Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail (13 page)

“I might just take you up on that,” replied Devon before hanging up.

“Sounds like he’s got his hands full,” Brenda said to Sam. “I had no idea what his job entailed. He manages a large staff and oversees almost 1,000 wild mustangs. Now the guy’s trying to find childcare and he’s not making much headway. Milla’s mom died when she was only four and his mother, who lived with them and basically ran the house and cared for Milla, passed away last August. She’s having a rough time this summer, poor thing.”

“Aw, that’s sad,” said Sam. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Well, I wish I could help by watching her during the days, but to be honest, Carrie has been moping upstairs and I’m not sure they would be very good company. I told him to call me if he can’t find anyone.”

Sam was going through some papers and was just about to toss the junk mail into the trash when she noticed a glossy flyer. “Take a look at this,” she said, handing it to Brenda.

HIDDEN VALLEY HORSE & ART CAMP

Location: 1846 Falling Rock Road, Saddlecrest, Nevada

Date: June 1 - Aug 30

Ages: 7-12

Come learn how to care for rescued foals and discover the artist within. Art supplies and all meals included. For more information please contact Anne Burke at the number below.

“Wow,” Brenda said, putting down the flyer. “I have no idea if Carrie would want to do this, but heck, if I were ten I sure would,” she laughed. “I think I’ll just leave it on the kitchen table and see if she reads it.”

“Smart,” agreed Sam. “If she discovers it by herself, maybe she won’t think it’s your idea.”

“You make me sound so sneaky,” laughed Brenda.

“Hey, I’m just remembering what it was like when my mom signed me up for ballet lessons. What a disaster that was!”

Tuesday, July 1:

Last night I finally talked to Shannon. She told me about some awful kids that poked a horseshoe crab and how she told them to stop. I can’t believe she did that; she was never that brave when I was there. She told me all about a patchwork quilt she’s making. I can’t believe she was talking about calico quilts. It totally reminds me of my dreams but I didn’t say so. It was cool talking to her and she didn’t mention Brianna. I didn’t tell her I met this new kid, Milla, or anything about her. She mentioned watching some TV show about Nevada and now she knows more about this place than me! I wish I was there and she could show me how to sew. I’m not sure if I could sit that long, though. Flannel seems to like it here. Dad called today and asked me a bunch of stuff about living here. I didn’t know what to say. He sounded kinda strange. I hope he’s not too sad. He laughed really hard when I told him about Mom pumping gas. I’m bored and there’s nothing to do here. I don’t feel like playing with any of my stuff and Mom’s working with Sam all day. Flannel is the only one I can trust with all my secrets—so I only talk to her.

A wet black nose poked out from under a pile of clothes Carrie had tossed onto the floor. It was apparently time for some fresh air—Flannel shook herself free from the tank top hooked on her ear and trotted over to Carrie, who turned from her writing and petted the collie. She sensed the dog was ready for a walk. She closed her journal and glanced about her grim room with its unopened cartons and bare walls. She wasn’t in the mood to hang posters or photos. Not yet. She still wasn’t ready to claim this space and lately she was feeling more disconnected to the world around her. It felt like day after day she woke from the same bad dream. Just then Flannel jumped up and ran to the window barking, almost knocking her over. Carrie looked outside and saw an orange tail darting away and knew it was probably Max, the cat. Flannel hated cats and she would growl and bark and go crazy every time she saw one. It had been the most difficult part of training, keeping the collie focused when a cat was nearby.

“Chill,” Carrie said to the dog. “It’s just a cat. Don’t bother it and it won’t bother you.” Flannel’s rumbling growl grew louder, ignoring the silly ten-year-old’s advice. “Shh, quiet, or Sam will make me send you away,” she warned, but the dog shot her a look that said, “Fat chance.”

Carrie clipped on the leash and they headed out the door. It was a hot July day and storm clouds were building in the distance. Flannel began sniffing some litter lying nearby and seemed to have forgotten about the bothersome cat. Carrie, feeling confident that her dog would stay close, unclipped the leash. Sam’s property had a few trees which were unlike any Carrie had seen back home. She looked up to study their unusual leaves. A bird flew into view and it reminded her of a blue jay. Did they have blue jays in Nevada? The bird sounded like it was berating Carrie with its noisy chirping. Its head was black and its body blue, and she guessed she was looking at a relative to the blue-headed white-breasted jays back east.

“Wow, would my dad love to see you,” she said to the bird. He cocked his head, hopped down near her feet, and looked up at her. She stood completely still, waiting to see where he would fly next. Flannel stood quietly, alertly watching the bird. It pecked the ground and then quickly took flight.

“He’s checking us out,” she said to Flannel. Sitting down on an old wagon wheel that was half buried near the B&B signpost, she thought about the bird. I guess I’m thinking he’s strange, but actually he belongs here and I’m the odd one. It reminded her of the story Shannon had told her about those kids on the beach who had never even seen a horseshoe crab. I hope I don’t do anything dumb, she thought. I mean, I know I wouldn’t hurt an animal, but I hope I don’t act stupid about simple stuff. She worried about coming in contact with new kids, and thought of the new girl, Milla. She seemed nice and all; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to hang out with her…in time…just maybe. But Carrie was too shy to even think about calling Milla. Maybe I’ll see her again, Carrie thought, and then remembered the abrupt goodbye when Milla asked about her dad. She wasn’t sure how to answer and she knew other kids would probably ask her the same thing. She wished she could say it’s only temporary, like her mom told her the day her dad moved away, but that was no longer the truth. Thinking about that night always brought a lump to her throat. She looked over at Flannel rolling in the dirt, wishing she were anywhere but here. At least Flannel didn’t seem to mind their new home. She was having a great time barking at cats and playing in the sand. Maybe she should just relax and follow Flannel’s lead. Besides, did she really have a choice? She was stuck here and sooner or later she would have to just learn to live with it. She sighed and decided it was time to lighten up and make the best of it. Suddenly, a cat wandered into the front yard and to her astonishment the swoosh of black, white, and orange fur streaked out across the wide open space toward the mountains, leaving her sitting there all alone.

Chapter 25

She covered the paper in water, making sure to reach every corner, and watched it glistening under the desk lamp as it started to buckle a bit. She dipped her No. 4 paintbrush into a small pool of cerulean blue that had just a hint of yellow ochre. She had mixed it and tested it until it was the perfect shade and then brushed it over the paper. It spread out instantly and feathered across the textured paper, creating a wonderful afternoon sky. Just then, Fern—who had never stepped foot inside her home, let alone her bedroom—walked in and said, “Hey.”

“What are you doing here?” Milla asked, clearly surprised and a bit nervous to think she could have her privacy so interrupted without any warning.

“Hi to you, too,” said Fern, frowning and backing away.

“Wait. I’m, um, sorry,” Milla explained. ”You just startled me. Did my dad let you in?”

“He invited my parents over and they’re all in the kitchen. It must be adult talk because they told me to go play with you.”

Milla’s face darkened as she remembered the horrible teasing she suffered from Fern’s brother, Foot.

“Oh,” she said, looking down at her watercolor that was drying too fast. She groaned, knowing she would no longer be able to work on the sky and it would remain unfinished. “Where’s your brother?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s over Danny Schubert’s house for the night,” said Fern. “Is your knee okay?”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Milla said, although she and Fern both knew she was. She didn’t want to get involved with the girl or her family, knowing that Foot would always be around. She wondered why her dad had invited these people over. What could they possibly be discussing? Her dad never, ever invited anyone over, except occasionally some of his wranglers to watch football. Milla put the brush into a mason jar filled with water and pushed back her chair. “Let’s get something to drink.”

They started walking down the hall when Milla stopped, turned to Fern, and put a finger to her mouth, shushing her into silence. “I’m about to give up,” Devon said. “All of the phone calls have run into dead ends.” He saw the shadows of children fall across the floor and stopped speaking as he reached for some chips.

Milla paused. Not hearing anything else, she stepped into the kitchen.

“Well, hello,” said Fern’s mother, Mrs. Adams. “It’s nice to see you again, Milla. I don’t think you’ve met Fern’s father.” Mr. Adams unhooked his thumb from his belt and reached over to shake her hand. Milla smiled weakly and shot a look at her father that meant,
What’s up with this and why didn’t you warn me?

“Milla, why don’t you kids get some snacks and take them out on the picnic table so the adults can continue talking,” Devon said, not making eye contact. Well, this was a fine welcome, thought Milla, as she reached for chips, pretzels, and glasses of cola. She motioned for Fern to come help her. The talking ceased as the grownups waited for the girls to leave the room. It was awkward for Milla, feeling like a stranger in her own kitchen. She would need to have a talk with her father about this later. The girls carried their munchies out the back door and the conversation continued.

“Devon,” said Mrs. Adams, “why not let me watch her? I’m home every day with my own kids and we’re just down the street a few blocks.”

“That’s kind of you, Nancy, but I wasn’t hinting, I just thought you would know more about this. My daughter needs supervision and I just can’t bring her to work with me.”

“If Nancy wants to help, then I think you should let her,” Mr. Adams said as he reached for another handful of cheese doodles.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Some days I’m swamped at work and get out late.”

“Devon, I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t want to help. If you’re late and we have to go out, we’ll just take her along with us. Besides, she would be great company for Fern. Plus, she and our son, Ulysses, are in the same grade and I’m sure in time they could even do homework together.”

This sounded like a good plan to Devon. “How about we try it out and I pay you what I paid Jenny, the student who was watching her this past school year?”

“Works for me,” said Mrs. Adams, grinning at her husband. “Besides, I always wanted another little girl.”

Devon was finally able to relax. He had no idea how the evening would turn out but now the perfect solution had been presented and he couldn’t wait to tell Milla. Wow, will she be thrilled, he thought. He walked over to the back door and hollered out to the girls, “Who wants ice cream?”

The girls raced into the house, almost knocking each other over as they squeezed through the back door. Milla’s eyes were sparkling and Fern was laughing and they looked so happy together. All of a sudden a loud noise came from outside—CR-RASH! Devon and Mr. Adams ran out of the house, while Mrs. Adams and the two girls hurried to look out the front window. Other neighbors were running down the street to see what appeared to be a car accident. Milla started out the front door but Mrs. Adams stopped her.

“Wait! Stay here, honey, until your dad gets back. You can both stand on the front lawn but don’t go any farther.” Milla continued outdoors, trying hard to get a better look. There was a large crowd gathering and it was hard to tell what was happening. A piercing siren wailed in the distance. Mrs. Adams stood watching the confusion from the edge of Milla’s front sidewalk. A man was returning from the scene and Mrs. Adams asked him what had happened. “Another darn horse just stepped out of nowhere and a woman hit it with her car. She’s pretty shaken up, but I think she’ll be okay. She’s got a baby with her and someone called an ambulance.”

“How’s the horse?” asked Milla.

“I’m not sure, some guy is tending to it now,” the man said as he walked away. Milla knew instantly that her dad was most likely the guy tending to the horse and she wished she were by his side. Who was Mrs. Adams to tell her where she could go or what she could do, anyway? A police car with lights flashing came down the street and she started to run toward the crowd where she knew her dad would be.

“No, Milla!” hollered Mrs. Adams. “That’s not a place for a little girl. Your dad will be back soon. Let’s all go back into the house and have that ice cream.” Milla’s stomach felt like it was in knots. Her face felt hot and red—she didn’t want to go back to her house and pretend everything was all right and she didn’t want to go anywhere near Mrs. Adams. She stood there a long time until Fern tugged on her sleeve and said softly, “C’mon, my mom says we have to go in.”

“She’s not
my
mom,” Milla replied harshly. “And besides, I want to stay right here until my dad comes back.” Fern opened her mouth to say something and then decided to keep quiet. She walked away and left Milla standing on the sidewalk.