Night Mare (4 page)

7

Prove It

“What did you say?” Colt demands. He rides Bullet forward, placing himself between me and the tall, gangly boy with slicked-back black hair.

“You heard me,” the boy says. “I want to know if she's the one who stole my horse.” He points at me again. “She obviously is. I'd know my horse anywhere.”

“You're crazy!” Colt snaps.

I should be jumping in here, but I can't. My head is forming words, but my mouth can't get them out.

My dad steps out of the house. I expect him to agree with Colt, to kick this stranger out of our yard. “Let's all be calm here. Colt, you need to go home now.”

This isn't making any sense. “Wh-why, Dad?”

“Please,” Dad says.

Colt glances back at me. I don't want him to leave. He frowns from my dad to the boy to me. Then he signs,
Call me.
And he gallops away on Bullet.

I want to gallop after them.

Mom comes out of the house. Behind her is some woman I've never met. She's a head shorter than my mother but about twice as big around. Her light-blonde hair is wound on top of her head like a snake ready to strike. “Grayson,” she says, “I told you to stay out of this.”

“Why should I?” he fires back. “It's my horse, Aunt Deb!”

My fingers grip Dream's reins tighter. “This is my horse.”

“Oh yeah?” the boy shouts. “That's Jinx, and I can prove it!”

“Jinx?” At this point I know he's crazy.

His aunt steps up behind him. Now I can see that there's another person behind her. A tall, thin girl with strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes. She's younger than I am—maybe Ethan's age. She looks like a lost ballerina.

“Ellie,” Mom says, “this is Mrs. Ford and her daughter, Annika. And Grayson, Annika's cousin. He's staying the summer with them in Cameron.” Cameron is a little town a few miles down Highway 36.

Without so much as a glance at the strangers, I ask Mom, “Why are they here?”

“Ellie, honey,” Mom begins, “put Dream away and meet us inside. We need to talk.”

I turn away from them and walk Dream off toward the backyard. I don't want to talk.

When I get to the gate, Ethan opens it for me. I slide off Dream and sign,
What do you know about this, Ethan?

He signs back,
They got here an hour ago. I missed most of it because nobody is signing. From what I can tell, the boy keeps saying Dream is his horse. I think he saw pictures on Larissa's blog.

Larissa. I should have known.

I take my time brushing
my
horse. Ethan helps me. When I'm finished, I kiss Dream good night. There's nothing left to do but go in.

Annika and her mother are seated with Mom on the couch. Dad and that boy, Grayson, are sitting in the recliners. When I walk in, the room goes silent.

“Took you long enough,” Grayson mutters.

“Grayson,” his aunt says, “if you can't be civil, you can wait in the car.”

“Good idea,” I mutter back.

The woman turns to my mom. “Would you like to explain?” she asks.

Mom nods, then gets up and starts pacing. She circles the couch, her purple peasant skirt flowing behind her. “I don't have any idea how to explain. This whole thing makes about as much sense as hot sauce in a berry pie.”

Mrs. Ford turns to me. “I'm so sorry about this, Ellie. It's easy to see you've taken great care of that horse. We saw the before and after pictures on that girl's website.”

“There was an after picture on Larissa's blog?” The only picture I saw of Dream was the scraggly one.

“The pinto was in the background,” Annika explains, so softly I can barely hear her. “Larissa was getting a trophy. But the pinto outside the ring looked great.” She glances at her cousin. “When Grayson saw how good the horse looks now, that's when he wanted to find her.”

“That's not true!” Grayson protests.

I sign to Ethan as fast as I can, trying to fill him in.

“Like I said, my nephew is visiting us for the summer,” Mrs. Ford continues. “A friend of Annika's was over, and she showed us the blog. She and Larissa go to the same horse shows. When Grayson saw the photos, he started screaming that it was his horse. He called his father, and Martin asked me to check things out. Annika's friend contacted Larissa, and that's how we ended up here. I wasn't even sure it was the same horse. But I knew we'd never hear the end of it if we didn't at least check it out.”

“It's the same horse, all right,” Grayson insists. “You've got Jinx, and I want her back.”

“Grayson?” Mrs. Ford sighs.

Ethan steps in and signs to Dad.
Even if it's the same horse, they gave the horse away. They can't change their minds now, can they?

Dad turns to Mrs. Ford and repeats Ethan's question.

“We didn't give Jinx away!” Grayson shouts. “We thought she ran away. She was always jumping the stable fence. The last time she did it, we were on vacation. Nobody told us. By the time we got back, we couldn't find her. It wasn't
our
fault. We thought she'd run off for good.” He glares at me. “Only now we know the truth. You stole my horse!”

“She is
not
your horse!” I shout back.

“Believe me,” Mrs. Ford says. “I don't like this whole business any more than you do. Maybe the first thing to do would be to identify the horse.”

“How do you propose to do that?” Dad asks, his voice sharp as tacks.

“Well,” she continues, “Grayson's father says their pinto had black-and-white spots.”

“A lot of horses do,” I snap.

“Do a lot of horses have one big spot that looks like a saddle?” Grayson demands. “Jinx does.”

I can't answer. I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach by a wild horse. My favorite spot. Dream's biggest spot. It's shaped like a shiny black saddle.

8

Fiery Furnace

Sunday morning when I wake up, my head hurts. I know I've had a horrible nightmare. Only I can't remember it.

Then I do remember. The worst nightmare I've ever had . . . and it was real.

Someone wants to take away my Dream.

Panic stabs both sides of my head. I rush to my window, open it, and scream, “Dream! Dream! Dream!”

Dream gallops to my window. She sticks her head inside. I sit on the window ledge and run my fingers down her blaze. I memorize this jagged streak of white lightning that spreads down to her nostrils. A miracle of God's creation.

I stay like this, afraid to leave my horse, until Mom hollers that I have to get ready for church.

I can't eat, so I just pick at my scrambled eggs until they look like my brain feels. After a few minutes, Mom tells me to get dressed.

I pull clothes from my closet and put them on. But if somebody were to ask me what I'm wearing, I'd have no idea.

A horn honks. Suddenly I realize the house feels really quiet. Everybody else must be in the car already. I take one more long look out the window to make sure Dream is still there. Then I drag myself to the car and climb into the backseat.

“Where's Ethan?” Dad asks. He signs it too, as if Ethan were here to sign back.

I shrug.

“That boy's never late,” Mom says. “He's probably worried about that little fish that's looking so poorly.” She squints out the back window. “There he is. I think he's coming from Colt's house.”

In a minute Ethan hops in.
Sorry. I was talking to Colt.

Nobody says anything. We all know what they were talking about.

Our car has never been so quiet. I stare out the window on the way to church and imagine I'm riding Dream. Dream and I have ridden every road in Hamilton. I picture us galloping now, keeping pace with the car. I imagine jumping ditches and hedges as we pass by.

I close my eyes. I don't want to imagine anything else.

Dad parks the car, and I follow Ethan into church. We take the front right pew because that's where the interpreter, Mrs. Gorton, stands. Mrs. Gorton has white hair and could play Mrs. Santa Claus without a costume. She signs all the songs, the announcements, and the sermon. Sometimes I watch her to see what she leaves out so I can tell Ethan later.

Only not today. This morning I'm not watching or listening. My head feels like it's underwater—so deep nobody can get to me. I stand up and sit down when Ethan does. But I don't sing. Ethan sways to the music even though he can't hear it. He says he can feel the organ vibrate. And I guess he can, because he's always right with the rhythm. His fingers move through the lyrics, signing the words, and I know he's singing in his heart.

But I'm not.

I don't hear a word of the sermon until halfway through, when Ethan elbows me.

Don't you wish Colt were here?
he signs.

I frown at him and shrug. Then I hear Pastor Alan say, “They refused to worship Nebuchadnezzar, even when he threatened to throw them into the fiery furnace.” I figure he must be talking about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

“They told the king that they knew God could save them from getting burned to death. But even if God didn't come to their rescue, they'd still be okay. They could get through anything because God would be with them. And when old Nebuchadnezzar peeked into that fiery furnace, he saw four people walking around. Our three friends had the Lord with them, even in the middle of the fire.”

Our pastor keeps going with the story, but I can't hear him. I'm too busy imagining Grayson in a crown, about to push Dream and me into a fiery furnace.

When we get home from church, Ethan races into the house. Munch barks and chases after him. Squash runs after him too. When the rest of us trail in, my brother is standing over the fish tank. He turns around, and his face says it all.
Abednego,
he signs.
He's dead.

We hover over Ethan and his dead fish.

“I'm sorry, Son,” Dad says. He pats Ethan on the head.

“It's all my fault,” Mom insists. “I never should have brought you an almost-dead fish. I hope you know that you got more life out of that little guy than anyone else could have.”

“I'm sorry, Ethan,” I say, signing it at the same time. I want to come up with something more. I just can't think of anything to say. He looks so sad, as if he's known this fish his whole life.

Ethan chooses a “burial at sea” for his fish. The four of us gather around the toilet. Ethan holds Abednego by the tail. He closes his eyes, and Mom and Dad do too.

I know my brother is praying. I wish he'd sign it. I want to know what he and God are talking about. Because somehow when Ethan prays, things happen.

Ethan opens his eyes and smiles. Then he flushes the toilet.
He was a good fish,
Ethan signs.
I'd better go check on Shadrach and Meshach.

The rest of the day I spend with Dream. We walk, trot, and canter all over Hamilton . . . as if this will be our last ride.

It's getting dark when we arrive back home. Just as I get to the house, Mom drives up with Dad and Ethan in the car. I realize I've missed our Sunday evening supper out at Crazy Larry's Dairies. But I don't care. I wouldn't have wanted to leave my horse.

I brush Dream and get her settled, then walk inside.

There's a voice I don't recognize, and at first I think there's someone else in the house. But when I tiptoe to the kitchen, I only see Mom and Dad and Ethan. They're huddled over the phone. The voice I hear is coming from the answering machine. Dad hits the button again, and I listen as Mom signs to Ethan.

“This is Martin Clayton, Grayson's father. I know my sister brought the kids to your house and confirmed that you have our horse. We would prefer not to involve the authorities. My sister believes you came upon the horse by accident. Apparently she was unable to resolve this herself. I'll be in your area tomorrow. I'll make arrangements to haul the horse away at your convenience. Please call me when you get this message.”

His voice sounds like a television announcer's. I picture a larger version of Grayson. The man gives his phone number and again asks—no,
tells
—us to call him back. He ends the call with something like “The law is the law, and it's on our side.”

The machine clicks off. All eyes turn to me.

Without a word, I walk to my room, fall onto my bed, and cry myself to sleep.