Gift Horse (5 page)

I did.

“You can name the horse anything you want,” Dad said. “It doesn't change a thing.”

“Well, then we need another name. Does
that
change anything?” I asked, all the clues finally coming together in my head.

“Another name?” Dad stared at me like
I'd
just shown up in
his
pasture with a bow around
my
neck. “What are you talking about, Winnie? Why would you need another name?”

“For another horse. There are two of them in this stall.”

Even Catman looked at me like I'd lost it.

So I told them. “This mare is about to have a baby.”

“Far out!” Catman cried from Gracie's stall.

My dad stared at me, speechless.

“A baby!” Lizzy squealed. “That is so amazing! Amazing Grace!”

“I don't think I ever saw a pregnant horse before,” Geri commented.

“She can't be!” Dad ran his fingers through his hair. His stocking cap fell off. He didn't pick it up. “You said she was old. She
looks
too old. Maybe you're wrong. Could you be wrong, Winnie?”

I started to say no. Then I thought how that sounded. I shrugged. I'd seen a lot of horses in foal back in Wyoming. And I'd read every horse book that came into the library. I was as sure as I could be.

“So how long does it take?” Geri asked. “I mean, how long are horses pregnant?”

I was grateful for Geri's questions, things that had answers—not like the questions I knew Dad was about to hurl at me. “Usually about 11 months, 340 to 350 days. But once we had a Tennessee Walker who foaled after 10 months and a Quarter Horse who went just over a year.”

“Wait now.” Dad paced the stallway. “How can we know if you're right about this, Winnie?”

“We can get the vet,” I answered. “She needs the vet to check her out anyway.”

“That costs money,” he said, as if talking to himself.

Money was always tight around our house. Usually Lizzy got to keep her babysitting money, and I kept my money from working the Pet Help Line. But Dad had been fretting about bills all month. People didn't seem to need as many odd jobs done in the winter as in summer, and Dad's inventions hadn't exactly been making the cover of
Gizmo
Magazine
. I knew Lizzy used her own money to buy her Christmas-cookie-baking groceries.

“I have money for it, Dad.” It was true. I had my Christmas-shopping money. No reason I couldn't scale back a bit on gifts if I had to. Gracie needed a vet. “Hawk paid through December, even though Towaco won't be using up feed or anything.”

Dad walked up to Gracie and reached out his hand to pet her. The horse jerked back so fast, she plowed into me.

Dad stepped back and shook his head. “Call the vet.”

I called the vet, but Doc Stutzman was out on a call—to Spidells' Stable-Mart. When I phoned Spidells', all I got was the answering machine.

In the kitchen Lizzy and Geri were already starting a new batch of cookies. Whatever kind they were baking smelled great.

“Did you get the vet?” Lizzy hollered over.

“No. I'm going to ride over to Stable-Mart and talk to him.”

I hurried back to the stall and bridled Nickers. Catman, without saying a word, went to his hay bale at the end of the stallway. Nickers eased by the bale, and Catman jumped on behind me. We trotted the whole way to Spidells'.

Something icy passes through me every time I glimpse the huge, sterile stables where Spidells raise and board expensive “assets” and never let horses be horses. When we first moved to Ashland, I got a job mucking stalls there. It killed me to watch horses go bonkers because they only got outside a few minutes a day.

Summer Spidell, in a leather coat, her long, blonde hair tucked under a matching leather cap, leaped out from the stables as we rode up. Her face was as tan as it was in summer. She was the only person in Ashland who actually went into the Tan-Fast-ic tanning salon. “What do you think you're doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Summer,” I offered. “Is Doc Stutzman around?”

She glared at me as if she hadn't heard my question. “I've been looking high and low for you, Winifred Willis!”

Note to self: Always avoid the highs and the lows.

“Well,” I said, swinging my leg over Nickers' neck and dropping to the ground, “many people are looking for me.”

It wasn't true. Many people probably do look for Summer Spidell. She's part of the popular “herd” at school. They band together like Mustangs in the wild, fiercely guarding their precious brood from outsiders . . . like me.

Just then Catman seemed to realize he was riding solo on a horse that used to be called Wild Thing. He jumped off . . . the wrong side. “That was a blast, Nickers,” he whispered.

A shrill whinny pierced the cold air. It came from inside the stables. My first reaction was to run inside.

But Summer blocked my way. “It's just Spidell's Sophisticated Scarlet Lady. The vet is giving the horses their vaccinations.”

I felt sorry for Summer's horse, a beautiful but high-strung American Saddle Horse. She squealed again.

“I want to know how many rolls of wrapping paper you've sold, Winifred.” Summer's voice sounded pouty.

I'd forgotten about the stupid Christmas-wrapping-paper sale our middle school was doing. It was all Summer's big idea. She'd been lobbying for our classes to do something at the end of the year besides the usual tour of the recycling center. When she came up with the idea that we all go to Cedar Point Amusement Park, Ms. Brumby, our English teacher, ran it by the school administration for their okay and then said we'd have to raise the money.

“I haven't picked up my rolls yet,” I admitted. Each roll of fancy wrapping paper cost about four times as much as you can get it for at A-Mart. And since A-Mart is also owned by the Spidells . . . their paper was so expensive, we just wrapped our gifts in the Sunday comics.

Summer sighed, as if she just didn't know what to do with me. “Talk to her, Catman!”

I grinned. She sure didn't know the Catman. He was bound to find the whole sale thing as stupid as I did. “Yeah, talk to me, Catman,” I said, trying to imitate Summer's whine. “Tell me this middle-school project is as dumb as I think it is.”

Summer looked shocked. “Catman already sold all of his rolls, didn't you, Catman?” She smiled at him, her teeth so white I could have used them for a flashlight.

I glared at Catman, the traitor, then handed him Nickers' reins. “I'm going to see the vet.”

“You can't go in there!” Summer called after me.

I kept going.

Summer's horse was in the indoor arena, the only part of Stable-Mart I'd like to own. Richard Spidell, her 16-year-old brother, was shouting at the horse as he jerked a rope attached to a chain-nosed halter. “Get over here, you—!”

Doc Stutzman stood a few feet away, loading two syringes. He was short and stocky, hatless, and already half bald. He'd only been a vet about a year.

Scar, my nickname for Spidell's Sophisticated Scarlet Lady, was putting up a great fight, backing away as Richard jerked the leadrope. Then she reared, stepping toward him on her hind legs.

“Let me try,” I urged, coming up behind Richard. The mare's eyes were white with fear and anger.

“Get out of the way, Winnie!” Richard shouted. “You'll get hurt.”

He knew better. When I worked at Stable-Mart, I'd calmed horses he couldn't get near. He just didn't want to look bad in front of the new vet.

“Easy, Scar,” I said softly.

Her forelegs slammed the sawdust and sprang up again. I had to get Richard out of the way. Scar was too upset with him to give me a chance. So I left Richard to struggle with Scar while I went to work on the vet.

“Winnie, right?” Doc smiled without showing teeth. “How's that Appy at your place?”

Hawk's parents had hired Doc to examine Towaco when the Appy was at my barn.

“Towaco's fine. He and Hawk are showing in Florida next week.” I glanced over at Scar, who was in a tug-of-war with Richard. “Doc, can you get Richard to give me a try with that horse?”

A wave of fear crossed Doc's face. I figured he, like everyone else in town, didn't want to risk a falling-out with the richest stable in the county.

“Please?” I begged.

“Well, we're not getting anywhere now,” he admitted. He inhaled, then stepped past me. “Richard! I have an idea. Why don't you let the girl try to hold the horse. That mare is probably used to females, since she's Summer's horse.”

It was the perfect out for Richard. I wouldn't have thought of it in a hundred years.

“Well, okay,” Richard said, pretending not to be relieved. “But I'll be right here if you need me.”

“That's a comfort,” I muttered as I took the leadrope from him.

Scar jerked back. I kept slack in the rope so she didn't think it was a tug-of-war, like she'd been winning with Richard. Pretty soon she got tired of backing up and stopped.

“Good girl.” I edged closer, careful not to look her straight in the eyes.

She snorted.

I moved to her muzzle and blew gently into her nostrils. She tossed her head. She didn't blow back, like Nickers would have or most other horses. But it seemed to calm her. I'd learned the old Native American trick of greeting a horse the way they greet each other from my mom.

“Doc?” I called. “Slip behind me. I think I can keep her calm.”

It wasn't like I thought I was Super Horsewoman. It's just that sometimes I can tell what a horse is thinking—more times than I can tell what humans are thinking, anyway. Scar knew I expected her to be good for me. Richard had expected her to act up. Horses live up to what you expect of them.

Doc snuck up behind me. I motioned him to a spot behind my elbow, where Scar wouldn't see the needle. He moved slowly. Still Scar's ears flew flat back, demanding,
What's going on here?

“You're fine,” I assured her. “Just let me do this, and I'll get you away from here.” Then I whispered to Doc, “When I lift my arm and act like I'm giving her the shot, you sneak in and do it.”

I pretended to give the shot. Doc stuck her. Scar jerked, but she didn't pull away.

“Good girl,” I cooed, nodding to Doc to give her the second shot.

“Got it!” Doc announced, stepping away, hiding the syringes behind his back. “I might have to bring you with me for the follow-up booster, Winnie.”

“Good, Scar,” I said, reaching to scratch her neck.

Like a striking snake, the mare stuck out her head and tried to bite me. I dodged just in time.

“Those shots better not swell this time!” Summer shouted from her safe position on the other side of the arena. “We have a show right after Christmas!”

Doc whispered so only I could hear, “She didn't tell me her horse swelled up from vaccinations. I could have given the shots on opposite sides of the neck, or even on the rump.”

I grinned at him, imagining the scene.

He must have been imagining the same thing. “On the other hand, I'll live to give another shot.”

There was hope for this vet yet.