The Christmas Pony

© 2012 by Melody Carlson

Published by Revell

a division of Baker Publishing Group

P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

www.revellbooks.com

Ebook edition created 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

ISBN 978-1-4412-3961-7

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publica
tion. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

1
        
2
      
3

4
        
5
      
6

7
        
8
      
9

10
    
11
    
12

13
    
14

About the Author

Back Ads

Back Cover

December 1937

L
ucy Turnbull knew better than to wish for a pony for Christmas this year. Besides receiving the upsetting news that Santa Claus was only make-believe (Tommy Farley had popped that beloved bubble several weeks ago), Lucy had been assured by Mama in no uncertain terms that she was not getting a pony—and furthermore, Lucy had no business asking for such nonsense. “You might as well ask me to buy you the moon,” Mama firmly told her at the dinner table.

“Ponies are expensive,” Grandma added. “Only rich people can afford those luxuries these days.”

Really, Lucy should have heeded their warning. But at bedtime, after she'd finished her prayers, Lucy noticed that the corners of Mama's mouth were turned downward. Lucy pulled the covers to her chin, cringing to realize she was to blame for the two deep creases in the center of Mama's forehead. Lucy should not have asked God for a pony. Not tonight. And especially not after what Mama and Grandma had told her at dinnertime.

As Mama put an extra quilt on the bed, Lucy craned her neck, straining to see the picture she'd pinned above the metal headboard earlier. She'd drawn her dream pony on the blank side of the November calendar sheet that Grandma had nearly used as fire starter. Then, using
her best penmanship, Lucy had written “Pony for Sale or Trade” across the top of her drawing—just like the sign she'd noticed this afternoon. The wooden sign had been nailed to a fence post by the Greenburg field, and Lucy knew that meant that Mr. Greenburg was selling Smoky. She'd admired the little gray pony for as long as she could remember. Seeing he was for sale had sent her running home to tell Mama and Grandma the good news.

“You know that I can barely afford to keep food on the table.” Mama sighed as she leaned over to kiss Lucy's forehead. “Heaven knows I cannot afford to feed a horse as well.”

“Smoky's not a horse,” Lucy pointed out. “He's a pony.”

“Ponies . . . horses . . . they still eat food, don't they?” Mama tucked the quilt more snugly around her. “The only extra mouths we need around here are the paying kind, Lucy. Instead of praying for a pony, why don't you ask the Good Lord to send us some boarders?”

“Yes, Mama.” Lucy burrowed deeper into the covers as Mama pulled the string on the overhead light. “I
will
pray for that,” she promised. Lying in the darkness, she listened as Mama's footsteps went down the hallway toward the kitchen. She heard the squeaking of the woodstove door and the clunk of a heavy piece of firewood being set inside, followed by the clanking sound of the heavy door being closed and, after a bit, the reassuring creak of the old rocker as Mama sat down.

Grandma was already in bed, but Mama always stayed up late. She was probably reaching for her knitting basket now. Lucy didn't know how it was possible, but sometimes Mama could knit a whole sock in just one single night. The socks were all made out of worsted wool, a fine black yarn that Mama said was hard on her eyes. But when Lucy suggested she use another color, a prettier one like sky blue, Mama had explained that the store would only sell her socks in black.
Lucy knew that ever since Daddy died, back when she was just five, they needed Mama's socks to trade for groceries. Just like they needed paying boarders to fill the three upstairs bedrooms of the old farmhouse, because even though they earned extra money by taking in people's laundry, Lucy knew that it was never quite enough. She'd heard Mama and Grandma speak of this very thing often enough. Mostly when they didn't realize she was listening.

“We just have to make ends meet,” Mama would tell Lucy sometimes, especially when Lucy couldn't have something she wanted. Usually it was something she didn't really need, like candy or toys or pretty hair ribbons. Always it was something much smaller than a pony.

Lucy was only eight years old, but she was old enough to know that times were hard. Grandma said that often enough. “Times might be hard, Lucy,” she'd say in her slow, quiet way, “but you can still be thankful for what you've got—a roof over your head and food to eat.” Of course, Lucy didn't think too much about those things. She was more thankful for the long rope swing over the creek, or the bird's nest she found after last week's windstorm, or getting to play an angel in this year's Christmas pageant. Those things were easy to be thankful for.

Sometimes Lucy would overhear Mama and Grandma having conversations they didn't want Lucy to be privy to, but the solemn, serious tone of their voices always made her ears perk up, and she would listen harder than ever. Like when the Saunders family lost their farm last spring and had to move away. Lucy wasn't quite sure how their neighbors “lost” their farm since, as far as she could see, it was still there. Sure, it was overgrown with blackberries and weeds and the slumping fences needed fixing, but when she walked past it on her way to school every day, it never looked lost to her. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the Saunderses themselves. Lucy missed her best friend Clara Saunders and wondered where the Saunderses' dusty green farm truck had carried Clara and her family off to and whether or not Clara was happier there.

True to her promise, Lucy closed her eyes now and, with genuine faith, prayed for God to bring them some paying boarders. Mama had just said that this time of year, with Christmas around the corner, not many travelers would be stopping in Maple Grove to stay. The best time of year for boarders always seemed to be summer. Just the same, Lucy knew that God could do anything. At least that was what Pastor McHenry liked to say. Sometimes she wasn't too sure Mama believed that exactly. Otherwise, why would she be so worried about Lucy's prayers for a pony?

After Lucy finished praying for boarders to come and stay in the upstairs rooms, she got a brand-new prayer idea. Instead of simply asking God to give her a pony, she would ask him to give her what the pony would need to eat as well. Surely Mama wouldn't be opposed to that sort of prayer.

“And please, dear God,” she said finally, “help Mama to find her smile again.” Lucy could remember when Mama had the prettiest smile ever. Back when Daddy was still alive. But like Lucy's memories of her father, Mama's smile had faded some over the last few years. If Lucy couldn't have a pony for Christmas, she would settle for Mama's smile instead.

After Lucy said amen, she began to imagine what it would be like to ride Smoky to school each day. The trip to town was almost a mile, and without Clara and her sister to walk with, it had felt longer than ever this year. Lucy imagined how she'd tie her gray pony to the willow tree by the creek, close enough so he could get a cool drink to refresh himself with and where he could feed on the grass that grew lush and green there—and it occurred to her, the grass food would be free. Maybe other kinds of pony food would be free as well. She would gladly collect the mushy windfall apples for Smoky in the fall, just the ones that were too wormy for cider or anything else, although she might slip him a good one now and then too. She'd sneaked him apples before. Just the memory of the fuzzy feel of his warm muzzle on the palm of her hand made her smile, and thinking these lovely thoughts, Lucy drifted off into a sweet pony dream.

The next morning, after Lucy tended to the chickens and collected the eggs and did her other usual Saturday chores, Mama held up a small package wrapped in brown paper.
Lucy knew it held this week's socks and, judging by the size, contained four pairs.

“Do you have the list ready?” Lucy pulled on her winter coat, buttoning it up to her chin. She was accustomed to doing their Saturday shopping by now. She and Grandma used to go together, but the cold, damp weather was aggravating Grandma's arthritis something fierce this year. So for the last several weeks, Lucy had been doing the Saturday errands on her own. She liked doing it herself too. Knowing Mama trusted her and that she was old enough to help out like this, well, it just felt good.

Mama handed her the sock package and a small slip of paper, and Lucy read over the list with disappointment. Only three items were on it: yeast, coffee, and baking powder. “This is
all
you need?” She tucked it into her coat pocket.

Mama shrugged. “For today, it is.”

Lucy suspected that meant it was all they could afford today, but she just smiled as she pulled on her knit hat. “Well, it's not much to carry back. I guess I won't need to take my wagon.”

Mama tugged the hat down over Lucy's ears. “Don't forget your mittens. It's cold out there. But at least it doesn't look like rain today. Now, be on your way and don't dillydally in town.”

Lucy considered telling Mama that a pony would come in mighty handy for doing errands in town, especially on a cold day like this when she could cling to his furry coat for warmth, but she stopped herself. She might be just a kid, but she knew enough to understand how that kind of talk would simply aggravate Mama. There was no sense in doing that. Even so, she would walk quickly to town and complete
the errands and still have enough time to stop to visit with Smoky, and if she was lucky, maybe Mr. Greenburg would be around and she could ask him about the pony's price or inquire as to what he would consider for trade. Not that Lucy had much of anything of value to trade. But it couldn't hurt to ask. With a spring in her step, she hurried toward town.

Walking past the Saunderses' old farm, Lucy tried not to think about Clara. As she passed the Greenburg place, she waved and called out to the pony. “Hello, Smoky! I'll stop by to see you on my way home.”

She was about halfway to town when she heard a car coming down the road behind her. It was making a lot of noise, and when she looked, smoke was billowing all around it. She stepped to the side of the road, watching as the pale yellow car slowly sputtered and clunked past her. Despite the cloud of smoke, it looked like a pretty car. Too bad it didn't work right.

When Lucy got to the edge of town, she noticed the pale yellow car parked in front of Hempley's Garage, and a man in a brown suit was talking to Mr. Hempley. But it was the lady getting out of the passenger side of the car who really captured Lucy's attention. Wrapped in a royal blue coat with a big silver fur collar, she had shining hair almost the same color as the pale yellow car and cut short with bangs that curled like a fringe around her pretty face.

As Lucy got closer, she could see the lady's rosy cheeks and lips of scarlet red. Lucy stopped walking, staring openly at this fancy lady. She looked just like a real movie star! Lucy had seen only a handful of motion pictures in her life, mostly the ones with Shirley Temple in them, and only during the summertime or when Mama had paying boarders and money
was not so tight, but Lucy had seen enough to know that this lady looked just like the pretty actresses on the silver screen. Gripping the package of socks tightly in her arms, Lucy just stared without moving.

“Hello, doll.” The lady smiled down at Lucy.

“Hello,” Lucy managed to say back to her.

“Is there a place I can buy a soda around here?” Her voice sounded as sweet as sugar and honey and something else too. Maybe spice.

Lucy blinked and tried to gather her thoughts. “There's the mercantile right there.” She pointed across the street. “They sell sodas in there. They have a big Coca-Cola cooler right by the front door.” Then Lucy realized this lady probably meant the kind of soda that comes in a glass with a straw and ice. “But there's Ruth's Café too,” she said quickly. “Down on the other end of town.”

The lady hooked the handle of her shiny black handbag over her arm as she gazed across the street. “I'll be over there in the mercantile,” she called out to the man in the brown suit.

“That's where I'm going too,” Lucy said as she walked with the lady. “I'm doing my mama's errands today.”

“Well, isn't that nice.” The lady pulled her fur collar more tightly around her neck and shivered. “Brrr . . . it's cold here.”

“My grandma said it might snow,” Lucy said cheerfully.

“Snow?” The lady's thin eyebrows went up. “But this is Arizona. I thought it was supposed to be warm here.”

“In the wintertime?” Lucy frowned.

“Oh, yes.” The lady nodded as if remembering something. “George did mention the high altitude here. That probably explains it.”

Lucy wasn't sure what it explained, but she couldn't think of anything else to say as they went into the store together. Even so, she watched curiously as the lady walked over to the big red cooler and selected a bottle of orange soda. Lucy knew it was impolite to stare, but she couldn't help herself as she watched this lady walking—or was she floating?—around the store, looking at the candy case and then the sundries section and finally stopping at the magazine rack.

“Hello, Lucy,” Mrs. Danson called out with unusual friendliness. “Can I help you, dear?”

Lucy went over to the counter, setting her package of socks in front of Mrs. Danson. “I only need a few things today.” She peeled off a mitten and reached into her coat pocket.