Gift Horse (12 page)

I put down the last armful of clean straw and knew what I had to do, what I wanted to do. I raced back to the house, faster than I'd run out of it. “Lizzy! Lizzy, I'm sorry!”

But nothing came back to me except my own words.

Lizzy was gone.

What I wanted to do was go straight to Ashland Elementary, march into Lizzy's classroom, and tell her how sorry I was. But I couldn't be late for English again.

One more day.
I kept repeating it as my boots crunched the snow. I needed school to be out. I needed to see my sister and make things right again.

Halfway down the hall to English, I heard Pat holler from her classroom, “Winnie!”

I still didn't have her assignments. I hadn't gotten notes from Barker. And today was the life-science final. “I'm in a hurry,” I told her, stopping, but not walking back to her.

“You okay?” she hollered.

A couple of kids turned to look at Pat, then at me. I traipsed back to her door so the whole school wouldn't hear us. “I guess.”

“Well, I hope you're set for the final today, Winnie. Your dad was so proud of that midterm A!”

At least he had that. I shrugged.

Summer had already taken her spot at the front of Ms. Brumby's class when I got there. Great. Another pep talk, and I still had nothing but goose eggs by my name.

Ms. Brumby, head-to-toe yellow, waved her grade book at us to quiet us down. “I don't think your essay test should take the whole period, so I've agreed to give Summer one last ‘commercial break' for your wrapping-paper project.”

I groaned.

Barker leaned over from his seat next to me. “Winnie, are you okay?”

I should have felt grateful that he cared enough to ask. I managed a smile and a nod. But what I was thinking was that I didn't have a gift for Barker. And I'd spotted one under his tree for me, along with Catman's and Lizzy's.

Summer started off by praising everybody who had sold 20 or more rolls of paper. Most of them were her friends anyway.

I sat on the front row and glared at her, wishing I had blown up at Summer instead of Lizzy.

She glanced at me from time to time, probably feeling the heat of my stare. “Most of you have at least
tried
to help out.” She pointed to her wall chart. “I am just so proud of those of you with gold stars by your name.”

“Oh, brother,” I mumbled.

“Did you have a question, Winifred?” Summer asked, turning her fake smile on me.

“No,” I answered firmly.

“Because if there's some problem, perhaps we can help.” Summer made a sweeping gesture with the hand that wasn't holding wrapping paper.

I continued to glare at her. If I'd been a horse, my ears would have been flat back, and my teeth would have been bared.

Summer shook her head slowly, her eyes wide with fake concern. “I admit I don't understand why you couldn't sell at least one roll of wrapping paper. I mean, you of all people should be trying your hardest.”

Barker's chair squeaked. “Shouldn't we start taking our test?” he asked.

“Good idea!” Kaylee seconded.

“Me of all people?” I repeated, the veins in my neck pulsing as I sat up straighter. “Why
me of all people?
”

Summer smiled down at me, like a queen to her poor, deformed subject. “You and your kind are the reason we're having this sale.”

I almost wished Summer's little crowd would have laughed. That they didn't, that they maybe felt sorry for me, was worse. I was someone you feel sorry for.

I didn't hear things after that. I think Barker said something. Summer and Ms. Brumby said things. I couldn't take in Ms. Brumby's instructions as she passed out our final. I remember reading the questions, writing answers.

Summer's was the voice I heard ringing in my ears long after I'd turned in my paper and left the classroom.
You of all people . . . you and your kind.

I moved around from class to class, sitting in the right seat, leaving when the bell rang. Pat Haven passed out our life-science final. I tried to read the questions, but the words wouldn't stay on the page. My brain was wrapped around
you and your kind.
Some of the questions I didn't even try to answer. Who would expect
you and your kind
to do well on a final anyway?

I must have eaten lunch, must have finished afternoon classes. And then I was walking home, faster and faster, slipping on the icy edges of pavement. I broke into a run when I turned onto our street.

Dad's truck was parked at the curb. I was glad. I wanted him to be home. I wanted to ask him about
you and your kind.
Was
he
part of it? Who else was
our kind?
Why didn't I know it before?

I stumbled across our lawn, tripping over mangled toasters that never got repaired, spools of wire and old tires, washing-machine motors, parts waiting to be invented.

I remembered running home another day after school—in Wyoming, maybe second grade. Some kid—Benji or Bradley maybe—had called me Annie Oakley. I hadn't known what it meant, but the way the kid said it made me feel awful, like I was feeling now. I'd burst into the house and exploded into tears. My mom had listened to everything and said, “Why, Winnie, we should phone that young man right now and thank him! Annie Oakley was a hero and a legend.” And we did. We phoned him. And everything was safe again.

I threw open the door, wanting to tell my dad everything Summer had said. I wanted to have him make it okay to be
you and your kind.

“Dad!” I shut the door and tore off my coat. “Dad?”

Dad came in from the living room. “Good. You're home.” But his eyes didn't say
good.
His forehead was wrinkled, and he looked shriveled, like someone had let the air out of him.

I started to tell him anyway. “Dad, at school—”

He held out an envelope with a window in it. “This came. It was addressed to me.”

I took it. It was from the vet. I unfolded the bill. Sixty-eight dollars. Dr. Stutzman had sent the blood sample to the lab. Gracie was pregnant. And I owed $68.

I swallowed hard. “I-I've got it, Dad. I told you I could pay it out of Towaco's fees.” And I could, although I'd have to borrow a little from next month's hay budget. And my Christmas fund was totally wiped out. “It's okay. Really.”

“I know you believe you're doing the right thing for this horse, Winnie,” Dad said. I braced myself. “And I respect you for that. You have a good heart. It's just . . . this doesn't change things. You have to remember what Dr. Stutzman said about that horse. She's not going to make it. You can't set your heart on everything turning out the way you want it to just because that's the way you want it. Otherwise, your heart's going to be broken.”

I nodded, pulled my coat back on, stuffed the bill into my pocket, and went back outside.

Halfway to the barn, I saw Geri's mom's car turn onto our street. I don't know why, but I ducked behind the trunk of a big oak and watched the car pull in front of our house. The back door opened, and Lizzy hopped out, laughing. I could hear Geri and her mother laughing too.

Lizzy looked so pretty, her hair flowing from under a little beret she'd found in a garage sale. She leaned into the backseat and said something, then stood up and waved.

I dashed to the barn, praying she hadn't seen me. There was no way Lizzy was part of
you and your kind.
She would have sold more rolls of paper than anybody if she'd been in my class. Everybody wanted to be like Lizzy. I felt like I had to, for Lizzy's sake, stay away from her. If I didn't, I could contaminate her, make her part of
my kind.

I hurried through the barn and almost tripped over Nelson. Stumbling, I kept going to Gracie's stall. I had to keep myself together. Gracie was counting on me. The foal needed me. I had to put Summer out of my head. This was my barn, where everything always got back to normal for me. It would be okay. The worst was over. No more school until after New Year's. And by then, I'd show everybody, even Dad and Dr. Stutzman. Gracie would be fine, and she'd have a healthy, normal foal.

I stopped cold outside Gracie's stall. Something wasn't right.

At first I didn't know what was wrong. She drooped. Her ears lopped, but they'd been like that since she'd shown up in the pasture.

Then I saw it. She was dripping milk.

It was too soon. She wasn't ready to foal. And I didn't like the look of the milk, thin and weak, coming out too fast.

I collapsed to the dirt, drew up my knees, and burst into tears.

I sat in the stallway outside Gracie's stall and sobbed. Even when I heard Nickers whinny at me, I didn't look up.

“Winnie?” Lizzy ran through the barn, knelt beside me, and wrapped her arms around me. “What's the matter? I was coming out to get you. Then I heard this noise, and it was you crying. And I couldn't believe it. Are you okay? What happened? Is it Gracie?” She stood up and gazed through the stall at the mare. “I can't tell, Winnie! Is she . . . is she worse?”

I tried to stop crying, but my sides heaved, making me gasp for breath. “Sh-she's . . . losing her milk. And . . . it's too soon. And I owe too much money to the vet. And . . . I was so mean to you, Lizzy.” I broke down all over again, recalling the way I'd snapped at her when she was only trying to do me a favor.

I felt Lizzy's arms around me again, her head on my head. “Winnie, it's okay. It's all okay.”

“No it's not!” I cried. “You were just trying to help me! And I'm so stupid I can't even fold a green dove.”

Lizzy laughed. Something in it reminded me of our mother's laugh. Chills ran down my arms and legs. “Well, that does explain why you're so upset,” she said. “I would be, too, if I couldn't fold a green dove.”

I glanced up at her. “I'm so sorry, Lizzy. I could make a million excuses, but I won't. I'm just sorry. Okay?”