Pony Dreams (5 page)

“You keep a good eye on her.” She dunked pots
into the dishwater. “Abigail, don't you dare set one toe inside the
corral. Those horses aren't settling well.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said.

Visions of all the times I had done just that
danced through my head. I gulped as I imagined her reaction if she
ever found out.

“Nothing will happen, Ma.” Adam grabbed my
hand.

“See that it doesn't,” she snapped.

We scampered to the corral. The whole time,
he scanned the nearby area. I tried to figure out what he was
looking for, even asked once or twice. He never said a word until
we reached the rest of our family.

“Hey, Pa,” he called. “You really need to
come up to the house. Ma soaked the chicken in buttermilk, and Abby
made a couple of pies. Supper smells downright delicious after cold
meals on the trail.”

Blaze trotted over to the fence and whinnied.
I ran over to him and stroked his forelock, but held back the urge
to use his name.

“You don't say. You're right, Adam, sounds
like your ma made us something really good tonight,” Pa said.
“Charles, go find out if Peter and Paul have finished. It's supper
time.”

“Yes, sir,” Charles said.

Even though I wanted to ride Blaze, and prove
how good I was at training, I backed away. Pa stopped inspecting
the fence. A smile relieved the tension on his face.

“Come here, child.”

I ran into his arms, and he swung me into the
air. His way of greeting me hadn't changed, even after Ma made me
wear full-length skirts and put up my hair, for which I was very
grateful. My pa said he still thanked the Good Lord whenever he
laid eyes on me.

Looking into the face that was a lined,
harder version than mine, I did the same thing, offering an instant
prayer of thankfulness he had come home. His nut-brown hair was the
same color everyone but Ma and I had. Pa's hair now had strands of
gray running through it, but life on the frontier was hard. It was
all I heard whenever I thought about making a complaint.

“Where did you get all that yellow hair?” he
asked, teasing me with a wide smile.

“Must have kissed the sun,” I teased back,
knowing it came from Ma, as hers looked as bright as mine did.

“What kind of pies did you make?” he
asked.

“Dried peach and apple with just enough sugar
to make you sweet!”

It was an old joke between us, and lightened
tension in the air when my brothers laughed.

“Did the Paiute follow you home?” I
asked.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Pa said.
“Your brothers and I would never let them hurt our women. Come on,
boys. Those Indians will just have to wait.”

On the trip back to the house, Peter and Paul
bragged about how much they had done, until the chickens
clucked.

“Move it, you two. Looks like you forgot at
least one of your chores,” Pa said. “Knowing your mother, she'll
want eggs for flapjacks in the morning.”

Peter and Paul trotted over to the coop and
were soon flinging dried corn in all directions. Pa took the rest
of the boys to the wash shed to clean up. Ma and I pulled the
napkins off the food and had everything ready when the men took
their places.

“Coming through,” Paul bellowed.

He and Peter raced through the door, each
holding a basket brimming with eggs. Both looked as if they'd
chased every chicken halfway across the state, what with all the
poop spattered on their hands and the sweaty dirt on their faces.
Ma pointed at the counter.

“Best you hurry and clean up,” she said.
“We're about to say our prayer.”

Water splashed from the lean to outside the
front door. The boys returned with red faces and droplets
splattering in all directions from their hair. When they took their
seats, Pa bowed his head.

“Lord, thank you for bringing us together
once again as a family. Thank you for the good health of my wife,
sons, and daughter. Bless this food our women have provided and
guide us as we work to overcome the obstacle we've discovered in
our path.”

“Amen,” Ma said.

Quiet reigned as they served. After the boys
dug in, and made the appropriate thankful noises, I ate my meal.
For the first time ever, I felt satisfaction about all the time I
spent in the kitchen.

“What happened, Michael?” she asked.

“Indians, Louisa,” Pa commented. “We need to
find out what the Pony wants done with the horses I rescued. Adam
and Bart will stay here when I go to Carson City.” He glanced at
everyone. “Peter and Paul will make this trip. It's time they took
on more responsibility.”

“Abigail and I can take care of the chores
around here if you need to take Adam and Bart with you,” she
said.

Her voice sounded very scared. That surprised
me more than anything else did. She was never afraid of
anything.

“We're very isolated,” he said. “I'd rather
the older boys stayed home.”

None of my brothers offered an opinion, not
even Peter and Paul who squirmed on the bench beside me as if they
had ants in their pants. Something was very wrong if Pa wanted two
of my older brothers to stay home instead of going up to the Pony
Station.

Chapter Six

After removing the
supper dishes from the table, I placed a pile of smaller plates
beside Pa, moved the pies in front of him, and sat back down to
wait for dessert. I always got last choice and ended up with
whatever no one else wanted, the smallest piece.

“What kind of pie would you like, Abigail?”
he asked.

Everyone's jaws dropped open. I thought I
heard a gigantic thud as my brothers' chins hit the table.

“Peach,” I said. “Thank you, Pa.”

He cut me a huge slice of pie and set it on a
plate. Pa passed the pie to Adam, who leaned past Peter and set the
plate in front of me. It was almost too much to bear, but I waited
until everyone else had their dessert before digging my fork into
the peaches. A piece of pie had never tasted so good, not even when
I had to do all the supper dishes while Ma took Peter and Paul to
the barn to do their chores.

When I finished, I sat on a chair in the
parlor and worked on a doily, my newest idle time activity, as Ma
had called it. She had handed me a crochet hook and announced last
month I had to start helping her with the pretties she kept in the
house, since I was now old enough to learn how to do it. My
crocheting never looked as nice as hers, and I had to concentrate
as I wove the hook in and out of the thin yarn. Hopefully, this
doily would have an oil lamp on top of it, so no one would ever see
all the mistakes I'd made.

Pa sat across from me and read from the
Bible. Hearing him telling the story of the fishes and the loaves
helped me focus.

Mark balanced a thick pad of paper against
his knees from his position on the floor. Wrinkles appeared in his
forehead as he sketched. I stopped working to look at him.

“Don't move,” he said.

“Huh?”

He showed me his latest drawing. Mark was
very good at sketching our lives. Right about now, I wanted to burn
every picture he had ever done. This one showed me with my tongue
peeking from between my lips as I tried to shove the hook into the
doily.

“Do it again.” He grinned. “I like how you
try to do girl stuff.”

I almost threw my crocheting at him, but Ma
walked into the parlor with Adam and Bart at that moment. She
picked up her knitting and started on a sock hanging from the
needles. She was so good she made a new pair for all the men every
two weeks.

I wish I were as good as Ma. She makes it
look so easy.

Adam and Bart crouched in a corner and pulled
out their knives. After selecting thin pieces of wood from the
container near the stove, they whittled until shapes of a star and
a bell became recognizable. They always started early making the
ornaments we hung off the fireplace mantle since Christmas trees
were as rare as hen's teeth in the desert.

The sound of a harmonica on the front porch
made me smile. Charles played right before we went to bed, to calm
the animals.

“No smiling,” Mark said. “I'm not done.”

I looked down at my crocheting, which wiped
the smile right off my face, and went back to work. He grunted, and
I figured I had made him happy but didn't dare look up, even when
the door thudded against the wall.

“Don't move,” he said.

While I wanted to find out what new
excitement had come into our lives, I kept on crocheting.

“We found something the runt will like,”
Peter hollered.

“Here it is,” Paul shouted.

Charles stopped playing his harmonica. Adam
and Bart's knives clattered against the floor. Ma gasped. Tiny,
needle-like claws climbed my legs, piercing my skin through the
stockings. Shrieking, I jumped to my feet and flapped my skirt.
Those claws skidded downward and then began climbing again. One
hand on my shoulder to keep me from bouncing around, Ma reached
under my dress and pulled out a frightened kitten.

We had what seemed like dozens of cats in the
barn. They loved the sweet smelling hay and begged for a squirt of
milk when we took care of the cows. This one had mottled black,
white, and gold fluffed up fur. His poor body trembled as he meowed
pitifully.

“You two get in the bunkhouse now,” Pa said
in the angriest voice I'd ever heard. “How is Abigail, Louisa?”

I was only Abby whenever Ma wasn't around to
object. She believed parents gave a good Christian name to a child
for a reason and objected to us shortening ours. She turned to Pa,
and I took the cat from her, stroking the animal until it calmed
down and purred.

“I'll let you know as soon as I clean up her
legs.” She headed for the kitchen. “Abigail, get ready for
bed.”

Still holding the kitten, I walked into the
hallway. The desire to beg my parents to let me keep it raced
through me. I loved just about any kind of animal. Charles looked
at my face and shook his head.

“Sorry, Abby,” he said. “I know you want to
keep the kitten, but you know the rules.”

Rules made my life miserable. Everything I
loved was against them.

“I know.” I handed him the bundle of purring
fur, went into my bedroom, and changed into my nightgown.

Ma came in and checked my legs. Angry, red
scratches up the right one led to my knee, and they hurt a lot. She
cleaned the open wounds with carbolic while I bit my lip to keep
from yelling.

“That should keep those scratches from
getting infected.” She went out and closed the door.

A bit of warmth squirmed through me. Ma never
comforted my brothers after tending their injuries. I smiled and
began to think about how to handle training the horses, but my
pleasant interlude ended when Paul and Peter squalled from the
bunkhouse. I listened as the others said goodnight, not one bit
tired.

After the house quieted, I lay awake. Things
had looked so good when the man from The Pony Express asked us to
provide mustangs. What would we do now?

Chapter Seven

Only two days had
passed since the awful news about the Pony Express turned our lives
upside down. I still woke before everyone else and spent time with
the horses. But I had to be very, very careful and make it back
inside before the sun rose. This morning felt different, in a way I
couldn't figure out. I looked in all directions as I walked to the
corral, but I didn't see anything wrong.

Nickers filled the air, driving me forward at
a fast pace. Once I reached the corral, I focused on nothing but
the horses.

“Hey, Blaze.” I climbed the fence and stroked
his nose. “I can't ride you anymore now that Pa's back.”

An ache rose within me, and I found it
impossible to ignore. After making sure no one was in sight, I
climbed onto his back and threaded my fingers through his mane.

The most wonderful feeling in the world
rushed through me as he trotted in circles. This was the best
sensation the whole world. The wind chapped my cheeks, but I no
longer cared about acting like a lady. I had found the only place
where I felt like I contributed something important to my
family.

Shadows lengthened in front of me. Blaze's
even, strong gait lulled me into a sense of safety, of believing no
one would catch me breaking the rule of not going into the
corral.

Then the most horrible noise in the world
broke through my happiness. A door slammed. I looked around and
realized the sun had risen.

“Oh no!” I touched Blaze's flanks with my
heels. “Hurry. I have to get inside before someone notices I'm not
in my bed.”

He stopped at the same spot where I had
mounted him, but I remained on his back. The second worst thing in
the world had happened.

“Ma and Pa told you to stay away from the
corral for a very good reason,” Adam said. His voice was very low,
not a good sign. “Get off that horse. Now!”

Shaking in every muscle, I slid off Blaze's
back. Once on the ground, I stretched up as far as I could to
whisper in his ear.

“It's not your fault. I wasn't supposed to
ride you.”

Certain I faced not only a scolding but also
a spanking, I crawled under the middle rail while stepping over the
bottom one of the fence.

“Walk with me,” Adam said. “I don't want what
we say upsetting the horses.”

Too scared to say anything, I nodded. He took
off for the trail Pa used to drive the ponies to the stations and
stopped when we were a good distance from the house.

“Those horses aren't safe for you to ride,”
Adam said. “All the Pony Express wants is saddle broke. You know
that.”

“Uh-huh.” I scuffed a foot back and
forth.

“Why?”

He had asked the one question I never wanted
to hear. I had started doing this as a way to make sure Pa never
found out Peter and Paul had disobeyed him. But training the horses
had blown up into a major problem.