Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail (27 page)

Carrie walked over and nudged her. Milla nodded and remained silent. “Another bad night?” asked Carrie.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I have a surprise for you,” said Carrie, changing the subject.

“Yeah, what? I know, let me guess—Flannel had puppies and I get the first pick,” Milla said sarcastically.

“Guess who’s staying at my house for the next two nights?” Carrie asked, grinning. Milla was too afraid to say a word. She hoped it was Carrie’s way of saying she was inviting her to stay, but maybe it was a relative of Carrie’s coming for a visit.

“Geez, Milla, you’re not even gonna try to guess?”

“Um, I don’t know, maybe your grandparents from New Jersey?” she asked.

“No, YOU are, dummy,” Carrie yelled. All at once Milla grabbed Carrie and hugged her tight. Carrie looked around not wanting anyone to see them as Milla was now sobbing on her shoulder. Mrs. Preston looked up and carefully led Milla to a quiet place in her office as Carrie followed along.

Milla finally stopped crying and blew her nose. Mrs. Preston spoke softly to her and gave her a glass of water. “You’re always welcome to come to me anytime,” she said. “If you want I can speak to your dad about Mrs. Adams’ son.”

“It’s not just that,” Milla said, getting her composure back. “My dad’s really busy and I don’t understand these news articles and I just wish he would talk to me, but he won’t. He thinks I’m a little kid and…I think he wishes I were a boy,” she said, looking down at her sneakers. She hadn’t meant to blurt out that last part. She hadn’t told anyone this before. It kinda slipped out and now she felt embarrassed.

“Oh, Milla,” Mrs. Preston said quietly. “Sometimes parents seem as if they aren’t listening, but your dad cares very deeply for you. Maybe when the crisis over at Painted Ridge settles down the three of us can sit and have a nice chat. I’ve known your dad since he was a baby. I think I can help,” she said.

“I know my dad loves me. It’s just that since Grandma died…well, he’s different. We used to be able to talk about all kinds of stuff, but now he seems so serious. I try to tell him about how unhappy I am and he doesn’t have time or says I’m being dramatic.”

“I understand that you’ll be staying at Carrie’s house for a little while,” said Mrs. Preston. “I think getting away from Foot will do you good. Bullies usually pick on others because they’re unhappy with themselves. I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I think the boy is acting out because he’s dealing with his own issues.”

“Oh, he has plenty of issues,” said Milla smirking. “But he’s a cruel person and I don’t want to be near him. I feel sorry for his sister, Fern.”

The sounds of children hurrying to class drifted into the office. “Well, it’s time for class. Let’s get going,” Mrs. Preston said as she squeezed Milla’s shoulder. “Remember, you can always come and talk whenever you need to. I’ll give your dad a call when things calm down at the center.”

Carrie looked up as Milla came and sat beside her. Milla gave her a half smile to let her know all was well. After listening to the instructions the students gathered their art supplies and headed out to watch as Jed tethered Eclipse to a post. He made the lead line long enough so the horse could graze on the little bits of weeds that poked out of the ground.

The students walked around until they found a place they liked and sat down. Some were on benches, some were on lawn chairs, and a few were leaning against the posts of the corral. Dusky wasn’t very happy about being left alone in the pen and called to Eclipse with loud neighs, only to be ignored by the grazing horse.

Mrs. Preston started every class in total silence. The children sat and watched the horse grazing for a few minutes and then slowly closed their eyes. She told them to imagine themselves as Eclipse nibbling away at the grass. In the beginning the children had giggled nervously, but now they really enjoyed pretending they were horses. “Feel the sun as it hits the top of your mane. Notice how your leg has to stretch so that you can reach down to the grass,” said the teacher. “Your ears are alert as you listen to the sounds all around you and your muscles are slightly tensed. Feel your long black shiny tail as it whips across your back.”

Milla sat with her eyes shut and imagined she was no longer human. She allowed herself to feel the strength of this gorgeous painted horse before her. She felt every inch of his pride as she imagined herself sleek and magnificent. Slowly she opened her eyes and began to sketch.

Mrs. Preston walked slowly around the class and quietly made comments. Carrie was busy watching the younger children sketching with serious looks on their faces. Milla glanced over at Carrie’s sketch and thought it looked much better than some of her previous work. Mrs. Preston stopped behind Milla and studied the sketch. “Milla, you have actually drawn him in motion. This is very good,” she said, continuing along making comments to other children. Milla looked at her drawing and saw that she had drawn what looked like Eclipse in several positions since the horse kept moving as she was sketching.

“Cool,” Carrie said, looking over her shoulder. “How did you do that?”

“I’m not sure,” said Milla. “It’s kind of an accident.”

Kris came over to look at Milla’s drawing. “Yours is always the best one. I wish I knew how to draw accidents,” he said.

“Thanks,” she replied. Carrie went back to her drawing and Milla watched as Kris sat down beside a few younger kids. Why, oh, why couldn’t Fern have had a boy like Kris for a brother. He wasn’t mean to girls and he was smart in a way that he didn’t brag about himself. Yep, Kris wouldn’t put up with a bully. Maybe she would ask him what he would do if he had to deal with Foot. No, that was dumb, Kris would just flat out knock the bully down with one punch. But there had to be a better way, she thought. I wonder what Grandma did when she met a bully. Milla closed her eyes and thought of her grandma. She thought of her smile and the touch of her wrinkly skin when she hugged her. She breathed in and smelled the fragrance of soap her grandmother used. Then she imagined her grandma as a young girl facing a bully like Foot. I know something about you, her grandmother said to the bully, and when I tell everyone at school you will never bother me again. Milla suddenly opened her eyes. Where did that thought come from, she wondered. Is that how Grandma would deal with a bully? Did Milla know anything embarrassing about Foot? She smiled thinking about what her grandma would do. “Thanks, Grandma,” she said out loud.

“Huh?” Carrie asked. “Did you say something?” Milla just smiled as she began to gather her belongings. It was time for their next class and she was feeling better about things. Mrs. Burke stopped by and said something to Mrs. Preston.

“Carrie and Milla,” said Mrs. Preston. “Will you please go with Mrs. Burke? She can use your help.” They both hurried to find Hope standing alone tied to a post. The little foal looked up as Mrs. Burke untied her and handed her lead to Milla. As they walked back to the Rescue Center Mrs. Burke explained the work that went into caring for the tiny foals. She gave them each a bottle and then went to find another new foal that had just arrived a few days earlier.

“You think she’s being nice to us because she heard about me crying?” asked Milla.

“Who cares,” Carrie replied as she petted the little palomino. Hope nudged Milla’s arm, sniffing at the bottle. Mrs. Burke returned with a tiny brown foal. “We call him Mouse,” she said, handing the lead to Carrie. “I have a million things to do around here, so just feed them until the bottles are empty and then you can take them for a little walk in the paddock. Just keep a good hold on their lead lines because foals are really frisky. I’ll be right over there with the other horses, so holler if you need me.”

The girls stood beside Hope and Mouse as the young horses drained the bottles. Milla was happy to be near Hope again. She stroked the foal’s neck and thought back to that day she had found her alone in the field. It was a wonderful feeling to bottle-feed the little orphan. Carrie was scratching Mouse between the ears and looked over at Milla. “I wish we could take them home, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yeah,” sighed Milla, “but I’m not even allowed to get a puppy. How would I talk him into a horse?”

“True,” said Carrie. “I’m not even sure where I’ll be living once my mom finds a job. I can’t keep a horse at the B&B, that’s for sure.”

They finished feeding the foals and Mrs. Burke looked over and smiled as the two girls walked the baby horses around the pen. They reminded her of mothers pushing their infants in strollers. Milla and Carrie led the horses and chatted about parents and bullies and silly fathers. After a while the girls stopped talking and the foals looked tired. Milla yawned.

Carrie put her arm around Milla’s shoulder and said, “Come on, sleepy head. It’s time for everyone’s nap. Look, my mom’s car is waiting for us.”

Milla looked up and was relieved. She was tired—tired of Foot and his mean ways, tired of waking up in Mrs. Adams’ house, but most of all just tired of not being able to talk to her grandma. They returned the foals to Mrs. Burke, gathered their things, and headed toward the parking area. Milla noticed Mrs. Preston packing up her car and waved. Talking to someone who knew her grandmother comforted her. She thought of the art lesson and how she had imagined being with her grandmother. She really is with me all of the time, Milla thought. All I have to do is close my eyes, and after climbing into the back seat she tried it and fell soundly asleep.

Chapter 45

Shannon could hardly contain her excitement. She wished her mom would drive faster. Brian was still in his pajamas and hadn’t moved a muscle since being scooped up and buckled into his car seat. It was Grandmom’s day to watch them. Grandmom had called the night before to tell Shannon about an important piece of mail waiting for her. Shannon rarely received mail unless it was a birthday card or holiday gift, but those were always mailed to her home. This mysterious mail addressed to Shannon was sent to her grandmother’s address.

“Move it, lady,” Shannon yelled to the car in front of them. “Geez, what a slow poke.”

“Relax,” her mom, Jodi, said. “We’ll be there in a minute. Honestly, you sound just like your father when he drives.” They soon turned into Grandmom’s driveway and Shannon jumped out of the car and raced to the house.

“Wait! Hold your horses and get back here and help me,” Jodi shouted as she tried to carry a sleeping child and two backpacks. Shannon ran back, hefted the packs onto her shoulder, and dashed to the door, almost knocking her grandmother over.

“Where is it…where is it?” she asked breathlessly.

“Good morning to you, too. Hey, hey, where’s my hug?”

“This kid hasn’t been able to sit still since you called last night. I doubt she slept a wink,” Jodi said as she carried Brian to a back bedroom, where she tucked him into bed and loosened the strap of his helmet. When she tried to take it off, his hands shot up and held tight. She shrugged and closed the door behind her.

Shannon was trying hard to locate her mail without appearing to snoop. “Stop digging through your grandmother’s things and behave yourself today,” Jodi said, kissing her daughter and waving goodbye. “I’ll see you later.”

“Calm down, calm down,” Grandmom said. “It’s right over here. I’ll get it, I’ll get it…now sit still.” She pulled out a large brown envelope and Shannon examined it with wide eyes, looking at the return address. It was from the Meadowbrook Pediatric Hospital in St. Paul, Minnesota. Shannon carefully opened the envelope and took out an official-looking letter along with a few photos.

Dear Miss Shannon Miller,

The entire staff of the Meadowbrook Pediatric Hospital would like to thank you for all of your hard work in creating this beautiful handmade quilt. Your patchwork quilt was selected and given to a newborn baby named Jonathan. We thought you might like to see how your quilt is being used in the hospital. Jonathan’s parents send their heartfelt appreciation. A photo of your patchwork quilt will be displayed in our lobby.

Thanks again,

Monica Taft, RN

Shannon looked at the photos and glanced up to see her grandmom wiping her eyes. She hugged Shannon and said, “I’m so proud of you. Look at the smiles on his parents’ faces. And look how teeny-tiny he is.”

The first photo showed a baby in an incubator with the quilt draped over it. The second was a photo of Jonathan’s parents touching his tiny fingers. “I didn’t know babies came that small,” Shannon said.

“They’re usually bigger, honey. That’s a premature baby; they’re called preemies,” Grandmom explained.

“So when we make our quilts the people we send them to decide where they go?” Shannon asked.

“Yes. They have long lists of different hospitals around the country with children and babies, just like Jonathan, who can use the quilts.”

Shannon tucked the letter into the envelope while Grandmom hung the photos on the refrigerator. This was the first time she had ever received such an important letter and it made her feel special. She put it into her backpack. “Wait ’til I tell Carrie!”

The sunny morning turned into an overcast afternoon as the children played a few games, colored some pictures, and helped their grandmom with chores. Cloudy days kept them out of the pool so Shannon settled onto the couch to begin sewing her next quilt as Brian flopped down in front of the TV. Shannon thought of the letter from the hospital. Seeing those photos inspired her and she wanted to take extra care with every stitch. Her first few quilts were nice and all, but she knew she could do even better. Grandmom had already made eight quilts since they began and Shannon set a goal for herself of at least six quilts by the end of the summer. She loved picking through the colorful square patches and Grandmom was showing her how to make different patterns. They had gone to the library and found a book with lots of illustrated examples. Shannon was working on a pattern called Log Cabin and Grandmom was stitching a design known as Jacob’s Ladder. Since the quilts were made in a small size for a baby, they could be completed in much shorter time than a normal-sized quilt. Grandmom had made several larger quilts and Shannon had one on her bed. It was called the Rail Fence pattern and it was made up of bold colors that created a diagonal zigzag across her bed. She had recently taken a closer look at her favorite blanket and now realized it was a tricky pattern. “Do you think you can teach me to make bigger ones someday?” asked Shannon.