Читать книгу Christmas at Saddle Creek - Shelley Peterson - Страница 6

Back at Saddle Creek Farm

’Twas the night before Christmas …

Alberta Simms awoke with a start. Her eyes flew open to a wall of blackness. The cozy bedroom overlooking the front field at Saddle Creek Farm was totally dark, and apart from the steady pinging of freezing rain on the windowpanes, totally silent.

Her cellphone read 11:33 p.m.

What woke me up this time of night? she wondered. She slipped out from under her warm covers, and her bare feet felt the cold of the old pine as they touched the floor. She padded the two small steps to the window, pulled open the curtains, and peered outside into the darkness.

Alberta Simms was known by her nickname, “Bird.” At sixteen, she was still slight and sinewy, but rapidly changing from girl to woman. Her skin was the colour of caffe latte, her eyes were a deep chocolate brown, and she wore her shiny dark hair long and loose. Bird was proud to be First Nations, and she looked far more like her First Nations father than her blond, blue-eyed mother of British heritage.

Her eyes began to adjust to the murkiness outside, and with effort she could make out the line of split-rail fencing that followed the laneway. Through the hail and fog she could see the three big maples on the lawn. One stood right in front of the house beside her window, and the others were on either side of the front walk. They looked blurry, but their forms were recognizable.

She could identify nothing that might have awoken her from her sleep.

Tonight was Christmas Eve. Tomorrow was Christmas. So far, her sixteenth Christmas was ­shaping up to be just like the fifteen that came before — full of ­disappointment and stress.

Her mother, Eva, was throwing hissy fits and ­bickering with her latest husband, Stuart. Bird and her little sister Julia joked that “Eva stole Christmas.” But it was true. How much fun is it when somebody in the family is miserable and brings everybody’s spirits down? No fun at all.

Bird groaned as she replayed this week’s scene. Eva, with her face red and streaked with mascara, clothes strewn all over her bed and floor, whined that she didn’t have anything to wear to Stuart’s annual Christmas party. In Bird’s opinion, Eva was right. Nothing in those rumpled piles suited her. She should throw out all the ribbons and bows and flouncy short skirts. It was ­embarrassing. Add overbleached, overcurled, long blond hair, plus too much makeup, and Eva looked like a cheap, wrinkly teenager trying out for the 1980 ­high school cheerleading team.

But she shouldn’t have said it out loud.

Here was yet another example of how living with elective mutism can be an advantage. It was a ­horrible, frustrating affliction, and it had caused her untold ­misery, but when Bird was not able to speak, she never had to watch what she said.

Bird had been misdiagnosed with autism when she stopped speaking at age six. She was not typical in most ways, with her unusual ability to communicate ­non-verbally with animals, so it must have been difficult for the doctors, she conceded. But they got it right when they landed on a diagnosis of elective mutism. Her vocal cords worked just fine, but she couldn’t get the words out of her mouth.

Now the words could come out, and her mother had not taken kindly to being called a 1980 vintage, wrinkly teenager. She “thought it best” that Bird stay with Aunt Hannah over Christmas. So Bird had been dumped unceremoniously at Saddle Creek, while ­thirteen-year-old Julia stayed with Eva. And now, instead of coming to Aunt Hannah’s for Christmas, they were going to Stuart’s parents’ cottage in Muskoka for a big family gathering. Bird pictured an ornate tree, ­succulent turkey, lavish gifts, and joyful people hugging each other and laughing. But not with me, Bird thought. She sniffed back the aching feeling of hurt.

It wasn’t news that Eva loved Julia more than she loved Bird. Julia was far more lovable, Bird admitted, and a blue-eyed blonde like Eva, of which their mother made a big deal. Bird didn’t miss all the fuss and anxiety that accompanied Eva, but she wished that she could at least spend Christmas with her half-sister.

Bird curled her feet and stood on their outer edges to avoid the coldness of the floor. She was shivering but stayed for another minute at the window, just in case she’d missed something that might explain her ­disrupted sleep.

She had actually been looking forward to the Christ­mas celebration this year, but what had started out to be a decent-size dinner at Saddle Creek Farm had ­dwindled down to four people: Aunt Hannah, her ­veterinarian fiancé, Paul Daniels, Bird, and her ­grandmother, Jean Bradley. Not exactly a barrel of monkeys. Now it would be a very small gathering, with a very small turkey.

The real blow was Alec, who was now spending Christmas with his mother, which Bird understood completely. But having Alec there for dinner would’ve made everything great, even if nobody else came. She sighed deeply.

During those times when Bird couldn’t talk and acted out in abnormal ways, Alec had been there for her. Everybody in the entire world thought she was a weirdo misfit, but Alec had always stood up for her. Bird smiled as she remembered how he used to translate for her when she couldn’t speak, and how he’d faced down ­bullies at school when they were cruel.

They’d had a crush on each other for the last few years.

But now, things had changed. His father and her Aunt Hannah were engaged, and Bird wondered if their relationship might be too awkward. She wasn’t sure how it would work at family get-togethers, like Christmas, which were always difficult, anyway. Alec refused to think there was a problem, but Bird had told him that they should talk about it, and until it was resolved one way or the other, at least they could remain friends.

Friends can’t kiss each other, she thought. That might be difficult for her. Wow. Talk about confused emotions. Anyway, he wasn’t coming for Christmas dinner so it wouldn’t come up, but she was disappointed. Very.

She willed herself to focus on happy things. She loved being here at Saddle Creek with Aunt Hannah, Paul Daniels, and their funny brown dog, Lucky. She loved her cheerful little room in the farmhouse, with red, blue, green, and white tartan curtains and ­matching ­bedspread, and lively red sheets. She loved her ­interactions with Cody, the enigmatic coyote who appeared on a whim, or whenever he was needed, and disappeared again just as mysteriously. He’d been around for as long as she could remember.

More than anything else, she loved being with Sundancer, an undisputed jumping champion and her best friend. He was an athletic chestnut gelding who jumped anything that Bird faced him with and in ­stellar style. They’d had many adventures together, and they usually came home from competitions with trophies and ribbons galore.

There was never enough time to be around horses, she thought. Sunny gobbled up all her attention and still wanted more. Since arriving, Bird had done ­nothing much other than ride him, clean tack, and help muck out stalls, which was just how she liked it. If she could choose any place on Earth to be at any given moment, it would be right where she was now.

At Saddle Creek, Aunt Hannah unfailingly made her feel welcome and appreciated. She was kind and ­cheerful, and she made sure that Bird was looked after in every way. Like a mother might, thought Bird ­wistfully.

Aunt Hannah was nothing like her sister, Eva, and nothing like their father — Bird’s grandfather — Kenneth Bradley, either. He was in jail for a variety of crimes, including insurance fraud, obstruction of justice, and collusion. He was plain bad. Bird briefly wondered what Christmas was like in jail. It wouldn’t be great, but somehow she couldn’t summon up sympathy for her grandfather. She’d been the recipient of his callous schemes on more than one occasion, including the time he’d sold Sundancer behind her back, with forged papers and false identity. He’d proven too many times how heartless he was, even setting up his mentally ill son, Tanbark Wedger, to take the blame for assault ­causing death. Bird didn’t trust him one inch.

One day, Bird mused, she’d figure out the ­family dynamic. Why was Grandma Jean, his ex-wife, so ruined? She’d been a beautiful, accomplished woman when he married her, at least judging from the old ­pictures. Now she was a prim, sarcastic, aloof alcoholic. And why were Kenneth’s daughters both so strange around him? Aunt Hannah exhibited a forced cheerfulness and an agitated busyness whenever they were in the same house. And Bird’s mother, Eva, became sickeningly girlish. Bird couldn’t stand how she almost seemed to flirt with him.

Kenneth Bradley certainly casts a nasty spell on the people around him, she thought.

Suddenly, there was an ear-splintering crash right outside the window. Bird leapt back and landed on her bed.

A huge branch off the ancient maple that stood in front of the house broke from the tree and fell to the ground. It screeched as it scraped across the window and crash-landed on to the icy surface below. The noise was deafening.

Well, that’s that, thought Bird. Mystery solved. I must’ve been awakened when the branch first began to crack.

By now, she was thoroughly chilled and needed to get some sleep. Tomorrow was Christmas, for better or for worse. She curled back up under her covers, bunched up the pillow until it was just right, and closed her eyes.

Bird took some deep, relaxing breaths. It really was good to be back at Saddle Creek Farm. Not good to be dumped here by her mother, but good to be here.

Her mind drifted as she sought out a comfortable sleeping pose. She wondered where her father, Fred Sweetree, would spend Christmas. Together, they’d solved the mystery of the lost, stolen, and murdered horses. They’d made a great team. Both shared the highly unusual ability of direct animal communication, and they could speak to each other telepathically, as well. Needless to say, as they figured out the case and caught the perpetrators, this talent had come in handy.

But as soon as the case was wrapped up, he was gone. Bird had just begun to know him a little and was feeling hopeful that she finally had a father. And not just any father. This father understood her, and he spoke to animals, just like her. He was caring and smart and ­honourable, plus a superb rider. He was a father she would love to spend time with. Bird felt a catch in her throat. It was not to be.

She’d last spoken to him at Pete Pierson’s funeral. He’d told her he was proud of her and that he loved her, but he couldn’t stay and be the kind of father that she wanted. Bird had no choice but to accept that, but still, it didn’t totally sit right with her.

Her mother, Eva, never spoke of him. She’d always told Bird that he was dead. In fairness, everybody thought he’d died in a plane crash, so she couldn’t blame Eva entirely. There was enough she could blame Eva for without adding that.

Bird pushed these troublesome thoughts away. She was tired and needed sleep. She stretched her entire body from the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes, then loosened her muscles.

Bird let gravity pull her body into the mattress, and she asked her mind to float to a happy place. She imagined taking Sundancer out for a ride the next morning, after breakfast. The storm would have passed by then, the ice on the branches would be glistening in the sun, creating a fairy-tale world where everything was beautiful and full of goodness and light….

Bird girl.

Bird opened an eye.

Bird girl. You need to come. It was Cody.

What’s wrong?

Just come. I’ll show you the way.

Can it wait?

I think not.

The urgency in the coyote’s telepathic transmission moved Bird to get back out from under the warmth of the quilts. Cody would not summon her unless it were serious.

Quickly she pulled on the jeans and sweater draped on the chair in the corner of the room. She began to tiptoe down the stairs, but stopped. Her phone. She might need it. She went back, grabbed her cell, and sped as quietly as she could to the kitchen. Bird threw on her coat and hat, stuffed her feet into her winter boots, and grabbed her sheepskin gloves.

Lucky appeared beside her, with his tail wagging madly. He sniffed her jeans. Going out? Going out?

Good dog, Lucky. Bird took a second to scratch his furry brown ears. I need to go out for a while. You stay here.

Lucky’s tail stopped wagging.

You must guard the house, Lucky.

Lucky was confused. I will come! Will come!

Bird didn’t know what Cody had in mind, and she didn’t want to worry about Lucky in the storm. Stay, Lucky. Hannah and Paul need you tonight. Guard them very well.

Yes, Bird! Yes, Bird! His tail began to wag again.

Good dog, Lucky. I’ll be back.

Bird watched him lie back down contentedly in his bed. He was a good dog, she thought. He always wanted to help. She opened the kitchen door to a blast of chilled air.

Oops, Bird remembered. Aunt Hannah would be mad if she woke up and didn’t know where Bird was. It had happened before, and Bird had promised her that it’d never happen again.

She closed the door against the wind, spied the pen and pad of paper on the telephone desk under the clock, and scrawled, “Back soon. Call my cell. xo”

She glanced up at the clock. It was almost midnight.

Bird opened the door again and stepped outside. Stinging ice pellets hit her cheeks. She pulled her turtleneck collar over her nose and looked around for Cody.

Here, Bird girl. Follow me.

The coyote appeared from under a bush that sagged to the ground under a burden of ice. Cody looked ­thinner. Even in the dim light, she could see that his coat was dull. He walked toward her with a stiff gait.

Cody, are you all right?

Yes, Bird girl. We must hurry.

She’d ask Paul to take a look at him. Where are we going?

To the Good Lady’s farm.

Cody called Laura Pierson “the Good Lady.” She was quite elderly. Her husband, Pete, had died the year before. Cody had called him, “the Good Man.” Now Mrs. Pierson lived alone on their farm called Merry Fields, just down the road.

That’s a really long walk in this storm, Cody.

She needs help. Now.

What’s wrong?

I must show you.

I’ll get Hannah. We’ll drive. Bird turned to go back into the house.

No! The road cannot let a car pass.

What? Sometimes it was hard to understand what Cody meant.

There is a big tree where a car would travel.

Oh.

Come with me, now!

Bird thought for a second. If Mrs. Pierson was in danger, she needed to get there fast. It would take too long by foot, and it was too icy to ride a bike.

I’ll get Sunny. He’ll save us a lot of time.

If you wish. But hurry.

Bird began to run to the barn, but with her first step she slid on a thin cover of ice on the driveway and landed on her bottom. Ice was everywhere. Would Sundancer be able to get down the lane, let alone all the way to Mrs. Pierson’s farm?

She tested the thickness of the ice on top of the snow on the side by thumping it with her heel. She found she could break it easily. No problem for a horse’s hooves to cut through the ice, she thought, but there was only one way to find out.

Bird very carefully made her way up the edge of the driveway to the barn and pulled open the door. She felt along the wall for the light switch and flicked it on.

Nothing but darkness. The power was out.

Bird stood in the middle of the aisle. Sundancer’s stall was two down on the right.

Sunny?

Is that Santa Claus already?

It’s me. I need your help.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Cody says Mrs. Pierson is in danger.

I’m waiting for Santa. It’s cold and dark and scary out there. It’s nighttime, and I want to sleep like all the other horses.

Those are a lot of excuses.

Another voice reached Bird.

I’ll help! It was Tall Sox. You helped me, and I’ll help you anytime you ask.

Thank you, Sox!

Amigo piped up. Anything you ask, it is my duty.

And me. I’ll help you! The transmission came from Charlie, the old black gelding. I’m ready to go!

You are the best. Thank you, Sox, Amigo, and Charlie.

Sunny piped in. No way! If any horse helps Bird, it’s me. Get me outta this stall!

Bird chuckled to herself. Just like Sundancer. She felt along the wall until she got to his stall. She grabbed his halter from its hook, opened the latch, and stepped inside with her arms out, feeling for her horse. He stood at the very back of the stall, making her go the whole way.

Got you. We’re going to do it the quick way, Sunny. No time for tack. Your stable blanket stays on.

This better be worthwhile. A horse needs his sleep.

She put his halter over his head, fastened a rope to either side of it to make reins, then led him outside. She slid the door closed as she messaged to the barn filled with curious horses, Good night, all. We have a job to do, but we’ll be back soon.

Bird led him to the mounting block outside the barn door and scrambled onto his back. Be very careful, Sunny. It’s icy.

You don’t say.

Take a step and see …

They slid several feet until Sundancer found a snow bank where he could get purchase.

So, what’s the plan, Bird? Skate until I break all my legs?

I thought your hooves would go through the ice and get a grip on the snow.

Because snow isn’t slippery? Really?

Look, smarty, we need to help Mrs. Pierson. You don’t like my ideas, so do you have any of your own?

It wasn’t my idea to do this at all!

Okay, okay. Can we try to go cross-country?

Let me try it off the driveway. If it’s bad, I’m not going. Sunny trod slowly and cautiously until he got to the edge of the lane, then stepped over the ice-encrusted bank onto the flat expanse of the field. His hooves cut through the thin layer of ice, and he relaxed. Much better.

Good, Sunny! Can we do this?

Just watch me.

Good boy!

I’m not a dog.

Sorry.

Sunny walked a few paces. The snow was heavy and deep. He had to bend his knees high to pick up his hooves before putting them down squarely again.

Not nice, Bird. Not nice at all.

But is it possible?

Possible, but every step is tough work. Sunny picked up a slow, high-stepping trot across the paddock to the gate into the woods. Bird kicked the ice off the latch and opened it, glad that the gate was hung high enough off the ground to be clear of the snow.

Once through the gate, they walked attentively along the trails. On top of the treacherous footing, it was pitch-dark. She longed to hurry, but if Bird were to be any help at all to Mrs. Pierson, she’d have to get to Merry Fields in one piece.

She noted that the conical shape of the fir trees on either side of the path allowed the snow and ice to slide off without breaking branches. Deciduous trees, like the big maple outside Bird’s window, had the opposite shape and split with too much extra weight. Interesting, thought Bird.

These firs sheltered the trail from the full force of the gale, and as Bird and Sunny travelled along, they were glad for all the protection they could get.

By the time they emerged from the woods, Sundancer was sweating. Each step had been a big effort. They crossed a narrow clearing and found themselves at the road.

Sunny’s sides heaved. This is no picnic.

We don’t have far to go from here, Sunny.

The road looks crazy.

Bird had to agree. Sleet was blowing almost horizontal by the force of the wind, and garbage from a rolling bin was gusting around like it was in an anti-gravity machine. Just as plastic bags, wrappers, and sheets of newspaper were about to make a landing, they were tossed up in the air again. A telephone pole was down, and tree branches littered the road like pick-up sticks. Worse, the surface was slick with ice.

Her gut dropped. Sunny. This is bad.

I’m not a quitter, but I can’t step on that.

It’s solid ice. Bird felt like crying. She knew that the temperature couldn’t be much below freezing for this kind of storm, but she was cold. Ice frosted her eyelashes and stung her eyes. She was soaked to the skin, right through her coat. She could feel her feet, but just. And now, after all this effort and getting this close, it looked like they might have to turn around.

Sunny pawed the road, testing the footing. What about the Good Lady, Bird? She never gave up on us.

Innumerable times over the years, Laura Pierson had helped them when they’d needed it. She was a person who could be counted on in every circumstance. Mrs. Pierson needed help, and they were very close. It was just a question of how.

Okay, Sunny, how do we get across?

I’ll stay on this side of the road until I see a way.

Do you want me to get off?

No, not yet. You’re keeping my back warm.