Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail (36 page)

Lori and Shannon turned their attention to the upcoming day of doom. The day that was unavoidable and made kids everywhere miserable: the last day of summer, the day when all birds seemed to stop singing, swings seemed to stop swinging, and loose change spent on ice cream cones now bought tiny cartons of milk that accompanied their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. They sighed as they looked out the window watching Brian running in circles and jumping over the jets of water shooting from the sprinkler. The girls laughed as they watched Kelsie snap at the water, trying to catch the spray in his mouth. August was a time when they should be swimming and running and riding their bikes. They should be racing over fields trying to catch fireflies and sitting around campfires telling spooky stories. And here they sat, side by side, gazing out a window in silence. The day of doom was fast approaching and somehow they had to figure out a way to slow down the onslaught of new teachers, new classes, and new homework.

“So my mom wants to go shopping for new clothes next week. Want to come?” Lori asked.

“Sure,” Shannon said, excited about the thought of shopping. Somehow waiting for slow yellow buses and taking math tests all melted away. The real purpose of school suddenly appeared from behind the gray clouds of doom. The girls rolled onto their backs flipping through fashion magazines pointing to hairdos and cool shoes. How silly of parents and teachers to think the only reason school existed was for books and learning. School was and always would be the best place to show off your new clothes. Every kid knew that.

Chapter 56

The water washed across the paper, making it glisten. A small tin pallet with pre-mixed colors sat beside the easel. Milla looked at the clay pot filled with paintbrushes and the box of tissues her grandmother always used for blotting excess water. She sat in her usual spot just off to the side of her grandmother’s stool. Her grandma turned and smiled down at her. Milla watched her select a number 2 round brush and dip it into a pool of azure blue. Grandma began painting. She used all of the colors from the little tin. Milla watched her dip her brushes into the jar of clear water to swish them clean and she thought it odd that the paint never muddied the water. The jar of clear water sparkled in the sunlight. The painting was developing quickly and Grandma was now humming the way she always did when she was happy. Milla smiled at the familiar artwork—recognizing the scene developing before her. Her grandma finally set down her brush, dabbed a tissue on a few spots of water that were beginning to run, and slipped off the stool. She pointed to the painting and Milla picked up a brush and took her grandma’s place. This was how they always painted when her grandma was teaching her a lesson. Grandma would get it started and allow the girl to continue the painting in her own style. Milla began to dab tiny ochre strokes onto the paper and watched as they blended with the large washes her grandmother had already applied. She worked quickly and was amazed how clear the jar of water remained after she cleaned her paint-loaded brushes. Finally it was finished and she put down the brush and leaned back in her stool to study the work. Her grandma leaned in and hugged her…and then she woke.

Milla opened her eyes and looked around her room. Tears began welling up as she realized it was only a dream. She could still feel her grandma’s arms hugging her and could even smell her wonderful scent.

“I love you so much, Grandma,” she said aloud. She rolled over, pulling her favorite stuffed animal closer, and wiped her eyes. She didn’t feel sad exactly; the tears felt more like a reaction to the love she had sensed from this wonderful dream. It didn’t feel like a dream, either—it seemed so real. It was so nice to hear Grandma humming that familiar tune and using her little paint tin that was now packed away.

Milla had always used a little plastic pallet. Maybe I’ll go look through Grandma’s trunk and see if there are any other paint supplies I could use, she thought. Summer was slowly winding down and soon she would be back in her morning school routine. It’s not fair, she thought, as she wandered toward the kitchen pulling at her hair that seemed to be sticking in all directions. Summer ends too soon.

“Morning,” her dad mumbled.

“Morning,” came her soft reply.

“Did you sleep all right? I know I was on the phone for a long time and tried to keep my voice down. I hope I didn’t keep you up,” Devon said.

“I slept fine and I had another wonderful dream-visit from Grandma. Who the heck were you talking to anyway, Dad? Geez you were still on the phone when I went to bed.”

“I can’t believe you dream of her like you do, Mil. Heck, I never can remember my dreams. I wish I could talk to her again. I sure do miss her,” he sighed. “Anyway, that was Mrs. Preston on the phone talking about ancestry stuff. She and I are trying to figure out the connections and it’s driving us both nuts.”

“I hope she really is related to us, Dad—she’s so cool! No wonder she and Grandma were such good friends.”

“Funny, isn’t it?” he replied. “All those years of friendship and they may have been related.” Milla poured a glass of orange juice and looked at the morning paper her father had finished reading. She noticed a small advertisement with the words Hidden Valley Equine Rescue Center across the heading. She pulled the paper closer and read the ad in disbelief. Beautiful mustang foals ready for adoption. Palomino, grulla, chestnut, and buckskin foals in need of good homes. Please call Anne Burke to schedule an appointment.

Milla dropped the paper and pushed back her chair. Palomino foal, it said. That’s what it said…palomino foal…that’s Hope, thought Milla,
my
horse. That’s my horse!

“What’s wrong?” Devon asked, realizing his daughter was ready to scream. Milla pushed the paper toward her father and pointed to the advertisement. Devon read it and said nothing. His chair scraped the floor as he got up to pour another cup of coffee. “You need to get dressed, Mil. Mrs. Adams will have breakfast ready for you and I need to get moving.”

Milla stared at her father in horror. “Did you even read it, Dad? Did you see that Hope is ready for adoption? She’s mine, Dad. She’s
my
horse and Mrs. Burke is letting her go,” Milla yelled, fighting back tears.

“Of course she’s putting her up for adoption, Milla. What kind of operation do you think Mrs. Burke is running? She rescues the foals and cares for them until they can go to people that will adopt them. That’s what it’s all about. She can’t possibly keep every foal that comes to her center.”

“I know that,” whined Milla, “but Da-ad, she’s
my
horse. I found her and I rescued her! Why can’t we adopt her?”

“Sorry, Mil, but we’ve been down this road before. I’m not getting you a horse; now go get dressed before I’m late for work. I’m sorry about Hope, but honestly she was always going to end up in a new home. I thought you realized that,” he said as he buttered some toast.

“I just never believed you wouldn’t let me keep her. That’s what I didn’t realize, Dad. I thought you understood what she meant to me,” Milla cried as she ran to her room. Slam! went the door. Bam! went the chair falling over. Devon picked it up and tossed the newspaper into the recycle bin. I have a thousand horses I work with all day, why in the world would I possibly adopt a palomino foal from Anne Burke? That kid is crazy, he thought, putting his coffee cup into the sink. The sink looked as if it had been scrubbed clean. He looked around the kitchen at the sparkling appliances. Had Milla just cleaned the kitchen? He hadn’t noticed it before. She really is growing up, he thought, reaching for his hat and keys.

“See you in the truck,” he hollered through the closed bedroom door. Inside he heard his daughter sobbing and he stood frozen in the hallway wishing he could say something to comfort her. But what could he possibly do or say to make her understand. He shook his head and walked away. I had plenty of disappointments when I was a kid. That’s life, he sighed. Sometimes you just have to roll with the punches.

The teachers gathered around the table for an important meeting before the students arrived. Meetings were not unusual but they were normally held after classes. A few of them had brought pastries and coffee and exchanged hellos before sitting down.

“Good morning, everyone,” Anne said. “Thanks so much for coming in early today. I really appreciate it. I have given each of you a small packet of our financial statement and projected budget for the camp and I would like your input regarding the future of our program. The camp was very successful this season and I’ve had to actually turn a few parents away as classes filled up quickly. I would like to discuss the new fall afterschool program. I also want to ask each of you to please pass out some flyers regarding our foal adoptions. Give them to your friends, your neighbors, your hairdresser, your mailman…” laughed Anne, “…just everyone and anyone you can think of. We have to try and spread the word. I hate sounding like a broken record, but our foals need good homes and we have to make room for new ones that arrive without much warning.”

The staff was excited about their new fall schedule. There was some discussion about finding homes for the foals and the teachers agreed to help place flyers around their communities.

“Well, as you can see, we’re growing and I think if we hired an assistant to float between all of our teachers, it could really come in handy,” Anne suggested. “I have someone in mind. She works part time at the BLM office in Painted Ridge and she would be an asset to this team.

“Great idea,” Leah said. “We all need extra hands.”

“I like this afterschool plan,” Jed said. “It might give children with busy summer schedules an opportunity to attend camp in the fall. It’s a great option.”

“But I think we really need to skip winters,” Sue commented. “I, for one, do not want to be lugging myself out here in the snow.”

“True,” said Anne.

“Yes, and we should also consider school holidays to give the parents a break,” added Leah.

“Then are we all in agreement?” Anne asked. The staff answered with an enthusiastic nod. The children would begin arriving soon so the meeting slowly came to an end.

The teachers sat enjoying their free time together. Sue told Leah all about her recent interest in genealogy. “It’s amazing really,” she said. “Carrie’s mom, Brenda, has taught me so much—she’s quite a researcher. If you ever want to look up your ancestors, just head to the library. You would be amazed at the information you can get by looking at birth certificates and property deeds. It makes my head spin.”

“Yeah, I can see how excited you are by all of this, but why? I mean, what’s the point of it all? Does it really matter where our ancestors lived? We’re all Americans, period…end of story. That was then and this is now,” Leah said.

“Well, it actually does matter…I think,” Jed said. “This is exactly why we are teaching the kids about the studies of the wild mustangs’ DNA. These horses are rounded up and considered a nuisance to the range but the studies are showing that they trace back to a time before the European settlers came here. These horses are more American than we are! I’ll bet if we looked at our own DNA we would see how un-American we really are.”

“Now wait a minute,” said Leah frowning. “You’re confusing the issue. What I want to know isn’t about horses. I know all about DNA and horses and you’re probably right about the horses—we know they were here before us. I was asking Sue about her own search. What does finding all of this stuff do for her personally?”

“Crazy as it sounds,” Sue answered, “it helps me feel more connected to my family. I never knew my great-grandparents and I am learning who they were and how they lived and where they came from—Scotland, Ireland, and all through the Netherlands. I find this exciting. My family albums used to hold a bunch of smudgy photos but now they feel a part of me. And…” she paused, wondering if she should say anything about her recent discovery, “…I may have found a connection between my family and Milla Spencer’s.”

Anne spoke up. “Are you telling us that you may be related to Milla and you found all of this out by doing your family tree?”

“Her father and I are working on this together and we’re getting closer, but yes, I think we’re connected and, yes, I found it by tracing my roots.”

“That’s incredible!” exclaimed Anne.

“Really, and it’s nice that you’re getting to know Carrie’s mom,” Leah said.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Sue said. “Here’s that information about the quilting organization I told you about. You know, the one that sends them to children in need? Carrie’s mom gave me a pamphlet.”

“Fantastic,” Leah said. “I was telling my sister about it. She’s involved with this huge quilting club in Reno. They even enter competitions and travel all over the place. You know, real quilting nerds, or that’s what I call my sister,” she laughed. “I’m just teasing, of course. She really is quite talented.”

“Well, good. Maybe these quilting nerds can help out. It sounds like a wonderful cause,” Sue said.

The teachers hurried to prepare for their classes as the children drifted in. Anne touched Sue on her sleeve and smiled. “You’re an amazing person, Sue Preston, and I really do hope you are related to Milla, but even if you’re not, she admires you and you’re a great mentor to her.”

“Thanks,” Sue said. “She and my grandchildren have become closer through their time spent in the library. And you’re right, Anne, it doesn’t matter if she’s related or not—she could always use more family.”