Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail (18 page)

“Did they give the palomino a name?” asked someone, jotting down notes. Brenda thought of the two girls sitting side by side cradling the tiny foal. How they hardly knew each other and yet had let down all barriers and worked lovingly trying to help the orphaned baby horse. “Yes,” she said, remembering how Milla had made them stop the car to run back and tell Anne Burke the foal’s name. “Hope.”

Chapter 31

Sam laced up her sneakers and pulled on the neon green reflective hat she always wore for her early morning walks. The sky was just blushing pink as dawn slowly appeared. This was her favorite time of the day. No phones to be answered or interruptions from guests about forgotten toiletries. Not even Max was up and about when she tiptoed out the front door and stretched her muscles in preparation for her exercise.

She thought about all she had heard regarding Anne Burke’s commitment to the orphaned foals. And that two children, who were each going through rough times of their own, were able to focus their energy to do something positive together. Amazing, she reflected—just a few days ago they were total strangers, each child dealing with a broken heart. Now they were forging a friendship over a helpless foal. No one could have predicted the topsy-turvy days filled with a ten-year-old’s temper flare-ups or the havoc caused by a flick of Max’s tail. Sam began to walk briskly in the direction of a small trail that would take her toward the mountains. She marveled each morning as if seeing them for the first time. She walked beneath a beautiful canopy of Aspen trees and watched a few goldfinches fluttering in the branches. Like a painting, the landscape came alive—the white tree trunks and green circular leaves coupled with bright yellow birds against the coral and peach tones of the calico mountains. Off in the distance she saw a band of horses grazing—a white horse looked as if it were glowing as the early light twinkled off its glistening coat.

Walking a steady pace up the path she took time to contemplate the past week. Her friend’s arrival had not started without a few detours. It would take some effort to delicately separate the arrangement of landlord and friendship. Brenda could not afford to find housing yet and was actively looking for a job in a local casino. Sam had agreed to allow Brenda to stay in exchange for work at the B&B. There were plenty of jobs to keep Brenda busy all summer and the exchange seemed like a good idea. The unstable emotions of a ten-year-old and a dog that hated cats were things she hadn’t anticipated.

She went along her familiar trail, coming around a bend and down a little slope. There were huge boulders that looked like something out of a science fiction movie. They were immense and towered above her. She stopped to catch her breath and wondered how old they were. As she peered around the boulders she saw a herd of horses running freely with their manes flying and sleek tails stretched out behind them. She thought about the little palomino foal that was being nursed in a farm by a kind woman. She thought of the all the people who worked hard to protect the freedom of these beautiful creatures. She thought of Devon and how he worked tirelessly managing almost a thousand of these magnificent horses that were placed in the BLM facility. Did they really need people caring for them? It seemed the orphaned foal did—but then again it was only fighting for its life because a person had accidently struck it with a car and killed its mother.

She turned and began her walk back to the B&B. Sometimes she used this quiet space to work out problems and some days it was just to observe nature’s splendor. Today was a day to just stop and think. The freedom of the wild mustangs and burros was something that would always bring people together. She couldn’t help but compare the freedom of wild mustangs to the plight of the Native American Indians. The Indians had gotten in the way of people who wanted their land as well, hadn’t they? Were the Indians’ voices ever heard? She wasn’t an expert regarding the history of the tribes or the laws that were enacted to put them onto reservations, but to her it all kind of felt the same.

The sun was a little higher as she reached the crest and she looked back at the frolicking horses. There were so many differing opinions regarding their well-being. That they needed to be managed, she agreed, as she had read about the many interest groups that wanted the use of this valuable grazing land. But how that managing was to be handled…well, she wasn’t sure anyone had provided a solution yet. One thing she knew, though—the horses really did need to have their voices heard, but how will anyone ever hear animals if they can’t even listen to the voices of people?

Chapter 32

Brian wrote his name on the side of the wastepaper basket with the red nail polish his mother had left on the bathroom sink. It smelled nasty and he wrinkled his nose. As he began to make the “i” in his name, he accidently dotted too hard, and the basket toppled over, knocking the polish to the cream-tiled floor. Horrified, he quickly picked up a yellow bath towel and tried cleaning it up. Red polish was everywhere and he hurried to grab another towel to sop up the mess when Shannon knocked on the door.

“I’m busy,” he said, trying his best to make the red, gooey, stinky stuff disappear.

“Hurry up,” said Shannon. “I have to use the bathroom and Mom told me to tell you it’s time for dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.” The nail polish was already hardening on the tiles and the towel no longer absorbed any of it.

“Mo-om,” Shannon called, “Brian won’t come out of the bathroom and it smells like nail polish.” Jodi put down the plate she was setting on the table and came running. “Brian Thomas Miller—open this door immediately!” she said, pounding on the locked bathroom door. Shannon covered her mouth holding back laughter—she knew Brian was hiding something.

“Click” went the bathroom door as it swung open wide and Jodi let out such a loud scream that a neighbor walking by stopped to ask Shannon’s dad if anyone needed help.

Dinner was cut short, Brian was sent to bed, and Shannon headed off on her bike. There were at least two good hours left before sundown and she wanted to scout around for any non-New Jersey license plates, especially any from Ohio. She slowly rode down her street looking right and left.

“Hi, Shannon,” hollered a young girl named Lizzie.

“Hi, Lizzie,” called Shannon as she rode by.

“Wait for me,” Lizzie said as she ran to get her bike. Great, thought Shannon, just what I need—a seven-year-old kid tagging along.

“I’m pretty busy, Lizzie,” she shouted over her shoulder, riding a little faster.

Lizzie sped up and caught her as Shannon stopped to cross the street. “Where ya goin’?” asked the younger girl. Shannon looked at the bike decorated in hearts and roses with pink handlebars. Kids, she thought. She herself had a simple green bike without any trappings that could cause teasing from the older kids in the neighborhood.

“Nowhere,” Shannon said as she began to ride again, this time a little faster. She carefully eyed every car, searching for any license tag that looked out of place.

“What are you looking for?” asked Lizzie, who was copying Shannon, looking from side to side.

“Umm,” said Shannon, stalling. “I was just playing a kind of game,” she said as she turned right at the next corner.

“I like to play games,” said Lizzie, who was sticking close no matter how hard Shannon tried to lose her.

“It’s a game about cars that are new in the neighborhood,” Shannon explained.

“Mr. Swanson just got a new car,” said Lizzie, all excited.

“No, not a new car, a car that is new to the neighborhood,” Shannon told her.

“I don’t get it,” said Lizzie, trying to keep up.

Shannon realized she couldn’t get rid of the girl so she slowed her bike and stopped on the sidewalk. “Look Lizzie—I’m playing a big kid’s game about cars from other states and you’re too little to understand,” she said, hoping not to hurt Lizzie’s feelings.

“Oh,” said Lizzie, looking as if she was about to start crying.

“How about you just go for a ride with me and I’ll play the game by myself?” Shannon asked, ringing the little flower bell on Lizzie’s bike.

“Okay!” Lizzie was happy again. Shannon rolled her eyes and started pedaling again in search of unfamiliar cars.

“We’re getting a new pool,” Lizzie said as she maneuvered a large tree root that had pushed its way up through the sidewalk cracks. Shannon didn’t answer—she was concentrating on every car.

“My dad and my Uncle Tim, who came to visit, are going to make a deck for it,” Lizzie said, sticking her feet out sideways to avoid getting splashed in a puddle.

“I’m happy for you, Liz,” Shannon said, trying not to let a pestering little kid distract her from her mission. Just then a German shepherd with its hair raised and head lowered began to move slowly toward them.

“Rats, it’s Humphrey. Look out!” Shannon shouted as she quickly bump-bumped off the curb to narrowly miss the teeth of the snarling chained dog. Lizzie was right behind her and they rode for a block without a word.

Some neighborhood kids were having a catch in the street and the two girls stopped to chat with them. They were interrupted by the jingle-jangled tunes of a nearby ice cream truck. The off-key song sent kids scrambling to beg their parents for loose change. Shannon couldn’t be bothered with ice cream. Detectives had to finish their work before enjoying dessert so she slowly pedaled away. Lizzie seemed to hesitate between tagging along with the cool ten-year-old or scurrying home for a quick shake of her piggy bank and the reward of an ice cream sandwich. Following the cool kid won out and with pigtails flying behind her she rode by Shannon’s side. Shannon decided this was as far as she was allowed to venture from her block and turned her trusty green bike toward home. Maybe she was wrong and it wasn’t those mean kids from the Ocean City beach who were doing all the creepy things in her yard.

As they neared the place where Lizzie had joined her she turned to say goodbye. Lizzie’s face seemed to take on a look of fright and Shannon slowed her bike to a halt. “What’s the matter,” she asked. “Are you okay?”

The little girl fought back tears as she stood there straddling her pink bike decorated with hearts and flowers. “Thanks, Shannon,” she said. “Thanks for playing with me and letting me hang out with you.”

“Its okay, Lizzie,” Shannon replied, wondering what all the tears were about. After all, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“It’s just that I don’t want to go home,” Lizzie said, pointing to her house that looked perfectly normal to Shannon with its clipped azaleas and rows of salmon-colored impatiens that lined the flowerbeds. Suddenly, she saw a familiar girl step out through Lizzie’s front door. The girl flopped down onto the porch swing and began to rock back and forth. “If it isn’t Grizzly Lizzie,” she taunted, “and look who she’s with—her friend, Smelly Pig’s Feet Shannon.”

Shannon was horrified. It was the same girl she had seen poking a stick into the horseshoe crab on the beach. Sure enough, there was the car bearing an Ohio license plate sitting in Lizzie’s driveway. She turned to look at the whimpering seven-year-old. “Who’s that girl?” Shannon whispered, wondering how the bully knew her name.

“It’s my cousin, Karen, and she’s here for the summer,” Lizzie replied. And with that Lizzie dropped her bike and ran into the back of her house sobbing.

Chapter 33

Flannel walked straight into Milla’s bedroom and flopped down as if she owned the place. It felt odd, but sensing how comfortable her dog was somehow made Carrie a bit jealous. She realized she should probably let go of her possessive attitude. After all, the Spencers had cared for the collie when a dog-sitting arrangement had fallen through. It was true she had been pretty angry at first, but now she realized she owed them her gratitude, especially Milla, to whom she had been rude a few days ago. All of that seemed unimportant as the girls waited anxiously for any news of Hope.

“I’m starving,” Milla said. “Mrs. Adams cooked me eggs and I almost gagged.” Carrie knew all about Mrs. Adams, as Milla had filled her in. The fact that a monster of a kid named Foot was a part of the ordeal just added to its awfulness. Carrie was hungry, too, and hoped Milla would offer something un-vegetarian, which would be a welcome break from her mom’s kitchen. She looked at the framed photos on the mantle over the fireplace and picked up an old black-and-white photo of a woman sitting with a baby on her lap. She wondered if the photo was Milla’s mom who had passed away. Milla walked up behind her holding out a box of granola bars.

“That’s my grandma holding my dad,” Milla said. “I love that photo. Look at his hair sticking up,” she laughed. Carrie examined another photo of a woman standing beside a horse. The photo was faded and the woman looked as if she was squinting against a bright sun.

“That’s my mom and her horse, Freckles,” Milla explained. “My dad said she loved that horse almost as much as me.

“Where do you keep Freckles?” asked Carrie. “At your dad’s work?”

“No. Freckles died,” sighed Milla. “It feels like everyone in my family is gone except Dad and me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Carrie said. “I didn’t know.”

“No biggy,” Milla said as she turned to the kitchen to get a drink. “Want some milk?”

Carrie wasn’t sure if she should ask Milla any more questions about her family. She told Milla all about her parents’ breakup and how angry she felt. Milla listened quietly and just nodded. She was easy to talk to, thought Carrie, glad she didn’t ask for any details.