The Christmas Pony (12 page)

Lucy giggled as she leaned back. “This is cozy,” she said, “but I like it.”

“How about if we sing Christmas carols,” George suggested.

All the way home, they sang carols, laughing as one or the other stumbled over the words or the music. All in all, it was fun.

“That was almost like a sleigh ride,” Lucy said as they got out.

“If it wasn't so late, I'd make us all some hot chocolate,” Grandma said.

“I'm full of cookies and punch,” George assured her.

“And I'm tired,” Mama said. “Mrs. Dorchester is a demanding patient, and I suspect tomorrow won't be much easier.”

“Too bad she can't stay with her niece while she's recovering,” George said as they went inside.

“Hopefully she'll heal quickly,” Mama whispered.

Inside the house, everyone said quiet good-nights, going their separate ways. To Lucy's surprise, Mama didn't even come up to her new room to help her get ready for bed or listen to her prayers. Perhaps she really was tired. Or maybe Grandma had told her what Lucy had said—that she was too old for bedtime help. Maybe Lucy was. Or perhaps Mama was embarrassed that Lucy hadn't played an angel tonight. Especially since the pageant program had mistakenly listed Lucy as an angel. More likely, Mama was just disappointed that Lucy hadn't told her the whole truth sooner.

Whatever it was, Lucy felt too tired to figure it out. Besides, it was well past her bedtime, and today had been a busy one. If Mama was up here, she would probably tell Lucy to go to bed! She climbed under the covers and made an attempt at her usual prayer, but before long, she felt herself drifting.

Lucy woke to the sound of voices just outside her door. Sitting up in bed, it took her a moment to remember where she was—in her old upstairs room. She saw a slit of light under her door and could tell it was George and Veronica who were talking in the hallway. Curious as to why they were still up and conversing, she tiptoed out of bed and put her ear to the door.

“I want out of here, George,” Veronica was saying in an emotional voice. “I swear I cannot abide another day out here—in the middle of nowhere.”

“Then you should leave,” he calmly told her.

“How?”
she demanded.

“Keep your voice down,” he warned.

“Fine, but how can I possibly leave unless you go with me?” she hissed at him.

“Take a train,” he suggested in a firm but quiet tone. “Like I've told you to do dozens of times already. Trains pass through every—”

“I know, I know. You keep saying that, George. But I—I just can't.” She made a sniffing sound, like she was crying.

“Of course you can.” His voice grew more gentle. “Lots of trains pass through Flagstaff on their way to Los Angeles, and I can—”

“Don't you understand?” Her voice turned small and sweet, like a little girl. “I can't take a train, George. I just can't. Why don't you understand that?”

Lucy pressed her ear closer to the door, causing a board to creak. George cleared his throat, and Lucy heard the sound of shuffling feet. “Maybe we should go down to the front room to talk about this,” he whispered. “We might be disturbing Lucy.”

Just like that, they were gone. Lucy stood there a bit longer, straining her ears to hear, but all she could pick up was a muffled conversation, and only just barely. Tempted to tiptoe down the stairs to hear the rest of their conversation, she remembered how several of the steps had loud squeaks and would probably reveal her spying ways, which might prove embarrassing. Still extremely curious, she went back to bed and wondered what was going on down there.

L
ucy felt excited when she woke up the next morning. Today was Christmas Eve! Just the same, she knew there were chores to do and the chickens needed tending. Even though it was before dawn, she crawled out of bed, dressing quietly since she remembered she was upstairs with the guests now, then tiptoed down the stairs, where the third step from the top loudly creaked, and hurried to put on her outer clothes. Grandma wasn't in the kitchen yet, but there were still some red coals in the woodstove, which meant Mama or Grandma had fed it in the middle of the night. Lucy paused to load some more wood into it, then headed outside.

As she carried the chicken bucket across the yard, she was surprised to see that fresh snow had fallen during the night. A half moon, still hanging on the western horizon, was illuminating everything in a magical way. As she trudged through the crunchy snow, where no footprints showed and no shoveling had been done, she realized that she was the first one up this morning. For some reason that filled her with a feeling of high anticipation. Christmas Eve morning, and Lucy was the first one up to enjoy it!

She broke the ice and filled the water and food troughs. The chickens were still sleeping on their roosts in the henhouse, and she knew that during winter they could be deep sleepers. In fact, she'd heard some chickens could sleep so soundly that a fox could slip in and snatch them unawares. Thanks to the sturdy fence around the chicken yard, that had
not happened. She crept quietly over to the nesting boxes, peeking inside just like she always did, and to her delight discovered seven eggs. Since she'd forgotten to bring the egg basket, she carefully slipped some of the eggs into her coat pockets, carrying the rest of them in her hands.

As she walked toward the house, she noticed that the eastern sky was turning pink, casting a rosy light over the snow. It was so beautiful that Lucy had to just stand there and look. Then she saw that the lights were on in the kitchen, and realizing she was hungry, she hurried inside to find Grandma, still wearing her housecoat, putting a pot of water on the stove.

“Eggs!” Lucy exclaimed as she burst into the warm, bright room.

“Oh, my!” Grandma examined the three eggs in Lucy's hands. “George's light trick worked. And just in time because I wanted to do some baking today and the recipe calls for three.”

“There are more.” Lucy handed over the precious treasure.
“Seven!”

“Not enough to serve all the guests.” Grandma set the eggs in a blue bowl. “But I don't see any reason why you couldn't have one, Lucy, if you'd like.”

“Yes!”
Lucy smacked her lips as she peeled off her coat and mittens.

“Your mama is tending to Mrs. Dorchester,” Grandma said as she cracked the egg and dropped it onto a cast iron skillet.

“Poor Mama.”

“I've a mind to call up the Farleys and tell them to come get their relatives.” She sighed. “Except that we need the money.”

Lucy nodded. “I know. I can help with Mrs. Dorchester too,” she offered as she washed her hands at the sink.

“We should charge the Dorchesters for nursing care too,” Grandma said a bit tersely.

“The sunrise is so beautiful this morning.” Lucy gazed out the window as she sat at the kitchen table. “Look, Grandma, all the snow is turning pinkish red now.”

Grandma came over to peer outside, then shook her head in a dismal way. “You know what they say about a red sunrise.”

“What?”

“Red sky at morning, sailors take warning; red sky at night, sailors delight.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means if there's a red sunrise, the weather will be bad. But if there's a red sunset, the weather will be good.”

“But there aren't sailors in Arizona,” Lucy pointed out.

Grandma laughed. “That's true enough.”

Mama greeted them as she came into the kitchen. “Is that an egg I smell, or am I dreaming?” She peered at the stove.

“Lucy found seven eggs,” Grandma proclaimed. “So I figured it wouldn't hurt to reward her with one. However, we won't have enough for the guests.”

“Hopefully they won't smell it cooking.”

“Oh, dear.” Grandma slid the sunny-side up egg onto a plate and set it in front of Lucy. “You'd better hurry and eat that.”

“Maybe we could spare an egg or two for Mrs. Dorchester,” Mama said. “Since she eats in her room. It might improve her spirits.”

“I'm sure they can use some improving too.” Grandma patted Mama on the back. “I don't envy you, although Lucy has offered to help with her.”

Mama bent down to kiss Lucy on the top of the head. “You're a dear, Lucy, but I think we should leave Mrs. Dorchester to me. In some ways I feel sorry for her. She would really rather be at home with her injury. I can't blame her.”

“I wish she were at home too,” Grandma added.

Lucy beamed at Mama. Maybe she wasn't angry at Lucy after all.

“I realized after I went to bed that I completely forgot to tuck you in and hear your prayers,” Mama said contritely. “I'm sorry, dear.”

“It's all right, Mama.” Lucy smiled. “I know you were tired and I was—” She was interrupted by the tinkling of a bell.

“Oh, dear.” Mama sighed. “Time to fetch the bedpan.”

“What's a bedpan?” Lucy asked as Mama left.

Grandma chuckled. “Don't ask.”

Lucy shrugged and returned to eating her delightful egg. No matter what Grandma said about red skies and sailors, Lucy felt certain that this was going to be a good day.

She had just finished up the egg and was setting the breakfast table when Mama returned, passing through the dining room with a perplexed expression. “I cannot believe it!” she exclaimed as she went into the kitchen.

“Believe what?” Grandma asked.

“What they have done,” Mama said in a hushed tone.

Lucy paused now, holding a plate in her hand, straining to try to hear each word.

“They have left.”

“Who has left?” Grandma demanded.

“Veronica and George.”

“What?”

“On my way from the bathroom upstairs, after taking care of the bedpan, I noticed the front bedroom door was open and the sunrise was streaming in the big window, and I happened to glance inside the room.”

“And?”

“And the room had been vacated. The bed was unmade, so it appears it was slept in, but all of her luggage—everything—was gone, Mother. The closet was bare.”

“George too? You're sure he's gone?”

“His door was closed, but I knocked quietly, and when he didn't answer, I peeked in his room to see the bed was neatly made as usual, but it looked as if he'd cleared out as well. Then I came downstairs and looked out the front room window to discover that his car is gone too.”

“What does this mean?”

“It means that they sneaked out in the middle of the night, Mother.” Mama let out a low groan. “And they stiffed us on the bill.”

“Oh, my! I simply cannot believe it, Miriam. George did not seem like the type to do something—”

“Well, he did, Mother. We might as well get over it.”

“Oh, Miriam.”

“Don't waste your pity on me, Mother. I'm going out to the barn now.”

Lucy was still frozen in place, the plate in her hand. How could this be true? George wouldn't do something like this! She set down the plate and dashed upstairs, peeking into the rooms to see it was just as Mama had described. She looked out the window, and sure enough, George's car was gone. How could this happen?

As Lucy went downstairs, she remembered the conversation she'd overheard last night and how Veronica had sounded so unhappy and wanted to leave. Maybe George had driven her to the train station this morning! With this hope in mind, she hurried to finish setting the table, then grabbed her coat and dashed out to the barn. “Mama,” she cried as she went inside to find Mama fueling the woodstove. “I think I know where George is!”

“What?” Mama turned to look at Lucy.

“I think I know what happened, Mama.” She noticed that Mama had tears on her cheeks. She'd only seen Mama cry a few times, and it always felt horrible. Feeling a lump in her own throat, Lucy went over and put her arms around Mama's waist, looking up and explaining about the conversation she'd overheard last night. “Maybe George took Veronica to Flagstaff,” she said eagerly, “to get on a train.”

Mama knelt down now, looking directly into Lucy's eyes. “I had thought the same thing, Lucy. But I looked outside to see there weren't any car tracks in the fresh snow.”

“But maybe the snow fell this morning,” Lucy suggested.

“I got up around two in the morning to get a bit of milk and to load up more wood on the fire,” Mama told her. “It was already snowing then.”

“Oh . . .” Lucy tried to grasp what this meant.

“They must have left shortly after you heard them talking, Lucy. Maybe around midnight.” Mama sighed. “That was about eight hours ago. Even in the snow, it would take only an hour or so to reach Flagstaff.”

Lucy felt tears filling her eyes now. Was it true that George really was gone? Gone for good?

“We'd better go back inside and help Grandma with breakfast.” Mama stood, using the bottom of her apron to wipe her eyes. “How many places did you set on the table?”

“Oh, that's right.” Lucy nodded. “I'll run back and remove two.”

Mama nodded sadly. “Tell Grandma I'll be in shortly.”

Lucy felt like her feet were weighted down with lead as she trudged back through the snow to the house. Maybe Grandma was right. Maybe red sky in the morning really was a bad sign after all.

Breakfast was a somber affair. Fortunately, the usually quiet Mr. Dorchester didn't inquire about the missing guests, so no explanations were needed. He seemed to have plenty on his mind as he shoveled in his oatmeal. Perhaps he was worried about his wife. Lucy just hoped he wasn't planning a way for them to leave too. Because right now they needed the room and board money more than ever.

As Lucy helped with the breakfast dishes, she decided that she would do whatever she could to make Mrs. Dorchester as comfortable and happy as possible. Not only would it lighten Mama's load, but it might encourage the Dorchesters to remain here. However, it didn't take long before Lucy agreed with Grandma that perhaps it would be best if Mrs. Dorchester went to stay with her relatives nearby. Of course, she kept her thoughts to herself. Today was not a day for complaining. Grandma was in a foul mood, and Mama was keeping herself busier than ever.

“This tea is cold,” Mrs. Dorchester told Lucy in midafternoon.

Lucy touched the outside of the teacup to feel that it was quite warm. “It feels hot to me.”

“You are a child. Naturally, it would feel hot to you.” She tipped the cup to her thin, pale lips to try it again and then made a face that looked as if she'd been stabbed with a pin. “But it is most definitely cold! Please tell your grandmother to make me a fresh cup.” Before Lucy could take the tray away, Mrs. Dorchester snatched up the three ginger cookies.

As Lucy set the tea tray in the kitchen, she moaned. “Mrs. Dorchester said the tea is cold and to make another cup.”

“Apparently she liked the cookies.” Grandma slid the tea kettle to a hotter spot on the stove.

“How's Mama doing?”

“She's shoveling snow . . . again.”

“Oh . . .”

Grandma peered curiously at Lucy now. “Why do you ask?”

“I know all about it, Grandma,” Lucy confessed. “I know Mama's sad because George left . . . and all that.” She didn't really want to go into it, to hear the awful story rehashed again. She just wanted to know that Mama was going to be all right.

Grandma tossed a dirty spoon into the sink and shook her head. “It's just a shame . . . a doggone shame! He seemed like such a nice fellow too. And to do that . . . and at Christmas! Well, I can hardly speak of it.”

Lucy felt the lump returning to her own throat now. “I know.”

“All I can say is good riddance.” Grandma frowned as she reached for the flour canister, dipping in her measuring cup.
“Good riddance.”

Lucy went to look out the window. The sky was getting darker, heavy and gray. “Do you think it's going to snow again?” she asked quietly.

“Probably.”

Lucy looked over to where George's car used to be parked, to where he had snuck away in the middle of the night. Suddenly she remembered something. “The old car!” she cried as she ran to the door, grabbing her coat.

“What?” Grandma called.

“I'll be right back.” Lucy ran outside and through the snow and around the barn, back to the lean-to garage her daddy had built when she was little. There was their old car, all cleaned up and looking surprisingly nice. She got inside of it and wondered if the engine worked. Of course, she had no way of knowing. But it sure looked promising, cleaned up the way it was. She considered telling Mama about it but then realized that it would only get her hopes up . . . and what if it didn't run? Maybe it was best to wait a while. Still, it was nice to see.