Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail (16 page)

Mrs. Adams came into the house all perky and chipper. “Well, you two girls, what should we do today?” Milla thought she looked ridiculous with her big toothy fake smile and her blouse that had a large pink sparkly kitten embroidered on it. She reminded Milla of a kindergarten teacher getting ready to serve milk and cookies.

“Would you like to paint a nice picture? I have some materials here,” Mrs. Adams said, pulling open a drawer and holding up what looked like a tiny tin paint set, the kind that you found in the kiddy section of a toy store. “Look, it comes with brushes, too.” Mrs. Adams waved two yellow plastic sticks with tufts of black plastic bristles that reminded Milla of the kind used in nursery school.

“Mo-om,” said Fern. “Milla’s a
real
artist. I told you last night, remember?”

“Yes, Fern. I know, dear. That’s why I’m showing her we have art supplies, and here’s some paper, too,” she said, holding up a doodle pad.

“Come on, Milla,” Fern said, dragging her friend by the sleeve and pulling her toward her bedroom.

“Thanks anyway, Mrs. Adams, but I think I’ll skip painting,” mumbled Milla, trying to sound appreciative.

Mrs. Adams shrugged and slid the items back into the drawer. “They’re always here if you need them, honey.” She turned and began to clean up the breakfast dishes as the girls quickly disappeared into Fern’s room.

“Sorry about that,” said Fern, shutting her door. Milla studied the girl’s room. It was decorated with light pink ballerina wallpaper. The fluffy pink curtains that billowed around the windows reminded Milla of cotton candy. A pink and purple lamp was sitting on a nightstand. It was a ceramic ballerina and the lampshade looked like a white frilly tutu. That’s odd, thought Milla, staring at the lamp—the dancer looked like she was wearing her skirt on her head. Milla looked up and saw a continuous shelf that lined the entire room along the top edge of the walls. Ballerina statues and figurines were lined up like soldiers. Mixed among the glass figurines were some stuffed animals. A large poster of a fairy sitting on a flower hung over Fern’s bed. Her bedspread was covered in flowers and ribbons and trimmed in white lace.

Milla was afraid to move. The room was so neat, it didn’t look like Fern had ever slept in it.

“What’s the matter?” asked Fern with a sad face. “Don’t you like my room?”

“Oh, sure,” said Milla, not telling Fern the truth. “Um, but how do you keep it so clean?”

“Oh, that,” Fern said cheerfully. “My mom’s a neat freak and she makes our beds while we’re brushing our teeth. Plus, I’m not really allowed to do much in here. We have a playroom where my brother and I hang out.”

Yuck, thought Milla, sitting carefully on the bed so she wouldn’t mess it up. Who the heck would want their beds made before they’d even changed outta their PJs? What was the sense in having your own room if it looked like a museum for butterflies and fairies?

“Oooh, don’t!” Fern said suddenly. “No one’s allowed to sit on the bed. My mom said that’s how the ribbons stay pretty. Come sit here next to me,” she said, patting the rug.

Milla got up and looked at Fern in disbelief. I’ll never make it here, she thought—Foot’s a creep, Mrs. Adams is a freak, and Fern is a wanna-be flying pixie. Who knew what Mr. Adams was really like? Maybe he was one of those guys who liked to spend hours in front of the TV watching golf or bowling. Ugh, I gotta get myself outta this.

Later that afternoon, the girls rode their bikes through the neighborhood and Milla told Fern about her game of pretending her bike was a horse. Fern loved the idea and they pedaled up and down every street imagining they were galloping wild mustangs on the range. They were laughing and having fun and going nowhere particular when they found themselves in front of Milla’s house. She stopped her bike and looked over at the porch. It felt so strange looking at her house knowing she couldn’t just run inside and play. Why couldn’t she just stay home by herself? Plenty of ten-year-olds did it, so why couldn’t she? It was silly to feel homesick, but that’s exactly how she felt at that moment.

“I wish I could go inside my home,” she said to Fern. The girls stood beside their bikes staring into the empty house.

“Hey, I have an idea,” said Fern, her eyes bright with excitement. “Let’s pretend your house is where our herd lives and we just got rounded up and we can’t live there anymore.”

Without hesitating Milla spun around in anger. “I can’t believe you would say something so mean! Why would anyone want to pretend that?” she said. “This game is over, Fern. You can ride home by yourself and I’ll be there later.” And with that she threw her bike down and ran up her front steps. She pushed hard against the door but it was locked.

Fern, crying, sped away on her bike. Milla pounded on the door, but it was no use as there was no one home to let her in. She looked around to see if anyone had seen her banging on her own front door. A lizard sat on a ceramic planter nearby and a small bird flew onto a tree branch but luckily no one had seen her. She hopped off the porch and walked around to the back. She slumped onto the grass and stared out at the mountains. She felt hot and was shaking with anger. She felt so horrible and wished her grandma were here now. She would sit with her grandma right in this spot and listen to all of her stories. Sometimes they would set up their easels and together would paint and talk about the wild horses and other animals that lived in the desert. Her grandma would never be caught wearing a sparkly embroidered kitten on her shirt and she would have known that Milla didn’t eat eggs. But her grandma wasn’t here and Milla needed to learn how to face each day as if she were still beside her.

“What would you say to me right now, Grandma?” She waited as if hoping somehow she would get an answer. Her anger began to melt into tears. “You would tell me to just lift up my chin and never let anyone make me feel bad about myself. But it’s hard, Grandma,” she said out loud, looking toward the mountains. “Dad doesn’t get me like you do. And he’s stubborn and won’t listen to me.”

She heard what sounded like a faint whinny in the distance. She stood up and brushed off bits of sage and rubble and followed the sloping path leading away from their yard toward the range. She stopped and listened. There it was again and it sounded very weak. She walked a little farther, knowing her dad wouldn’t want her venturing too far. Her grandma had taught her that for their own protection kids needed to stay near parents just like baby animals needed to stay close to their mommas. Milla understood this yet she walked on. Both her mother and grandma were no longer alive and her dad had put Mrs. Adams in charge, but that didn’t feel very protective. She was muttering to herself about this dilemma when she spotted two small ears sticking up from the sagebrush nearby. She had almost missed them as the small ears blended perfectly into the landscape. It was a tiny golden foal with wisps of a mane and tail that appeared to be almost white. It was lying alone and shivering. Milla ran to it and the foal threw up its head, its eyes flashing. Looking frightened, it tried to stand but it couldn’t get up.

“Where’s your family, little one?” Milla asked, looking all around. Closing its eyes the little horse laid its head back down. Milla walked a little farther, scanning the landscape for the foal’s family, and that’s when she remembered the car accident the night before. This must be the baby horse Dad was talking about, she thought. She knelt down beside the tiny, quivering horse as it let out a tiny whinny. Milla stroked the foal and it looked up at her. She sat there alone with its head in her lap and held it like a newborn baby.

“You need your mom, I know,” Milla said. “Don’t worry. My dad will know just what to do. He may not be the best at figuring me out, but when it comes to horses, he’s a pro.”

Chapter 29

Shannon’s grandmother smiled with approval as she folded the quilt put before her for inspection. She sat on the couch listening to her granddaughter recount all that had happened during the week. She didn’t interrupt and gave Shannon her full attention. Grandmom found the story quite fascinating as wide-eyed Shannon acted it out as she told it. Her hands made slashing strokes and circle motions and her arms pumped as she ran in place. Shannon explained how she had finally reconnected with Carrie, but hadn’t spoken to her since the sandbox assault or the mean message on her driveway. Grandmom gasped when told about the bike tossed on the side of the Tuckahoe Highway.

“Who is doing these awful things?” Grandmom asked. “Have your parents asked around in the neighborhood? Are other children having the same problems?”

Shannon hadn’t even thought about this possibility. “No,” she said meekly. “I’d be too embarrassed.” The last thing she wanted to do was announce to the neighborhood that someone pulled her hair while she was swinging upside down or repeat the SHANNON SMELLS LIKE PIG’S FEET story.

“It sounds as if they might be connected,” Grandmom suggested. “I think we should figure this out like detectives.” Grandmom’s eyes danced as she thought about her mystery books and TV crime dramas in which detectives solved tricky cases.

See, thought Shannon, this is exactly why she loved her so much. She could tell her anything and Grandmom took her seriously, and after hearing all the facts, she was even planning to help! “How do detectives figure stuff out?” Shannon asked, feeling much better after talking about it. The front door swung open and Brian trotted in wearing his skateboard helmet. He hadn’t taken it off since being teased by some kid in the grocery store about the patch in his hair. His dad had told him it would be better to just shave his head, but Brian was holding his ground.

“Won’t you please take that thing off?” Grandmom pleaded. “I promise I won’t laugh and it must make your head hot.” Grandmom and Shannon watched Kelsie lick some jelly Brian had dropped onto his sneaker. “No, I’m fine, Grandmom.” He turned to Shannon and nudged her. “Hey, let’s go swimming and play sharks!”

“Maybe later. Grandmom and I are being detectives.”

“I want to play! I want to play!” he said, jumping up and down. Shannon kneeled beside her little brother and looked him straight in the eyes, exactly as her dad did when he wanted her to pay attention.

“This is very serious stuff and not a game, Brian. Grandmom and I are going to figure out who has been doing stuff in our yard—like the sandbox and my missing bike.”

Brian’s eyes grew wide as he nodded, showing his big sister that he wanted in on the plan. “I’ll sit here and be an assistant and Kelsie will be the police dog,” he whispered in a loud hushed voice as if everything was a top-secret mission. Shannon and her grandmom exchanged smiles and agreed that this was a perfect idea. Brian, still wearing his helmet, sat cross-legged beside Kelsie with his hands on his knees, trying to look the part of a detective’s assistant.

“Let’s see if we can find a pattern,” Grandmom said as she grabbed a tablet and pencil. Tell me the days and the times when these things happened and speak slowly so I can take notes.” Shannon repeated the events. Grandmom began to draw something that looked like a chart on the notepad.

“Hmm,” said Grandmom, “when was the last day of school?”

“June 18th,” Shannon replied. “Why, does that give us a clue?”

“It could,” said Grandmom. “All of these things happened after school let out and summer vacation began. Did anything unusual like this happen while school was in session? Take your time and think about it.” She patted Shannon on the knee and got up to go make herself a cup of tea. Shannon looked over at Brian, who was stacking spools of Grandmom’s sewing threads and building what looked like a castle. He had decided being a detective’s assistant could be pretty boring. Shannon thought about the school year and tried to think if anything unusual had happened. There was the time she and Carrie found a dead rabbit near the apple tree and the time somebody left a suspicious package in their mailbox without a label, and her mom, hoping it wasn’t a bomb, had called the police to have it checked out. It turned out to be a box of old tools some neighbor had given their dad. Then there was the time it rained so hard the street flooded and their neighbor’s boat had floated into their yard. But all of this didn’t feel creepy like the things that had happened recently. No. She was absolutely certain this all began after school had let out. Grandmom decided detective work made her hungry so they decided to stop for lunch.

“I can so swim with my helmet on,” Brian pleaded, refusing to unbuckle it as he stood at the edge of the pool.

“Sorry, but it’s not proper pool attire,” said Grandmom as she and Shannon sat in the shallow end.

“It’s not ‘a tire,’ it’s a helmet,” said Brian.

“This water feels so good, doesn’t it, Grandmom?” Shannon teased as she splashed water into the air and glanced over at Brian, who was making an ugly face at her.

“Ah, rats,” said Brian sitting on the side of the pool, fumbling with the clasp of his helmet. Kelsie sat down beside him, eying the water and whining.

“Sorry, Kelsie,” Grandmom said. “I know you’re a water dog but you’re not allowed in.” Kelsie shot her a look as if to say,
But I’m the only one wearing proper attire
.

“So what I think,” said Grandmom, continuing her conversation with Shannon, “is that all of this started when school vacation began. Can you think of any reason why someone would want to do this? Have you teased a kid on your block or done something to offend anyone?”

“No,” Shannon said immediately. “I spent most of my time with Carrie, and since she moved I’ve just kinda stayed close to home.”