by L. M. Abbott
The pony snorted and trotted behind a tree, coming out on the other side. The body was thinner. The wolf watched as the pony moved around the tree again. The hair encircling the hooves was gone, the legs longer, sleeker. The light must be playing tricks with my eyes, Cailean thought as the pony walked behind the tree once more. The silver mane was less coarse and the outline of a long narrow object projected from the centre of the forehead. A green haze formed before Cailean’s eyes bringing the animals into focus as if a camera lens had zoomed in on them. The pony’s silver mane spread outwards as if blown by a fan. The hairs thickened, melting together in the same fluid motion, transforming into beautiful wings. The wolf jumped onto the pony’s back, easily gliding through the air. The winged creature lifted off the ground, soaring close to the stars before heading into the forest.
Cailean fell into the wicker chair and grabbed the doll who sat squatting in the corner. “Fergus, this has to be a dream. Ponies can’t change into unicorns and sprout wings.” The numbers on the bed side clock glowed red. Twelve. Midnight. A crow cawed, walking along the window ledge in a lop-sided fashion. Cailean spotted the damaged wing. “You again!” It took flight and perched on the edge of the church tower which seemed to rise up to meet the passing clouds. The bird folded its black wings against its body, the feathers fluttering before settling down. Cailean shook from more than the cold and scurried back to bed. She switched on the lamp and took the two books from the night table, holding one in each hand. She tapped a thumb against each cover. Which one to read? The Little Red Riding Wolf or the Newfoundland Pony? The way things were going lately was there really any difference between them?
Barlo pushed open the door with a paw and climbed on the bed. Cailean returned the books to the night table and snuggled into the white furry dog, looking towards the wicker chair. “Fergus, that was number nine.” Her voice quivered.
chapter 5
The wind flowing through Cailean’s hair as she ran gave her a sense of freedom, of being in tune with nature. She slowed to see how far Josh lagged behind. “Can’t you go any faster?” she shouted as he struggled to keep up, his thick legs taking two steps to her one. Even though quite a distance from him she heard the frog in his throat croak louder the more he tried to run. Cailean jogged down the lane to Murphy’s Field. Seamus sat on a tree stump beside the gate tossing a baseball from hand to hand.
He looked past her. “Where’s Josh?”
Cailean paced, muttering to herself.
Seamus rested the ball on one knee. “Well? Where is he?”
Josh covered the last few feet and collapsed onto the tree stump sending Seamus’s baseball tumbling from his grip.
“Be careful,” Seamus said, catching the ball before it hit the ground.
Josh dragged a sleeve across his forehead, “Okay, Cailean,” he said when his lungs expanded with enough air to talk. “Tell us about the big emergency that couldn’t wait.”
“Mr. Murphy came to see me again yesterday.” Cailean swept her eyes over the field. As she did, a cloud rolled across the sun. “He said there isn’t a deed to prove my mother owns any forest land.”
Josh opened his bag of Bullseyes, which was quite depleted, ready to put one in his mouth. “How can that be?”
“Dad telephoned Mom’s lawyer right after Mr. Murphy left. He said he’d look into it.” Cailean hung her head with the full realization that if she continued talking she’d break down and cry. Boys would never understand.
“And?” Josh prompted.
Cailean swallowed. “He called Dad first thing this morning. There’s no record of a deed ever being filed. The lawyer said the land is government owned and that Mr. Murphy can buy it in as little as a week.”
Seamus whacked the ball against the fence. Pieces of the wood shattered, spraying rotted splinters on him. “Stevie boy will really gloat over this.”
“Gee, Cailean,” Josh said. “I’m sorry. Your father must be angry.”
“Dad said there’s nothing anyone can do and we might as well accept it.” Cailean looked away. “He doesn’t care about what Mom wanted.”
Seamus retrieved the ball and both boys made room for Cailean on the stump. She gouged two holes in the ground with the heels of her sneakers. “I’ll prove the deed...” she began and cocked her head to the side. “The ponies! Something’s scaring them.”
Josh sat up straight, listening. “All I hear are birds chirping.”
Cailean jumped from the stump and threw open the gate. “Don’t just sit there. We have to help them.”
Seamus raced after her. “How do you know that?” He jerked to a stop next to her at the picket fence, his mouth wide open. “This is unbelievable.”
Josh ploughed into his friends. “Who’s responsible for that?” he said, his voice high-pitched.
Seamus’s chest heaved. “You know the answer as well as me.”
The two ponies were caged inside a rectangular pen no bigger than a bathroom. The Grey lashed at the wire meshing with its front hooves. Spittle foamed at the sides of its mouth. The Brown kicked out with its hind legs. The cries of both animals screeched across the field.
Cailean’s heart throbbed in her temples. “No one has a right to do that.”
“My father does.” The children turned to the voice. It was Steve, looking particularly smug as he strutted towards them.
“Those ponies don’t belong to anyone,” Cailean said in a hoarse voice. “Let them go.”
“They’re on our property so we can do whatever we want with them.”
Cailean wanted to beat the smirk from Steve’s face. “We’ll see about that. Dad and Gramps will call the SPCA.”
“It doesn’t matter. My father’s president of the Wild Life Society and the Minister of Natural Resources is his best friend. We’re protecting the ponies from the coyotes roaming the forest.” Steve grinned. “They’re an endangered species after all.”
The ponies had quieted down as if determined to hear the conversation. Their glossy coats were damp and mottled with clumps of dirt. The Grey looked towards Steve. Steam flared from the nostrils. “You won’t get away with this, Stevie Boy,” Cailean said. “And that’s a promise.”
“Too late. We already have.”
Seamus moved so close to Steve there wasn’t enough room for the wind to blow through. “Yeah, Stevie Boy, this isn’t over.”
“There’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it.” Steve walked away, his taunting hackle ringing in the air.
Cailean covered her ears against the animals renewed cries. “We have to find out if what the creep said about the ponies is true.”
Josh wrung his hands. “There’s no point in that. Mr. Murphy will claim the ponies are his and say he penned them in to keep them safe while construction is going on.”
Seamus scooped up a bunch of pebbles and flung them one by one across the field. “You’re not an expert on everything.” He let the last pebble smash into the fence.
“Sorry. I’m only relating the facts.”
Cailean brightened a little. “Maybe they do belong to someone.”
“Not to anyone in Loon Cove,” Josh said. “It’s doubtful someone in Brook City owns two Newfoundland ponies and allows them to wander.” He sighed. “I hate to say it, but there’s a bigger problem at the moment. The forest will be chopped down to make room for a stupid golf course in one week.”
Cailean couldn’t tear her eyes away from the penned-up animals. “What will I do if the deed is lost forever? It’s not fair.”
“Say that again,” Seamus said. “I’d like to stick Stevie boy in a pen and see how he likes it.”
The remains of a Bullseye melted in Josh’s mouth. He didn’t bother to get another one. “Rich people always get what they want. That’s just how it is.”
The steady noise of hammering pounded towards them. “What’s going on now?” Seamus said. The children looked at one another and broke into a run. Back at the gate, Steve stood with his father
watching him nail a sign to the post. It read PRIVATE PROPERTY: KEEP OUT.
Mr. Murphy paused in his efforts long enough to speak to the children. “This is for your safety and protection when I start to build.” He went straight back to the task with an extra vigour.
“Not to worry,” Steve shouted over the noise. “We’ll take really good care of the ponies.”
Cailean, Josh and Seamus walked up the tree lined laneway, each one trying their best not to let Steve see they were bothered by the turn of events. At the top, Josh broke down and shook his fist down the laneway. “You’re a jerk, Steve Murphy.”
Cailean grit her teeth. “Just listen to him tell his father that we’re too dumb to know when we’re beaten.”
“Yeah,” Seamus said. “And I hear Mom singing in the kitchen.”
Josh pulled a face. “Cailean, there’s no way you could’ve heard what Steve said from this distance.”
But she had heard him, as clearly as if he stood next to her. Forget about it for now. “Did you find out who opened the fox’s cage?”
“Dad reckoned it was the cub itself, somehow lifting the latch while playing with the door.” Josh glanced at Seamus. “Unless it was you.”
“Nope. I wouldn’t put a litter critter like that in danger on purpose.”
Moonlight flittered in through the window producing a sliver sheen around Cailean’s bedroom. She sat at her desk sifting through the papers the lawyer had delivered after her mother’s funeral.
“You’ll hurt your eyes straining to see in the dark,” Gramps said, switching on the desk lamp. “What are you looking for so intently?”
“Mom’s deed to the land.”
“You won’t find it there. Those are her academic papers from university.”
Cailean opened a folder entitled phobias. “What’s a phobia?”
“Something someone fears for no apparent reason. Did your mother ever tell you about her phobia?” Gramps looked down at a lined sheet of paper. Neat rounded letters curved into each other. “I remember the first and only time I took her and your father to the museum to see a display of stuffed wolves. She was about eight or nine. The second she saw the creatures she started to shake. I had to get her out of their pronto.” A faraway look came into his eyes. “It took me ages to calm her down.”
“Mom never told me.” The dream concerning the savage wolves in the cave sprang into Cailean’s head. “They are frightening.”
A wistful expression flashed across Gramps’ face. “She wouldn’t even look at the picture of a wolf after that. Then oddly enough at about you age she became fascinated by them.”
Cailean browsed through the folder and came across a bright green notebook with the heading PHOBIAS: WHAT ARE THE CAUSES? printed in her mother’s hand. The date was scribbled under the title. “Mom wrote this three days before the horrible accident.”
“Go on,” Gramps said. “Let’s hear what she had to say.” He placed a hand under his chin, his head bent while she read.
“‘I’ve chosen to write about phobias for my Masters thesis because of a phobia I once had regarding wolves. As a very young child, I had an irrational fear of them even though I had never encountered a live one. They are strange animals with eerie capabilities such as being born with blue eyes which turn greenish-yellow as they age. It’s been speculated they have a sense of telepathy enabling them to communicate mentally with their pack. It’s like their eyes are miniature flashlights, allowing them to see in the dark. Dogs, a member of the canine family are easily domesticated. Wolves, also canines, are untrainable. They have been extinct on the island since 1930. I was greatly intrigued by the fact that wolves have a reputation for aggression, when in truth they will avoid human contact if at all possible. To wipe any creature out of existence is a tragedy, yet, as a child, it had always been a relief to know I would never run into one on my strolls in the forests or on camping trips.
Today, an event occurred which shocked me to the core, frightened me more than I believed possible. Sam tried to explain it away by suggesting it was a nightmare, induced by the fever that’s plagued me for days. Maybe he’s right. Such an incident could never take place.’”
Tears dropped onto the notebook as Cailean continued.
“‘It happened again today. My fever broke overnight and I felt much better. I can’t believe that I’m delusional. I have to go. Sam is home.’”
Gramps went to the map of the Railways Rocks and ran his thumb over the glass. “It’s obvious she wasn’t convinced that whatever she witnessed was real.” He dabbed at his eyes with a linen handkerchief and blew his nose. “My hay fever’s acting up again.”
“Gramps, what do you think Mom saw?”
He rubbed the sides of his forehead. “The virus she came down with while on the holiday trip to Italy took the good out of her.”
“I was scared she’d never get better.”
The bed creaked as Gramps sat down on the edge. “Me as well. She was more like a daughter than a daughter-in-law. Did she write anything else?”
“No,” Cailean said despite the lump in her throat.
Gramps stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket. “There’s no excuse to justify what Mr. Murphy did to the ponies. The whole town’s up in arms.”
Cailean put the notebook back in the folder. “Can we do anything about it?”
“I called the SPCA and an inspector from Brook City arrived within the hour. Mr. Murphy got wind of it somehow and hid the pen.”
“I’ll tell the inspector that me, Seamus and Josh saw them penned up.”
Gramps pulled at the stubble on his chin. “Sadly, he’ll take the word of a respected, well known adult over yours.”
“I bet the ponies are trapped in the pen right now.”
“Everyone’s meeting tomorrow at the school gym to discuss Mr. Murphy’s shenanigans and the golf course.”
“Is Dad going?”
“He hasn’t said.”
“Gramps, do you like Mr. Murphy?”
“He’s a business man, and unfortunately the opportunity to make money blinds some men to the greater good.”
Cailean opened The Little Red Riding Wolf book and silently read the inscription. To my dearest Cailean. Enjoy as always. All my love. Mom. “I still can’t believe Dad wants me to sell even though Mom didn’t.”
“Don’t be angry with your father. Your mother’s death has been terribly hard on him too.”
The lamp light cast Gramps face in shadows. All Cailean saw were the shadows. He stood up and quietly left the room.
Cailean changed into her pyjamas, and sleep evading her, constantly checked the time. Her thoughts bounced around like a ping pong ball inside her head, worried about how the ponies were doing imprisoned in a pen meant for one animal. Their panicked image stuck in her mind like it had been drawn with ink that couldn’t be erased. The digital clock on the night stand clicked to the number eleven. She slipped out of bed and dressed in the dark. Loud snores greeted her when she crept down the hall past her father’s room. She entered the workshop and found what she needed, then sneaked out the backdoor so as not to alert Barlo. A plan formulated in her mind, Cailean hurried through the empty streets to Murphy’s Field, carrying a nap sack slung across her back.
In the field, she switched on the flashlight. A third of the way up the incline something slithered through the grass in front of her. “Snakes aren’t natural to the island,” she said out loud to better convince herself and walked a little further. Hissing noises sounded from every direction. She walked faster and her foot sank into a hole. “Oww!” she cried, losing the flashlight as she fell. The full moon smiled down at her until a cloud with jaw-like features grabbed the white globe and swallowed it whole. The world went pitch black. A green haze formed in front of her eyes bringing her surroundings into clear focus. How could she see with such clarity without a proper light source? She didn’t bother to look for the flashlight, and with a dull throb in her ankle, pressed through the ov
ergrown grass.
The night air was cool and her breath vaporized into mist. She came to the picket fence and climbed over, careful not to hitch any clothing in the sharp tips and leave evidence behind. The pen along with its captives had been moved to the far end of the enclosure farthest from the forest. Cailean laid her nap sack on the ground and took out a pair of bolt cutters. “I’ll get you out of there in no time,” she whispered to the ponies.
Neither one made a sound.
The door to the pen was secured with a thick chain opened by a combination lock. The bolt cutters gnawed away at the links. They held, only light scratches to indicate her hard work. The leaves of a tree rustled. Cailean started. There wasn’t any wind. She peered around, every twig, branch, insect magnified. She tightened her grip on the bolt cutters and squeezed harder, grunting with the effort. The scratches deepened into grooves. “Won’t be long now,” she said, her eyes spinning from the forest back to the ponies. Exhaustion heightened her fears and she squeezed the handles of the bolt cutters until her fingers cramped. One final grunt and the chain broke apart. She pulled out the pieces with only a slight rattling and opened the pen door. “You’re free. Don’t come here ever again because Mr. Murphy will nab you for sure. No telling what he’ll do then.”
The grey pony moved out of the pen.
“Come with us.”
Cailean dropped to the ground, looking around for the speaker. The grey pony trotted towards the fence.
The brown pony left the pen.
“We have to talk.” A different voice this time.
Cailean went cold all over. There was no way Seamus or Josh were out at this time of night.
Chapter 6
The wind picked up as Cailean placed the broken chain inside the pen and shut the door without making any noise. The ponies remained nearby, the Grey munched on grass, bits falling to the ground as it chewed, the Brown looking like it had fallen asleep.