The Island Horse (8 page)

Nothing. The sailboat skimmed on across the water.

But then, when she had almost given up, Ellie caught sight of a group of small figures in the distance, on the crest of a small rise. She looked intently. Horses! Wild horses! She counted. Four adult horses, and three small ones, the foals. It was not Orchid's herd. There were seven, not six, and Orchid was not there. Yet they were lovely all the same.

Ellie turned to share this small gift with her father. But they had reached a curve in the lake. Ross was dropping the sail, and Ellie's father watched, eager to help. Ellie could not catch his eye.

“We'll try for flatfish here,” Ross said, anchoring.

“All right,” her father agreed cheerfully.

“Want to have a try?” Ross asked Ellie.

“No, thank you,” she replied politely, then turned back to watch the horses. But already they were leaving, moving over the rise and out of sight.

“Maybe next time,” said Ross with a shrug, and he baited two hooks.

The boat bobbed on the water, and Ross talked even more as he and Ellie's father fished. He told them about the history of Sable Island. How it had been sinking ships for hundreds of years. How it sat astride the great route that the sailing ships traveled from the east coast of North America to Europe. How it was known as the Graveyard of the Atlantic.

“The first lifesaving station was put here in 1801,” he said. “I've been here myself for fifteen years, and I've seen many a poor fellow drown. We need more than the one main life station here. We've got the second station now. Your station.”
Ours?
thought Ellie uncomfortably. It didn't feel like theirs. It couldn't be her home. Not ever. “But we need a few more,” added Ross. “And we need some better lifeboats. And a lighthouse.”

Ellie's father nodded, jerking his line.

“It would help prevent some of the tragedies,” Ross said. “We do our best, with our dozen and a half men or so and our two surfboats, but it's a dangerous place, and it's taken many lives …”

Ross reeled in his line. There was a fish on the end, struggling. “Here we go!” he grinned, pleased. “A nice flounder!”

“Tell us about the wild horses,” Ellie's father suggested. His hook was empty. He rebaited with another small mud minnow, and tossed it back in.

Ross turned to Ellie. “Have you spotted any of them, the wild horses?”

Ellie hesitated. But Ross did not wait for a response. “Well, they eat hearty all spring and summer, so they can make it through the winter. In the cold season, they have the dried-up marram grass to eat, and they have to break the ice on the ponds with their hooves in order to drink. But their shaggy winter coats and their long manes keep them warm.” He gripped the fish's flapping body and took the hook from its mouth. “They're used to people, somewhat. You can
look
at the horses. But you can't get too close. They're just too wild.”

Ellie smiled to herself. She recalled Orchid's breath on her hand, his lips brushing her skin.

Ross slapped one hand on his knee. “Say, if you're interested in the horses, you'll want to come to the roundup. It's in three days' time. This Saturday. It's always quite an event. Have you heard about it? We chase the herds of horses across the island,” he said excitedly. Ross made a rough circle with his arms. “Chase them toward the corrals that we set up.” The fish continued to flop in his grip.

A roundup?
Ellie's throat tightened. Ross began closing the circle of his arms, like a noose, as he explained, “We corral as many of them as we can. We might catch twenty or thirty.”

Ellie saw it. She could see the whites of the eyes of the wild horses. Their tails lifted high. Shaking their heads angrily.

“Then we choose the best ones. We take them to the seashore, and we tie them down, kicking and screaming. Then we lash the horses to something like a stretcher, and we get them to the surfboat, load them up two or three at a time. Out they go to the
Eagle,
where they're hoisted aboard with ropes.” Ross gestured, making a scooping motion with one arm.

Ellie saw the kicking hooves, the horses screaming for help. She saw the heavy bodies airborne. They were swinging over the water, rolling eyes wide and white. “The other horses in the corral we let go. But those ones — the best — we ship to the mainland. They can fetch a good price there. The funds help to pay for running the station.”

Finally, Ross threw the fish into the bucket. It flopped about among their other catches of the day.

Ellie's stomach lurched. She saw the shiny flat bodies of the fish twitching. Their eyes stared. Their gills flapped. Caught.

Ross and her father turned to talk about other things, eel spearing on the lake by lantern light. “Eels make a good stew,” said Ross.

But Ellie wasn't listening. She was imagining her island horse chased, thrown, tied. She imagined him unable to rear, to turn and gallop away, sand flying. Then, worst of all, she imagined Orchid being shipped away. She imagined him being shipped away from his island home.

Chapter Fourteen

What should I do?
What
can
I do?
worried Ellie.

It was the next morning, Thursday, and Ellie was hurrying to the dunes.

She hoped to see Orchid. Her heart ached to see him. She was starting to love him. She couldn't help it, even though she knew she shouldn't. Because what if she loved him, and he was captured in the roundup and lost to her forever?

Ellie reached the dunes by the shore. She climbed to the top, and she sat and waited.

The horse arrived before too long. This time he trotted up from behind her. Her heart jumped when she knew he was there. He stopped in front of her, stood and looked at her. Still, he was not afraid.

He grazed near her feet. He came so close.

Maybe I should leap on his back and ride him
, she thought crazily.
Capture him. Throw a rope around his neck. Put him in the barn at the second station. Hide him.

The roundup was in two days.

Ellie stared at him, his long mane, his thick chocolatey-brown coat like velvet. Orchid tugged at the tough grass. The muscles in his powerful neck flexed. He chewed, his jaw sliding from side to side. He was a Sable Island horse, tough as the marram grass but as beautiful as the orchids she and her father had received on their first day here.

She whispered it to him. “You are as beautiful as orchids.”

The horse's lashes lifted, and he gazed at Ellie.

She stared back into his eyes. Again, a moment of wonder, fragile and delicate.

Ellie heard a neigh in the distance. Instantly, the horse's head turned, and his ears flicked forward, searching.

She turned and saw them, across the dunes. Finally! Orchid's herd. Her heart caught in her mouth. Five horses. Five oh-so-beautiful horses. The same ones she had seen on her very first day here.

One was the smallish yearling with a chestnut coat, likely born the previous spring. It sprang about on strong legs, nipping at its mother's flank, wanting to play, or maybe just dance.

The two mares were also the color of chestnuts, their coats a glossy tangle. Some of their long winter coats remained, and were dropping.

The two foals tripped along behind them. They were tiny.
So tiny!
marveled Ellie. But sturdy. Their tails were short little whisks that flicked, flicked, flicked. The foals were chocolatey-brown, the color a mirror of their father's coat. And they had his markings, too. The white patch on his forehead, the thin white stripe down his nose, his dark mane and tail.
They are his little ones all right,
Ellie thought with a grin.
This is his herd.

The foals waited. Flick, flick. The mares waited, too, and the yearling. Patient. Bending their heads down to snatch a mouthful of grass. They would wait forever if they had to. They were his herd.

The stallion tossed his head. He snorted.
Whuff.
And he cantered over to join them.

Ellie smiled again and wrapped her arms around her knees. She settled in to watch Orchid and his family. She would happily watch forever, if she could.

Chapter Fifteen

Later, back at the station, Ellie's happiness was chased away by worries about the roundup. Ellie couldn't think of anything else. At dinner, she saw horses being pursued and corralled. As she tried to sleep that night, she saw horses being roped and lifted. The horses shrieking, kicking. The horses leaving the island forever.

Ellie knew she had to do something to prevent Orchid from being captured, hoisted onto a boat and shipped to the mainland. Maybe his mares were at risk, too. Maybe the yearling, the foals even. Ellie had to help. But how? What could she do?

On Friday morning, she looked at her father as he sipped his tea. He was leaving for patrol duty soon. Perhaps he could help, somehow.

But what if I tell Pa and he won't believe me? Won't believe I have a secret friendship with a wild island horse?
she worried.
Or what if he doesn't want to help?
Can't
help? What if he has to join in the roundup and help capture Orchid? What if it's part of his job?

And there was something else preventing her from telling. There was something fragile between her and the horse, something impossible. Ross had said, “You can't get too close. They're just too wild.” Yet fear had not come between Orchid and her, the fear a wild horse might feel for a human. Orchid had come to trust her, and she him. Whatever it was connecting them seemed reliable. Safe. But if Ellie told, the telling might change that. The fragile something might break. And she would lose him.

So Ellie let her father go out on patrol and didn't say a word about the horse.

She wondered if Sarah would come that day. Sarah had offered help. “If you ever need me,” she had said, “fly a white flag.” Maybe Sarah would come and Ellie could find a way to talk to her about Orchid. Even though Ellie wasn't certain about Sarah yet, time was running out. The roundup was tomorrow.

But the day passed, and Sarah did not come.

Then it was Friday night. Ellie went to bed and closed her eyes, and she saw it all again: Orchid being chased and corralled. Being roped and lifted, shrieking and kicking. Leaving forever. Leaving her, leaving his home, his herd.

“Pa?”

She found him in the kitchen. The fire had almost died down. He looked up at her and smiled, stretching his arms. “Just about to turn in,” he said. “Everything all right?”

“Pa, there's a horse, a wild horse …” she began.

Ellie's father wrapped her special quilt around her, and settled her in a chair. He stirred up the fire. The wood blazed, then steadied. He pulled up a seat next to Ellie and listened.

She told him about the island horse, and what he meant to her. She described seeing him for the first time. About how she had visited him several times. She reminded him of what Ross had told them, about the roundup.

Ellie talked, and her father listened closely.

Finally she dipped her head, and her hands were dashed with tears. “I'm afraid. The stallion is in danger, Pa. And maybe his herd as well.”

Her father was careful and calm, and he didn't hesitate. He said quietly, “I'll help you, Ellie. I'm not sure yet what I can do, but of course I'll help you.” He pulled his chair even closer to hers. He tucked the quilt around her snugly. “Now, let's just get comfortable here. I'll need to think for a while.”

Ellie lifted her face to him at once. Her eyes, full of hope, searched his. She saw he would do anything for her. Then she rested her head on his arm, and they sat together. Ellie watched the fire dance. She watched as the fire burned low.

Then Ellie, half-waking, felt her father lifting her, carrying her to bed.

In the morning, Ellie started awake.
It's Saturday!
she thought in alarm. She ran to her father's bedroom, saw the empty bed and hurried to the kitchen. A lantern was lit. The sun was just rising.