Snow Foal--the perfect Christmas book for children

by Susanna Bailey

  Addie already knew what the pony people would say.

  Her foal wasn’t a pure-blood. He wouldn’t be allowed to go home.

  There was no time to waste.

  Tonight might be Addie’s only chance to make sure that he did.

  She would not let him down.

  She scraped the remains of her porridge into the bin and dropped her bowl and spoon into the sink. She would go and help Sam, but she’d work on her plan to get the foal back to his mam at the same time.

  A new plan. One that meant finding her way across the night-time moor all alone.

  ‘Have you ever seen this Big Cat thing that’s supposed to be on the moor?’ Addie asked Gabe, as they pulled on their boots in the hallway.

  Gabe grinned. ‘Sunni, right?’ he said. ‘Been trying to spook you, has she?’

  Addie shrugged. ‘I know it’s not real.’

  ‘Some people think it is,’ Gabe said. He zipped up his waterproof jacket, took a blue beanie hat from his pocket. He grinned at Addie. ‘It’s just an old folk tale, Addie. The only wild beast round here is Ma – when you drink milk straight from the carton, or scoff all the cheese. Now that is scary!’

  He whistled for Flo. She appeared, as if by magic, eyes bright and keen.

  Addie stroked her silky head. ‘I’m not scared. I told you.’

  She wasn’t. The only thing that scared her was being away from Mam. And the papers in Penny’s bag, with their black spider signatures and their lies. And anyway, Addie was going to get the foal safely home to his mam, whatever might be lurking in the darkness of the moor.

  She took down her new coat from the peg.

  ‘Put your old one on, I would, Addie,’ Gabe said. ‘It gets a bit messy in the lambing shed.’

  Addie’s old coat felt tight. It smelled different now: of wood smoke and baking. Addie pushed her fingers through the hole in the right-hand pocket and remembered other smells: the dusty hallway at home, the vinegar sting of the kitchen bin with its empty bottles and chip papers streaked with grease. The twisted tubes of paint that had lost their lids.

  She opened the front door and took in a deep breath of clean, spring air; pushed the old smells away. When she did go home, there would be new smells, new tubes of paint. And the old Mam. The first one. The Mam that took Addie to the park on dark winter afternoons and pushed her on the scratched blue swings – higher and higher, to see if she could touch the moon. She never could. But it never mattered.

  Flo hurried on ahead of Addie and Gabe, her ears pricked high. As they drew close to the lambing shed, Addie heard the thin bleat of lambs and a deeper note: a low, rumbling moan that was almost human.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ she asked Gabe.

  ‘One of the ewes,’ Gabe said. ‘About to give birth by the sound of it.’

  He scooped up a bucket and placed it underneath a tap on the shed wall. Silvery water gushed into the bucket. Flo snatched at the flow of water. Her jaws snapped together as she tried to catch stray droplets in mid-air.

  ‘Her favourite game,’ Gabe said. ‘She’d do that all day if I let her. Daft dog.’ He turned off the tap. ‘Game over, Flo,’ he said. He looped the handle of the bucket over his arm and told Flo to wait. She lay down, her wet nose on her white paws.

  Gabe pulled open the shed door. ‘C’mon, Addie,’ he said, above the sound of the lambs. ‘Quick. You’re about to see your first lambing.’

  The lambing shed was much bigger than the foal’s barn: more modern, with long, bright electric lights stretched across the ceiling. Sheep stood inside straw-lined pens, chewing slowly, while lambs fed from them on quivering legs. Other sheep lay alone, their bellies round and swollen.

  Sam was kneeling in the pen nearest the door. A sheep lay on its side in front of him. It lifted its head and stared at Addie and Gabe as they came close. Its eyes bulged, white and wild.

  ‘Hi, you two,’ Sam said. He didn’t look up. He ran his hand over the sheep’s woolly flank. Almost there, girl,’ he said.

  ‘Brought you a sandwich.’ Gabe pulled a foil-wrapped package from his pocket, put it down on the straw within Sam’s reach.

  ‘Very welcome,’ Sam said. ‘Soon as the little one’s joined us, I’ll enjoy that.’

  The sheep called: a low, mournful sound, as if she was asking for help.

  ‘Is her lamb coming right now?’ Addie said.

  ‘Reckon so,’ Sam said. ‘Want to watch?’

  Addie nodded. She’d never seen anything being born before.

  The sheep’s abdomen lifted and fell in great waves. Her breath became loud and ragged.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Addie asked.

  ‘She’s fine,’ Sam said. ‘Doing great.’ He eased a silvery wet bundle from the sheep’s body, rubbed away red streaks of blood with handfuls of straw. A pink mouth opened in a small black face. Sam cleared it with one finger, held the lamb upside down; swung it from side to side by its long black legs. Round eyes opened and blinked in surprise.

  Addie glanced up at Gabe. ‘Why’s Sam doing that?’ she asked. ‘It’s cruel.’

  Gabe shook his head. ‘It’s to clear the lamb’s airways; make sure it can breathe OK. It’s fine. Watch.’

  The lamb bleated. Sam laid it down beside its mother’s head. The ewe sniffed her baby’s thin body, licked its mouth, nudged and nuzzled it into life.

  Addie looked up at Sam. ‘She loves it already, doesn’t she?’ she said.

  ‘Aye.’ Sam nodded. ‘She’s a natural mum, this one. Always the same. Motherhood comes easy to her.’

  Addie watched as the newborn lamb tried to stand, pushing up on spindly hind legs, as the foal had done when he was first at the farm. The ewe got to her feet too, tired as she was. She stood patiently as her baby wobbled closer and rooted under her abdomen for milk.

  How had the lamb felt being pulled from its mam’s warm belly into the bright, cold shed? Addie wondered.

  Had the little creature been afraid?

  She closed her eyes for a moment. She tried to imagine how it must have felt when she was growing inside Mam: safe and warm in the dim, muffled space where she was part of Mam and no one could see her. Or take her away.

  She couldn’t make the pictures come.

  Sam sat back on his heels, wiped his hands with a bunch of straw. He took the lid off his flask. He poured steaming coffee, drained the cup in one gulp and stood up. He stretched his back straight; yawned.

  ‘One more job,’ he said. ‘Stay there, you two. Gabe, check the old girl over, will you? See if she’ll take a bit of feed. She’s had a long night of it.’ He scooped up the newborn lamb and walked to the other end of the shed. Addie heard Sunni’s voice among the frantic cries of the lamb and the clatter of Sam’s boots on the stone floor.

  The new mother would not eat. She got to her feet, calling.

  ‘She wants her baby,’ Addie said. ‘Why has Sam taken it? She’s really worried.’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Gabe said. ‘In a minute.’

  Sam walked towards them again a few moments later. He was cradling two lambs now, each complaining in a voice which seemed too big for its tiny frame. He climbed back into the pen, held the lambs close together for a moment, then lowered them on to the straw. He ran his hands several times over each of them in turn and moved away. The mother sheep was quiet now.

  Addie stared at Sam, then at Gabe. Did both lambs belong to this mother?

  ‘Keep watching, Addie,’ Sam said.

  The sheep nudged at each lamb in turn. The lambs struggled to their feet, wobbling on their new legs. Their black noses disappeared into the sheep’s wool. They began to feed from her in jerky movements, their short tails quivering as they drank. The ewe stood patient and still as the lambs fed, her eyelids half closed.

  ‘Fantastic,’ Gabe said. ‘Job done.’

  Sam smiled and nodded. ‘Nice to see,’ he said. He poured more coffee, turned to Addie. ‘That second lamb’s one of our “orphans”, Addie. But I’ve transferr
ed the scent of her own lamb, so the other little guy smells just like her own baby. She’ll mother that one as well.’

  ‘One orphan sorted, two to go,’ Gabe said. Sunni’s giving the others a bottle. I expect she’d like a hand, Addie.’

  Addie was sure that was the last thing Sunni would want.

  ‘But where are their mothers?’ she said. ‘Are they sick? Did they die?’

  Gabe rubbed at his chin. Addie heard the rasp of his fingers on his dark stubble.

  ‘One of the ewes died, yes, Addie. Her lamb was big. It got stuck when it was being born. The vet was here, but neither of us could do anything. It happens that way every now and again, love. Not often, thank goodness.’ He smiled at Addie.

  ‘What about the others?’ Addie said.

  ‘One of them’s been ill. She’s not strong enough to care for her youngster this time. Needs looking after herself. The other, well, she’s just didn’t take to being a mum.’

  Addie stretched her neck, tried to see the other motherless lambs at the back of the barn. ‘Will the others get new mams as well?’ she said.

  ‘Hope so, Addie,’ Gabe said. ‘Otherwise you might have to take over – you’ve done such a good job looking after that foal.’ He grinned. ‘We could move your bed in here for a bit.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Addie said. It would be better than sharing with Sunni.

  ‘Proper little farmer in the making,’ Sam said. ‘Your mam will be very proud of you.’

  He leaned over, washed his hands in a bucket of water.

  Addie kicked at the straw under her feet. Would Mam be proud of her? Could she be, ever again?

  Addie attached the leading rein to the foal’s harness and led him from the barn. She didn’t want to take him to see the pony people, but she had promised Ruth that she would. Sam was still busy in the lambing shed. Gabe was mucking out the pigs. Ruth was trying to settle Jude, who now had red spots on his stomach and arms which he was trying to scrub away.

  ‘Chickenpox,’ Ruth said. Addie felt sorry for Jude. She remembered chickenpox: the endless hot itch; the cold, sticky lotion that soothed it. Jude would hate it, poor thing. But if only he had waited until after the foal was home before getting ill.

  The foal knew that something was different. He stood in the middle of the yard, snorted and refused to move – even when Addie coaxed him with a mint.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Addie said. ‘Someone just wants to look at you for a minute.’ She smoothed his nose. ‘Then, tonight,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘you’re going to go back to your mam.’

  The foal stepped backwards towards the barn. He tossed his head from side to side, his eyes wide, fearful.

  Gabe appeared, blue dungarees rolled above dirty Wellington boots, a swill bucket over his arm. He raised a gloved hand at Addie. ‘Little guy playing up, is he?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t think he’s feeling well,’ Addie said. ‘Those people will have to come another day. Tell Sam.’

  ‘Nice try, Addie,’ Gabe said.

  A mud-splattered jeep swung into the yard. The foal threw his head back, showed his strong white teeth and tried to rear up on his hind legs.

  ‘Whoa, calm down, fella.’ Gabe spoke in soothing tones. ‘Careful, Addie,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t want to see you get clobbered. Never an attractive look, hoof prints on the face.’

  ‘He wouldn’t hurt me,’ Addie said. She pointed towards the jeep. It’s the jeep that he doesn’t like. And the people inside it.’

  A tall woman in jodhpurs and a yellow fleece jacket emerged from the driver’s door. She raised a hand at Addie and Gabe, before reaching into the back of the vehicle.

  The foal shook his head and pulled away.

  Gabe put a hand on Addie’s arm. ‘He’s upset because you are, Addie. He knows you’re anxious, so he is as well.’ He looked into her face. ‘Best let me, eh?’

  Addie looked at the foal. He stared back at her. The whites of his eyes glinted; his left hoof scraped at the ground. Gabe was right. The foal always knew what she was feeling. He was the only one who did.

  ‘You won’t let them take him, will you?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen today, Addie.’ Gabe rested a gloved hand on her arm. ‘Dad always keeps his promises.’

  The woman was striding towards them now. A bald man jumped out of the jeep and caught up with her.

  He was carrying a briefcase. There would be papers in there. Papers for deciding things.

  Addie looked away.

  She handed Gabe the rein. ‘You’ve got to tell me what they say, OK? About the blood tests. If the foal’s got to be sold, or whatever. If he’s allowed to go home. Tell me straight away, OK?’

  ‘Dad will, Addie,’ Gabe said softly. ‘He’ll want to explain it all himself.’

  Addie leaned in close to the foal, felt the twitch of his ear against her forehead. ‘Don’t you worry,’ she whispered, ‘it doesn’t really matter what those people say. I’m not letting them take you anywhere.  I promise, too.’

  Addie knelt up on the kitchen window seat, craned her neck to find out what was happening with the foal. Was he calmer now? She couldn’t see.

  Two blackbirds landed in the yard. They pecked at the ground with their orange beaks, searching for insects that crept between the cobbles. Addie thought of their helpless babies, waiting wide-mouthed, high up in the oak trees around the farm.

  She hoped the foal didn’t think she had abandoned him.

  She hoped Gabe was right about Sam’s promises.

  She hoped Mam would start keeping hers.

  Sam kicked off his boots and rolled up his sleeves. He scrubbed at his nails in the square kitchen sink, wiped at spatters of muddy water on the white enamel.

  ‘The foal’s back in the barn, having a snooze,’ he said. ‘He behaved himself in the end.’ He smiled at Addie, dried his hands on a faded red towel.

  Addie noticed the blue veins that criss-crossed his arms like intersecting rivers on a map. ‘What did they say?’ she asked. ‘The pony people?’

  Sam filled the kettle and put it on the hob to boil. He took two striped mugs down from the cupboard. ‘Tea?’ he said. ‘Or something else?’

  Addie shook her head. ‘Nothing. Thank you.’ She studied Sam’s face for answers.

  He sat down in the rocking chair, scooted it closer to Addie. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. ‘Sorry, love,’ he said. ‘I’m needing my bed.’ He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. ‘He’s a beautiful young foal, Addie. You’ve done a great job there. Tony and Margaret were impressed with the both of you.’ He smiled. ‘And so am I.’ His smile fell away. ‘But he’s not an Exmoor, Addie. Not a pure-bred.’

  The kettle let out a piercing whistle. Sam got to his feet and lifted it from the hob. ‘They only had to look at him, Addie,’ he said. ‘No surprise there.’ He took milk from the fridge, poured some into his mug, sat down again. ‘But the little guy’s still a bit of a mystery. The blood results weren’t entirely clear. But based on his coat, Tony thinks one of his parents could be a stray Dartmoor pony. Or maybe a mixed-breed that got into one of the herds somehow.’

  Tony. Addie pictured the bald man with his briefcase full of tests, rules and decisions. She didn’t like him. Or his briefcase. ‘So our foal doesn’t belong to either of them, then? They can’t say what happens to him? Margaret? Or that Tony?’

  Addie’s heart quickened.

  ‘Well, actually, there is another plan for him . . .’ Sam drained his cup. ‘Margaret’s daughter runs an animal sanctuary. Not too far from here really. She’s building a herd of wild ponies and she’s keen to have him.’ Sam put his empty mug on the floor beside his chair and looked Addie in the eye. ‘It could be great for him, Addie. He’d be with other ponies; there’d be lots of space for him: plenty of fresh air and freedom. There’d be equine vets and proper pony folk to take care of him.’

  ‘No. No way,’ Addie said. She folded her arms across her chest. ‘That’s not happe
ning.’

  Sam rubbed his eyes and settled back in the rocking chair. ‘I know you love that foal, Addie,’ he said, his voice flat; tired. ‘And I know why want him to go home, back to the moor. But Margaret and Tony say he wouldn’t do well in the wild now, even if he was allowed back. He’s been brought up here. He might not know how to survive out there; might not even be accepted into the herd. He lifted his arms, let them fall to his knees. ‘I’m just a sheep and cow man, Addie. I’ve got to be guided by the experts. They know what they’re talking about.’

  ‘They think they know things –’ Addie forced her words through her teeth – ‘but they don’t.’ How could going to that sanctuary be good for him? A place miles away from all the sights and sounds and smells that he knew. Miles away from his herd. Miles away from his mam.

  ‘You said he could be a riding pony for someone,’ Addie said. Not that she was going to let that happen, either. But she had to play along. ‘Somewhere really near here, near his home.’ She sat forward on the edge of the window seat. ‘Or he could just stay here, couldn’t he? Why can’t he?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘Wild ponies are herd animals, Addie. It might not be fair to keep him all alone. Not once he’s older, anyway.’

  ‘Fair?’ she shouted. ‘Stopping him from going back to his proper home is the thing that’s not fair. No one cares about that, though, do they?’

  Sam leaned towards Addie. ‘That little foal was all alone when we found him, Addie,’ he said, his voice quiet, gentle. ‘Remember?’ He cleared his throat. ‘There was no sign of his mother.’

  He looked into Addie’s eyes. She had to look away. She watched Widget uncurl himself by the stove. He stretched out one of his hind legs and licked at it with his pink tongue.

  ‘I think what matters now, Addie,’ Sam said, ‘is making sure that the foal goes somewhere he can settle properly, don’t you?’ He moved to sit on the window seat in front of Addie. ‘Somewhere where he’ll be safe and well looked after as he grows up. Where he can have a happy life and still do the things wild ponies need to do.’

  Addie wanted to say that the foal would have all that back on the moor. With his mam. But she didn’t trust herself to say anything more. She sometimes had the sense that Sam could see right inside her head, right into the middle of her.