Nightmare (13 page)

“Oh,
The Path to Freedom
? I read that. It’s really good. You’ll love it. It’s got this wonderful, authentic feel to it—like you’re right there with Hallie.”

“That’s what I heard,” said Carole.

The computer beeped, informing Fiona that her search was complete. She turned back to the screen. Carole turned her eyes back to her book, but her attention was on Fiona.

Fiona seemed very normal—not at all the apple-polishing goody-goody Lisa made her out to be. Fiona was interested in what she was studying and wanted to know more than she could get from the textbook. That seemed admirable to Carole, not despicable, as Lisa found it. Clearly, Lisa was viewing Fiona solely as competition, just the way she sometimes thought of her grades as contest results. Winning was what mattered.

From what Carole had seen so far, Lisa could stand to take a page out of Fiona’s book. It wasn’t going to do any good to suggest that to Lisa. Lisa would have to learn it herself. Choosing to get a C was no more the answer than choosing to work herself to death to get an A+.

Then Fiona stood up from the computer and hurried over to the shelves. Carole watched surreptitiously while Fiona’s eyes scanned the shelf for the book she wanted. She pulled a book out, flipped it open to the index, and then turned to a page near the middle.

“Great!” she said. It was an involuntary utterance, just as the earlier “Wow” had been. This was a girl who really loved to learn, Carole thought. She found it almost inspirational.

“Found something interesting?” Carole asked.

“Definitely!” Fiona responded. “Extra credit, I’m sure! I’m trying to study up on the German economy between the wars, and there’s enough material here and in some of these other books for me to do a whole project on it. If I can get some extra credit, I’m sure to get an A-plus, and I really want that. Isn’t it great?”

Carole’s heart sank. She’d misread Fiona completely. The girl was as nuts as Lisa. Maybe more. Lisa hadn’t been considering extra credit!

Carole couldn’t contain herself anymore. She loved Lisa so much that she could hold her tongue for her, but Fiona wasn’t her best friend, so she couldn’t curb her feelings. They flooded her and then burst out.

“I’ve had enough of this stuff!” she declared angrily. “Do you really think school and grades are just a contest? What’s important here is what you can learn and how much you can enjoy it and what it all means to you as an individual! What difference does it make if a piece of paper says you’re really good at school or really,
really
good at school? The only thing that matters in school or anyplace is whether you’ve done the best you can. Being better than someone else doesn’t matter at all!”

Fiona looked at Carole, stunned. This was a girl Fiona barely knew, and she was giving her a lecture on the meaning of school and life! Carole wasn’t finished, either.

“Do you have any idea how it feels to be utterly helpless in a situation? Do you know what it means when you can’t solve a problem by getting extra credit—or what it means to fail completely? It’s time for some people to learn that life isn’t just about things you can control with your obsessions! It’s about things that control you, too!”

With that, Carole stood up from the sofa, placed her book on the return shelf, and walked out, leaving behind an astonished history student.

Her own words echoed in her mind. She meant them. She wasn’t sorry she’d said them. She was, however, surprised at how much she’d revealed to herself. Helpless, out of control, failing. Yes, that was exactly how she felt. Briefly she wished she could get some extra credit at life, bring her father home, and heal all the sick horses. It didn’t work that way, though, and she knew it.

O
UT
OF
CONTROL
. That was the way Carole was feeling, and that was the way her world felt. There was no better way to describe it. She’d realized that when she was speaking to Fiona, and nothing that had happened all day long at school had made her feel any better.

Even now, done with school for the day and on her way to Pine Hollow, she didn’t think anything was looking up. Nothing, and she meant nothing, was going the way she wanted it to.

In the first place, there was Lisa, totally weirded out—first by her compulsion to win and then by her compulsion to lose. Next came Stevie. She was behaving weirdly, too. Even though weird was pretty normal for Stevie, she was unusually weird, and she was exhausted.
Something was up, and Carole had no idea what it was or what she could do about it. Next, even though the Atwoods were trying hard to make her feel at home, she didn’t really feel at home because it wasn’t home. She was always comfortable at Lisa’s house, as long as she knew she could go to her own home. This time she couldn’t, and that made her think of the things she really couldn’t control, things that were distressing her the most.

Her father first. Where was he? What was he up to? Why couldn’t they ever talk to one another? She missed him desperately, but most of all, she was worried about him. And then there were all the horses at Pine Hollow. When Carole closed her eyes, she saw rows and rows of empty stalls, an entire stable wiped out by a dreadful disease. EIA, swamp fever—whatever it was called, it was spelled
d-e-a-t-h.

Carole walked faster, hurrying to Pine Hollow. She had to be there; she had to help her beloved horses. Sure, only one was hers in the legal sense, but they were all beloved in every single sense. There had to be something she could control in the nightmare that was called her life these days.

She’d been walking so fast that she got to Pine Hollow before any of the other schoolkids did. Lisa wasn’t coming this afternoon. She’d said she had something else she had to do after school. Stevie wasn’t planning to come, either, though Carole couldn’t remember if she’d
said what it was she was doing. Other riders would show up. They always did, but they weren’t there yet. Carole felt as if maybe she was the only one in the world who remembered that Judy was supposed to call this afternoon with the results of the blood tests for all the rest of the horses in the stable—including Delilah.

Carole dropped her book bag and jacket in her cubby and hurried out to the stalls. They were all full. Her nightmare of empty stalls had been just that: a nightmare.

The stable had horses in it, but there were no people. Mrs. Reg was in her office. She and Max were going over papers and were so engrossed in them that they barely waved to Carole. She knew they’d tell her if there was any news from Judy. Then Carole remembered. This was the day Judy worked at CARL, the County Animal Rescue League. There wouldn’t be any news from her until she got home—after six o’clock.

Carole hurried to Starlight’s stall. Starlight greeted her warmly, nuzzling her neck. He was so sweet and wonderful that Carole wished she could thank her father again, right then and there, for giving Starlight to her. She checked Starlight’s water and hay and saw that both supplies had been replenished recently. His stall was clean, too, so there wasn’t any work for Carole to do there—except, of course, to hug him and give him a carrot, which she did.

She checked on Belle and Prancer. Obviously, Red
had had a busy day, because their stalls were clean as well.

With an uncomfortable feeling, Carole realized that maybe Red wasn’t so busy. He had extra time because business was slow at Pine Hollow. Without any horses coming and going and with some riders staying away, even if they didn’t have to, the place was quiet. There was plenty of time to do chores all day long.

It felt odd to be at Pine Hollow with nothing to do. She wasn’t planning to ride that day, so she’d counted on chores to keep her mind off all the things it seemed to want to think about. There had to be something she could do.

Of course. She could check on Delilah. The sunshine of the autumn afternoon warmed her back as she walked to the feed shed. Carole was oblivious to it. All she could think of was Delilah—lovely, kind, sweet, gentle, motherly Delilah. Carole’s hand trembled when she reached for the doorknob to enter the feed shed. What would she find? Would it be the frisky, curious mare she loved, or would she find more symptoms of the disease she didn’t even want to think about?

Being afraid wasn’t going to solve anything. Carole opened the door and stepped in.

Delilah was sick. She lifted her head to greet Carole, but there was no eagerness, as if she didn’t have any to share. Someone who didn’t know Delilah might not see it as quickly as Carole did. Most people saw Delilah’s
beautiful coat and silvery mane long before they saw anything else about her. Delilah’s coat and mane were as beautiful as they always were. And although there were horses who always looked at visitors dully, Delilah wasn’t one of them.

Carole hurried over to the mare. Delilah lifted her head over the gate to her stall, waiting for the loving greeting she knew she’d get from Carole. Carole held her ever so gently, afraid she might make something hurt, but the horse wasn’t in pain and clearly wanted a good hug—the kind she usually got from Carole. Carole delivered. As she did, however, she became aware that Delilah felt very warm.

Carole had always thought her father was being silly when he’d kiss her on the forehead and then tell her he thought she might be coming down with something.

“Oh, Daddy,” she’d say.

“Well, you feel warm to me, baby,” he’d tell her. “You feeling okay?”

“I feel fine,” she’d tell him.

“Go get me the thermometer,” he’d tell her. The thermometer almost always agreed with her father, and Carole almost always spent the next couple of days in bed, recovering.

This time, she didn’t have to get the thermometer any more than her father did. She knew from holding her that Delilah had a fever.

Carole stepped back and took a look at Delilah. Nothing
she saw gave her comfort. The mare’s legs seemed puffy, and the skin around her eyes seemed pale. Carole checked Delilah’s mouth. Her cheeks and gums seemed paler than usual, too.

EIA
stood for
equine infectious anemia.
If Carole remembered correctly, anemia was a condition that affected blood so that there wasn’t enough iron in it. Blood that wasn’t working right wouldn’t be able to carry extra fluids around the body properly. Fluids could end up staying in the places that were farthest from a horse’s heart—like the lower legs. And blood without enough iron in it wouldn’t be the same color as regular blood. It would be pale—like Delilah’s gums.

Carole didn’t have to wait for a blood test. There was no need to worry about a phone call. She had the answer. Delilah was sick. She was
very
sick, and what she had was the same disease that had killed King Perry only a few days before. They might have been infected at the same time when Delilah first arrived at Hedgerow Farms, or Delilah might have been infected by a tabanid that had just bitten King Perry. They might never know exactly how it had happened, but Carole was as sure as anything that it had happened. Delilah had swamp fever.

She couldn’t die, though. She was carrying a foal—King Perry’s foal. She had to live. She had to have this foal, and it had to be perfect, just like its brother, Samson.
If people thought Delilah was sick, they wouldn’t take care of her. They might even euthanize her.

The thought took Carole’s breath away. This beautiful horse—gone. Maybe even worse was the idea that she might be separated from all the other horses for the rest of her life. She’d never be ridden again. She’d never jump, she’d never turn on the forehand, enjoy the deep peace of the hilly woods of Virginia. Nobody would ever love her as much as they did before she became ill.

Carole couldn’t let that happen to her beloved Delilah. This horse was born to love, to be loved, to be ridden, to be free, happy, cared for. If nobody else would do it for her, Carole would.

“I’ll be right back,” she told Delilah.

Carole knew what she was going to do, but she didn’t have a plan. She only knew she was going to be with Delilah, to love her and look after her as nobody else could. Carole would give her health and strength. They would be together. It was all Delilah would need; it was all Carole would need.

Max and Mrs. Reg were still in the office as Carole slipped into the locker area and put on her riding clothes and boots. There was no sign of Red anywhere, and there was nobody in the tack room. Carole picked up Delilah’s saddle and bridle, took a crop, fastened her own helmet under her chin, and headed for the feed shed.

Delilah didn’t protest at all while Carole tacked her up, and it only took a minute. Carole tugged gently at the bridle, and Delilah willingly followed her out of the shed. Delilah sniffed at the fresh, cool autumn air. It seemed to energize her. She nodded appreciatively. Carole mounted her, adjusted the stirrups, and headed toward the gate to the field and the woods beyond.

As Carole and Delilah left Pine Hollow, two thoughts crossed Carole’s mind. First, she vaguely heard the ring of the stable telephone and wondered if that was the call from Judy. It didn’t matter when the call came. Carole was with Delilah, and she would take care of her.