The Horses of Winter: A Short Christmas Novella Page 2

  “Yeah, he says it’s easier to call him Sam,” Amy laughed, “that’s what everyone at his horse-home calls him.”

  “Horse-home, hey?” I said, gently pulling on the animal’s halter until he took a hesitant step toward home. “So now he’s not a unicorn?”

  “Sure he is, but he says that only special people like me can see his horn. Most people think he’s a horse. He says you can see it, too.”

  “Is that so?” I glanced at his forehead instinctively and then shook my head, laughing at myself. You almost believed her for a second. I inched the horse another few steps forward. He followed willingly but, even so, our progress was painfully slow. He could only move at a snail’s pace and every few steps I had to adjust the slipping bandage.

  The temperature dropped and now our breath came out in white plumes like frosted feathers. It took forever before we reached the spot where Sam had run into the barbed wire. My heart sank. We’d been out here so long and had made such little progress. We were never going to make it home.

  “Amy,” I said, looking anxiously at the fading light. “It’s getting dark and I don’t think we’re going to make it to Cecily’s before it does.” I paused and looked down at her uncertainly. “See that tree way up there standing all by itself? We passed it just as we came up the big hill. Do you remember, we looked back and saw the farm?”

  “Yes.” She stared at me suspiciously, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Amy, you’ve got to be brave. Run to that tree and as soon as you’re sure you can see the farm, I want you to run for home as fast as you can, okay? You need to get Cecily to call the vet and set up a dry place for Sam in the barn. He’s going to need to get warm quickly or he’ll get sick.”

  “But I want to stay with you and Sam,” she said, her voice rising sharply like a knife, “he’s my unicorn. I found him first.”

  “Amy,” I said as calmly as I could. “This is not about you or me, this is about helping Sam. Do you understand? He could get really sick, maybe even die if we don’t get him help quick. He’s depending on you.”

  “On me?” she said uncertainly, looking up into my face to see if I was teasing her. Her mouth pulled down into a solemn line. Even though she was eight, most of the time she acted like an impulsive five-year-old. But sometimes her eyes seemed ancient, like she was someone’s great grandmother reincarnated into a little girl. The look she gave me was spooky.

  “Amy, he needs you. Stop at the top of the hill and wave to me if you’re positive you can see the farmhouse lights for sure. Head straight toward them; if you run as fast as you can you’ll be there in no time. Please, Amy.”

  She squished her face up, thinking hard and then she spun around without another word, flying across the snow at top speed. It seemed to take her forever to reach the tree; it must have been further than it looked. She appeared so small standing there all alone that I almost called her back, but the next moment she’d turned and waved both hands at me in the air, jumping up and down. She yelled something, but I was too far away to hear. She turned and leapt off the hill and we were alone.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding and urged the big horse forward. “Come on, Sam,” I whispered, “look how close to home we are. You don’t have to make it much further.”

  It felt like hours for us to inch toward the tree but finally, we made it, and I allowed the horse to stop and take a break. Far below I could make out the lights of the farm, but from this height, they looked impossibly small. The sun had sunk long ago and the stars had come out, sprinkling the sky over our heads in a vast canopy of dancing lights.

  I tugged on Sam’s halter. He took another few faltering steps and then his legs folded and sank to the ground in the deep snow, groaning as he fell in slow motion.

  “No!” I cried. “Get up, Sam, you have to keep moving.”

  It hurts, I’m so tired.

  I froze, uncertain of where the words had come from. Had I gone crazy out here alone? Was it the hypothermia kicking in and I was seconds away from freezing to death?

  The horse grunted and dropped his nose so it rested in the snow, his breath coming out in raspy gasps. His eyes flickered shut and he heaved a sigh. I’ll just rest.

  “No, Sam!” I wasn’t about to let either of us die out here. I tugged on his halter hard and slapped him on the neck sharply to let him know I meant business. “I know it hurts, but you’re so close. Get up now, just try, buddy. You’re almost there.”

  With a moan and a mighty heave, he pushed himself upright, legs flailing until he gained purchase and stood trembling, blood soaked scarf-bandage half-hanging off his leg.

  I re-wrapped it with aching, frozen fingers and then stroked his neck, my hand leaving another dark trail down his white coat.

  “Come on,” I sighed, and this time he followed, lurching after me without stopping.

  My feet were so numb that I’d long since stopped feeling any cold or pain. Somewhere dimly I thought that maybe that was a bad sign. I stumbled, steadying myself automatically against the horse’s broad shoulder.

  You’re cold.

  “I think we’re beyond cold,” I said, choking back a sob; hearing voices was not a good sign. “Don’t think about it, just keep moving.”

  You are Sarah.

  “That’s right,” I said out loud, giving in to my hallucination. There was nobody around to hear me anyway.

  You’re Sarah and you will ride me. We will jump big jumps.

  “You’re hardly in any state to jump anything,” I muttered, tugging on his halter when he hesitated.

  You are my person, Sarah; I have been waiting for you.

  “Perfect, Sam, that’s just perfect. Too bad we’re about to die out here. And, even if we live, I don’t have a home or any money for a horse. I can’t even ride.”

  This is not your home?

  “Sorry,” I sighed, “it’s not. Not really.” I stopped, feeling a lump work its way up my throat. This was the thing I hadn’t told Amy. I’d overheard Cecily talking to Dee on the phone, telling her how well we were fitting in here. And then she’d dropped the bomb.

  “I really only can take on one of them long-term though, Dee,” she’d said. “I’m getting older and I just don’t have the energy for two, no matter how nice they are.”

  “I have to make sure she takes, Amy,” I told Sam, “this is her chance to have a real childhood. I don’t want her being moved around again.”

  What about you?

  I was quiet for a long time. “This is my last year in foster care,” I said softly, my teeth now chattering so hard I could barely get out the words. “After that, I’m on my own. Amy is the only thing that matters. If I’m not living with her then I can’t protect her, so I have to find a good place, a permanent place, for her soon. Dee says I should be able to get custody of her in a few years if I have a good job and a place for us to live. She could be safe here at least until then.”

  Sam, or the voice in my head pretending to be Sam, was silent and I scanned the dark trail up ahead, looking for landmarks. We’d come down the hill into the woods, but now we were too low to see the farm. I thought I was going in the right direction, but what if I was wrong? I could be leading us in circles. I pressed my lips together to hold back a sob; we just had to keep going, that’s all. We walked and walked until I could hardly put one foot in front of the other.

  “Sarah!” Cecily’s anxious voice cut across the snow, but it sounded so far away and I was too exhausted to respond in anything more than a whisper. She called again and this time her voice was further off as if she were moving in the opposite direction.

  “She’s going away, Sam,” I mumbled, resting my head against his neck just for a moment. I was so, so tired.

  Sam stumbled to a stop, lifted his head and let out a bellowing neigh that shook his entire body.

  I was so startled that I fell to the ground, clinging to his good leg with both hands so I wouldn’t disappear completely in the deep snow.
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  “There they are,” a man’s voice now, getting closer as Sam’s bellow still echoed my ears. Lights moved toward us and as I looked up, I saw that Sam was glowing as if there were light coming from inside him. A flash of silver over his head made me shut my eyes quickly.

  “You’re all right, Sarah,” Hands gripped my shoulders and arms, drawing me upward. I stumbled again and someone strong scooped me up easily into their arms like I was as small as Amy.

  “Take care of Sam,” I whispered.

  “As if we’d forget that big idiot. We’ve been looking for him all day.”

  “He’s not an idiot,” I protested.

  “Easy does it, I was only joking.”

  The world spun and there was only the sound of boots crunching on snow and the stars circling slowly overhead.

  “Here now, you’re at the house. Your sister’s been worried sick.”

  Warmth flooded over me, flowing from the open front door. He set me down on the couch by the fire and only then did I realize how truly cold I was. Every part of me shook so hard my teeth rattled in my head.

  “We need some help here, Ellen,” the man called and for the first time I looked at his face. He was middle-aged with the brown, weathered look of someone who spent all their time in the sun. His bright blue eyes were kind and edged by laugh lines.

  “Oh, the poor thing.” A woman appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a messy braid. “Did you find Sam?”

  “He’s out there and I think he’ll be fine. The vet’s on his way. He has a nasty gash on his leg. Seth put him in Cecily’s barn.”

  “We should get him home, Arthur. He can’t stay here overnight.”

  “Well, let’s not fuss. You see to Sarah here, she’s the one who rescued him, and I’ll go check on that knucklehead.”

  He held up a hand when I shot him a glare. “Don’t get mad at me. I’ve raised that boy since he was a colt. There isn’t a more annoying, accident-prone horse alive. He’s escaped his stall and paddock more times than I can count and has needed sutures for some injury or another every year since the time he was born. But, he’s family and we love him.”

  He grinned down at me, not looking away until I conceded a half-smile.

  “You get warm and dry and then come on down and see him.”

  He turned and disappeared out the door, leaving me with Ellen.

  “Okay,” she said with an anxious look at his departing back, clearly wanting to be in the barn more than stuck babysitting me. “Socks and boots off first. I’ll put some tea on.”

  As soon as she was gone, I slid off the couch and edged toward the fire, my hands shaking as I tried to pry off my sodden boots. My fingers wouldn’t work right, they couldn’t grip anything and by the time I had the first boot half-off, I whimpered with pain and frustration.

  “Oh my goodness,” Ellen appeared at my side and took both my hands in hers, peering worriedly into my face. “You’re like ice. Here, get this stuff off quickly.”

  She pulled my boots off and ignored my protests as she peeled off my sodden socks and tossed them in a heap followed by my new jacket that was most likely ruined. I looked over at it longingly, holding back tears. It had been the one nice thing I’d owned in so long. “There’s no time to be modest when you’re freezing. Here’s a blanket to wrap around you. Take everything else off as best you can. I’ll run to get you some pajamas.”

  How does she know where to go? She disappeared upstairs. I shimmied out of my shirt and sopping yoga pants and wrapping the blanket tight around my shoulders. I really hoped nobody would pick that moment to come barging in.

  Ellen was back with a pair of fluffy pajamas that weren’t mine and an enormous pair of fluffy socks that looked brand new.

  “I think those are Cecily’s,” I said, my teeth still chattering.

  “They were the warmest things I could find,” Ellen said in her no-nonsense voice, “put them on. She won’t care.”

  She was probably right, but I still didn’t like using Cecily’s stuff. She might be okay with it now but later, when she had a chance to think about it, she might think of me as that poor, orphan girl who’d stolen her clothes. I didn’t want her to associate Amy with anything negative.

  “Put them on,” Ellen repeated, heading back to the kitchen, “unless you want to sit around naked all night.”

  She had a point. Wrapping the blanket tighter around me I shimmied into the thick pajamas and pulled the socks on over my aching feet. To my surprise, everything fit perfectly, like a fuzzy second skin that wrapped me in life-giving warmth. I sat still with my eyes closed, luxuriating in the feeling of my body slowly thawing. The painful throbbing in my feet and hands at least meant that I was alive.

  “Careful, it’s hot.” Ellen appeared beside me with a tray that held a tea pot and a chipped pottery mug, plus a plate of store-bought cookies.

  My hands were shaking too badly to handle the cup Ellen set in front of me on the stone hearth, but I held my fingertips gently next to it for extra warmth.

  “If you’re okay then I’m going to check on Sam,” Ellen said, already bundling into her coat and a huge wool hat. “I just need to see that he’s all right; he’s had us worried sick. Your sister’s upstairs in bed. She was so exhausted when she got home that she couldn’t stop crying and Cecily just put her to bed before going out to look for you.”

  I nodded and tried not to jump as the door slammed shut behind her. She must have been in a hurry to get away all this time.

  “Sarah?” Amy stood uncertainly at the bottom of the stairs, her face puffy with tears. Someone had dressed her in her pajamas, too, and she had a pair of fluffy, white rabbit slippers on her feet that I’d never seen before. “You’re alive? I thought you were dead.”

  “Of course, not silly,” I said, “come sit with me by the fire.”

  She took a step forward and then stopped. “But what if you’re dead, and this is just my imagination and you’re not really here at all? What if you left me and went to live with mom and dad?”

  My heart gave a little flip-flop of love for her, my tiny sister, who’d I’d been in charge of since she was only three years old. She was the thing I loved most in the whole entire universe. I would do anything to protect her.

  “Well, if I were dead I probably wouldn’t eat this entire plate of cookies by myself without even sharing any. Too bad because they’re your favourite, too.”

  She didn’t come closer; instead, she stood on tip-toe so she could get a better look at the plate. “The ones with the red jelly stuff in the middle,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “And the sugar.”

  “Yep.” I slowly picked up a cookie and took a huge bite. “It’s a shame you don’t want any.”

  “Okay, fine, I guess you’re alive.” She was at my side, crouching down beside me. “But don’t ever go away again. I was scared.”

  “I didn’t go away, silly, I was safe with Sam. Everything’s fine.” I pulled the plate closer and she grabbed a cookie with each hand, looking up at me sideways to see if I’d tell her off for being greedy.

  “There’s eight on the plate, so you can eat four,” I said, pretending to be stern. “I’ll be watching you to make sure you don’t cheat.”

  She giggled under her breath and snuggled against me, her body a warm and familiar weight.

  We must have fallen asleep that way because the next thing Cecily was there, shaking us gently awake and shepherding us to bed.

  “Sam?” I asked groggily.

  “He’s fine. He’ll be spending a few days in the old barn until he’s well enough to move. The vet said he needs stall rest. Arthur and Ellen dropped off feed and bedding for him. He’s snug as a bug out there.”

  She reached out unexpectedly and gave me a quick hug. “You did a brave thing, Sarah. That horse might have died without your help.”

  “It was no big deal.” I yawned, steering Amy up the stairs to her room. She dropped into her bed like a
log and was instantly asleep again; if she was ever really awake. I glanced around her room with approval, noting how well her few belongings fit in here. Years ago, I’d saved up for a cheap pink bedspread and flouncy pink curtains that we could take with us wherever we went. That way, every place we moved felt a little bit like home for Amy. Her small collection of plastic unicorns looked perfect on the dresser, too.

  I stumbled down the hall and fell into my own bed, thinking of how nice it was that Sam was out in the barn and that I’d get to see him again in the morning. It had felt good having a friend to share my troubles with, even if that friend was a horse.

  “Good night, Sam,” I whispered into the darkness.

  Good night, Sarah, we will jump the big jumps.

  I laughed into my pillow. If I’d had known hypothermia would make me hear talking horses then I would have tried it a long time ago.

  * * *

  The next day, I woke up before the sun had fully made it up over the horizon. I carefully folded up the pajamas that Ellen had made me wear, vowing that someday I would have a pair as nice as that of my own, and pulled on a hoody and a well-worn pair of jeans. I kept the socks on, though. I wasn’t quite ready to give those up.

  I slipped past Amy’s bedroom door, not ready for her company just yet, and tip-toed down the stairs to the front door. My jacket had been hung up and, to my surprise, it was clean and dry. I was sure it had been ruined last night.

  My boots were still sopping wet, but there was a pair of Cecily’s old gum boots by the front door and, even though they came up to my knees, they fit me reasonably well with my fluffy socks.

  I quietly let myself outside and plowed through the drifts to the barn. It had snowed again last night, erasing all footprints and leaving only an untouched blanket of white. I loved the way that everything seemed so hushed after a snowfall, as if the world were holding its breath. Snow had always seemed magical to me; when I was little I believed all snowy woods held a hidden door to Narnia if I could only search hard enough. Even though I was too old for fairy tales now, the hint of magic still remained.