Читать книгу The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle - Shelley Peterson - Страница 27

17

STAGESTRUCK

IT WAS WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON. Abby Malone sat on her porch rubbing Cody’s ears. The Invitational was over and she had nothing to do.

All her friends were deeply involved with Pinocchio. Tomorrow was opening night. Rehearsals had intensified all week as the opening loomed. There was one rehearsal this afternoon, and another tonight. Tomorrow, they’d perform in front of a small, live audience in the afternoon, before the big event.

Joy had moved in with Christine and Rory. Abby missed her. Hilary and Sandy were working in Toronto at the museum. Abby missed them, too.

Moonie was unable to do much more than light work in her present condition. Leggy’s training took only an hour a day, which Abby did every morning, and Dancer was resting this week, tired but content. He grazed alongside Henry, making no move to leave his field.

The chief of police had talked to Abby after the Invitational. Mack Jones assured her that he believed what she’d told him, but so far the police hadn’t been able to find the cane. Owens denied owning such a weapon, and complained that Abby had made it all up and that the security people had handled him roughly. He was calling his lawyers. The police had put surveillance on Dancer, however, on the strength of Abby’s statement. A bored young officer sat in a marked car at the end of the Hogscroft lane, reading and doing crossword puzzles.

Abby sighed. Cody put his paw on her knee.

“Thanks, Cody. You’re right, I need cheering up.” She looked out into the field and studied her mares. Moonie, sleek and healthy, grazed diligently, missing no blade of grass in her path. She had an elegant line and a lovely face. Her glossy, dark bay body and long black legs cut a fine silhouette.

Beside her, the spunky Moon Dancer lifted her head and looked alertly around. Abby smiled. “You’re a troublemaker, Leggy,” she said aloud. The two-year-old was well built with a deep chest, short back, graceful neck, and long legs. Her chestnut coat glimmered in the afternoon sun. The star on her forehead was the only white she sported.

Robert Wick’s truck drove up the lane. Abby waved hello, then realized the driver was Joy Featherstone.

Joy caught sight of her and slammed on the brakes, spraying gravel.

Abby rose from the steps. This was unusual behaviour. “Mrs. Featherstone!” she called, running to the driver’s side window. “Is anything wrong?”

Joy smiled. “Nothing, now that I’ve found you. I really hope you can do us another favour.”

Abby blinked. “A favour? Sure. Whatever you want.”

“Are you busy this afternoon?”

“No. I’m bored to death.”

“Wonderful! Hop in the truck. You’re the Blue-Winged Fairy!”

After hurriedly leaving a note for her mom, Abby climbed into the truck beside Joy. On the way to the theatre, Joy explained the situation.

“How did it happen, Mrs. Featherstone?”

“Nobody was anywhere near, but Margaret Small insists that she was pushed.”

“Pushed?”

“Yes. And a firm push. Enough to send her over the lip and down the stairs next to the orchestra pit.”

“She was lucky she didn’t fall down there,” said Abby.

“You better believe it. She would’ve had more than a sprained ankle and a broken wrist.”

“Poor woman.” Abby shook her head and grimaced. “When did it happen?”

“This afternoon, just before she made her first entrance.”

“And nobody saw?”

“No. Everyone was either on stage, backstage, or in their place, waiting to go on. Robert and I were talking to the lighting man. That’s the odd thing, Abby. Nobody was there to push her, not that anybody would. No matter how much she riled people.”

Abby tried to squelch the joyful feelings bubbling up inside her chest. It was a painful accident, and she should appear sympathetic. She didn’t want Mrs. Featherstone to think her callous.

“Well, aren’t you happy to be back in the play?” Joy asked.

Abby’s smile broke loose. “Yes!” she emphasized. “I’m absolutely, positively, one hundred percent happy!”

“That’s good,” Joy said. “Because you have a lot to catch up on in a very short time.”

“I won’t let you down.”

Opening night. It was Thursday evening at five minutes to seven. Abby nervously completed her makeup. Dusting the blue sprinkles over her face and arms, careful not to get them in her eyes, she wondered at her compulsion to be early. Nobody else had arrived.

She had indeed worked night and day to get herself prepared. After the two rehearsals the day before, Abby had gone home and studied the play with fierce concentration. Analyzing characters and their relationships to other characters, making note of action and reaction, charting the story development, Abby worked late into the night. Finally at three o’clock in the morning, lines solid and entrances nailed, she’d fallen asleep in a heap on her bed. At four she’d awoken to get into her night gown and brush her teeth.

That morning before the final dress rehearsal, after going over her lines for the umpteenth time, Abby had written opening night notes to every actor in the show. She’d found greeting cards with a picture of an open-mouthed shark on the front. It seemed as close as she’d get to a dogfish. Inside were the words, “Bite Me!”

She’d added, “If you’re not a brilliant Geppetto,” to the one for Mr. Farrow, and “If you remember your lines,” on Lucy’s, who didn’t have any. Abby had come up with appropriate comments for all the actors, but her favourite was Sam’s. After the “Bite Me!”, she’d written, “But not too hard, you foxy thing.” She hoped to watch his face when he opened it.

Abby had placed the cards on the actors’ dressing tables, and pinned them to the costumes of those who used the big dressing room.

A rustle of air, then a sneeze, snapped her to attention. Ambrose Brown materialized behind her, dressed as a liveried footman with a powdered wig. He sneezed again. “I’ll never get used to the powder,” he snorted with a snobby-sounding English accent.

“Can’t you just wear a white wig?” asked Abby.

“It would never do. It wouldn’t be authentic. I couldn’t feel the part. An actor must walk the walk if he wants to talk the talk. Ah . . . ah . . . ah . . . choo!”

“Or sneeze the sneeze,” Abby added.

“Don’t be impertinent. There’s a lot you have to learn about the profession, and you’re lucky that I take the time to teach you.” He strutted like a peacock.

“Where have you been, Ambrose? I’ve been back since yesterday, and I haven’t seen you ’til now.”

“I’m not at your beck and call, I’ll have you know,” he said down his nose.

“I’m not sure I like you very much in this role,” said Abby.

“Quite as it should be! Pompous is good, as a footman for the King of England.” He took another haughty step, then relaxed. “But I’m tired of it myself.” He dropped the accent and slowly dissolved into an ordinary man, wearing a white shirt and pleated pants. “So I’ll step outside the character and into myself. At least for as long as I wish.”

Abby smiled. “Much better. It’s nice to see you.”

“And nice to have you back. That Margaret woman was driving us all bananas.”

“What a nasty fall.”

Ambrose lifted his eyebrows. “Yes, wasn’t it? Timely, too. Any later and you wouldn’t have had any rehearsal time. Hardly enough as it is.”

“Ambrose, do I get the feeling you might have had something to do with her fall?”

“How could you even suggest such a thing!” He paused dramatically. “I had everything to do with her fall!”

“Ambrose!” exclaimed Abby.

“Later, my dear, we’ve got company.”

It was seven o’clock. The cast was arriving.

Everyone was nervous. Laughter was high-pitched, chatter was constant. People fretted over last-minute costume alterations, hairpieces, masks. Makeup was borrowed and powder was spilled. Squeals went up as actors opened first-night gifts and cards, followed by hugs and kisses, and in rare cases, tears.

No one dared mention any line from Macbeth, called “the Scottish play” in lieu of saying the title aloud. It was bad luck. But you couldn’t talk about good luck either. “Merde” or “break a leg” wouldn’t tempt the gods of the theatre the way “good luck” would. A person couldn’t whistle without having to leave the room, turn around three times, then knock on the door and beg forgiveness.

Abby enjoyed every second.

There were fifteen minutes left before the show would begin. Because she was dressed and ready, Abby went up to the stage. She wanted to be alone, to get away from all the frantic energy in the dressing room.

It was dark behind the curtain. Little guide-lights lit the offstage steps, and the set was marked with glow-tape to avoid stumbles during scene changes. Abby breathed in the backstage air with all its tension and paint and wood and dust. Pure delight filled her body. It feels like home, Abby thought. I belong here.

Abby stretched her arms over her head, then bent over and touched her fingers to the floor. She shook the tension out of her hands and rotated her shoulders. She shook out her legs and stretched her feet. She put her hands on her hips and twisted her body at her waist, back and forth. Then she stood, legs slightly apart, eyes closed, and felt the floor under her feet. She let the solidness of it steady her and give her the comfort of her own gravity. She took deep breaths from her diaphragm and felt the calmness seep throughout her body.

Abby was ready. She smiled, all alone behind the curtain. There was one more thing she wanted to do, and that was to see the audience come in. She’d been told that a peephole existed somewhere in the heavy new purple curtain on stage right.

Searching fruitlessly through yards of velvet fabric, Abby thought the peephole might be another actors’ tale. Then she found it.

She peeked through. The theatre was filling up. The ushers read ticket stubs, pointed down aisles, and handed people programs. The orchestra was warming up, which gave a strange sort of musical background to the proceedings, almost like a pre–Act 1. Row after row became seated as she watched.

Pete Pierson looked handsome in his suit and tie, and Laura was flushed with excitement. She loved the theatre, and she’d had her hair done for the occasion. She wore a delightful confection of yellow, and Abby thought she’d never looked so lovely.

Many of Abby’s neighbours were there, as were friends and family of the other actors. It was a cheerful crowd. They looked ready to be entertained, which seemed like a good sign.

Abby spotted her parents walking down the stage-right aisle. Liam and Fiona Malone’s seats were very close to the front. Abby vowed not to let their anxious faces distract her.

She began to feel nervous again. She’d only been at four rehearsals. Five if you counted the one from which Margaret had banished her. That wasn’t nearly enough. And all these people would be watching.

“Get a grip,” she murmured softly, scolding herself. “Don’t get all crazy and freeze like you did at the Invitational. Dancer’s not here to save your bacon.” She wondered if she was already crazy, talking to herself like she was another person.

She knew her lines, which thankfully were few. She knew her cues.

Abby closed her eyes, crossed her fingers and toes, and made a wish. “Please let the show be a howling success. For Mr. Wick, whose dream should come true, and for Mrs. Featherstone, who is among the great people on this earth. And for me, because it’s my wish.” Just in case, she knocked on wood, reaching down and rapping on the hardwood floor.

The house lights began to dim.

“Holy!” muttered Abby, hiking up her blue crinoline and overskirts. She hurried downstairs just as the stage manager began her speech.

Cody found a good watching place behind the building, and waited. From here the small coyote could see every movement around the old barn. His instincts were sparking. Something was about to happen, and he would be prepared. His Abby was inside. Cody would keep her safe. That was his job.

After the stage manager’s speech, Robert Wick spoke. “Just a word,” he said with dignity. “You are terrific, every one of you. You’ll make me very proud tonight. It’s just like the old days. Thank you, all.” Emotionally, Robert stepped aside and indicated with a nod that Joy Featherstone would speak next.

“Go out there and have fun,” Joy said with a bright smile. “The work is done. It’s time to play.” Her eyes quickly scanned her notes. “Just give it lots of energy in the first scene. The rest will follow. Go! Now! Places please! This is for you!” Joy clapped her hands and laughed. All the actors clapped, too, eyes bright and faces eager. Joy’s words had hit them. They were going to go out on stage and have a good time.

At the stroke of eight that evening, the massive purple curtain rose on the humble shop where Geppetto was carving a wooden puppet. Abby watched from the wing, stage right. Mr. Farrow’s hands were shaking as he carved the last details, but his voice was strong as he told his dog Trooper about his desire to have a little boy of his own. Trooper, played by Leslie, scratched her ear with her hind leg and cocked her head attentively.

Abby covered her mouth with her hand and smiled. It was working. The play was coming alive. Geppetto, not Mr. Farrow, was speaking in a moderated Italian accent. Trooper, not Leslie, was loyally listening to her master. The sets were convincing, the lighting subtle.

It was magic.

Abby made her entrance as the Blue-Winged Fairy. She had no lines in this scene, but her appearance must convey kindness, goodwill, and authority. When she raised her wand to give life to the inanimate puppet, Abby felt the power, the goodness, the righteousness of the act. She was in the moment, in a way that felt so right she had no doubt that it had been perfect.

Moment over, she wafted off the stage.

“Lovely, lovely, lovely, Abby. Keep in the groove.” It was Ambrose, and Abby knew she wasn’t to reply. There were others around.

Cody watched closely as Samuel Owens parked his car behind the theatre. He had backed into exactly the same position as before.

Owens got out and lifted a heavy sack from the back seat. Cody’s nose quivered. Food! Fresh red meat! Owens crept around the theatre, silently placing chunks of irresistible raw flesh in a circle, about a hundred feet out.

When he was back at his car, Cody crept closer to sniff one. He drooled with a great desire to gobble it up. He sniffed the hunk of meat again. There was something strange about the smell. He crept back to his hiding place without touching the meat.

Cody waited. Something was going to happen. He knew it was only a matter of time.

It was the nose-growing scene. Abby went over her lines quickly as the moment for her entrance approached. She followed the action closely. The Sly Fox exchanges a ticket to Runaway Island for Pinocchio’s school book; the book that Geppetto had bought in exchange for his only warm coat.

The Fairy enters and asks Pinocchio, “Why are you not going to school like Geppetto thinks?”

Pinocchio answers, “But I am, Blue-Winged Fairy! I’m helping my friend to find his way first, then I’m going straight to school!”

Pinocchio’s nose begins to grow. It grows longer and longer until it’s a foot long.

“What’s wrong with my nose?” Pinocchio cries in great distress.

“Your nose will grow until you tell the truth.”

“Help me! Help me, Blue-Winged Fairy!”

“Only the truth can save you, Pinocchio.”

“Okay, okay. I lied! I’ll go to school, I promise! I was going with the other boys to Runaway Island. The Fox said that’s where real boys go! But now I won’t. I’m going to go to school.”

The Blue-Winged Fairy believes him. She takes pity on the puppet and shrinks his nose back to normal size. She shows her pleasure as he dutifully heads for school.

The Blue-Winged Fairy exits the stage as Wickley, the bad boy, appears in the schoolyard to entice Pinocchio away from school to Runaway Island.

Abby breathed deeply. It had gone well. She had no more scenes until after the intermission.

When the doors opened at intermission, Cody scanned the crowd for his Abby. Samuel Owens had been preparing his equipment, but now Cody watched him slide down below the windows in his car to become invisible to the crowds of people streaming outside to stretch their legs.

Some smoked. Some got drinks. But all of them chatted noisily. Cody knew that these humans were happy about whatever they were doing inside the big old barn. The place where his Abby remained.

Fifteen minutes later, the people began to re-enter the theatre. The second act was about to begin.

Samuel Owens’ head appeared. Cody shifted his position. He was patient.

The second act began on time.

The curtain rises on an extravagant, colourful carnival scene, with jugglers, acrobats, candy carts, and gambling games. Shifty dealers lure boys into card games. All the boys are yelling and eating candy. Some boys have donkey tails. Others have tails and ears. Some are total donkeys, fur and all.

Pinocchio has grown a tail and ears, but doesn’t know it until he goes to the pond for a drink of water and sees his reflection. He is horrified and begins to cry. “What will Geppetto say?” he wails.

The Blue-Winged Fairy appears. “Pinocchio, it’s me, the Blue-Winged Fairy.”

“Oh, Blue-Winged Fairy, help me, please. I’ve been bad, and I want so much to be good, but I don’t know how. What should I do?”

“You should leave this place and go back to school. It’s not good for you. The boys are so selfish that they’re turning into donkeys, as you well see. And so are you.”

“But how can I go to school looking like this?” Pinocchio grabs his tail and pulls it. He takes an ear in each hand and tugs. They don’t come off.

“I can help, but you must promise me something.”

“Anything, anything at all!”

“Will you keep your promise this time?”

Pinocchio looks sheepish. “Yes. I promise I will.”

“Then you must go to the Truant Sea and find Geppetto. He is heartbroken. He searches for you endlessly. He thinks you’re lost at sea.”

“I’ll do it!” cries Pinocchio. “I’ll go right now!”

As the audience watches, The Blue-Winged Fairy magically removes his tail and ears with a wave of her wand. She winks, then disappears, tail and ears hidden in a convenient pocket in her billowing blue skirt.

Each actor removes a cart or a table or a piece of scenery as they go. The lights change. The boisterous carnival is replaced in seconds by an angry sea, with Geppetto rowing a boat through huge waves created by offstage workers pulling and flapping stretches of green, blue, and grey fabric. The boat is on swivelling wheels, with a cut-out section at the bottom where Geppetto’s feet create the movement.

“Pinocchio!” Geppetto hollers mournfully. “Pinocchio! I’m here to save you!” The old man looks exhausted. The wind howls and the ocean roars.

“Pinocchio!” Geppetto calls. He’s a beaten man, rowing against the waves.

He is unaware of a giant dogfish stealthily moving up behind him. The giant predator opens its fearsome jaws.

Pinocchio appears on the bank. Seeing Geppetto about to be consumed, he jumps headlong into the raging sea and swims toward him, dodging waves and breathing hard.

“I’m here, Geppetto! I’m coming to save you!”

Just as he reaches the rowboat, the dogfish swallows them whole—Geppetto, Pinocchio, rowboat, and all.

The waves disappear as a painted scrim rolls down from above, hiding the mechanical dogfish. A huge interior mouth complete with tonsils and glottis covers the entire stage area. Geppetto and Pinocchio appear to be inside the dogfish with their ruined boat.

“Pinocchio, my brave little puppet!” Geppetto hugs Pinocchio.

“Father! I’ve been bad!” Pinocchio hugs him back, repentant.

“Never mind all that. It’s so good to see you!” Geppetto heartily forgives him as he pats his back joyfully.

The Blue-Winged Fairy appears. She watches and approves, then fades away. This effect is achieved by lighting. Abby stands on a stool behind the scrim, which is translucent. She cannot be seen until a special light illuminates her. When the light fades, she disappears from view, leaving only the scrim, painted like the dogfish’s mouth.

Pinocchio and Geppetto worry about how to escape. It looks hopeless, but they have each other.

When the dogfish finally sleeps, he snores. Pinocchio and Geppetto time the snores and jump out of his mouth at the perfect second. They must swim for their lives, but Geppetto doesn’t swim.

Pinocchio,becauseofhisbuoyantwoodenbody,dragsGeppetto to the shore, where Trooper waits. Geppetto is unconscious.

The Blue-Winged Fairy appears on the beach.

“Pinocchio, you saved Geppetto’s life.”

“I’ve caused him nothing but grief! Will he live? Will he be all right?” Pinocchio looks with sadness at Geppetto’s unmoving form.

“Yes, Pinocchio, Geppetto will be fine. Roll him onto his stomach.”

Pinocchio does this, and says, “I love him more than anything on earth.”

“That is why I’m here, Pinocchio. You have learned the most important lesson about being human. You’ve learned that loving and caring for someone else is more important than being selfish and doing only what you want.

“When Geppetto awakes, he will find a real boy sitting with him on this beach. Pinocchio, you have passed the test. You have earned the right to become a real boy.”

With a grand wave of the Blue-Winged Fairy’s wand, sparks fly and crackle.

Pinocchio ecstatically tests his arms and legs and feels his skin. Music plays while Geppetto wakes and realizes that his dream has come true. Pinocchio is a real boy. They dance and laugh and leap around the beach.

Outside the theatre, Cody watched as Samuel Owens laughed like a maniac. The coyote’s ruff bristled. He howled softly.

“The grand finale!” Owens yelled. He chortled and hooted and giggled as he prepared to light the fuse. His masterful plan would work like clockwork. He’d solved the coyote problem with poisoned meat. If they got past the bait, he was armed with a rifle and a handgun in the car.

He had doused the theatre with gasoline. The fuse split in three, to ensure there was no escape for the people inside. It ran from Owens’ car to the stage door, the front door, and the side fire exit.

The theatre was full. Much, much better than the first dress rehearsal. The fireworks had been his rehearsal, too, he rationalized, even though it hadn’t worked. Tonight would be the big one. Tonight would be Owens’ final revenge.

The best part was that Dancer would be blown up, too, exactly ten minutes after the theatre. A bomb was rigged under a bushel of apples in the field beside the road, programmed to start ticking by remote control. Owens would have the pleasure of watching the demolition of the theatre, and then be able to arrive on time to witness the violent death of the one creature who had caused him more misery than any other on earth. Dancer would die. Owens cackled and hugged himself with glee.

Owens yelled at the theatre, “You mess with Samuel Owens at your own peril!” His voice screeched with excitement and shook with rage. “You hate me! Well, I hate you more! You’re all a bunch of garbage! I’m doing the world a favour!” He giggled like a hyena as he waved the fire-starter over his head. It looked like a wild firefly zooming crazily in the dark.

Cody was unsure of what to do. The strong smell of fuel was everywhere. It hurt his nose and made water come from his eyes. The Bad Man was unstable. There was no way to know how he’d react to anything. But he must be stopped from hurting his Abby.

Cody crept closer.

Owens couldn’t wait to see this stupid, haunted barn theatre explode before his very eyes, destroying all the people who’d thwarted him.

The Jameses, who’d laughed at him for years because he couldn’t have Dancer. The Caseys, who’d fallen in with the Jameses. Even the beautiful Helena didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, and she would die tonight with all the rest. The Malones with their brat Abby, who had that horrible coyote and had prevented him from shooting Dancer with his cane-gun, over which he’d gone to considerable trouble to have made. Robert Wick, who’d refused to sell him the farm, then insulted him by thinking a mere field would appease him. The Piersons, who butted their noses into his business. It was Pete who’d called security at the Invitational. Even his illegitimate daughter and her children, Sam and Leslie Morris, deserved to die. How dare she name that bastard after him! The insult!

With a triumphant wave of the fire-starter, Owens knelt to light the fuse. At the same time, he pressed the button on the small remote control that activated the bomb in the bushel of apples in Dancer and Henry’s field. His body was racked with laughter as he imagined the horses happily eating apples, unaware that their last minutes on earth were nigh. “Kaboom!” he hollered. “Die Dancer! Die!”

Owens jumped into his car. His plan was to back up the hill to get a safe and complete view of the fire that would kill and maim the entire community, then drive the short distance to Hogscroft for the pièce de résistance. He longed to see the panicked survivors screaming and rushing out the doors, clothes and hair on fire. He wished he could see each one’s personal agony. He giggled grotesquely.

A giant spark from the fizzing fuse flew free. It landed under Owens’ car, where gasoline had splashed from one of the plastic containers. In seconds, the grass caught fire. Fuelled by the spilled fluid, the flames built quickly beneath the car. Poom! Owens’ car exploded into a thousand pieces.

Inside the theatre, the cast was taking their third curtain call. When the car exploded, the noise was deafening, even above the standing ovation and the music of the orchestra.

The huge bang was followed by the plinks and whaps and thuds of metal objects hitting the theatre. People froze, unable to make sense of it.

Ducking the flying debris, Cody raced to the fuse. This time, he knew exactly what to do and wasted no time. Where the single fuse divided into three, Cody grabbed the white cord in his mouth. Dragging and pulling, he managed to free it from the rocks that held it. He ran away from the theatre as fast as he could, while the single fuse burned closer and closer to his face. Up the hill, through the brush to the pond where he jumped right into the water without a pause. He swam until he was sure that every bit of that cord was soaked. He opened his sore jaws and dropped it.

On stage with the cast, Abby heard Ambrose speak directly into her ear. “Owens is dead, Abby. Your coyote took a lighted fuse to the pond over the hill. He saved all our lives. Well, not mine, I’m already dead. But the big horse is in danger. There’s a bomb in a basket of apples.”

Cody crawled out of the pond and shook himself off. Quickly, he loped to the crest of the hill. Hundreds of humans were streaming out of the theatre doors and moving themselves far from the building. Sirens pierced the air and flashing lights lit up the dark night. Cody had seen it all before when his own barn had burned down.

Risking human detection, the wet and exhausted coyote raced toward the theatre below. There was one more job to do. He must make sure his Abby was safe.

Abby ran out of the theatre and up the hill toward the pond where Ambrose told her Cody had gone. She must first find Cody, then rush to Dancer. “Cody!” she called, unsure of what to expect. Was he blown up in the blast? Was he injured? Would she be able to find him in the dark?

She moved as fast as her shaking legs would carry her, her mind running faster than her feet. Blue-Winged Fairy costume floating wildly and wand in hand, she tore through the brambles in the dark.

The small coyote saw her first. He ran to Abby and joyfully jumped up on her, whining his enduring love for her.

“Cody, oh, Cody!” Abby knelt to the ground and cuddled his soaking, trembling body to her chest. “Good boy, Cody.”

Ambrose’s warning about the horse left them no time to spare. “Dancer, Cody. Go to Dancer!”

Cody searched her face for clarity, then dashed away in the direction of Hogscroft. Abby lost sight of him in the crowd of frightened people rushing to their cars and firefighters hosing down the gasoline with chemicals. She followed as fast as she could.

Stumbling a little on the gravel in the dark, Abby ran down the road. What she’d find, she had no idea. She had even less idea of what she’d do when she got there. Panic gripped her chest as she breathed hard, exhausted, but fighting the need to rest.

A huge explosion split the air. It came from the direction of Hogscroft.

“No!” screamed Abby. “No!”

Abby willed her legs to keep sprinting along. Her heart pounded through her chest wall. Fear tingled in her every nerve. Her imagination created a bloody scene of scattered horse and coyote parts.

“Please, please!” Abby sobbed. “Please, no!” She prayed for a miracle as she pumped her leaden legs toward the farm.

Seconds later, Abby stood against the fence with heaving sides, her Blue-Winged Fairy costume torn and soaked with sweat. The horses ran to her. Dancer nuzzled her neck. Henry breathed into her face. Cody stood on his hind legs beside her, resting his front paws on her hips.

Fragments of brush and earth were everywhere. A bushel basket innocently rested against the fence down the hill. Apples were here and there, some half-eaten. It looked to Abby that the bushel had been kicked over, possibly by a horse impatient to get at all the apples, or maybe as a result of an argument between the two horses over the sweet fruit. However it had happened, the basket had been sent flying, the bomb had rolled into the trees and exploded far enough away to do no harm to the animals.

Abby hugged them all. Relief came flooding through all her senses. Slowly, she slipped to the ground as her body released its tension. She had no strength left.