Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail (6 page)

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Carrie daydreamed about the meaning of her calico visions. Brenda wished the entire breakup with her husband was a bad dream and she would wake up and her life would be happy and peaceful. They both stared ahead as the sun sparkled on the endless stretch of road. There weren’t any lakes, rivers, or oceans anywhere. It was unlike the familiar scenes that were so natural to them—the flatlands and neighborhoods lined with evergreen trees and flowerbeds, with sea birds circling overhead. Gone were the lighthouses, salt air, and the long lines of traffic headed to the shore. Gone were the smells of popcorn and the Ferris wheel lights and the sound of the waves crashing on the beaches along the Atlantic. There were only mountains in the distance and long stretches of wide-open desert with its gray-green sagebrush and prickly cactus dotting the landscape. They didn’t hear anything except an occasional airplane flying overhead. If there were animals about they were doing a good job of staying out of sight in this land that seemed thirsty and dry. As the car continued along the hazy blacktop of Interstate 80, Brenda and Carrie weren’t sure where the road would end but together they hoped it would lead to some answers.

Chapter 11

Milla loved to draw and paint. It had always come so easy for her. Unaware of her special talent, she was often annoyed by other students who just didn’t
get
it
when the art teacher gave them assignments. It’s so dumb, she thought—the teacher told us to draw some fruit. It’s fruit…big deal, you draw it and shade it…add some highlights and that’s it. What’s the problem? It’s really not that hard, she sighed to herself as she flipped through her sketchpad.

Her room was cluttered with paper, colored pencils, dusty sticks of pastels, and a fishing tackle box loaded with tiny tubes of watercolors. Her grandmother, who had always loved to paint, shared her knowledge with Milla through countless lessons before she had passed away. In fact, most of the art supplies scattered about her room were once her grandmother’s. She looked at her brushes that had fallen on the floor. I haven’t painted in ages, she thought. Maybe I can a get few quick watercolors of Flannel done before she goes today. Ugh, she groaned. Today she would have to drive over and hand them back their dog. Some new kid about her age. Humph, she’s probably a snob, Milla thought. She probably thinks, coming from some place far away, that she’s better than us. Milla had seen her share of new kids. Some were nice and some were mean and most weren’t worth her time. She thought of her friend Paula, who had been an exception. Paula was a new kid and she and Milla had become good friends. They were so close they were practically sisters. And then one day—poof, her family just moved away. Paula said her dad got a new job and that was that. They spoke on the phone a few times and even exchanged a few letters, but soon they drifted apart and neither had bothered to stay in touch. Yep, she thought, I finally do meet a nice girl and it’s a dog…that belongs to a new kid…just my luck. Hey, wait, she thought, maybe if I do extra chores I can talk Dad into getting
me
a dog. She collected her paints and art board and went in search of the collie that was busy drinking from the toilet. Flannel stood with water dripping from her mouth, waiting to see if the girl would scold her, but Milla stood quietly so the dog resumed her lapping. Milla opened the sketchbook and started to quickly capture the scene before her. The scribbling lines seemed to dance across the page as she studied the dog, occasionally glancing down at her work. The collie cocked her head as if to say, “Hey! What are you looking at?”

“Oh, darn,” said Milla. “You’re finished drinking already?”

Flannel pushed past Milla and the girl patted her softly. The dog made a funny rumble sound, which was half growl and half bark, and it startled the girl.

“What was that?” she laughed. “You silly animal—what are you saying?” Flannel let out a large yawn that ended in a high-pitched yip. She shook her head, spraying Milla with water, and trotted away in search of a cozy corner. Milla listened to the clicking sounds of the collie’s feet as they moved across the wooden floor. Flannel found a sunny space in front of a large window and stretched out, preparing for an uninterrupted nap. Curious, Milla kneeled down and carefully examined a paw. The dog immediately became alert and tried to pull away, telling the girl this was not part of the nap. She petted and made soothing sounds, sending silent messages of, “It’s okay, I just want to learn about your feet.” The dog snorted as if to say, “It’s a foot…big deal, you draw it, shade it, and add some highlights…that’s it.”

The sunny morning passed slowly as the dozing dog tossed and turned while Milla painted. There were drawings of Flannel on her back with her feet sticking up; one of her lying on her belly with her head snuggled peacefully between her paws, and a close-up of her eyes. The painting of Flannel’s head tucked like a bird’s under its wing was Milla’s favorite. Her dad had taught her all about animal language. She knew a dog’s sharp sense of smell helped determine safety or danger. Milla was totally focused on her art. Without realizing it she sent messages of security, her mannerisms of confidence washed over the dog. The young artist laughed at her mistakes, scribbling and erasing as the collie yawned and winked.

Milla put her brush down and gazed at the sleeping collie. She looked at her artwork and sighed. The dog lifted her head, sensing the shift in the girl’s mood. Milla felt tears slowly forming as she fought back the lump in her throat. Flannel quietly approached and licked her hand. Dropping down she hugged the dog, burying her face within the lion-like mane. “This is so hard,” she said to the dog. “I just realized that when you go I’ll be lonely again. You see, my Grandma died and she’s not gonna be with me this summer like she always was. Dad’s too busy to take any time off and I didn’t mean to like you so much…you dumb dog.”

Flannel nudged her, looking into Milla’s eyes as if understanding everything. “He’ll never let me have a dog, and besides, where would I find one just like you?” Suddenly, the collie’s ears perked up and she ran to the window with a low rumble of a bark. The ticking of the grandfather clock seemed to grow louder. Flannel stood with her paws on the ledge as if waiting for something. Milla’s eyes followed the direction of the dog’s attention as she wiped away salty tears. Dread washed over her upon hearing her father’s jeep pulling into the driveway. It was time to return Flannel to her owner…the new kid…the brat who probably was smart and funny and popular and a big fat horrible snob.

Chapter 12

Shannon fished a raisin from her cereal and watched her brother pour sugar into the cracks of the tiled countertop. The five-year-old was always getting into trouble. Their mom, sipping a cup of coffee while reading her morning paper, glanced at her son. “Brian, what are you doing?” she asked, taking the sugar bowl away from him.

“Doing art,” he said, smiling up at her.

“Please don’t let your brother play with his food. Honestly, Shannon, you know better than to just sit there and let him waste sugar.” She grimaced while wiping Brian’s sticky fingers and went in search of a sponge.

“Why are you angry with me?” asked Shannon. “He made the mess, I didn’t.”

“Did you clean your room like I asked you?” replied Shannon’s mom. “No,” mumbled Shannon, pushing in her chair and carrying her bowl to the kitchen sink.

“No playtime until it’s clean,” her mom warned.

Brian stuck his tongue out at his big sister and skipped off with his favorite playmate Kelsie, the big chocolate lab that was always by his side. Shannon got even by throwing a stuffed animal at him before slipping into her room. She eyed her dresser piled high with clean clothes that she had tossed after trying them on. Game pieces were scattered on the floor from Brianna’s visit a few days ago. An empty bag of chips, missing the wastebasket by only a few inches, lay crinkled under a chair. The beads that she was using to make a bracelet dotted her nightstand and a jump rope dangled from a drawer. Her room looked pretty good and she shook her head, wondering what the fuss was all about. She decided to clean off the top of the dresser first. Picture frames slowly appeared as she began folding clothes and stuffing them into drawers. There was a picture from last Christmas of Brian and Kelsie wearing Santa hats and another of her parents wearing bright orange life vests as they paddled a canoe. And there was that special photo of her and Carrie hanging upside down from a tree limb with their hair blowing in the wind. It reminded her of all the fun she was missing with her best friend.

She flopped down onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. Summer had just begun and she was supposed to be excited about the glorious break from school, but she just felt empty. Carrie had called the other night while she was in the middle of hurrying out the door with Brianna. The conversation had ended quickly and although she meant to call her back the next day, she forgot. Yesterday she had tried a few times but couldn’t reach her. She missed her best friend and she wanted to hang out with her…even if it was only on the phone, but Carrie wasn’t answering.

Just then Brian came into the room. “Whatcha doin’?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Can I come in your room and do nothing with you?” he asked.

“Well…” she said, “only if you play a game with me.”

“Oh, boy, what are we gonna play?”

“It’s called, ‘Who can pick up the toys and put them away the fastest!’”

Later that evening as Shannon was helping her mom in the kitchen she noticed a postcard sitting in a pile of mail. “What’s this?” she asked, picking up the colorful card. It was a photo of an old red barn surrounded by a field of golden corn.

“Oh, that came today. It’s from Carrie’s mom.”

“What does it say and where in the world is it from?” Shannon asked, trying to read the tiny cursive scribbling on the back.

“It’s a postcard from Nebraska—isn’t it wonderful? They’re getting to explore a part of the country they’ve never seen before. It’s quite a journey.”

“Has Mrs. Anderson called you yet, Mom? I can’t seem to get Carrie on the phone.”

“No, I don’t think she’ll call; she’s too busy driving. That’s why she sent us the card. See? It’s addressed to all of us and it’s from Carrie, too.

Shannon sighed and slumped into a chair.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’m sure you’ll hear from her soon.”

Shannon turned the card over, smudging it with fingerprints as she ran her hand over the glossy paper. It didn’t feel like it was from Carrie. She remembered the birthday cards signed, “Love, Grandmom and Pop-Pop,” recognizing her grandmother’s handwriting instantly. Did Pop-Pop ever see the card that was supposed to be from him, she wondered?

“Hey, Shannon,” called her dad from the living room. “Come see this.”

She put the postcard down and went to join him on the couch. “It’s a nature show about Nevada. Want to watch it with me?”

“Sure,” she said, thinking of the package of brochures that Carrie hated.

“Horses!” squealed Brian.

Chapter 13

Max’s usual spot by the window was bare. So was his favorite lookout perch on the staircase. His food bowl was untouched and Sam’s call, which always brought him to her side, went unheeded. Today was an important day and Sam was not in the mood to go chasing after a suspiciously absent feline. He can’t possibly know that today is the day that Brenda, Carrie, and their dog are moving into the bungalow out back. Or could he? thought Sam, as she peered out the window for the tenth time. A beautiful blue jay fluttered from its perch and pecked at the unattended bowl of cat food. Where could he be? Sam thought. Max would never allow a bird to eat his breakfast.

The Andersons would be arriving soon and she had wanted to have their dog, Flannel, waiting for them. Devon Spencer, the kind man who was caring for the collie, had phoned to say he was running late. Let’s hope Carrie doesn’t go nuts if her dog isn’t here when she arrives. Going with the flow was a lesson most people didn’t learn until their hearts had been disappointed a few times. This kid was already experiencing a huge dose of reality as she had been uprooted from
her
home. Not by her choice, thought Sam—and only because her parents had selected this as their only course of action. This was
not
going with the flow—this was more like swimming against a raging river that flooded everything in its path. Her thoughts were disrupted as Kelly walked into the room, nodded to Sam before sliding onto the bench of the old black piano that looked out toward the Calico Mountains.

Kelly Westfield began working at the B&B over thirty years ago, when Sam’s parents ran the place. She was a wise woman who only spoke when she had something worth saying. Playing piano to entertain guests was only part of her skills; offering sound advice that proved trustworthy was the real reason the tip jar overflowed. She knew practically everyone in Saddlecrest and the locals would gather around the B&B to hear her sing. Sam took pride in offering this wonderful talent, as the tourists got to mingle with the heart of the land—its people. Sure, she could send them to the local attractions and restaurants but they would learn more about the area by rubbing elbows with the people who really made this place what it was—the locals who lived here when the vacations came to end, the winds blew, the snow fell hard, and the telephone lines went dead. Yes, Kelly was a rare treasure, and Sam was glad the B&B was her home.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” Sam said as Kelly poured herself a cup of coffee.