Gift Horse (16 page)

“The sleeves, M! Get me the plastic gloves! And smear Vaseline on them!”

I scrubbed my hands with soap and slipped on the plastic sleeves M brought. “I have to help her, fast! You hold her.”

I went behind Gracie and reached inside of her until I felt the other hoof. “It's too far back!” I tried to pull it up. Slowly I pushed the right hoof back in just enough so the left hoof could move. “Got it!” I cried, feeling the hoof kick up. “And I feel the nose!”

Gracie snorted, then wobbled and groaned. It was taking everything she had to help her foal.

“Come on, Gracie!” I waited until I felt her push. Then I pulled gently on both hooves. Out they came, and a tiny nose stretched between knobby knees, all wrapped in a clear, sticky sac.

“M! Get back here and help me! Gracie's not going to lie down again. She must know she's not strong enough to do it lying down. You have to catch the foal.” In the wild, horses usually deliver foals standing up so they can be ready to defend themselves if they have to. But, even then, foals sometimes break legs, or even necks, when they drop.

“Winnie, is everything—what's—oh—my—!” Dad was stammering from the stallway. Behind him stood Lizzy, Barker, and the entire Barker crew.

“Good Lord, have mercy!” Granny B exclaimed. And it was a prayer that filled the barn.

“Winnie!” Lizzy shouted.

“Winnie, honey!” Mrs. Barker cried, holding back a couple of her sons. Mr. Barker and Barker took care of the others. “Can we do anything?” she asked.

Mason tried to run over to us, but Madeline caught him. “Do you want us to leave, Winnie?” she asked.

But I couldn't answer. Gracie let out a squeal and a grunt, and the foal slid out and straight into M's open arms.

Nickers whinnied.

“Yea!” Lizzy yelled, but somebody shushed her.

Gracie's knees buckled, and she slid to the ground and onto her side. I was rushing to her when M hollered, “Winnie! It's not breathing!”

I heard Lizzy gasp. Somebody prayed.

I grabbed a clean towel and knelt in front of the foal. Heavy mucous clung to its nose and face. I wiped frantically with the towel, trying to clear the nostrils.

Nothing. Still no breathing.

“Lay her down, M!” I screamed. “Rub her all over!”

A towel flew into the stall. “Did you see the towel, Winnie?” Dad called.

“Got it!” M cried, rubbing the tiny foal's chest.

Please, God. Please!

At that instant, Nickers cantered into the barn, and Catman jumped off. “Dr. Stutzman's coming!” I heard a car door slam outside.

And I got an idea. Horses are nose breathers. “Catman!” I shouted. “Get me that antifreeze/turkey baster!”

“What?” Madeline asked.

Catman, covered in snow, ran into Gracie's stall with the baster.

“Go help M!” I said, taking the baster, squeezing it, and sticking it into the foal's nostril. I released the suction ball and heard slurping as the mucous was drawn out.

“It moved!” Catman cried, on his knees beside M, both rubbing furiously.

I used the baster on the other nostril. The foal sneezed. The eyes blinked. She breathed. She was a little filly, and she was breathing.

Thank you, God.
Tears made my eyes blur as I stared at the miracle in front of me.

All around us cheers broke out. I looked at Catman and M and figured I'd never seen either of them smile that big or look that happy.

Then, as suddenly as the cheer had begun, it stopped.

Gracie, flat on her side, lifted her head and craned her neck around to see her baby. But she was too weak. I went to her and held her head so she could see the tiny foal at her feet. “You did it, Gracie! She's okay!” Tears were streaming down my face, landing on sweet Gracie.

Then she closed her eyes, laid her head in my lap, and stopped breathing.

I felt an arm on my shoulder. Then someone else lifted Gracie's head. Someone lifted me to my feet. I felt, more than saw, Lizzy, Dad, and Catman around me, guiding me out of Gracie's stall.

“You did an amazing job, Winnie.” It was Dr. Stutzman. “No vet could have done better. It's a miracle that filly survived!” He whispered to Dad. “I heard . . . sorry . . . didn't know . . . came as soon as I heard.” Then he whispered more, but everything started spinning and my whole body turned to water.

I didn't faint, but I came close. Dad made me sit in the stallway until my head cleared. The Barkers left quietly, while Lizzy and Dad sat next to me.

Dad squeezed my hand.

“The foal needs colostrum!” I struggled to get to my feet. “She should get most of it in the first hour!”

“I'll get it!” Lizzy jumped up. “You wait right there!”

“Gracie—” I felt sick inside. And I knew I'd always carry that picture of her as she strained to see the foal she'd sacrificed her life for.

“Tell M and Catman to move the foal in with Nickers,” I said.

Dad got up. And in seconds, M came out, carrying a perky, beautiful foal with bright eyes, curly black hair, four white stockings, and a blaze down the middle of the cutest face I'd ever seen. He carried her in to Nickers, who walked right to the foal and began sniffing her and nickering.

I slipped back in with Gracie. I had to see her one more time, to tell her good-bye. She looked beautiful and peaceful. “Thanks, Gracie,” I whispered. Her dapple-gray coat looked almost white. I knelt down and scratched her chest.

Dr. Stutzman came into the stall. “Why don't you let me do my job, Winnie? I can't tell you how sorry I am that I didn't get here sooner.” He took my elbow and guided me out of the stall. “But I couldn't have done anything for that mare you didn't do. I'm going to take care of her now, though, and take her away for you. It's the least I can do. I'll go make arrangements now. If you need any help feeding that colostrum, I'll be right back.”

Dad walked Doc to his truck, and Lizzy came back with a thawed bag of colostrum. Catman poured six ounces into one of the bottles.

“Foals can only absorb the antibodies in this stuff for about 12 hours,” I explained, taking the bottle. I was going to fight for this foal as hard as Gracie had. “Most of the antibodies get absorbed in the first hour or two. We better get on it.”

The foal was half lying, half sitting, her long legs tucked under her, and her neck held high. She was gorgeous. And so was Nickers, who licked the foal's ears and cheek, acting like a mother. I was so proud of her.

I knelt beside the foal, shook drops of the milk on my fingers, and put my fingers to her mouth. She licked the milk. Her raspy tongue made me shiver. I shook out more milk and let her lick that too. Then I put my arm around her neck and held the bottle with the nipple facing my wrist, higher than her nose. The foal stretched her neck like she would have for an udder. She took the nipple and drank.

“Far out!” Catman whispered.

“Ditto,” M said.

The foal's mouth slipped off the nipple, and she looked around, taking in Nickers, the stall, the two strange guys watching her every move. Then she turned back to me. After three or four start-and-stops, she'd finished half of the colostrum in the bottle.

I let her take a break, and I went over to Catman and M.

“Totally keen,” Catman said.

I could almost see a wave of sadness pass over M's face. “Gracie did it,” he said, his voice soft. “She gave up her life for her foal.” He looked right at me, and I knew he was saying a lot more, understanding a lot more.

It was past midnight. And there we were, in a stable, watching a miracle. “Merry Christmas,” I whispered.

Dad and Lizzy watched with us as the foal tried to stand up. First she stuck out her long legs and sat like a dog. Nickers walked circles around her. The foal lunged forward, then fell back.

Lizzy burst into giggles.

Again the foal lunged forward, off her back legs, until she stood, wobbly, legs spread wide, nose to the ground.

“Good for you!” Dad cheered.

She moved one stockinged leg forward, then another, then sprawled down again.

Watching the foal made me think of Dad and me, of God and me. I'd fallen down a lot lately. But nobody was giving up on me. And thinking about how everybody had pulled together tonight—well, there wasn't anybody I'd rather be with than
me and my kind.

Nickers walked beside the foal, her head lowered over the foal's back.

“It's not so bad being an orphan,” M said quietly. “Not when great people adopt you.”

I knew M was adopted. I'd met his parents. He was right.

I fed the foal the rest of the bottle. Then Dad convinced me to go in the house and get warmed up before the next feeding. Catman and M stayed in the barn, and Lizzy, Dad, and I traipsed through the snow under the bright North Star and a sliver of a moon.

Mason was sitting on the floor, staring at the Christmas tree when we walked inside.

Madeline brought us hot chocolate after we shed our coats. “Mason and I decided nobody would be getting any sleep tonight.” She glanced at her watch. “Make that
this morning.
So we vote that we all celebrate right now.”

“Sweet!” Lizzy cried, dashing to her bedroom and coming out with an armload of gifts.

We laughed through the whole gift exchange. Catman had left presents for all of us under the tree. And every present was a roll of wrapping paper.

Madeline passed out self-opening gifts, her invention. “You just pull the ribbon, and the paper automatically comes off. Then the box flops open!” Mason and I got body sleds. They looked like snow pants with wide skis sewn inside.

“My latest invention!” Madeline exclaimed. “You can't lose them like you could a sled.”

Dad got Madeline a “neck saddle.” He fastened it onto her shoulders and hoisted Mason up. “See? Fun for Mason, and easier on your back!”

Lizzy passed out painted rocks to all of us, each rock a creation. “Most of them have verses,” she said, putting one wrapped rock back under the tree. “Except Catman's. I painted the peace sign on one side. The other side says
I won't take you for granite!
Won't Mr. Coolidge love it!”

I opened my rock from Lizzy and read what she'd written in tiny, neat white letters:
Thank God for his Son—a gift too wonderful for words!
—2 Corinthians 9:15.

“Thanks, Lizzy. I love it!” I wished I could have pulled out the terrarium, complete with the greatest iguana in the world for her.

Finally I opened the gift from Hawk. “It's a horse-angel pin,” I whispered. It might have been one of those flying Pegasus horses. But all I saw was a horse angel. I pinned it on and phoned Hawk. She was glad to hear from me, even though I woke her up.

“You haven't opened the present from me yet, Winnie,” Dad said when I came back out to the living room. He handed me a box wrapped in Sunday comics.

I opened it. Inside was a beautiful blue halter, perfect for a perfect colt. I couldn't believe my dad had bought it. “But . . . but you kept saying . . .”

Dad sat down on the couch with me. “I know. I went overboard, didn't I? I just didn't want to see you get hurt again.” I knew he was thinking about Mom like I was. “But I was hoping too, Winnie.”

“I feel so bad,” I said. “You all got me great gifts, and I didn't get you anything.”

Mason was sitting on the floor, staring at his Lizzy rock. Lizzy and Madeline stopped what they were doing and walked over to us.

“Are you kidding, Winnie?” Lizzy cried. “What you did out there in that barn, that cute little colt getting born! That was the best gift I've ever seen!”

“Lizzy's right,” Madeline said, smoothing Mason's hair. “I'm not sure how Mason will handle all of this when he understands more . . . about Gracie. But I wouldn't have missed that birth for all the patents in D.C.! Right, Mason?”