The Christmas Pony (7 page)

“Thank you for shoveling snow this morning,” Mama told George as she passed him the bowl of applesauce.

“So that
was
you!” Lucy said. “I thought so.”

“Unless it was your snow angel . . .” His eyes twinkled with mystery as he spooned some applesauce onto his hotcakes. “I think I saw her dancing about in the twilight this morning.”

Lucy laughed. “Today I plan to make a snowman,” she told everyone. “I'll sit him in front of the house, right next to the porch. I want him to be really tall too.” She pointed at George. “Even taller than you.”

“Need any help?”

“Sure.” She took a big bite of her hotcake, eager to finish her breakfast and get outside.

“Chew your food,” Grandma told her. “The snow isn't going anywhere.”

True to his word, George helped her make what turned out to be the best snowman ever. Not only was he taller than George, but Mama brought out one of Daddy's old work hats and a knitted scarf to dress him with.

“Now wait,” George told Lucy. “I'll run and get my camera and take a photograph of you and Mr. Snowman together.”

“I want you in the picture too,” Lucy exclaimed.

“But I need to take the photo—”

“Let Mama take it,” Lucy said.

After George returned with his camera and explained to Mama how to use it, Lucy and George posed on either side of the giant snowman as Mama took the photograph. “When I get the film developed, I'll send you this picture,” George promised.

Lucy felt sad now. “You mean when you and Veronica are in California?”

“Here.” Mama handed George his camera, pausing to look at him with a funny expression, almost as if she was trying to figure out a problem. Then, just like that, she thanked him and
turned away. But it was the look in George's eyes that made Lucy wonder. As he watched Mama going into the house, it almost seemed as if he had a hopeful look in his eyes.

At lunchtime, Lucy carefully watched George and Mama every time they spoke to each other, which wasn't often since Veronica was there and doing most of the talking. But unless it was Lucy's imagination, there seemed to be some kind of invisible conversation going on between Mama and George. It was the way their eyes seemed to light up, the slight lilt in Mama's words, the way George smiled.

As Lucy helped Grandma in the kitchen, she decided to mention it. “Do you think Mama and George are falling in love?” she asked quietly.

Grandma dropped the pan she was scrubbing and turned to stare at Lucy. “What?”

“Do you think—”

“I heard you perfectly fine, Lucy. I just cannot believe you would say such a thing.”

“Why?”

Grandma slowly shook her head. “I think you're awfully eager to see someone falling in love. First it was Veronica and George. Now Mama?” Grandma chuckled. “Next thing I know you'll be having George and me falling in love. No, Lucy, I do not think your mama is falling in love with George.” Grandma returned to scrubbing the pot.

Lucy wanted to ask Grandma what made her so sure but knew that would only invite more trouble. Besides, Grandma was a grown-up . . . she was probably right.

“Why don't you go visit with Veronica,” Grandma suggested as they were finishing up.

Lucy almost admitted to Grandma that she'd rather work in the kitchen, but she knew this would only bring unwanted questions, and when it came to Veronica, Lucy felt more and more confused. As much as she had liked Veronica to start with, she didn't trust the pretty lady too much now.

S
o, doll, you haven't told me how our little scheme is going,” Veronica said as Lucy sat down in the chair in the front room. “Did you manage to convince Georgie that he and I should be hitting the road tomorrow?”

Lucy felt confused. “But you were at lunch,” she reminded her. “You just heard George telling us that there's too much snow in the mountains to travel right now.”

Veronica scowled. “Yeah . . . but I had hoped you would work your magic on him.”

“My magic?”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “I think you could wrap old Georgie Porgie right around your little finger.”

“Huh?”

Veronica smiled in a way that reminded Lucy of Helen Krausner after she'd said something mean or the way a cat might look after eating a pretty bird. “Not that it's a bad thing. I happen to find that to be a rather attractive quality in a man.”

“What?” Lucy was hopelessly lost.

“Oh,
never mind!
”

Lucy stood now. It seemed clear her company was not wanted here anymore, but she still needed to remember her manners. “Excuse me, please.”

“Wait.” Veronica's voice warmed up. “I'm sorry, doll. I suppose I'm in a bit of a snit today, but I shouldn't take it out on you. That's not fair.”

Fingering the scratchy fabric of the chair behind her, Lucy waited.

“You see, I'd gotten my hopes up, you know, that George and I would be leaving tomorrow and we'd make Los Angeles by midnight. I even got my bags nearly packed. And now this. I'm severely disappointed.”

“Oh . . .”

“But it's not your fault.”

There was a long silence with only the sound of the mantel clock ticking, and Lucy was thinking hard. Surely there was some way out of this. Then it hit her. “What about the train in Flagstaff?” she said suddenly. “It might be slow, driving in the snow and all, but I'll bet George could get you that far, Veronica. Then you could get a train ticket and—”

“But what about George?” Veronica's eyes grew wide.

“He could come back here and stay with us until Christmas . . . or until the roads get better.” Lucy was smiling now, pleased that she, all by herself, had come up with such a perfect plan. “If you want, I'll even go ask George about this for you. I know where he is and I'm sure he'll—”

“No.”
Veronica's pale blue eyes turned as frosty as a January morning. “That's not necessary.”

“But you could be in Los Angeles soon,” Lucy told her. “With all the sunshine and orange trees and Hollywood and everything.”

Veronica let out a sad sigh. “Can I tell you a secret, doll?”

Lucy twisted her mouth to one side. On one hand, it was always delicious getting to hear a secret. On the other hand, she felt wary of Veronica. “All right . . .”

“Remember I told you about my bad friend, the one who was taking me to Hollywood to make me a star?”

Lucy nodded. “The man who left you on the highway?”

“Yes. And I told you how he took my money.” Veronica held out her hands with palms up. “I am broke.”

“Broke?” Lucy thought about Veronica's fine clothes and jewelry and shoes and suitcases. She looked like a rich lady.

“Penniless.”

Lucy blinked. “Oh.”

“You promised to keep my secret, doll.”

Lucy swallowed hard. “So you can't afford to buy a train ticket?”

“No, I can't.” She sadly shook her head. “I need George to get me to Hollywood. And since I told you that secret, I might as well tell you another.” She peered at Lucy. “Can I trust you?”

“I guess so.”

“The truth is, I think George fancies me as much as I fancy him. I think that when we get to California, we will continue getting acquainted, and, well . . .” She giggled. “If George should come to his senses and propose to me, well, I might just forget all about becoming a famous movie actress and star as his wife instead.”

“What?” Lucy could not believe her ears.

Veronica shrugged. “I don't know for sure . . . but I might enjoy being married.”

Lucy didn't know what to say, and manners or no manners, she suddenly felt the need to get outside and breathe some fresh air. Maybe it was the strong smell of Veronica's flowery perfume or stale fingernail paint or just Veronica herself, but Lucy felt like she was suffocating. Without saying another word, she turned and dashed from the room, grabbed her
coat and boots, and, thankful that Grandma wasn't in the kitchen, streaked outside and toward the barn.

The next thing she knew, she was in Mama's arms with tears streaming down her cheeks. “What is it?” Mama demanded as she stroked Lucy's hair. “What happened?”

“Oh, Mama!”

“What? Lucy, please, talk to me. Is it Grandma? Do I need to—”

“No, no, it's not Grandma.” Lucy stepped back, wiping her nose with her sleeve right in front of Mama.

“What then?” Mama put a warm hand on Lucy's cheek. “Talk to me.”

“It's Veronica,” Lucy sputtered. “She—she's going to—to marry George!”

It was almost as if some kind of light went out of Mama's blue eyes. Although she wasn't frowning, her mouth looked sadder than ever, but she simply shook her head. “Oh, Lucy,” she said quietly. “Is that what's troubling you?”

“But it's all wrong, Mama. All wrong.”

Mama knelt down, looking intently into Lucy's eyes. “It's not your decision to make, Lucy. I know you admire George greatly. But it's not your decision. Everyone has to live their own life. Someday when you're a grown-up you'll understand that better.”

“I don't want to be a grown-up,” Lucy said stubbornly. “Not ever.” She wanted to add that all grown-ups were stupid, but she stopped herself because Mama wasn't stupid. There was no reason to make Mama feel worse. Lucy could tell that she wasn't happy with this news either.

Mama stood, pushing the loose strands of hair away from her flushed face. “Well, someday you will be a grown-up,
Lucy. But right now, you're a child. So why don't you go out and play or something?”

“Do you need any help?”

Mama just shook her head, turning back to where she was pegging up a sheet. “Thanks anyway, Lucy. I'm almost done out here.”

As Lucy walked back to the house, she decided that Mama was right. Everyone did have to live their own life. She realized that the sooner George and Veronica were able to be on their way, the better it would probably be for everyone.

On Wednesday afternoon, George's big yellow car parked in front of the house, and George came into the front room where Veronica, Grandma, and Lucy were listening to a program on the radio. “Anyone care to go for a ride?” he asked cheerfully.

“I do! I do!” Veronica stood up. “I'll get my coat.”

George looked at Grandma and Lucy. “How about you two?”

“Not this time.” Grandma stood, making her way toward the kitchen. “I need to get dinner started.”

“Lucy?” His brown eyes lit up. “Want to come?”

“No, thank you.” She looked down at her lap, picking at the hole in her trousers that was getting bigger.

“Come on, George,” Veronica urged as she returned with her fur-trimmed blue coat. “Let's go. I want to go to town.
Maybe you can take me to dinner. Or we can go to a movie or—”

“Lucy,” George interrupted Veronica, “I thought you might like to drive by and check on Smoky.”

Lucy felt her heart lurch. “Smoky?”

“Don't you want to see how he's doing in all this snow?”

She stood and nodded. “Yes. I'll get my coat.”

George was waiting outside for Lucy. Veronica was already in the passenger's seat, but George led Lucy to the driver's side. “Slide on into the middle,” he told her.

Sitting between George and Veronica, Lucy looked straight forward as George's car headed down the snowy road. She couldn't wait to see Smoky. Usually she stopped and talked to the pony every day on her way home from school. But it had been days since she'd seen him.

“There he is,” she said eagerly, pointing to where Smoky was standing beneath the shelter of the trees in the middle of the field. “Do you think he's cold?”

“He's a horse,” Veronica said sharply. “He's supposed to be cold.”

“He's a pony,” Lucy corrected.

“He's probably not too cold,” George assured her. “Do you want to get out and say hello?”

“If you don't mind.”

“Not at all.” George reached behind the seat to pull out a bag, removing a whole apple. “I got these at the store in town. Want to give Smoky one?”

Her eyes grew big. “A whole apple?”

George laughed. “Sure.”

“Thanks!”

Before long, Smoky was happily crunching on the apple, and Lucy giggled as his whiskers tickled her palm as he sniffed around for more. “Sorry, Smoky,” she told him. “That's all for now.”

George held out another apple. “You sure about that?”

“Is it all right?”

“I don't see why not.”

Feeling extravagant and happy, she fed Smoky the second apple, petting his head and telling him not to get too cold. “Go on back to your spot by the trees,” she said as she climbed down from the fence. “I'll try to come back as soon as I can.”

He raised and lowered his head as if he understood. Then George and Lucy headed back to the car, where Veronica was sitting with her arms folded across her front and a slightly sour-looking expression on her face. “Is the horsey happy now?” she asked after George started the car.

“He's a pony,” Lucy said. “And yes, he is happy.” She turned to George. “So am I. Thank you, George.”

“Now that everyone else is happy, do you think we could go to town and have some fun?” Veronica said hopefully.

“We can't stay in town for long,” George told her as he drove.

“Why not?” Veronica demanded. “What about taking in a movie? Or dinner?”

“Because we're expected back at the house,” George said.

“I need to set the table,” Lucy added.

Veronica let out a disgruntled sigh, and Lucy and George exchanged glances.

“I don't know why I even bothered to come then,” Veronica said. “I thought we were actually going to have fun.”

“I just wanted to take a ride,” George told her. “I thought you understood that.”

“Then maybe I should ask you to drive me to the train station in Flagstaff,” she said in a grumpy tone.

“I'm more than happy to do that,” he told her.

She leaned back and made a
humph
sound.

“Would you like me to take you there tomorrow?” George offered.

“No, thank you,” she said tersely.

Lucy remembered the secret—that Veronica had no money. Lucy wished she could confide in George. Maybe he could loan Veronica some money, and that would get Veronica on her way . . . and everyone would be happy. But Lucy had promised.

“Why can't you just drive us to Los Angeles?” she asked.

Just then the car slid slightly and George turned the steering wheel, guiding it back to the center of the road. “It should be obvious why I don't want to drive to Los Angeles,” he said. “It's slick enough on flat ground. The mountain pass would be treacherous.”

“All right.” Veronica sat up straighter. “Then we will just have to make the best of it, won't we?”

They were slowly driving through town now, looking at the stores and businesses. Some of them were decorated for Christmas, and with the dusky blue blanket of snow outside, the warm yellow lights coming out of the windows, and the lamplights glowing, it looked like a completely different town.

“It's so pretty,” Lucy said slowly. “I never saw town looking so pretty. It's like a picture book.”

“Or a Christmas card,” George added.

“Look at that sign.” Veronica pointed to a poster on a window. “A Christmas dance on Saturday night. Oh, George, can we go? Can we? Can we?”