Chasing Dream
Authors: Dandi Daley Mackall
Tags: #JUVENILE FICTION / Religious / Christian
Visit Tyndale's website for kids at
www.tyndale.com/kids
.
You can contact Dandi Daley Mackall through her website at
www.dandibooks.com
.
TYNDALE
and Tyndale's quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Chasing Dream
Copyright © 2012 by Dandi Daley Mackall. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of girl on horse copyright © by Brandy Taylor/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of birds on fence copyright © by Rowan Butler/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.
Designed by Jacqueline L. Nuñez
Edited by Stephanie Rische
Scripture quotations are taken from the
Holy Bible
, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
For manufacturing information regarding this product, please call 1-800-323-9400.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mackall, Dandi Daley.
Chasing Dream / Dandi Daley Mackall.
p. cm. â (Backyard horses)
Summary: Even though she has spent the week doing selfish things, nine-year-old Ellie asks God for help when her beloved horse becomes sick.
ISBN 978-1-4143-3918-4 (sc)
[1. HorsesâFiction. 2. Christian lifeâFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M1905Ch 2012
[Fic]âdc23
[pcc] 2011040858
To Katy Mackall, my first editor on all things animal
Backyard horses are the opposite of show horses. They don't have registration papers to prove they're purebred, and they might never win a trophy or ribbon at a horse show. Backyard horses aren't boarded in stables. You can find them in pastures or in backyards. They may be farm horses, fun horses, or simply friends. Backyard horses are often plain and ordinary on the outside . . . but frequently beautiful on the inside.
The Lord said to Samuel, “Don't judge by his appearance or height, for I have rejected him. The Lord doesn't see things the way you see them. People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
1 Samuel 16:7
Table of Contents
1
Wild West
It's the most important race in the old Wild West. Ellie James and her speedy horse, Dream, step up to the starting line. Next to her, Cowboy Colt lopes in on Bullet, the famed cow horse. These two trusty steeds join fifty other horses. They're all itching for a chance to ride for the Pony Express. The winner of this here Wild West race will earn a spot on the Pony Express, America's new mail delivery system. Horses will deliver the mail across the United States (since mail trucks and airplanes haven't been invented yet).
BANG!
The sheriff shoots his pistol. The horses are off and running!
Bullet and Dream take an early lead. It looks like they don't plan to give it up, either. Off they goâthrough the desert, into the mountains, across the wide-open prairies. Folks cheer as hooves thunder down Main Street. Riders gallop past the old saloon, past the sheriff's office, past the church with the white steeple.
Dream and Bullet are neck and neck as they cross the finish line. It's a tie!
“Hurray for Colt and Bullet!” the crowd shouts. “Hurray for Dream and Ellie!”
“Ellie?”
The Wild West fades back into my imagination. The dusty prairie becomes the tile floor of my classroom in Hamilton, Missouri. Cheers are swallowed up by the stern voice of my fourth-grade teacher, Miss Hernandez. She looks surprisingly like one of the cheering prairie women from the Wild West.
“Ellie, answer me, please. Are you or aren't you ready for it?” My teacher tugs on her ponytail, which is one of the best things about her. Her ponytail, not the tugging. Tugging means she's losing patience with me because she caught me daydreaming again.
“Uh,” I begin. “Hmmm. Am I ready or not? Good question.” I'm stalling for time because all is not lost. I'm looking for my best buddy, Colt Stevens.
Lucky for me, my teacher has walked over to my desk. That means Colt is behind her. One of the best things about Colt Stevens is that he took up sign language when I did. We learned it so we could talk to my little brother, Ethan. But sign language also comes in handy for helping each other out of trouble in the classroom.
I could sign
What?
to Colt, but Miss Hernandez knows a little sign language herself. So I just raise my eyebrows at my buddy.
Colt grins, then finger-spells
r-e-c-e-s-s
.
Recess? Cool.
“You bet, Miss Hernandez!” I answer. “I am
so
ready!”
My teacher looks confused. She doesn't have old wrinkles like my parents do. But her forehead squeezes wrinkles into it anyway. “Really, Ellie? Well, good for you. I'll expect to see great improvement from you, then.”
Great improvement? At recess?
“Totally,” I say. Only my stomach is getting funky.
Colt is laughing now.
“I guess you've been studying, Ellie,” Miss Hernandez says. “Because we all know that those fourth-grade math proficiency tests can be tough if we don't study, study, study.”
Colt Stevens!
Our teacher did not ask if I'm ready for
recess
. She asked if I'm ready for the state math tests. That answer is a big, fat no. I'd like to sign something mean to Colt for tricking me. Only his back is turned. I can see his shoulders bouncing up and down like he's riding Bullet at a trot. He thinks this is so funny.
I gaze out our classroom window until the green grass turns into the dust of the Wild West again. Then I back things up:
Bullet and Dream are neck and neck coming down the stretch. They gallop lightning-fast toward the finish line. It sure looks like it's going to be a tie . . . until Cowboy Colt starts laughing. His shoulders shake. He topples to the side. And
boom
! Colt falls off his horse, landing in a soft mud puddle. Poor Colt is left behind in a cloud of dust as Ellie and Dream cross the Pony Express finish line.
Hurray for Ellie and Dream! The winners!
Miss Hernandez hands out more math homework. Our teacher is in the middle of another pep talk, explaining to the class how important those tests are to us and the state of Missouri and the whole entire United States of America when the speaker system comes on.
“Would somebody please find Ellie James?”
I blink a few times to make sure I haven't imagined this. I haven't. I'm in my classroom staring at the speaker like everybody else.
Slowly, kids turn and stare at me. Rashawn and Cassie look more worried than a pair of spooked horses.
From the speaker, a squeal, or maybe a scream, is followed by a shuffling of feet. There's a crash like a chair is being knocked over. Then I hear the voice of Principal Dwayne Fishpaw shouting, “
Now!
Tell Ellie to come right this minute! There's a horse in the library!”
2
The Library
“Go, Ellie!” Miss Hernandez opens the door. “That's you!” she shouts like I might not have noticed our principal screaming my name over the classroom speaker.
I'm halfway out of the room when Miss Hernandez changes her mind and calls me back. “Ellie, wait! Don't forget your math assignments.”
Colt grabs my books and papers and shoves them into my backpack. Then he runs up to the doorway. “I'll take your stuff with me. And I'll walk Ethan home after baseball practice. Good luck with Fishpaw.”
I think I thank him. But I'm not sure. I'm too worried about what I'm going to find waiting for me in the library.
I race down the hall. A kid can get yelled at for running in the hallway. But I figure compared to what they'll do to a kid whose horse is in the library, running in the hall is nothing.
Slowing to a fast walk, I spin around the corner. Two more steps and I'm at the Hamilton Elementary School library door.
I send up a quick prayer without words because I don't know what to say. Then I step inside.
The first thing I see is our principal. He's standing on a library table by the fairy tale section. Principal Fishpaw is the size of two regular dads. The tufts of hair on his head are sticking straight up. He's wearing a suit and tie. His socks and sandals are in full view because he's lifting his pant legs like water is rising.
I start to say something to him, but then I spot my brother, Ethan. His class must be having library period. Second graders are scattered around under library tables and chairs. They're giggling like kindergartners. Ethan is the tallest kid in his class and the only one not hiding under a table. He's sitting board-straight in his chair, and he's circling his fist on his chest. It's the sign for
sorry
.
Definitely not a good sign.
I hear a nicker from somewhere behind me.
Every other time I've heard that soft rumbling sound, it has made me happy. A nicker is a horse's sign of friendship. It has always been my favorite greeting.
Only not now.
I turn, pretty sure about what I'll see. “Dream! What are you doing here?”
My sweet, beautiful, black-and-white pinto is standing in the corner of the library, right in front of the animal section.
There is a very good chance that I'm imagining this whole entire day.
I walk up to my horse. I touch the ear-shaped spot on her chest. No other horse on earth has a spot like this one. Yep. Definitely my mare.
Dream nickers again and nuzzles me.
One of the second-grade girls says, “Aw.” The rest giggle.
Principal Fishpaw, still standing on the table, yells, “Ellie James, get that horse out of my school! Now!”
“Yes, sir. I-I-I don't know how she got here. She can't get out of my backyard. My dad made a super great fence andâ”
“Your dad?” Principal Fishpaw roars.
I glance at Ethan. We both know Principal Fishpaw and my dad have history. Dad used to go to school here when he was a kid. He spent a lot of time in the principal's office.
Ethan looks at me and shrugs his shoulders.
I take hold of Dream's halter and start to lead her out.
“Stop!” Principal Fishpaw says. “Ellie, on second thought, stay right where you are. Don't let that horse move a whisker!” He looks around the room until his gaze settles on the potted green plants by the window. “Mrs. Ford?”
Mrs. Ford, the librarian, stands up from behind the plants. Her blonde hair looks like she's been riding a racehorse in the wind. “Y-yes, Principal Fishpaw?” Her voice makes her sound like a second grader.
“Mrs. Ford, will you please come out from behind that plant and take these children back to their classroom?”
“Of course, Principal Fishpaw.” She starts shooing kids out from under tables. Two boys are huddled in one corner. They're rolled up like a ball. But they unroll when Mrs. Ford comes for them.
“Time to go!” she pleads. “The bell will ring any minute. Have to get your things together, children.”
Finally the library is empty except for Principal Fishpaw and me. And Dream, of course.
Principal Fishpaw frowns at me. “Well?”
I'm not sure what he wants. First he said to go. Then he said to stop. And it's not my fault Dream scared Principal Fishpaw onto a library table.
I
didn't bring Dream to school . . . although I do sometimes imagine riding my horse to school. I picture ducking low and letting Dream climb the main steps to my classroom. She'd have her own desk, a big one next to mine.
“Ellie?” Mr. Fishpaw is probably waiting for me to say something.
“Y-yes, Principal Fishpaw? I-I'll go home now, sir . . . with my horse.”
“That's all you have to say?” he bellows.
“Um. I'm really, really sorry?”
He scowls at me like this is the wrong answer too. “This better not happen again, Ellie. You tell Leonardâyour fatherâthat he'd better fix that fence for good! There is no excuse for shoddy work, be it in the classroom or out.”
Principal Fishpaw is the only person in the world who calls my dad Leonard. Mom calls him Lenny. Or honey. Or dear.
“Go!” Principal Fishpaw stands so tall on the library table that he bumps his head. “Ouch!” He crouches and points toward the door. “Get that horse out of here!”
The bell rings just as Dream and I step into the hall. Kids pour out of their classrooms. When they see my horse, they run up and try to pet her.
I'm afraid Dream will shy away from kids or get spooked by so much noise. But she doesn't. She lets them pet her, even though sometimes people aren't gentle enough. And sometimes they're not careful around sensitive spots, like her ears and flanks.
Ellie's Dream is the best horse in the whole world.
“What's that smell? I can't believe they let that nag in here.” Larissa Richland blocks my exit outside.
A couple of girls in my class gather around Larissa like she's queen of Hamilton Elementary. She shakes her short red hair, and her perfect curls bounce. “Girls,” Larissa says to her royal court, “this is why you never want to get a backyard horse.”
Larissa believes any horse that's kept in the backyard, instead of a stable, isn't fancy enough to be a
real
horse. She would never own a horse if her parents couldn't trace it back to famous horse ancestors. She'd have no problem selling her own horse if it quit winning prizes for her in horse shows.
I'm pretty sure Larissa's horse has never even seen her backyard. When she calls Dream a backyard horse, she thinks it's a huge insult.
But I love having a backyard horse. Backyard horses make the best friends. Plus, it's great having a friend live so close. If Larissa wants to see her horse, she has to make her parents drive her an hour away, to the elite K. C. Stables. I just have to open my window.
Dream and I manage to edge past the fourth-grade royalty and head for home.
“Dream, you know I love hanging out with you. But you can't come to school.”
I listen to the musical clip-clop, clip-clop of my horse's hooves. We're right between spring and summer, and every tree is showing off bright-green leaves. Hints of clover and newly grown wheat come with the breeze. Morning glories peek from the sides of houses. But the best smell is horseâ
my
horse.
I try to shake the image of Larissa and her snooty friends sticking up their noses at Dream. The whole school will be talking about my horse getting into the library.
I put my head against Dream's neck as we turn onto my street. Bullet, Colt's gelding, whinnies to us from Colt's backyard pasture.
“Dream,” I murmur, “I wish everybody at school could see you the way I do. You're the best horse in town. If only I could prove it. . . .”
I stop.
Dream stops with me.
“Dream, that's it! I am going to prove to the whole school that you're the best horse in town!”
