.
“She’s a very clever horse,” Renske said. “She always goes over to one side of the field.”
Flip looked up. “Who does?” He’d just been into the field to say hello to Storm and was about to push the gate shut.
“Leila,” Renske said. “When she needs to poop, she walks off to the side of the field and does it there. And since it’s her field and she’s in charge, Storm does too—to make sure his smell is there as well. I know. I’ve watched them.”
As if to prove her point, Leila stopped eating, strolled over to the edge of the field, and left a pile of droppings. Then she walked back to the middle of the field and went on eating.
“What does she do that for?” Flip asked.
“So she doesn’t poop on nice green grass to eat,” Renske explained. “She makes sure to go in one place so she ruins as little grass as possible. Not like most horses, who go anywhere. Or cows. Cows do it wherever they’re standing, which must be really annoying for all the other cows, because imagine if you’re a cow and you’re going to eat a nice bit of grass but you can’t because your friend’s just done her business all over it.”