Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail (2 page)

The next morning as she began her usual chore of sweeping the front porch, she stopped to admire the brilliant view. She put aside her work and leaned against the broom. It was dawn and the sky was a color so unlike any other. Gorgeous shades of pink and peach rose from behind the distant Calico Mountains. She sighed and remained silent, absorbing the stillness dawn brings. As she turned to continue sweeping she spotted her cat, Max, walking slowly toward her with the carcass of his recent catch dangling from his mouth.

“Yuck, why do you always dump them at my doorstep?”

He must have changed his mind upon hearing her tone as he quickly scampered and ran beneath the porch. There was a scrap of heather green fabric with pink flowers lying on the rocking chair. Another one? she thought. Someone has been leaving swatches of fabric on my front porch. Was someone making a quilt? I’ve picked up squares of fabric three times this week. She wondered if Max had found them and was depositing them for her just like the dead mice he treated as gifts.

The smell of coffee and biscuits aroused her guests and they slowly made their way to the dining room. Sam breezed through her morning chores, greeting travelers, answering their questions about the old abandoned mines, and handing out maps and pamphlets. People came from all over to take in the beauty of the desert. Looking at a photo or a brochure could never capture what Sam had learned to love. You can’t just read about a place, you have to go and experience it—the smell of the desert flowers in bloom, the calls of red-tail hawks as they flew overhead, and the bright colors of the Calico Mountains as they stood like soldiers guarding the land.

Sam thought of the package she had mailed to New Jersey. Brenda said Carrie had looked over the photos, brochures, and local school newsletter and was utterly unimpressed. Well, how the heck can a desert compare with the Jersey shore? thought Sam. The child had lived near the beach all her life and this would be her first trip out west. Sam knew Brenda was worried about the move and she tried to reassure her best friend. Sure, it would take some time, but it was a lot to expect from a person, regardless of their age, and she knew it. Change was always uncomfortable, especially a family breaking apart and moving to a new state with new people in a new environment. Sam thought back to when she was ten. I had enough problems with my looks and shyness that I can’t imagine dealing with my parents splitting up and moving far away from my friends. We’ll just have to make it fun for Carrie, she thought, but I hope she’s not the crying type. I can deal with kids, but when they start blubberin’—well, that’s when I clam up. No, she shook her head; if she were anything like Brenda she would face life head on. Yep, it will all work out. She will love this place and, if I’m lucky, so will her mom. As Sam headed up to make the beds she paused to drop the little swatch of calico fabric into her desk drawer beside the others and forgot all about them.

Chapter 3

Wednesday, April 6:

I didn’t do my homework last night again. Mom thinks I was in my room studying but I was just fooling around. I feel so mixed up because usually I can’t wait for school to be over so I can do fun summer stuff like go swimming, ride my bike, sleep outside in a tent, go out in my dad’s boat, and go to the rides on the boardwalk—especially the water slide! Now that we’re moving I don’t want school to be over, except I hate school and dumb homework and tests and I just want to be with Shannon. But now I’m mad at Shannon. I think she likes Nevada because she was really excited about that stupid package that my mom’s friend, Sam, sent us. Flannel is the only one I can trust and I know she keeps all of my secrets. I had a cool dream last night and it was about the…wait, gotta go. Mom’s calling, but I’ll write soon…probably after blah-blah land. I hope if they have a test today there is a long fire drill and we all hang outside and have to miss it.

As Shannon waited for the bus she thought back to the photos of Nevada Carrie had shown her the day before; how she had stopped Carrie from ripping them up when her friend, in tears, had thrown them on the floor. Shannon thought the pictures looked incredible—mountains, cactus, and bighorn sheep—and that this move out west looked super exciting. Sure, she was upset about Carrie moving and all, but her parents had promised they would allow her to go for visits. The bus came and she made her way to her usual seat. She wondered what it would be like to travel so far from home. Home. Everything would change for Carrie as her new neighborhood would be miles and miles from the places she and Shannon liked to hang out. Rollerblading and going to the boardwalk to look for cool clothes—and, of course, the beach. Ugh, the beach, she thought. That was the worst…Carrie had looked in horror at the photos of the desert and yelled, “I’m trading my beautiful beach for this horrible dusty old dirt!”

It was test day and all of the kids in the class were miserable. Carrie looked about and saw the grim looks on her classmates’ faces. Great, she thought, just what I need—another bad grade. The meeting she had attended with her mom and her teacher was supposed to help boost her spirits and her grades. All that talk was flowery words to Carrie. Adults always seemed to think it was all so easy but when you have stuff on your mind, well…school just didn’t seem so important. Her entire world was about to change. That was what really bugged her—no one even bothered to ask her, they just went ahead and made the decision, saying it was for her own good. Nothing about this felt good and besides, it was her life, too. Carrie was ignoring Shannon’s attempts to cheer her up. Not today, thought Carrie, still feeling hurt and angry that her friend didn’t share her hatred of those awful photos of the Nevada desert. She sank down into her seat and chewed on her pencil, wishing the test and the photos were all just a bad dream.

That night Carrie did have a dream. She thought about it the next morning as she sat munching her toast.

“Well, you look like you’re a million miles away,” Brenda said.

“I had a funny dream. Wanna hear it?” Carrie asked.

“I always love hearing your dreams. You have a pretty vivid imagination.”

“It started with shimmering water all glittering before me and then, well, I was flying. I was way high up like a bird looking down. And all I could see for miles and miles were these rolling hills made of calico fabric.”

“Cool,” her mom said. “Just like patchwork.”

“Yeah, only as I was flying overhead, it all kinda suddenly stopped and I was directly overhead looking down on this field of fabric and then something odd happened. The fabric kinda, well, I don’t know how to describe it exactly…it sort of was ripped open by a black oozing…um, like black paint…it was shiny and it slowly spread over all of the fabric until all I could see was black.”

“Anything else?” her mom asked.

“No, that’s all I can remember.”

“Hmm. What do you think it means?”

“I’m not sure, Mom. I liked the flying part, and it was really awesome seeing all those rolling hills made of calico fabric. I just don’t get the end part.”

“Carrie, I know how upset you’ve been about all of this, and I wish I could make it all better.”

“So you think it’s about us moving?”

“Maybe,” said her mom, “or maybe it’s just an odd, unexplainable dream. We all have those.”

“Well, whatever it was,” said Carrie, “I hope I have another one about flying. I can’t wait to tell Shannon.”

As she rode the bus to school she thought about the dream. Calico fabric was what her aunt had used when sewing quilts. What did her mom call it again? Patchwork. Yeah, patches sewn together to make a design. That’s just what those fields looked like. She was daydreaming about this when Shannon slid into the seat next to her.

“Wait ’til you hear my dream!” said Carrie, forgetting all about her cold-shoulder treatment of the past day.

Shannon said nothing and pretended not to hear.

“What?” asked Carrie.

“You know what,” said Shannon angrily.

“Sorry,” mumbled Carrie.

“I’m allowed to think that those desert photos are cool, Carrie. It doesn’t mean I want you to move,” Shannon shot back.

“I know. I was mad at the world. You’re the only one who even gets it. My parents sure don’t.”

“Yeah, well okay, but you shouldn’t be so cold to me. Never mind all that; let’s get back to important stuff—about this dream. Was I in it?”

The weeks flew past and as moving day approached, mother and daughter viewed the calendar with mixed feelings. Carrie looked with sadness and Brenda with hope and anticipation about what was around the corner. They had become closer packing up their belongings; their teamwork had brought them to an understanding. They decided to agree to disagree about it being both horrible and wonderful. They learned a lesson about themselves and how, although they shared a bond as mother and daughter, it was okay if they didn’t agree about moving away. This made Carrie feel as if her mom respected her opinions and it also made Brenda frown less. Saying goodbye to friends and family wasn’t easy and each farewell made their love grow stronger for people and places they used to think would be with them forever. There were going-away gifts and cards, mixed with tears, and yet somehow they were able to still find the laughter.

Chapter 4

Devon Spencer looked over the clipboard of applications that had been waiting for his attention. He kept meaning to sit down and deal with this paperwork but something always called him away. There was to be a round-up within a few weeks and more horses would be placed into crowded corrals. He pushed the paperwork aside and headed outside.

He waved hello to the three burros that were in a pen separated from the wild horses. Hickory, Dickory, and Doc were more like pets than wild burros. They lifted their heads and paused in the middle of their breakfast of hay that was scattered before them. The burros had been rounded up a few years earlier and remained a favorite of visitors to the center. Devon headed over to see how the wranglers were progressing with the horses they were training. He walked through the corral that held the young colts and spoke softly to them. They responded with nervous whinnies, scampering away, kicking their heels and throwing mud all over his clean shirt. He brushed it off and laughed as he headed toward the barn. Ben, one of the wranglers, was in the process of gentling one of the two-year-olds. The horse was wearing a halter attached to a long lead line that Ben held as the horse trotted around him in a circle. Devon stood watching them in silence, not wanting to interrupt the training. The young horse looked over to him and tripped. It tossed its head and seemed unhappy with the rope that was hooked to the leather halter. The horses that were wild would need to get accustomed to wearing these foreign objects. It was the beginning of their road to adoption. People coming to adopt the colt wanted a horse they could handle, not a wild animal that would always run from them.

Devon moved to another corral that held the mares. The horses were standing close to one another as if in conversation. Not much different from people, thought Devon, chuckling to himself. If these were ladies they would be chatting about their kids or exchanging recipes. But these were not women—they were horses unaccustomed to people and they seemed to send messages to each other with nervous nickering and hooves stomping. Devon spoke softly as he carefully walked among them. Keeping a close watch over them was part of his job. His trained eyes were on constant lookout for illness and injuries. The nervous horses were inspecting him as well. They had no reason to trust him, not after the way they had been chased by helicopters, captured, and placed far from their homes on the range. After the round-ups they were brought here to wait; and wait they did, day after day while their family bands were separated and placed into other pens. Well, I guess if I were a wild mustang roaming the hills I wouldn’t much like a person sticking me in a pen, either, thought Devon, as he patted the neck of a black and brown paint, trying to calm her before checking her over.

His daughter, Milla, came around the corner.

“Oh, what a beauty,” Milla said, looking at the paint.

“What are you doing here?” he said. “What’s up…you sick?” She usually went home straight from school.

“Da-ad,” she groaned. “It’s the last day of school. Didn’t you listen to anything I said this morning? I told you Jenny was bringing me here because she couldn’t watch me today.”

Actually, he thought to himself, he hadn’t. He had been too busy looking for her other sneaker before the bus came. And that was just one of his many jobs—laundry, cooking, paying bills…cleaning it all seemed an endless task which left no time to listen to her gabbing. Trying to be both mom and dad wasn’t easy; plus, never having been a little girl left him in the dark most of the time. Surely raising boys had to be much easier, he thought. Heck, she changed her outfit four times a day; no wonder I’m always washing clothes. Besides, Milla was always chattering away about something he had no interest in—like books and art and boring things like that.

He ruffled her hair and smiled at her. “Of course I heard you,” he said. “I was just kidding.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said as she skipped to the office to play games on his computer.

“Stay away from my office,” he yelled after her. “My staff is busy and they don’t need a nosey kid getting in their way. And besides, it’s a nice day to play outside.”

“It’s a nice day for air conditioning!” she shouted over her shoulder.