Flying Horse (7 page)

The next morning The Saddle Club woke to the smell of hot cinnamon rolls. “Mom’s working on her breakfast menus,” Dorothy explained as the girls stumbled sleepily into the kitchen. “She’ll have to serve breakfast every morning to the inn’s customers.”

“I’m practicing, same as with tea,” Mrs. DeSoto told them. After her first bite of a spicy buttered cinnamon roll, Lisa raised her hand.

“I’ll be a guinea pig,” she volunteered. “Whenever you feel like practicing, call me!” The rest of The Saddle Club agreed.

They all accompanied Mrs. DeSoto, Dorothy, and Nigel to services at a small church on the island. Afterward they changed into shorts and T-shirts and met on the screened side porch.

“We’re here to work,” Stevie said. “What should we do first?”

Mrs. DeSoto and Mrs. Reg exchanged glances. “We’ve just been talking about that,” Mrs. DeSoto said. “There are a lot of things that need doing, and we did ask you here to help us do them, but today I think we should all relax. The electricians are coming tomorrow to check the wiring, and a crew is going to start repairing the roof. Dorothy and Nigel will show
you girls what they want you to do, but they’ve worked hard all week, and I think they should take a breather. Why don’t we all take the rest of the day off and go at it strong tomorrow? Would that be okay?”

“Of course,” Carole said.

“In that case,” Denise suggested, “why don’t I take the girls to Assateague?”

“H
ERE WE GO
.” Denise drove Mrs. Reg’s car slowly across the bridge to Assateague Island. Carole, Stevie, and Lisa peered out the windows excitedly. A big wooden sign just over the bridge read Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge, and the asphalt road stretched between tall stands of pine trees.

“Is this it?” Stevie asked. Somehow she had thought Assateague would look different from the rest of the coast. These pine woods looked very much like the woods around Pine Hollow. And she hadn’t expected Assateague to have a real paved road.

“I know,” Carole said, nodding. “It looks so normal.”

“What did you expect?” Denise asked. “A whole herd of wild ponies standing by the bridge to greet you? Birds flying in formation overhead, and a big sign saying ‘Here’s to The Saddle Club’?” She smiled quickly at them, then checked the trail map Mrs. DeSoto had given her. “C’mon, guys, give the place a chance. We’ve only just gotten here.”

Denise parked the car in a small lot near a brown building. “This is the Visitors’ Center,” she said. “Should we check it out first?” The girls shrugged and nodded. They followed Denise across the lot, looking around at the pine trees surrounding it.

“Where do you think the ponies are?” Lisa whispered to Carole and Stevie. Denise overheard her.

“Lisa!” she said. “Assateague is big—it’s much bigger than Chincoteague, remember? The ponies are here somewhere. We’ll see them!”

Carole nodded, her eyes taking on a dreamy look. “Assateague is the outrider island,” she murmured. “It protects little Chincoteague from storms.”

“What are you talking about?” Stevie asked her.

“I think it’s a quote from that
Misty
book,” Denise said. “Come on. Let’s go inside.” She herded them toward the door. Another sign read Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge.

“Why is it called the Chincoteague Refuge?” Stevie asked, stopping. “Aren’t we on Assateague?”

“I don’t know,” Denise replied. “I mean, yes, we’re on Assateague; I don’t know why it’s called the Chincoteague Refuge. Maybe it’s because part of Assateague is in Maryland, and that part isn’t a refuge.” She tapped Stevie’s shoulder and motioned her forward. They went into the Visitors’ Center.

Bright, life-size photographs of wild birds and animals and larger-than-life-size photographs of wild-flowers hung on the walls. Otherwise the big room was plain and almost empty. A cheerful man in a park uniform greeted them. “Would you like some information on the wildlife refuge?” he asked. “I’ve got some pamphlets here on the types of plants and animals you could expect to see, and I can tell you which wild-flowers are blooming now.”

Denise went to pick up a few pamphlets. The Saddle Club looked at each other uncertainly. Finally Lisa spoke up. “We’re mostly interested in the wild ponies,” she said.

“Oh!” The man smiled. “Well, if you’re here long enough, you should see them. The stallions hide their mares pretty well after Pony Penning, but that’s still a month away. They aren’t so cautious right now. Walk around the island. You’ll find the ponies.”

Denise thanked him and they walked back out to the parking lot. “There’s a walking trail that starts
right here,” Denise said, pulling out Mrs. DeSoto’s map. “Should we try it first?” The Saddle Club agreed.

They hadn’t walked along the wide trail more than a minute before Stevie was no longer reminded of the Pine Hollow woods. Suddenly the trees grew sparse. The grass became long and luxurious, tall and thin, unlike the thicker meadow grass they were used to. Tiny blue flowers showed here and there. The ground underfoot felt spongy.

“It’s marshland,” Denise said. “The salt marsh.” They continued walking. In front of them the land gave way to open water, sunk down in the marsh grasses, as far across as they could see. Herons wheeled above it.

“Is this the ocean?” Lisa frowned. She could see land in front of her again, on the other side of the water, but there was nothing but water stretching to either side. There were no other people in sight. They were alone with the flowers and birds. “It’s wild,” she said.

“Exactly.” Carole sounded entirely satisfied.

Denise checked her map. “ ‘Snow Goose Pool,’ ” she read. “I don’t know if it’s freshwater or salt. And the way the edge just fades into muddy reeds, I’m not sure I want to get close enough to find out. But it looks like we can walk closer in if we go this way a little bit.”

They followed her obediently to where a slender walking path branched off the main trail. They walked down the path among the marsh grasses. Carole felt as if she wanted to sit down so that the grass would hide her, then let the wildlife come as close to her as they dared. The blue sky was huge, and the grass smelled wonderful. This was exactly the way she had imagined Assateague would be. If a wild pony came galloping along the edge of that pool, she thought, this would be the best spot in the world.

They still couldn’t get close to the water without sinking up to their knees in mud, but Stevie bent down and touched her finger to a puddle. “It tastes a little bit salty,” she announced. “Not like the ocean, though.” She made a face. “Mostly it tastes muddy.”

Denise laughed but suggested they go see the ocean, and save further exploration of the Snow Goose Pool for later. “I’m really anxious to see it,” she explained. “It feels so strange here. I know we’re on an island, and we’re surrounded by water all the time, but so far we’ve always seen land on the other side. I want to see waves.”

The Saddle Club agreed. On the way back to the car, on the edge of the pine trees, they came across a group of miniature brown deer. “Oh, look!” Carole whispered. “Are they babies?”

“No,” Stevie said, “because that one’s got a baby—
see?” A tiny fawn stood close to one of the does. The deer watched them curiously.

Denise consulted one of her pamphlets. “They’re Sika deer,” she said. “They were brought here in the 1920s, and they like to eat the salt grass.”

Carole moved slowly toward them, holding out her hand. “Do you think I can pet one?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t try,” Denise advised. “They might let you—they know they’re safe on a wildlife refuge, and I’m sure they’re used to seeing people. But they’re still wild, and it’s better if they stay that way.”

Carole dropped her hand. What Denise said made sense. But she couldn’t help wondering if the deer felt as velvety as they looked.

“Did you see the sign on the road?” Denise asked them. “ ‘Wild ponies kick and bite!’ ”

Carole smiled. “I didn’t see the sign,” she said. “But I knew that anyway.”

B
ACK IN THE
car Lisa asked suddenly, “Do you think it’s true about the wild ponies?”

“What’s true?” asked Stevie.

“All that stuff about them being on a Spanish ship, a galleon, and the ship getting wrecked on the coast, and the ponies swimming to shore?” Lisa said.

“Of course,” Carole answered promptly.

“No,” Stevie said, just as promptly. “It’s a nice story
—but I don’t think there were too many Spanish ships off the coast of New England.”

“Sure there were,” Lisa argued. “But what I mean is—”

“Wait a minute,” Denise interrupted. “I know what you’re asking, Lisa, and I don’t think anyone knows the answer for sure. I was reading a book on local history that I found in my bedroom—kind of touristy but mostly facts, you know? It said that there are two versions of the ponies’ origin. One is what you said. A ship—presumably a Spanish ship since the Spanish explorers are the ones who reintroduced horses to North America—wrecked and the ponies did swim to shore. That could have happened—there were a lot of shipwrecks recorded off the coast of Assateague once the settlers got here.

“But the second version is much simpler. European settlers started living on Chincoteague in the 1670s, and at first most of them were farmers. Some of them pastured their excess stock on Assateague. Some of the colonists’ horses escaped and formed their own wild bands. The one thing we know for sure is that there have been wild ponies on Assateague for a long, long time.”

The Saddle Club was silent for a moment. Denise started the car and began to drive toward the beach.
There was more traffic now—apparently the beach was a popular place.

“I like the Spanish wreck story better,” Carole said at last.

“When did they start selling the ponies?” Stevie asked. “Did your book say that, Denise?”

Denise nodded. “Let’s see—back in the 1920s, I think. They had a big fire on Chincoteague, and a lot of the buildings were destroyed. They didn’t have the bridge to the mainland then, so they couldn’t get a fire engine over, and they didn’t have one on the island. Afterwards, the town had a big carnival to raise money for a fire engine. The first Pony Penning happened then. Part of Assateague Island goes into Maryland, like I told you before, and they’ve got a fence at the state border so the Maryland ponies don’t get mixed up with the Virginia ponies. The Chincoteague Fire Department is responsible for taking care of the Virginia ponies.”

“Mrs. DeSoto told me that selling the ponies is a good thing,” said Carole. “It keeps the island from becoming overpopulated. If there were too many ponies, they might not have enough food.”

They were driving along the edge of more pine woods. The tail of Snow Goose Pool appeared on their left. “Hey!” said Stevie. “There’s a trail with a pony on it!”

Denise stopped the car. “A real pony?”

“No.” Stevie looked embarrassed. “I mean—see that sign at the start of the trail? It has a pony on it, just like the marsh trail sign had a goose.”

“Maybe there are ponies on the trail.” Carole looked hopeful.

“Maybe.” Denise sighed. “Look, I know you all want to look for ponies, but please, I want to see the ocean. Can’t we do that first?”

“Sure,” Stevie said, after a moment’s hesitation. “Maybe there will be wild ponies on the beach.”

T
HE ODDS OF
the wild ponies’ being anywhere on this beach, Carole reflected, were pretty small. The wide strip of white sand went for miles in both directions, but near the parking lot it was covered with people, lying on beach towels and wading in the surf, just like every other beach she had ever seen. Here was Denise’s ocean, immense, unending, sending gentle waves against the shore. Carole took a deep breath of the clean ocean air. It was pretty wonderful, even without the ponies.

They left their shoes in the car and walked along the edge of the water, letting the waves slosh around their ankles. They walked for a long time, past the sunbathers and the children playing Frisbee, north to where Snow Goose Pool and the ocean almost connected.
Again they saw birds of all types. Suddenly Stevie stopped and looked down at the sand by her feet.

“I could be wrong,” she announced, with a typical Stevie grin on her face. “But I don’t think I am. Here’s the first proof that there really are wild ponies on this island!”

Carole and Lisa looked. “Hoofprints!”

“Lots of hoofprints,” Denise added. They searched the marshland and beach with their eyes, but they didn’t see any ponies. “Maybe they come down here at night and play in the surf,” Denise suggested.

“Surf ponies!” Stevie said. “They bring their beach towels and lie on the sand, and the foals go swimming, but not too far out—”

“
You’re
far out,” Carole put in. “Surf ponies! Everyone knows you wouldn’t call them that. They’d be sea horses!”

They giggled. Lisa threw herself down on the sand, imitating a mare lying on a beach towel, and Stevie pretended she was a foal that had never seen the ocean before. She darted forward and back at the water’s edge, rolled her eyes and pawed the sand, and looked so much like Samson, the colt at Pine Hollow, that The Saddle Club rolled on the sand with laughter.