Night Mare (6 page)

11

Not Again

I stare at the back of the trailer, at the closed tailgate.

The pickup pulling the trailer fires up its engine. Exhaust puffs from the tailpipe.

Annika sticks her head out the window and hollers, “Ellie! I mean it! We'll have Dream all summer. You can come and visit her whenever you want!”

“Thank you,” I mutter. But one good-bye is one too many. I couldn't go through this again.

The pickup rolls forward. The trailer jerks behind it. I walk alongside the trailer, keeping pace as long as I can. “She loves apples!” I call after them. “And she hates being cooped up in a stall. Let her graze. And she loves treats! Go to Winnie the Horse Gentler's website for recipes!”

Only it's too late. They can't hear me.

I watch as the trailer fades into a cloud of dust. That trailer is taking away one of the most important things in my life. Dream.
My
Dream.

Couldn't You have stopped them?
I ask God.

I can sense God watching with me, just looking on as my horse disappears. I think about Abednego, Ethan's dead fish. About the real Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. God could have kept all of them far from danger. I know that.
Ethan is okay in spite of his dead fish,
I tell God.
My brother knows You well enough to still be okay, even though You didn't save his fish. But I'm not like Ethan, God. I don't feel okay. I don't get it. And I don't know how I'm going to make it without Dream.

I'm not sure how much time passes while I'm standing by the side of the road. Pinto Cat finds me. As if she knows what's going on, she stares down the road with me. We watch the spot where the trailer disappeared. I'm sort of aware when Ethan and Colt wander off to ball practice and Mom and Dad go inside.

Finally I turn and head back to the house. I'm almost to our front door when I hear something. On the road behind me I'm sure I hear pounding horse's hooves. Trotting. Then cantering. If I didn't know better, I'd think . . .

Then she nickers.

I spin around, knowing it's Dream. “Dream!” I take off, running as fast as I can.

We meet in the middle of the road. Dream rears and tosses her mane. She's sweating like she's been galloping. I hug her. I cry. What's happening? I don't understand.

Clang! Bang!
The empty trailer—that monster—wheels around the corner.

Dad comes out of the house. “Ellie, what's going on? Where did—?”

“Well, I'll be a monkey's mama!” Mom says, running behind him.

The trailer pulls up. All three of them get out.

“I told you so, Grayson,” his dad says.

“It wasn't my fault!” Grayson whines.

“Really?” his dad challenges.

“Really!” Grayson insists. “All I wanted to do was see why that rope came untied. How was I supposed to know the stupid horse would back out of the trailer when I wasn't looking? And so what? We have her again. Big deal!”

Annika scooches in front of her uncle and gets nose to nose with her cousin. “It
is
a big deal, Grayson! If we hadn't taken the back roads, Dream might have run into traffic. She could have been hurt! And now look what you've done. Ellie has to say good-bye to her horse all over again.”

“
My
horse!” Grayson shouts. “And her name is Jinx, not Dream. If Ellie had done a better job training
Jinx
, none of this—”

My mom makes a noise that's somewhere between a growl and a snort. She walks up to Grayson. Towering over him, she says, “Young fella, I have a word of advice for you from my own mama: ‘Never miss a good chance to keep your trap shut.'”

Grayson's mouth snaps closed.

“Come on, Dream,” I whisper. She follows me into the trailer. I take my time tying one of the knots Ethan taught me. “There. Now you be good. Do what they say, hear?” I press my cheek next to hers. And I kiss her good-bye for what I'm sure will be the last time.

12

Can't

For the next couple of weeks, I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't stop crying. I can't be nice to anybody. I can't play ball with Ethan or make up rhymes with Dad. When Mom drags me to the cat farm with her, I can't even pet the stray cats. They run away from me.

At night I still ask God to bless everybody. But God feels far away. So does my family. I'm living in the same house with them, but it's like I'm on the other side of the universe. Alone.

Every morning the first thing I do when I wake up is open my window and wait for Dream. But of course she doesn't come. I know she won't. She can't. Yet I can't stop opening the window for her.

Annika calls us almost every day to tell us how Dream is doing. I can't bear to talk to her. But sometimes when she's on the line with my parents, I listen on the extension. Once she described to Mom how she went to Winnie the Horse Gentler's website and copied a recipe for a horse treat with apples and molasses. She made it and gave it to Dream. Dream loved it. Annika even calls Dream “Dream”—at least in her phone calls.

Another time Annika leaves a message on the answering machine: “You really should come and watch Grayson try to catch Dream, Ellie. It's pretty funny. That pinto is so smart—a lot smarter than my cousin. And when Grayson does get Dream and saddles her for a ride, it's even funnier. He can't get Dream to do anything he wants. He's gotten her to walk a couple of times. But she won't trot or canter for him. And don't worry. Mom told Grayson he's not allowed to use spurs or a whip or a quirt or anything. So he usually gives up pretty quick.”

Colt calls every day and asks me to come over and ride Bullet. He pleads with me to help him work on barrel racing. Sometimes he calls to see if I want to ride double and go on a breakfast ride, like we used to do with Bullet and Dream.

Only there's no way. It would hurt too much to do those things without Dream.

One Saturday Colt shows up at my house before I'm even out of bed. He almost begs me to go to horsemanship practice with him. Cassie and Rashawn both called me the night before. Even Mr. Harper got in on it. He called and talked to Mom, trying to get her to make me go to practice.

But I can't do that. I can't do anything.

On my third Friday night without Dream, I can't sleep. I lie in bed but kick off my covers. The moon shines through my window, right where Dream used to stick her head in.

Finally I climb out of bed and walk to the window. I stare out at the too-tall grass. Dream kept our yard in good shape. The grass never got too long.

I sit on my windowsill, then swing my legs over and jump down. It's not much of a jump. Pinto Cat trots up and rubs against my legs. She purrs, then goes back to the lean-to. She misses Dream too.

I stroll through the backyard, where I can still smell Dream. There's not a thing I can do to get her back . . . except pray.

God, I can't do this. I can't stop hurting. I can't do anything to end this nightmare.

But I know You can. You could have stopped this from happening. You could have kept Grayson from seeing Larissa's blog. You could have kept them from coming to claim Dream. You could have made them leave my horse alone. You could have let Dream stay right here. With me, where she belongs. Instead, You let them take her away.

I've wandered deep into my backyard. When Dream was here, this was my favorite spot in the whole world. Now the yard feels empty. And I feel alone.

Only I'm not alone. I know Mom and Dad are a shout away. Ethan is as close as a wave of my hand.

But there's more to it than that.

In my heart, I silently tell God,
I know You're here. After everything else is gone, You'll still be here—so close I don't even have to say words out loud.

I gaze up at the half-moon surrounded by blinking stars. It looks like they're speaking sign language. Or star language. And I'm grateful that my God really isn't far away someplace, beyond the moon and the stars.
You're here. You're inside of me. You're closer than close.

And I think maybe that's the secret. Maybe that's what Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego, and Ethan all knew. Whatever happens, we'll be okay because God will be there. No matter what goes away, God won't. And even if I cry myself to sleep every night for the rest of my life, I won't be by myself. God will be there with me—if I'm in my bed, in a fiery furnace, or in an empty backyard.

13

Okay

Saturday morning I open the window to my bedroom and let in the morning chill. My first thought is
I miss you, Dream
. But my second is
Morning, Lord. How about we go for a ride?

When I walk into the dining room, Dad is already sharing his “office” with Mom and Ethan.

“Donuts,” Dad says, pointing to an almost-empty box at the end of the table.

I take the powdery one. “Thanks. You guys are up early.”

“Rhymes,” Dad says, not looking up from his laptop. “And jingles.” His hair is nicely combed, so he must be doing fine on his own.

“It's the Doggone Drive,” Mom explains. “Thought I bit off more than I could chew. But it turns out my mouth is bigger than I realized. We're chewing just fine. Drive on, little doggies!”

Ethan grins at me.
We found Lucky. Some kid recognized the dog from the picture on the dog food cans. The owners were so grateful that they called the TV station to make a public thank-you.

Dad finishes the good news. “And your mother is going to be on television. Noon edition.”

“Wow! That's great, Mom!”

Mom laughs. “And won't they be surprised when I walk onstage! They actually told me to wear solid colors—black or navy.”

“They do not know your mother,” Dad observes.

“Pull up a sit-down, Ellie.” Mom taps the chair next to her. “The Doggone Drive marches on.”

Ethan waves a picture of a Chihuahua at me. They already have half a dozen cans of dog food with the little dog's picture pasted on them.

“I'll help later, okay?” I say.

“Going somewhere?” Dad asks.

“Horsemanship practice,” I answer.

All three heads snap toward me like I've just announced I'm going to Paris.

“Well, if that's not the cat's pj's!” Mom exclaims.

“If wishes were fishes,” Dad begins, “then . . . hmmm . . . wishes, fishes . . .” He scribbles furiously on his yellow pad. Then he starts pounding his laptop keys.

Good for you, Sis,
Ethan signs.

“Okay,” I say and sign. “Better hurry if I want to catch a ride with Bullet and Colt.”

I can hear their group sigh of relief as I leave the room.

“It's about time,” Colt says when I show up in his barn.

“Yep,” I agree.

Colt mounts Bullet and helps me climb up behind him. The saddle slips a little, but not too much. Maybe Bullet is losing more weight.

Colt waits until I'm settled behind him to ask, “So are you okay?” I can't see Colt's face, but I can picture it. His eyes will be wide, and he'll be biting his bottom lip, worried about my answer.

“I'm okay,” I tell him. “I just figured that out. I miss Dream like crazy, and I always will. But I'm okay, Colt.”

“Yeah?” he asks. And I get the feeling he's also asking something else. Maybe it's because Colt and I have had so much practice “talking” without words when we sign, but I can read him. I'm pretty sure he's asking me how I can be okay without Dream. Like, what's the secret of being okay when you've lost what you love? Colt has lost a lot this year with the divorce.

“It's God, Colt,” I answer. “I figure that since God is still here, I'll be okay. I am okay.”

For a minute, he doesn't say anything. He doesn't move. We just sit there on Bullet. I breathe in the smell of hay and horse. Sunlight streaks through the open barn door and splashes my back, warming it. Above us, in the rafters, a dozen sparrows tweet.

“Okay, then,” Colt says.

And we ride Bullet out into the bright sunshine.