Gift Horse (13 page)

“More than okay.” She pulled off her scarf and used it to wipe my face. “Rotten day, huh?”

“You don't know the half of it.” I grinned at her as she dabbed my cheeks with her scarf, her eyes set like she was painting or figuring something out. “You remind me so much of Mom,” I said quietly.

Lizzy blinked. “What?”

“Mom. You remind me of her.”

She sat back on her heels. “How?”

“Lots of ways,” I said, seeing Mom in Lizzy's mouth, the way her forehead wrinkled, the way she held one arm with the other.

“You're
the one who's like Mom,” Lizzy said slowly. “Horse lovers, horse gentlers. I can't even stand to get near one.”

“Not that way, Lizzy. You're like her in goodness. Inside. Like in your spirit.” Mom was gentle like Lizzy. They knew Jesus better than me.

Now Lizzy was crying. “Winnie, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. It's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me.” She sniffed and used the scarf on herself. “It's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to anybody.”

And it was my turn to hug her.

“Gracie!” I let go of Lizzy so fast, she toppled backward. “Lizzy, I have to try to save this milk. I don't know if it's good enough for the foal or not. But I need to save what I can.”

“You're not going to ask me to . . . to . . . like do anything with the horse, are you?” Lizzy asked, as I went into Gracie's stall.

“I need help, Lizzy. Call Catman!”

“Good idea!”

“Then find me containers with lids—margarine bowls!”

“Got it!” Lizzy ran out.

I scratched Gracie's chest, then felt her ears to see if she was hot or cold. She seemed okay. She wasn't sick. She was just losing her first milk, something her foal would need.

I heard voices outside the barn. Then Lizzy shouted, “They're here! I didn't even have to call them!”

Catman and M appeared in the shadow of the barn.

“What's happening, man?” Catman asked, coming into the stall, with M right behind him.

M squatted and looked underneath Gracie. “She's leaking!”

“It could mean a couple of things,” I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt. My hands were shaking. “It might mean she's ready to foal, but I don't think so. She's not waxing. That's when the mare is close to foaling and the milk is so thick it looks like wax. But sometimes older or sick horses lose milk before it's time. I think that's what's going on.”

“Can she make more?” M asked.

“Not first milk,” I explained. Mom had kept first milk in the freezer in Wyoming. And I'd used Pat's computer to double-check everything about what a foal needs.

“Colostrum.” Catman was pacing like a nervous father in a TV sitcom.

“That's right,” I agreed. M hadn't exactly asked, but I could feel that he wanted to know more. “Horses aren't like other animals. They're born without any antibodies, no defense against disease. The only way they get antibodies is through nursing, drinking the first milk that comes out of the mare.”

“We have to do something!” M cupped his hands under the udder.

“Here they are!” Lizzy ran over and handed us five small white containers. “I had to dump margarine out of two of them. Is this all right? And I brought hot water because they always need it in the movies.”

Catman took everything from her.

M was whispering to the foal.

“Thanks, Lizzy.” I poured the water into one of the bowls and used liquid soap and a sponge from my first-aid kit to wash the udders.

“Can I do anything else?” Lizzy asked.

“Pray!” I hadn't even thought to pray myself. At least I had sense enough to ask Lizzy to.

“God, help Winnie do what she needs to do with this horse. And please keep that little baby horse safe.” Lizzy was talking to God out loud, but it didn't feel weird. She might have been talking to Catman or M.

I caught Catman's worried gaze. It was as close as I've ever seen Catman come to being rattled. “I'm going to milk her,” I explained. “We'll save it for her baby.”

“I dig. Then it's all cool, right?” Catman asked.

I shook my head. “I don't know. The milk doesn't look right. It isn't thick enough. It's too white. But I'll collect it. It's all we can do for now.”

M had his ear pressed to Gracie's side. He stepped back so I could get to her udders. Lizzy got as close as the stall door.

“Easy, Gracie. We're going to help you get ready for that foal.” I rubbed my hands together to warm them.

Gracie craned her neck around, saying,
I hurt. Don't make me hurt more.

I squatted on her near side, which is what you call the left side of a horse. Positioning the margarine container under her udder, I squeezed with my thumb and forefinger and pulled down gently from each side of the teat. The barn was still except for the
squirt, squirt
into the plastic bowl.

Nickers stuck her head over the stall divider and watched.

I filled the first container and handed it off to Catman. We didn't talk. Not even Lizzy. I kept milking for two more containers' worth, until her udders relaxed. Gracie groaned, a contented grunt, as if she finally had relief.

“Done.” I stood up and handed the last container to M, who put on the lid.

“Is it enough?” Lizzy asked.

“Check it out, man.” Catman lifted the lid and sniffed. “Smells like milk.”

I felt it with my fingers. It wasn't very sticky.

M stared at the bowl. You could almost hear him wondering how we'd know if the colostrum was good enough.

“We'll test it,” I said, answering his unspoken question. I turned to Lizzy. “Remember that gadget Madeline gave Dad so he could test his antifreeze?”

“The one that's supposed to double as a turkey baster?” Lizzy asked.

“Gross!” Catman said.

“No kidding,” Lizzy agreed. “Madeline says she's invented the perfect disinfectant for it, too. So it's supposed to be safe for antifreeze
and
 for turkey, as long as you use her cleaner. The patent people admitted she proved her case. But they couldn't get past the idea of antifreeze and turkey, so they didn't give her the patent.”

“You and Dad haven't used the thing yet, right?” I asked, trying to cut to the chase.

She shook her head.

“Good! I need it.” I'd seen Mom use a brand-new antifreeze kit on our broodmare's colostrum in Wyoming once.

“I know right where it is!” Lizzy shouted, running out of the barn. In minutes, she returned with the antifreeze kit.

I took the contraption out of the box and removed the wrapper.

“It sure looks like a turkey baster,” Lizzy observed. “Except for the little balls inside.”

I squeezed the plastic bulb on top and stuck the tube into the first container of milk. “If the balls float in the milk, we're in business. The colostrum's good enough quality, with enough vitamins and antibodies to make that foal healthy.”

“And if they sink?” M asked out loud.

“Then we're sunk,” I answered. “There.” I took the tube, full of milk now, out of the container and held it up so we could all watch.

It didn't take long. First one ball floated to the bottom. Then another. Then another.

We stared at the milk, which was so thin only one lone ball remained afloat. Then it plunged through the swirls of white, sinking . . . sinking. And when it sank to the bottom, something inside of me sank too.

I dropped the baster and watched the worthless first milk splash to the ground. Then I stroked Gracie, scratching her chest and pressing my face against her neck. “It's not your fault, Gracie,” I muttered. “You're doing everything you can for your baby. We know that.”

“Oh, Winnie,” Lizzy murmured, not saying more.

M covered his head with his arms and turned away.

Catman stared at his container of milk. “Bummer. Major bummer.”

“If it were spring,” I said, thinking out loud, “there'd be mares with foals around here. We could work something out, let our foal nurse from another mare.” This foal was going to need colostrum. “I'll buy it!” I blurted out.

Lizzy perked up. “Buy it? You can buy it! That rocks, Winnie! Why didn't you tell us that in the first place? So where do we go? Are there colostrum stores?”

“You can't just go to a store,” I explained. “It's hard to get. Only really big stables collect it and freeze it. They have it on hand for their own horses, just in case. But if they have enough in the colostrum bank, they sell it. It costs an arm and a leg.”

“Who has a colostrum bank then?” Lizzy asked. But as soon as she got her question out, her face sagged. She knew the answer. We all did.

“Spidells,” M said.

Dad agreed to drive me to Spidells' Stable-Mart. He didn't say anything the whole way over. He didn't have to. I knew what he was thinking. I was wasting money I didn't have.

It didn't take long for Spider Spidell to realize he had us over a barrel. “Well,” he said, when he finally came over to talk to us in the stable office, “every real equine operation needs cutting-edge technology.” He was wearing a blue shirt. His stubborn rim of dark hair came to a point in back, leaving the rest of his head bald. I've always thought he looked like a blue jay. Hawk told me blue jays are one of the meanest birds out there.

“So do you have colostrum?” I repeated. Dad and I had been standing in the little office for 15 minutes, long enough to have counted the silver trophies on his shelves—63.

Mr. Spidell puffed out his chest, but it didn't puff as far as his belly did. “Colostrum is a valuable commodity in the horse industry. At Stable-Mart, we make it our business to keep a supply, should any of our clients' broodmares come up short. Yes, we make sure to foresee any liabilities which—”

“How much?” Dad asked, cutting him off.

Spider Spidell grinned. He had every right to grin. He didn't just charge me an arm and a leg; he went for the lungs, kidneys, and heart.

I took three pints of colostrum, frozen in separate plastic bags. Then I asked Mr. Spidell to bill me.

On the ride home I subtracted in my head. I wouldn't be able to pay until I got Towaco's next check for boarding. But I couldn't think about that now. The foal needed this to survive.

At home Lizzy watched as I packed the three bags of colostrum into the freezer, next to her homemade green ice cream. Dad stood at a distance and sighed, like the force of the air coming out of him was the only thing keeping the words in him.