No Small Thing (12 page)

“Okay, genius, let’s hear some suggestions.”

“How about Douglas?” Cid says smugly.

“Douglas?”

“Douglas Fir.”

“That’s good! That’s a great name!” Queenie squeals.

So we drag Douglas through town like a green patient on a red stretcher. He co-operates for the most part, but occasionally slips over a hump of snow, dipping sideways off the sidewalk and into the street. We stop Smokey when this happens, to prevent the rope of our homemade harness from running across his back legs. Smokey doesn’t like when the tree comes too close. He pins his ears flat against his head.

“Watch he doesn’t kick you,” I tell Cid as she adjusts the sled.

The sled slides off the sidewalk almost immediately, and I’m thinking I may have to drag it myself just to save Smokey the frustration. But then I have a great idea. I tie another piece of twine to the back of the sled and walk behind like a guide, pulling the rope tight to keep the sled at the proper distance. This works beautifully and even prevents it from running too quickly down hills and hitting Smokey in the fetlocks.

As we’re walking along like this, talking abouthow we are going to decorate the tree, big white flakes of snow start to fall all around us. They land magically on our hats and shoulders. They land on Smokey’s back and his eyelashes, and they cover Douglas in a fine white blanket.

“The tree looks beautiful just like that,” Queenie muses, and I have to agree.

When we pull up to the house, Ma is already home from work and waving through the front window. She sees Smokey and rushes to the door.

“He’s beautiful! Who did all the ribbons?”

This is the first time she’s seen Smokey.

“Queenie did,” I tell her. “Aren’t they nice? You should have seen it, Ma. We had the whole town watching us as we pulled Douglas along.”

“Who’s Douglas?” Ma asks.

“The tree!” we all say.

“The tree? Well, Lord love you, where did you get such a nice tree?” she says, picking her way down the snowy stairs in her slippers.

“We got it at Towers,” Queenie says innocently.

I can tell Ma doesn’t believe us, so I explain the whole story about how I gave the man the cheque and how he picked the tree for us. Ma just stands there shaking her head.

“It’s absolutely beautiful,” she says. “Can you bring it inside? I’ll have to find the tree stand in the basement. I didn’t think you’d actually come home with a tree at all, certainly not one this big….” She disappears into the house muttering exclamations of astonishment under her breath.

While Ma’s looking for the tree stand, we hitch Smokey to the railing at the front of the house and unlash Douglas from his stretcher. The smell of tree pitch fills the air. Queenie holds the door open while Cid and I wrestle Douglas up the stairs and into the house. We dance him into the living room, careful not to bump the trunk on the carpet. Ma rushes up from the basement with the stand and places it on the carpet in front of the living room window. We lower Douglas into the stand, and then I try to hold him straight while Cid tightens the screws and Ma and Queenie give directions either left or right. After what seems like an hour, Ma finally declares the tree fit.

“Can we decorate it now?” Queenie asks.

“Sure,” Ma says, “but you’ll have to help me find the decorations in the basement.”

Through the living room window I see Smokey pawing impatiently at the ground. “We have to take Smokey back to the barn.”

Cid and Queenie look disappointed, so I tellthem just to stay with Ma and help decorate the tree. I pretend that I’m put out, but I really don’t mind taking Smokey back by myself. In fact, I’m looking forward to having some time alone.

“Watch out for Clem,” Cid moans in a ghostly voice from the top of the basement stairs.

“Ha ha. Funny.” I tighten my scarf and slip outside. I can hear Ma asking Cid who Clem is, and Queenie shouting that she found the box of ornaments, before I close the door and leave the warmth and the bustle of the house behind.

The sun is already low in the sky, throwing long grey shadows across the yard. A snowplow thunders down the street, pushing the snow to one side and spraying salt everywhere. Smokey shakes his head. The little pine cones dance around on the ends of the ribbons. I unhitch the sled and remove the harness. I lean the sled against the side of the house, then remove the Gorilla’s noseband, stuffing it in my coat.

Through the living room window I see Ma and Queenie and Cid pulling out decorations from our old Christmas box and placing them carefully on the tree. The fire is leaping in the fireplace, the orange flames illuminating the tree and everyone’s faces. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that we were the happiest family in the world. You wouldn’t know about frozen pipes and hydro bills and such. You’d think we were near perfect, decorating the tree, waiting for our father to come home from work and tell us about his day.

I watch through the window, until Smokey nudges me in the side with his muzzle. I run my hand down his neck, then lead him to the sidewalk and into the street. The plow has left a clean swath on one side of the road. I lead Smokey close to the curb just in case a car should come along. It’s near dinnertime, and all the houses are lit up and cheerful. As we walk along, Smokey’s gentle movement lulls me deeper in thought. His breath is warm, the steam curling around my hand. We are going along like this when I hear a familiar voice call my name.

“Hey, Nathaniel!”

I turn to see Cheryl Hanson coming towards me, a big smile on her face. She walks right up to me, her eyelashes lightly frosted beneath her green cap, her heart-shaped face rosy and beautiful from the cold. My heart stops beating in my chest and my mouth goes instantly dry.

“Is this your horse? She’s beautiful.”

“He’s a he, actually,” I say, trying to keep my voice from cracking.

“What’s his name?”

“Smokey.”

“Did you do this?” She points at the ribbons and tinsel.

I can feel myself start to blush. “My little sister. She treats him like a Barbie doll sometimes.”

“I think it’s really pretty. May I pet him?”

She looks at me so sweetly. I tell myself to stay calm. “Sure. He’s gentle. Like a big dog. Here …” I hand her a piece of apple from my coat pocket. “You can feed him if you like. You’ll be his friend for life.”

Cheryl takes the apple and holds it up. Smokey tries to grab it with his mouth, and Cheryl pulls her hand away in fright.

“No, like this.” I show her how to hold her hand flat so that Smokey won’t nip her accidentally.

She holds the apple out again, only this time with a flat hand like I showed her. Smokey nuzzles the apple, then takes it, crunching it noisily.

“He really likes it!” Cheryl says, laughing.

“Yeah. Like I said, he’s just like a big dog.” I ruffle Smokey’s mane and scratch his forehead roughly with my mittened hand.

“Where are you taking him?”

“Back to the barn. We had him pull our Christmas tree to the house.” I can’t help saying this with some pride in my voice. How many other kids have a pony to deliver a Christmas tree to their house?

“Do you want some company?”

“Where?” I stupidly ask.

“Taking him back to the barn. I don’t have anything else to do.”

“Won’t your folks wonder where you are?”

“They’ve gone visiting relatives. Cousins three times removed that I don’t even know or care about.” She squinches up her face.

I laugh a little too loudly at this, then check myself right away, but at this point I’m nearly screaming inside my skull. I want to jump around and drive snowballs at stop signs or something, but force myself to play it cool instead. This would be easier if my voice didn’t suddenly crack all over the place and make me sound like a goof. “It’s … it’s really far. We won’t be back before dark.”

Cheryl is sweet and pretends she doesn’t notice my voice breaking or my face turning all red.

“That’s okay. I’m free for at least a couple of hours.”

And so I find myself walking with the most beautiful girl in school on the most beautiful night in December and I can’t believe my luck. The snow is falling gently all around us. We walk along, talking about school and music and movies, and I’m amazed to find out we like somany of the same things—even though we live on different planets. Suddenly, I get an idea.

“Do you want to ride him?”

“What?”

“He won’t mind. We ride him all the time. It’s fun. He’ll keep you warm too.”

Cheryl blinks as she considers this. “But he hasn’t got a saddle on or anything….”

“It’s all right. He’s really comfortable—like a big soft chair. Here, I’ll give you a leg up.” I help her grab a handful of Smokey’s mane, then hold out my hands for her knee. I notice my finger sticking out of a hole in my mitt, so I whip my mitts off quickly and stuff them into my coat pocket. I hold my bare hands out for her instead, and she just looks at me.

“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “I do this for my sisters all the time. Come on.”

She places her knee delicately in my hands and I lift her up onto Smokey’s back. “Just keep hold of his mane like that and you’ll be fine.”

Cheryl balances nervously on top of Smokey, holding his mane tightly in her gloved hands.

“How does that feel?” I ask her.

“Good … It feels good … I think!” She laughs nervously, her eyes shining brightly in the evening light.

“Just let your legs relax, but try not to swing them around and kick him.” I cluck with my tongue to get Smokey up. I can’t think of a thing to say once Cheryl stops talking, so I lead Smokey along in silence. I look back occasionally to see Cheryl smiling happily at me. We walk like this for some time, until we come to the top of the hill where the lane to the barn begins. The snow has drifted in big unbroken arcs across the lane.

“Maybe I should get off him now,” Cheryl says.

“No, stay on. The snow is really deep. They don’t plow it.”

Smokey picks his way along the lane, lifting his feet high to clear the drifts. Some are so deep they touch his belly. I tell Cheryl to hang on extra tight because Smokey has to rabbit-jump to make it through. She looks a bit scared as Smokey clears the first drift, me leaping by his side. When we reach the barn, I hold my hand out to help Cheryl down. She leans over and puts her arm around my neck instead, her warm face nearly touching mine.

“That was so much fun!” she says.

“Here, can you hold him for a minute?” I hand Cheryl the lead and she takes it willingly. I open the barn door, then feel around for the switch. For the first time since we’ve been boarding

Smokey here, I don’t think about Clem’s ghost before I turn on the light. The horses look up from their feed bins, munching serenely on their hay. I take Smokey’s lead from Cheryl, who hesitates at the door.

“Come on in. It’s okay.”

“It’s kind of spooky. Do you always come here alone?”

“Sometimes. There’s supposed to be a ghost in here.” I say this just to impress her.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Some old guy named Clem who used to live in the barn with his pigs. He fell off a beam and broke his neck.” I don’t tell her about how he used to chase us with a bullwhip for playing in the hay when we were kids.

“Doesn’t that scare you? I’d be terrified to come here by myself.” She wraps her arms around her chest and shivers. “I don’t like ghosts and things like that. It creeps me out to think about them.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” I boast.

The story of Clem’s ghost must have Cheryl pretty scared because she’s practically walking in my boots as I lead Smokey into his stall. She follows behind and stands with one hand on Smokey’s back—the same way Queenie does—while I remove his halter. The
Star Wars
theme is playing on the radio. For some reason, Cheryl finds this funny.

“The horses like the sound of the radio,” I explain. “It keeps them calm.”

“Do they pick the station?”

She gives me a wry smile.

“No. They’d listen to disco if I let them.”

We laugh together at this, our eyes meeting for a moment. Cheryl looks away, then runs her hand along Smokey’s neck.

“Should we take the ribbons from his hair?”

I look at Smokey, the pine cones dangling from his mane and tail. “I guess so. He’d just get them tangled and ruin all my sister’s hard work.”

We stand close to each other, our hands almost touching as we work the tinsel and ribbons from Smokey’s mane. Cheryl has taken her gloves off and her fingers move quickly. She removes the ribbons easily, holding them in a bunch in one of her hands. I don’t know why, but I can’t stop smiling and Cheryl must think I’m crazy.

“You’re good at this,” I finally say.

“I braid my sister’s hair all the time. I love this sort of thing.” She moves to Smokey’s tail and begins removing the ribbons there too. She doesn’t even hesitate to stand behind him, asthough she’d been working around horses all her life. She hands me the ribbons when she’s through. I shove them in my coat pocket.

“I have to brush him,” I tell her. “Do you want to help?”

She nods and I hand her the curry comb. I show her how to use it and how to clean it by banging it out against the floor. I pick Smokey’s feet, while Cheryl works away at brushing him, a serious look on her face. When she’s done, I throw the old blanket over Smokey, securing it at his chest and under his belly with the clothespins. I stand up to find Cheryl looking right at me.

“You shouldn’t be afraid to speak up in class, Nathaniel. You’re really smart and it’s okay if the other kids look dumb. They wish they were smart like you. You shouldn’t hide it.”

I’m listening to what she’s saying, but all I can think is that I’ve never heard my name sound so good before.

“You’re so lucky to have a horse,” she continues, as though it’s totally normal for her and me to be together like this. “I’ve been bugging my parents for a horse since I was a little kid, but they’ll never let me get one.”

“How come?” I say, finally finding my voice. “It’s not like they can’t afford it.”

“They can afford it, all right. They just won’t. My dad thinks it’s too dangerous. Like I’m going to fall and break my neck or something. I bet your dad doesn’t hassle you like that….”