For Sale Or Swap (9 page)

Shelby didn't have a horse to feed in the morning,
but she was used to waking up early, so she lay in bed
with her hands behind her head, scrunching and
unscrunching her toes under the covers.

She'd been dreading the phone call to confess that
Brat was stolen, and had put it off, but now that it was
done it felt good. She'd made someone's life better. She
wondered if she placed an ad in the magazine whether
somebody like her would admit to having Blue.

Now all she had to do was face the Crooks. It
didn't seem such a terrible task as it had the night
before – now that she had done the right thing. She
would tell them that, yes, Brat was a grey, and she was
stolen, but she had informed the people who owned
her and they were coming to collect her. She imagined
Mrs Crook might get a little tight around the mouth,
but they couldn't hold it against her. It wasn't as if
she
had stolen Brat.

Shelby climbed out of bed and padded out to the
lounge room to watch cartoons with her brothers. The
Lego toy box was still in the middle of the floor and
Blake tipped it upside down, raking out the blocks
with his small hands.

'Can you help me make a helicopter?' he asked.

Shelby held up the small haphazard block that he
had created. 'I don't know how to make helicopters,
but I can put together a wicked stable complex. Will
that do?'

Blake nodded. Connor crawled across the carpet to
help them.

Shortly afterwards her parents emerged from
their room, and Shelby did another thing that she
hadn't done for years – she had Sunday breakfast with
her family.

'We're making a stable complex,' Blake announced.

'Really?' his father replied. 'It's a pity they don't
make Lego a bit bigger. Then we could build Shelby a
real one.'

'They do,' Connor informed him. 'It's called
Duplo.'

Her father gave her a wink. 'You never know, Shel,
Santa might bring you a great big pile of Duplo.
Would you like that?'

'He'd never fit it through the range hood,'
she replied.

The Shaws didn't have a fireplace, and so one
time, when the boys had asked how Santa brought the
presents, her father had told them that he came in
through the range hood over the stove.

Connor chewed on a strip of bacon with his fingers,
and then wiped the grease across his shirt in long
smears, but his father didn't get cross as he usually
would.

At the end of the meal Shelby's mother gathered
the plates from the table.

'I'll do the dishes if you like,' offered Shelby,
pushing her chair back.

'Would you?' asked her mother.

Shelby carried the plates to the bench and filled
the sink with water. She looked into the lounge room
at her parents sitting side by side on the couch. Her
mother sipped her cup of coffee. Shelby realised that it
had been a long, long time since she had seen her
mother just relaxing.

After the dishes were done Shelby asked if one of
her parents could drive her over to the stables to see
how Brat was doing. Her father offered to take her, as
he had some chores to do anyway.

Out in the driveway, Shelby waited for her father
to open the door. To her surprise he walked straight
around to the driver's side. 'I think you're old enough
to open it yourself now,' he said. 'But be careful. Just
use the handle. And don't slam it.'

Shelby rolled her eyes. Sometimes he was just like
Mrs Crook.

On the way, her father asked what she was going
to do about Blue. Shelby leaned her elbow on the
window, looking at the houses whisking by.

'I want to place an ad in the magazine – like the
Mulligans did. I suppose that's all I can do.'

Her father glanced over. 'I think you're taking it
rather well.'

Shelby shook her head. 'At first it was really hard.
I made myself feel better by thinking that I would see
him again in two weeks. That's how I got through the
first little bit. When I realised Brat was stolen, I kept
having these visions that Blue was hurt somewhere. It
made me want to throw up. I hope someone will see
the ad.' Shelby shrugged. 'They might not know that
he's stolen.'

She bit her lip and tried to swallow around the lump
in her throat. 'I guess I'm just trying to make myself
believe that he's gone to a good home. I hope they will
be kind to him because he's such a hard little worker.'

Her father turned off the main road and they
started to drive through horse country on the other
side of the gully. There were so many horses here –
most with their noses down in the grass, swishing
their tails. She would never find Blue. There must be
thousands of horses in this valley alone. Where could
she even begin to look?

'I'm going to tell you something, Shel,' her father
said. 'I've always found that things generally turn out
for the best. It mightn't seem like it now, and it might
take a little while, but it'll be OK.'

He reached over and squeezed her hand. 'I'm
really proud of you. You've made some mistakes – so
does everybody – but you're handling them. You're
becoming quite independent.'

Shelby smiled. 'Thanks, Dad.'

Her father pulled up outside the stables, promising
to come back in half an hour. Shelby walked along the
gravel driveway listening to the skittling of loose
pebbles under her feet.

Some of the girls were clustered around Miss Anita.
A group of younger kids were jumping in the practice
arena. Some people were grooming their horses in the
yards. Other horses were unattended – dozing and
stamping at flies.

Nobody paid much attention to Shelby as she
walked in. She was surprised. She expected that everybody
would point and whisper to each other,
There's
that girl with the stolen horse
.

She saw Lindsey marching along the laneway
between the stables with a wheelbarrow. Lindsey's
mouth twitched in a smile.

'How are you today?' asked Shelby.

'You know how it is,' Lindsey replied. 'So much
poo, so little time.'

Shelby climbed between the rails of the Crooks'
yard and towards Scamp's stable. The bottom half of
the door was closed. She leaned on her elbows,
peering in and blinking against the gloom. Brat was
standing in the back corner eating from a hay net. She
stood on her three good legs and leaned the toe of the
hurt one on the stable floor. She pricked her ears when
she saw Shelby.

It was worse than she had thought. The whole of
the side of Brat was a dusty white. Mrs Crook must
have washed her for hours to get the dye out. Her
mane was still mostly brown but Shelby could see
little curlicues of wood shavings from the stable floor
in it. Shelby rubbed her forehead.

She heard a voice behind her. 'Have you been
here long?' It was Mrs Crook. She stood in the yard
in her gumboots, with her hands on her hips. Shelby
searched her face for signs of anger or mistrust.

'I just got here.'

'How are you feeling this morning?' she asked.

'I'm OK.'

'I can't tell you how pleased we all were to see you
running along that road yesterday afternoon. I was
sure you had come off and cracked your head. We
came pretty close to calling in the rescue helicopter.'

'Really?' asked Shelby, her eyes widening.

Mrs Crook nodded. 'What happened? Did you
come off?'

'No, I was leading her and she got spooked and
slipped away from me,' Shelby explained.

'Were you hurt?'

'Just a few blisters.'

Mrs Crook stepped forward and joined her at the
gate. 'She looks a fright, doesn't she?'

Shelby looked down at her feet, embarrassed.

'I meant to give her a bit of a rub-down last night,
but I needed to feed Echo and Ditto, and then the vet
came. After that I had to move the float because it was
up near the gate there, and somebody else was waiting
to unload. It was all a bit of a rush really.'

'You didn't wash her?' Shelby asked.

Mrs Crook shook her head. 'As it turns out there
wasn't much point. We'd just put down a couple of
bags of lime – seeing as the stable was empty. It dries
it out and makes it smell better. I'd forgotten all about
it until she got in there and rolled.'

Shelby's eyes had adjusted, and she could see now
that it was a fine layer of white dust that covered Brat
all down her side.

'Thank you for looking after her.'

'It's our pleasure,' said Mrs Crook, giving Shelby a
quick rub on the arm. 'I wouldn't worry about her too
much. The swelling has gone right down, and she's
putting weight on it this morning. I think she might be
one of those horses that gets selectively lame – a bit of
a princess. Where did you get her, anyway?'

Shelby scuffed her foot on the sill of the stable
floor. Everybody would find out sooner or later, so she
might as well confess.

'I swapped Blue for her. It turns out she's stolen.
Her real owner is coming to pick her up in a few days.'

'No!' said Mrs Crook. 'Really? What about your
other little horse?'

Shelby shook her head. 'I don't know where he is.
The police haven't been much help either.'

Mrs Crook put her arm around Shelby's shoulder.
'You just can't cut a break, can you, kiddo?'

Shelby shook her head. She was afraid she was
going to cry again. All morning she had been steeling
herself for some kind of combat with Mrs Crook, but
it had turned out to be quite the opposite. It caught
her off guard. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to
keep her emotion in check, but it wasn't working.
Tears welled in the corner of her eyes. She tried to
blink them away but one escaped and rolled down her
cheek. Shelby quickly turned her face so that Mrs
Crook couldn't see, but it was too late.

'Cheer up, chicken,' said Mrs Crook, giving her
shoulder a squeeze. 'Things will be all right. Trust me.'

Shelby held her hand under her nose, trying to
keep it together. 'Thanks,' she whispered.

'You haven't got a float, have you? We can drop
her back around to your place tomorrow if you like.'

'That would be great,' Shelby replied. She had
always thought Mrs Crook was a bit of a dragon lady,
but it seemed she'd been wrong.

She walked back down the gravel driveway to
where her father was waiting in the car. 'How did you
go?' she asked.

He lifted up a bag from the passenger seat.
'I finally found the perfect floor pedal dust boot. I've
been looking around for ages. What about you?'

'It wasn't as bad as I thought.'

'What did I tell you' he asked, reaching out and
ruffling her hair.

Shelby gave him a grim smile. Grown-ups kept
telling her that it was going to be all right, but she still
had an empty hollow feeling in her stomach that
wouldn't go away. It wasn't all right and it wasn't
going to be until she knew where Blue was.

As promised, Hayley and Mrs Crook delivered Brat to
Shelby's paddock the next day. After Hayley climbed
out of the car, she put her hand on Shelby's shoulder.
It was an awkward gesture and Shelby wasn't quite
sure how she was supposed to respond, but then
Hayley said, 'Mum told me about Brat being stolen.
How terrible for you. I'm so sorry.'

If it had been Erin, Shelby probably would have
leaned towards her and they would have hugged, but
she and Hayley were too new friends for that. Instead
Shelby just nodded.

Once they had the float gate down, Brat backed
out without any fuss and Shelby let her go inside the
paddock. Mrs Crook looked with her hands on her
hips, and Shelby was embarrassed about her rickety
fences.

'You've got plenty of feed in there, anyway,'
Mrs Crook said.

'Any news about Blue?' asked Hayley.

Shelby shook her head.

'I'm sure he'll turn up,' Hayley said.

Before she got into the car, Hayley called out to
her. 'We're not going to be able to watch
McLeod's
Daughters
on Wednesday night after all.'

Shelby knew this would happen. They'd been nice
to her because they felt sorry for her, but now that she
didn't have a pretty horse any more, Hayley didn't
want to know her. At least she was generous enough
not to say it in front of everybody.

'Oh well, maybe another time,' Shelby replied,
shrugging.

'Do you think you'll be allowed to come over
anyway?' Hayley asked. 'We were just going to watch
some old movies, but if you have to stay with your
family, that's OK.'

'Why would I have to do that? It's holidays.'

'It'll be Christmas Eve, silly,' explained Hayley,
smiling. Shelby had forgotten all about it. 'Do you
want to ask your mum?'

Shelby grinned. 'Yeah, I will. That would be great.'

She could imagine them all sitting around in
Hayley's big house, watching movies and giggling,
sharing bowls of popcorn. She'd be one of them, if
only for a few hours.

After the Crooks had gone, Shelby used her whole
bottle of shampoo trying to get Brat clean. She
scrubbed and rinsed, scrubbed and rinsed. She made
some good progress on Brat's face, but in the end, the
best she had come up with for the rest of her body
was a deep strawberry blonde.

When she arrived home for lunch there was a
message for her on the kitchen bench.

Ruth rang.
Shelby frowned, wondering whom this
Ruth could be.

She said to tell you that your bushranger is
back???

Shelby snatched up the message. Of course! The
lady from the classifieds. Could it be possible that the
man was putting Blue up for sale or swap? She rang
the number.

'We've just taken an order for a Mr Dan Morgan –
text by email and payment from a company, the same
as last time.'

'Who?'

'You don't know Mad Dan Morgan? What are
they teaching you in school these days? It could be
another co-inkydink.'

Shelby smiled. 'Can you tell me what the ad is for?'

'Quiet, sound, chestnut gelding, sixteen years . . .'
she began. Shelby's heart started to race. It was Blue.
The man had just dyed him like he dyed Brat. It had
to be Blue. She held her breath.

'. . . fifteen hands high.'

Shelby exhaled. Blue was only thirteen hands. The
man could lie about colour, but he couldn't lie about
height – at least not
that
much.

'Did he give a phone number?'

Ruth cleared her throat. 'Yes, but I'm not going to
give it to you. I've already overstepped the bounds for
you. The magazine will be out in a few days. You've
got a head start anyway.'

'I really appreciate it,' Shelby said.

Her mother was loitering in the kitchen, and gave
Shelby an inquiring look when she hung up the phone.
She explained that Ruth was the lady from the
magazine, and that she thought it might be the same
man. She would have a phone number. She wasn't sure
exactly what she was going to do with it, but it was
a start.

'That's great, Shel. But right now, I want you
to clean up your room. Aunty Jenny will be here
tomorrow.'

Shelby groaned. She hated cleaning her room. It
was always so messy that she didn't know where to
begin. Aunty Jenny's visit also meant Shelby sleeping
on the lounge. For some reason, whenever her aunt
came to stay, Shelby was the one who had to give up
her space. Besides that, Aunt Jenny was old and a
fuddy-duddy. She had beady eyes and watched all the
children as though she was waiting for them to do
something wrong.

Aunt Jenny always brought dumb presents too.
She gave them lavender soap bags, or tins of boiled
lollies – the kind of homemade craft things you can
buy from school fetes and community fundraisers.
Shelby wondered why her aunt bothered coming for
Christmas when she always sat in the background just
watching with her lips narrow and closed.

She trudged into the bedroom and used her foot
to scrape a path from the door to her bed. First, she
grabbed the dirty clothes and threw them in a pile
near her bedroom door. She picked up her schoolbooks,
putting them in a pile on her desk. She found a
crumpled heap of clean clothes on the floor at the end
of her bed and refolded them all.

After a little while she looked up and saw her dad
peering at her from the hallway. He was carrying a
plastic bag. 'Have you got a minute?' he whispered.

'Yep,' said Shelby, keen to avoid cleaning up.

He stepped into the room, half closing the door
behind him.

'Shel, do you still have any notions about the
whole Santa thing?' he asked.

She smiled and nodded. 'Of course, he comes in
through the range hood over the stove. That's what
you told me.'

Her father nodded. 'Well, Santa's running behind
schedule this year – some kind of elf industrial dispute
in the workshop – and he's asked me to help with the
wrapping of presents for our family. Your brothers
heard there was cleaning going on so they've skedaddled
down the back for the moment. Do you think
you might be able to help Santa out?'

'What is Santa offering in return?' Shelby asked.

'It just so happens that Santa has bought one or
two little things for your family that he's happy to put
your name on.'

'Really?' asked Shelby. With all the excitement
going on, Shelby hadn't even thought about presents.
Besides, she'd spent all her money on Maxshine Celtic
Copper and boot polish.

He opened the plastic bag. Inside were two Spiderman
figurines, a bottle of perfume in a gift box and a
gardening apron with pockets.

'Santa is a champ,' said Shelby.

'I'll pass that on,' her dad replied. 'I'm off to get
the rest of the goodies.'

Shelby gave him a hug before he left the room.
'Thank you so much.'

He swung the door open, and after looking
furtively up and down the hall, he snuck away.

Almost as soon as he had gone her mother tapped
at the window. 'Psst.'

Shelby unlocked the clasp and slid the window
open. Her mother thrust a large brown package at her.
'Put this somewhere safe,' she whispered. 'It's from
Santa for your father.'

Shelby took hold of it. It was heavier than she
anticipated and she stumbled backwards a step. Something
plastic cracked under her foot a couple of layers
down. She hoped it wasn't a CD.

Shelby shoved the package under her desk, pushed
the chair in front of it and then leaned forward to
slide the window closed. Just as it clicked shut her
father appeared in the doorway with a tower of boxes
and bags. Shelby waved at her mum to disappear, and
her mother quickly spun sideways with her back to
the wall of the house and slid away like some kind
of cat burglar. Shelby put her hand over her mouth to
stifle a giggle.

Her father dumped the bags and boxes onto the
bed. 'Now,' he said. 'You're cleaning your room and
you're in a terrible mood, OK?'

'OK,' replied Shelby.

'I've said you're not to come out again until it's
sparkling, or you're grounded. Everyone should give
you a pretty wide berth that way.'

'No problem.'

Her dad then backed out of the room and closed
the door behind him. Shelby cleared a space on the
bed and sat down, grinning. It was the first Christmas
that her parents had treated her like a real grown-up.

She pulled each present out of its shop plastic,
turned it over in her hands, and then carefully wrapped
it in gift paper. It was just like Christmas morning
in reverse.