Midnight Mystery: 4 (Winnie the Horse Gentler)
Read Midnight Mystery: 4 (Winnie the Horse Gentler) Online
Authors: Dandi Daley Mackall
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #JUVENILE FICTION / General
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Midnight Mystery
Copyright © 2002 by Dandi Daley Mackall. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph copyright © 2002 by Bob Langrish. All rights reserved.
Interior horse chart given by permission, Arabian Horse Registry of America®. www.theregistry.org
Designed by Jacqueline Nuñez
Edited by Ramona Cramer Tucker
Scripture quotations are taken from the
Holy Bible,
New Living Translation, copyright © 1996. 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 publisher.
ISBN 978-0-8423-5545-2, mass paper
To Sharon Yorks, along with
Russell and Doris Smith—
Thanks for your help with circus details
and for sharing your circus
experiences with me!
Table of Contents
“Quit horsing around, Nickers! Bow!” I tickled my white Arabian’s belly and tried to rein in my famous temper.
I love my horse more than anything, and Nickers is a fast learner. I’d taught her half a dozen tricks in under two weeks. But she can be as stubborn as I am. We’d been training all Saturday in the pasture behind my barn. Dusk had moved in on a breeze that shook the last fall leaves off oaks and poplars, and Nickers hadn’t bowed once for me.
I’d only had time to teach my horse tricks because I was temporarily out of problem horses to train. When my dad moved my sister, Lizzy, and me to Ashland, Ohio, two big things happened. I got my own horse, Nickers. And I became Winnie the Horse Gentler because I was the only one who could gentle my Arabian.
I’d learned all about horses from my mom. Mom used to say I would have made a great horse. It’s true—I’m better with horses than people.
Back in Wyoming, Mom had her own ranch. She’d earned a reputation for “gentling” horses instead of “breaking” them. When she died two years ago, Dad sold everything and drove Lizzy and me eastward. But he couldn’t settle down, and I’d spent fifth and sixth grades in the
I
states, zigzagging from Illinois to Indiana to Iowa.
Ashland, Ohio, had shown up like an answer to a prayer nobody prayed. We’d been here four months, and I’d already started seventh grade and gentled several horses. Plus I had a part-time job at Pat’s Pets, answering horse e-mail questions on the Pet Help Line. I was still boarding Towaco, my friend Hawk’s Appaloosa, but I’d returned my last problem horse, a hunter, to her owner. And I wasn’t expecting more clients until spring.
I blew into Nickers’ nostrils, a horse greeting to let her know I wasn’t really angry about her not bowing. We were friends training each other. She blew back, saying she understood.
I returned to a trick she’d mastered. “Nickers, how many days until our performance?” I’d trained her by tickling behind her front leg. Now all I had to do was crook my finger.
Nickers pawed the ground with each bend of my finger:
one, two, three, four, five, six.
Six days till November 12, Mom’s birthday.
Pictures of past birthdays flashed through my mind. We always watched
Lady and the Tramp
in the morning and ate spaghetti for lunch. Then, in the afternoon, Mom always put on a horse show for Dad, Lizzy, and me.
My brain had snapped detailed photos of Mom’s horse shows. Mom used to say she’d known from the day I was born that I had a photographic memory. Dad had teased her about it until they had me tested and found out she was right. I can’t control the “camera” in my head, so lots of the pictures are things I wish hadn’t been stored, like the ones of the car accident that killed my mom.
But I was grateful for each birthday picture that popped into my head as I scratched Nickers’ neck. I could see Mom, with dark hair and freckles just like mine, smiling from the back of her bowing buckskin. Another picture showed a black Mustang lying flat on the ground with Mom lying beside her. The pictures rolled at their own speed, ending with the Quarter Horse Mom had taught to do everything except cook breakfast.
Then a different picture exploded inside my head: Mom proudly showing us her birthday cake. Every year green icing spelled out the same verse from the book of Hebrews:
Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.
I stroked Nickers’ white fuzz, the beginnings of her winter coat, and let the green letters fade in my mind. So many things
weren’t
the same. Mom was dead. Dad had changed from an insurance boss to an odd-job handyman and part-time inventor. Even Lizzy was changing, getting more involved in school stuff.
Dad and Lizzy and I needed this birthday to pull us back. For the first two birthdays after Mom died, we’d watched the movie and eaten the spaghetti. This time I wanted to surprise them and have the horse show. Nickers and I had exactly six days, starting tomorrow, to learn to bow.
“Cool.”
I jumped, even though I should have been used to the way Catman Coolidge can sneak up on a person. “Nickers,” I said, not turning around, “is it rude to sneak up on people?” I pointed to the ground, our signal for yes.
Nickers bobbed her beautiful head in a dramatic yes.
“Far out!” Catman exclaimed.
I grinned at him. He was wearing a tie-dyed shirt, a denim vest, and striped bell-bottoms fraying over the tops of his moccasins. With his wire-rimmed glasses, he seems older than an eighth-grader. And he looks like the longhaired protesters and hippies in the Vietnam chapter of my history book.
“Nickers, is Catman as smart as you?” I moved my hand to her withers.
Nickers picked up my withers cue and shook her head
no.
“Colonel sees that, he’ll make you groove with his circus,” Catman warned.
“Can’t believe I’m finally going to meet your great-grandfather!” I’d heard stories about “the Colonel.” He was a World War II hero who now ran a traveling circus. And he was bringing his whole circus to Ashland for the season’s last two performances. “Can you get Lizzy and me tickets for Thursday night?” Friday night, the last show, would probably be better. But that was Mom’s birthday, and I’d be putting on my own horse show.
I unhooked Nickers’ leadrope, but she stayed put. “Catman, do you know the circus people with the horse acts? Could you ask them how they get their horses to bow?”
“Ask them yourself.” Catman’s Siamese-blue eyes twinkled.
“I need to know before Thursday. Didn’t you tell me they’d be performing in a different town every night on the way to Ashland?” I asked.
“Colonel Coolidge’s Traveling Circus never rests,” he answered. “They’re in Loudonville tonight.” Catman turned toward our house. “Let’s split.”
I stared after Catman. “Tonight?” Loudonville was only a few miles away, but how were we supposed to get there?
“The Barkers are coming by!” he hollered, evidently reading my thoughts. He stopped to pet my barn cat, Nelson. “Barker’s in the show.”
“
Our
Barker?” Eddy Barker’s in seventh grade like I am. He loves dogs as much as Catman loves cats and I love horses.
I kissed Nickers and followed Catman, dodging the junk and machine parts that littered our lawn, stuff my dad calls “works-in-progress
.
” “What’s Barker do in the circus?”
“Dogs.” Catman reached the front steps and opened the door for me.
I ran inside and found Dad kneeling in front of a weird metal box on the kitchen floor. “Dad, is Lizzy back from her lizard hunt yet?” In her four months in Ashland, my sister had set up a farm for lizard refugees. She knows more about bugs, reptiles, and amphibians than any teacher I’ve ever had. Lizzy also babysits Barker’s five little brothers. I knew they’d want her to come with us.
“Lizzy? Here?” Dad twisted two wires together. He wouldn’t have known if Godzilla were here. Our mom had done such a great job as mom that Dad was still learning how to be a dad. He reminded me of a Saddle Horse Mom had bred in Wyoming. For a week after the mare foaled, she seemed surprised by motherhood. You could tell she loved her foal. She just didn’t know what to do with it.
“Never mind, Dad.” I checked all four rooms of our rental house, ending back in the kitchen.
