Secret Pony Society (11 page)

“I went back there today, and she was gone,” I said, leaving out the fact that Bean had been with me. “She wouldn't have left there willingly—her father must have found her.”

“She was at the icehouse…” James repeated to himself.

“Yes, I told you…”

“Her father wasn't lucky,” James said slowly. “He knew where to look.”

“No way!” I said, shaking my head. “How could he possibly know?”

“Because somebody told him,” James replied grimly. All I could hear was my heart thudding. James's bombshell had done the impossible—Drummer had stopped chewing. But there was more. “And I know who it was!”

Mom noticed I wasn't myself.

“What's up, honey?” she said, her face still red from her exertions at the gym as she flopped down on the sofa and took a swig from her water bottle. I don't know how she knew. I'd only said hello, so I must have looked morose. James's revelation was racing around my brain. I decided not to blab it this time.

“Mom, what would you do if you knew that a person had done something to hurt someone just because they hated them, just because they were different, even though they didn't really know them?”

“Anyone I know?” asked Mom.

I shook my head. “Not really.”

“Goodness, I'm glad I'm not your age anymore.” Mom sighed, rubbing her nose. “All that angst and trouble with relationships. I can remember it being exhausting!”

“Oh, right! Not like agonizing over boyfriends!” I exclaimed before I could stop myself.

Mom didn't get cross. She stopped in mid swig and lowered the water bottle. “You're right!” she said, her eyes wide. “It never stops, does it? When am I going to grow up?”

“Any ideas?” I asked, aware that the conversation had shifted from my problem to hers.

“Well, no. I mean, ” Mom began, frowning, “I don't know when I'll grow out of this stage…and to be honest, Jerry…”

“No, Mom, any ideas about my dilemma?” Honestly, my mom got distracted so easily these days!

“Oh. Well, I'm not sure what you're asking me.”

I thought for a bit. “No, I'm not sure either,” I said. “I mean, should I confront the person who has been mean? Should I have it out with them?”

“Pia, I don't want you getting into any fights,” said Mom.

That is good
, I thought,
because that is the last thing I want, too.
So what did I want?

“Most people do horrible things because they're unhappy about something else,” said Mom. “Or scared. You usually find they get what's coming to them. I mean, something will happen to them as a sort of penance. It's karma.”

I sighed. Karma again. I was getting totally fed up with karma popping up all the time. I heartily wished karma would take a hike. But it seemed I'd wandered onto dangerous ground.

“Of course, it sometimes takes a heck of a long time,” continued Mom, her voice changing into her bitter-and-twisted mode that I hadn't heard for a while. “I'm still waiting for karma to catch up with little Miss Fluffy Brain!”

Uh-oh
, I thought. Mom was referring to Skinny Lynny.
Her brain couldn't be that fluffy
, I thought. She'd managed to plan Dad's defection with military precision. Mom had raised her eyebrows when I'd showed her my new T-shirt and boots and asked me whether I'd had a nice time at my father's, to which I'd just nodded and shrugged a bit, so she didn't think I'd been whooping it up without her. Honestly, trying to be fair to both divorced parents was a job and a half. I was determined to show loyalty to Mom, mainly because she was on her own, and now I'd triggered a relapse. This time, however, Mom pulled herself out of it in record time.

“Things will work out, Pia,” she concluded, anxious to move on. “Phew, I really gave that cross trainer a hammering tonight. I'm starving! Are you? Want a baked potato and salad?”

I was, but I didn't. I wanted takeout Chinese, but that wasn't going to happen. Should I take Mom's advice? What good would it do to confront Jazz's betrayer now? Nothing, I decided. What was done was done. But in the back of my mind was the nagging feeling that I was just wimping out. Was I just being cowardly?

The next day, I got to the yard early, to the surprise of Mrs. Collins who was feeding the cats in her pajamas—so not a pretty sight—and I hastily saddled Drummer.

“What's the hurry?” asked Drum, giving me an Oscar-worthy demonstration of theatrical yawning.

I'd been awake half the night, worrying about Jazz. “I have to see whether Falling Snow is still at the traveler camp,” I said, dreading that Jazz's pony had already been sold. “I have to know what has happened to Jazz.”

“Well, all right,” replied Drummer, stretching one hind leg out behind him and arching his neck. “But for goodness sake, let's take it easy for the first ten minutes. It's a bit early for me. I'm not really a morning pony.”

We walked down the gravel drive and along the bridle path. The weather had picked up, and the sun was trying to shine through small clouds that did their best to scuttle along in front of it and block its path. Rabbits, not used to early riders, were out grazing and bunny-hopping along the side of the fields, and we even spotted a couple of deer, which woke Drummer up. He swapped yawning for snorting, his head up, his tail lifted high, telling me he was ready if a deer came too close. But, of course, they didn't. They disappeared silently into the woods like ghosts.

Reaching the top of the hill, we both looked down onto the Sloping Field. My heart was thumping in my chest, and I could tell that Drummer was anxious, too. The travelers' trailers were dotted about, and there was plenty of activity in the camp. Children were pulling apart a stroller, a woman was sitting on the steps to her trailer, smoking, and several men stood around talking. A chained dog howled.

“Can you see her?” I asked Drum, my hand clutching his black mane for comfort.

Together we counted the tethered horses.

“Two piebalds, a chestnut, a gray…” My eyes darted from horse to horse, unwilling to acknowledge that an iron gray with white flecks on her coat was nowhere to be seen.

“I can't see her!” I wailed, despair washing over me. Jazz's father couldn't have sold her already! But there was no mistake; there was no Falling Snow.

“Perhaps Jazz has run away again?” Drum asked hopefully.

My heart soared. Could Drummer be right? Had Jazz fled again?

The howling intensified. Someone threw a piece of wood at the dog, chained to one of the 4x4s. It didn't stop. Narrowing my eyes and gazing closer, I suddenly gasped.

“That's Jazz's dog!”

“Oh,” said Drummer.

“She's left her dog behind,” I said. And then my heart sank as I realized the implication of the desolate dog tied to the car.

“She wouldn't leave Kasali, would she?” I whispered to Drum.

Drummer snorted. “No,” he murmured. “I don't think she would.”

So Jazz hadn't run away again. But Falling Snow was gone. I felt tears welling up behind my eyes. It was what Jazz had most feared. Her beloved Falling Snow had been sold. Her dog was chained—surely she must be held a prisoner, too. It had all been for nothing.

“I hoped you would come.”

Drummer and I both jumped at the voice that seemed to come from nowhere. Drummer did a one-eighty turn in a single movement, which caused me to lurch onto his neck and clutch his mane in order to avoid hitting the ground.

“Jazz!” I cried, thrilled to see her.

“Falling Snow!” exclaimed Drummer.

“Why are you hanging around?” I said, before lowering my voice and glancing back at the Sloping Field. “You need to get away before your father discovers you.”

Jazz laughed. “No, no, you've got it all wrong. I'm just out for a ride,” she said. She wore her emerald green sweater and frayed jeans as usual, but her eyes were bright and she looked happy.

“We thought Falling Snow had been sold,” I said.

“What about the dog?” Drummer said.

“Then we thought you'd managed to get away again,” I explained.

“What about the dog?” Drummer said, louder this time.

Jazz shook her head and laughed. I didn't understand; I'd been wracked with images of Jazz beaten by her father and tied up, Falling Snow sold to the highest bidder, and misery, misery, misery, and here was Jazz, laughing at me and looking happier than I'd ever seen her. What was going on?

“At first, my dad was furious, and he ranted and raved when he found me at the icehouse,” Jazz began. “We had a huge fight, and I said I would run away again and again. I told him I would never forgive him if he sold Falling Snow and that I hated him.”

“I bet that went down well,” mumbled Drummer. I thought so, too. How brave was Jazz?

“But then something extraordinary happened.”

“What?” I asked, agog.

“He got upset.” Jazz's voice was incredulous. “He told me I meant the world to him, that I was family, close family, and that he thought he had lost me forever.”

“Oh!” I said. I'd never pictured Jazz's father as anything but a villain. This was a surprise.

“My dad told me my running away showed him I've inherited my mother's spirit and that he admired me for it. He said he hadn't realized how far I would go to keep Falling Snow. He said he misses my mother so very much, and that was why he had been so distant from me. I remind him of her, you see,” she explained.

“Your dad has been terrorizing everyone around here, trying to find you,” I told her. “Everyone thinks he's nuts.”

“No, he's just my father. He gets angry. He reacts. It's his way. And, of course, I cursed him—but I have removed that curse now. I caused him a lot of worry. We had a long talk, and we both cried, and things are good now between us. It seems we both held in our feelings, and neither of us was willing to talk. We just got angry with each other. That has changed now. We are family again. We are together.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, amazed.

“Yes,” said Jazz. “When my mom died, I was for Falling Snow and she was for me. My father was for racing, and racing was for him. We should have been for each other. We turned our backs on each other when we should have been united. Our strength is together. It is good now. It is how it should be.”

“What about the dog?” said Drummer, like he'd got stuck. I took a deep breath. “What about your dog?” I asked.

“Finally!” exclaimed Drum. “Thank you!”

Jazz's face clouded. “My dad has promised not to sell Falling Snow,” she said, “and I've promised not to run away. But I have to prove myself. For a while I can ride out Falling Snow or I can walk out with Kasali, but I can't take them both out at the same time. Just for a while. It is fair. My dad knows I won't go without both of them.”

“So Falling Snow is safe?” I said.

Jazz beamed at me and patted her pony's flecked neck. “Yes, she is safe. No more racing. No more talk of her being sold. My dad has agreed. Falling Snow is mine. Really mine. My dad has promised.”

“That's so wonderful!” I said. My heart felt lighter, and I took a deep breath. Jazz's disappearance had obviously brought home to her father how much she meant to him. Suddenly, the vision I had of a huge man with scary eyes softened to a friendlier image.

“I'm glad to see you,” continued Jazz. “I was riding out to find you—and to thank you. You—and Bean—are good friends. I shall never forget you both.”

“Oh, well, you're welcome,” I said, suddenly embarrassed.

“It was a good hiding place, the icehouse,” Jazz said. “My dad would never have found me if he hadn't been told where to look.”

So Jazz knew she had been betrayed! I gulped. Did she know by whom?

“Some people cannot understand how others feel,” she said solemnly. “You do. You felt my pain about Falling Snow, and you were brave enough to help me. You are more than a good friend. You are empathic, one who can put herself in another's place. Not everyone can do that. Some people need to be taught how that feels. It can be a hard lesson to learn.”

“Er, well…” I mumbled, not knowing how to respond.

“See you, Drummer,” said Falling Snow. “Thanks for lending me your exercise sheet.”

“No probs. You take care now,” Drummer replied.

“Thank you, Pia,” Jazz said, with feeling. “I am glad I have been given a chance to help you.” She smiled as she turned Falling Snow and rode away through the trees.

I hadn't really understood half of what Jazz had been saying—about me being empathic—or what she had meant about helping me. To be honest, I felt a bit foolish. I'd imagined Jazz beaten and tied up like Kasali—talk about an overactive imagination. Her father had been beside himself with worry, so no wonder he'd acted like a lunatic! With a jolt, I realized that I'd been just as prejudiced about Jazz's father as everyone else had been about the travelers in general.

Staring at the trees through which Jazz and Falling Snow had disappeared, I realized that our vacation was almost over and riding out would soon be confined to the weekends. I probably wouldn't get the opportunity to speak to Jazz again much. I felt quite sad. On the upside, I could enjoy the remainder of my vacation without lugging provisions to the icehouse, without worrying about falling out with everyone else at the yard, without being the outsider. Finally!

I sighed. Thank goodness! My escapade with the travelers was over. I could even forget my dilemma about Jazz being betrayed as it had all turned out all right in the end. Everything was back to normal, and I didn't want to waste any time. I had things to do!

When I got back to the yard, I asked Sophie whether she would be kind enough to give Drummer a blanket clip. She had done a great job with Bluey and Tiffany.

“Of course!” Dee's mom replied, looking at her watch. “I can do it now, if you like, if he doesn't act up.”

“Really?” I asked, thrilled. “He'll be as good as gold,” I assured her. “Drum's used to being clipped and stands like a statue. Only I don't have any money on me. Can I pay you tomorrow?”

“Of course you can, Pia,” she replied. “That's fine.”

So I tied Drum outside his stable with a hay net and watched Sophie give him a blanket clip, running the clippers over his neck, his belly, and then, finally, his head. When she'd finished, Sophie stood back and admired her work.