Snow Foal--the perfect Christmas book for children Read online

  ‘You’ll have to run back to the farm and get Sam then. I’ll wait here.’

  Gabe checked his phone again; stuffed it back into his pocket.

  ‘I’ll go and get Dad,’ he said. ‘But there’s no way we’ll get your foal in the truck. He’s been in it before: that night we found him. He was terrified: fought like a little tiger, weak as he was. And he hasn’t forgotten. Remember what happened with the pony people’s jeep?’

  Addie did remember. ‘That was different,’ she said. ‘They were trying to take him away; maybe to sell him to strangers. She felt the foal shiver against her leg. ‘Just go, OK? Hurry up.’

  As soon as Gabe had left, the foal sank to the floor. He flopped on to one side, long legs stretched out. His stomach rose and fell sharply as he breathed. Addie sat down by his head and spoke softly into his ear.

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘You’ll be at the farm soon.’

  She pulled some long blades of fresh grass, put them by the foal’s mouth. He licked at them briefly with his long tongue; blinked at Addie.

  ‘That’s OK,’ Addie said. ‘Don’t worry.’

  Addie curled up beside him, her face level with his. He stared into her eyes for a long moment. His heavy eyelids slid down.

  Was he just sleeping?

  Addie drew a piece of grass across his muzzle. Nothing. No twitch of his nostrils. She pressed her head against his side, listened for his heart above the beat of her own, loud in her ears.

  It was there.

  It was.

  But it was faster than usual. What did that mean?

  She rested her hand on his neck, felt the warmth of the evening sun on her skin, the damp heat of the foal’s body on her palm. She should move him back into the shade of the trees. But there was no way she could do that by herself.

  She sat up, strained to hear the sound of Sam’s truck. There was nothing but the birds gossiping in the trees. It was way too soon. Gabe wouldn’t even have reached the farm yet. The cackling laughter of crows rose from a nearby beech.

  ‘Shut up, stupid crows!’ Addie whispered through her teeth. ‘Just shut up.’ She wrapped her arms round her knees; hugged them tightly under her chin.

  It would be OK, she told herself.

  Sam would know what to do.

  Please let him get here soon.

  The foal heard the truck before Addie did. He stirred and managed to struggle to his feet.

  That was a good sign, Addie thought. Even though his legs wobbled and shook like they had done when he first came to the farm, and his breathing seemed faster than ever.

  Panicked wingbeats sounded above as the rumble of the engine drew closer, louder. When it died away, the trees fell silent.

  Sam and Gabe’s voices sounded in the still air.

  ‘Over here!’ Addie called. She stroked the foal’s nose, spoke gently to him. It couldn’t be good for him to be upset just now. He settled a little; pushed his head under Addie’s arm, as if to hide. He was shivering again. Tiny vibrations ran through Addie’s body as he pressed himself close. He didn’t move when Sam appeared, carrying a metal bucket and a green towel.

  Sam approached slowly, kept his voice low and soft. He smiled at Addie. ‘Gabe’s waiting with Flo in the truck. You OK, sweetheart?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Addie said. ‘But something’s really wrong with the foal. You can help him, can’t you? Please, Sam.’

  Sam glanced at the wound on the foal’s flank. He felt the pulse in his neck. His eyes crinkled in concern. ‘Well now, youngster,’ he said. ‘You’ve come a long way to find your friend, haven’t you?’ He put the bucket down next to him. ‘Let’s see if you’ll take a drink.’

  The foal sniffed at the bucket. Addie bent down, dipped her fingers in the water and swirled the surface. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It’ll make you feel better.’

  The foal blinked at Addie, pushed his nose deep into the bucket. His long tongue curled close to Addie’s fingers as he scooped the cool water into his mouth.

  ‘Well done,’ Addie whispered. ‘Good boy.’ She looked up at Sam.

  ‘It’s my fault he’s hurt and sick, isn’t it?’ she said. She chewed at her lip. ‘I thought he wanted to go home and be with his mam. I thought he’d be happy. And safe.’

  Sam held her gaze. ‘It’s no one’s fault, Addie.’ He ruffled her hair. ‘You did what you thought was best for him. But right now, this little guy’s made it pretty clear that it didn’t work out. He needs your help and that’s why he’s back. Some spirit he’s got; coming all that way by himself.’

  The foal lifted his head and shook it from side to side, sending crystal droplets into the air. He stood a little taller; flicked his tail.

  ‘The water’s perked him up a bit, anyway. But we’d best get him back quickly. I’ve called the vet out.’ Sam picked up the bucket. ‘Let’s see if he’ll walk again now. We can take it slowly.’

  Sam handed her the towel. ‘Give him a gentle rub down with this. His skin’s damp. We don’t want him getting chilled on the way. Sun’s going down.’

  ‘But the truck,’ Addie said. ‘Gabe said he’ll be too scared. Like before.’

  Sam glanced at the foal, whose eyes were fixed on Addie.

  ‘You’ll be in that truck this time,’ he said. ‘He’ll be absolutely fine.’

  Sam was right.

  The foal lay quietly in the back of the truck all the way to the farm, his head in Addie’s lap, heavy and hot.

  He needed ten stitches. Addie held his face and spoke softly to him as Jo, the vet, did her sewing, then gave him an injection. The foal’s eyes never left Addie’s face until Jo moved away and snapped her bag shut.

  Sam showed Addie how to mix some thin, nutritious porridge meal. The foal didn’t finish it all, but he did take another long drink of water. Jo said that was the most important thing for now. That and a good rest.

  Addie made him a bed of fresh straw and covered him with a light blanket. When Sam went off to shut the pigs and chickens in their pens for the night, she gathered up some more straw and curled up on it alongside him. She wasn’t letting him out of her sight.

  Ruth appeared in the barn doorway, torch in hand. She was wearing Sam’s dressing gown and her green wellies. ‘Thought so,’ she said. There was a smile in her voice.

  She knelt down next to Addie on the straw.

  ‘Peas in a pod, you two,’ she said. She tilted her head towards the foal. ‘Both as brave and determined as can be.’

  Addie looked away; watched shadows play in the torchlight. ‘Jo thinks the other ponies picked on him,’ she said. ‘When he went back.’ She turned, looked into Ruth’s face. ‘His mam didn’t keep him safe.’

  Ruth pushed a stray lock of curls away from Addie’s eyes. ‘Maybe she wasn’t there, Addie. We just don’t know. But something went wrong back there in the winter, didn’t it? When he was left all alone in the snow?’ She smiled her gentle smile. ‘He’s safe now, that’s the thing. I’m just glad he knew where to come.’

  She eased herself up to stand, one hand on her back, as if it was stiff.

  ‘Come on, young lady,’ she said. Your foal will be fine until morning now. Sam’ll look in on him when he goes off to milk first thing, and he’ll give him more medicine.’ She held out her hand. ‘You need your rest now, just like your friend does. You’ve both had quite a day!’

  Addie opened her mouth to protest. Ruth smiled her ‘no argument’ smile. Even in the shifting light from her torch, it didn’t waver.

  The kitchen windows were still open. A soft breeze lifted the small hairs on Addie’s arms as she washed dust and dirt from her hands. A crane fly danced up and down the curtains near the sink, desperate to escape. Addie leaned in, shook it free of the fabric and watched it disappear into the night.

  ‘As the foal’s on the mend,’ Ruth said, ‘let’s you and I have chat about school tomorrow. We can agree a plan to make things better.’

  Addie looked down. She wasn’t s
ure.

  ‘For a start,’ Ruth said, ‘those new classmates of yours need to know that they’ve got a pony whisperer in their midst. One with wild adventures to share!’

  Addie smiled a small smile. Maybe. Ruth knew things, after all.

  Her stomach growled. ‘Is there any of Sam’s pizza left?’ she asked.

  Ruth nodded. ‘In the Aga, keeping warm for you.’ She laughed, standing up to go and fetch it. ‘You’re lucky Gabe didn’t realise!’

  The pizza was delicious, loaded with ham and pineapple and crisp round the edges. Nearly as good as the one Mam used to make.

  First Mam. Before.

  Addie ate everything, ignored Gabe’s – and Flo’s – pleading eyes.

  Sunni drained a glass of milk, pushed it aside and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She pointed at Gabe with a half-eaten apple. ‘At least Flo’s got a good excuse for being greedy,’ she said. ‘Unlike some people.’

  Ruth laughed. She came and sat beside Addie, her hands cupped round a striped mug of tea. ‘She does,’ she said. ‘But pizza is definitely not what she needs!’

  Gabe scooped crumbs from Addie’s plate, dropped them into his mouth. ‘Go on then, Sunni, tell Addie your news. We know you’re bursting.’

  Sunni pushed her curtain of hair behind one ear, sat up importantly in her chair. Her black-brown eyes sparkled as brightly as her bracelets. ‘Flo’s having babies,’ she announced. ‘In August. And I’m keeping one. To train as a sheepdog.’ She looked at Gabe. ‘Aren’t I?’

  Gabe flung himself into the rocking chair. ‘If you behave,’ he said. ‘And if you give me your share of any cake that Ma makes between now and when the pups arrive.’

  ‘Babies? Really?’ Addie looked at Flo, curled in her basket. She tried to picture the tiny beginnings of life tucked inside her feathered white belly. Would Flo know how to be a mother? Or would she need help, like some of Sam’s ewes?

  Like Mam.

  Flo’s tail thumped up and down. Her pink tongue lolled from her mouth. Addie was sure she was smiling.

  ‘Clever dog,’ she said. ‘Good dog, Flo.’

  Sunni was staring at Addie. ‘You’ve got something in your hair,’ she said.

  ‘So?’

  Sunni kept on staring. ‘I’m glad the foal came back to stay,’ she said. She reached over and pulled a short piece of straw from Addie’s fringe.

  Addie stared back at her. Sunni didn’t even like the foal.

  Sunni twisted the piece of straw in her fingers. ‘I’m glad cos then he’s just like me.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Gabe said. ‘A whole heap of trouble.’

  Addie smiled. ‘He can stay, can’t he, Ruth?’ she said, suddenly anxious all over again.

  Ruth glanced over at Gabe. He nodded back, whistled for Flo. ‘C’mon, Sunni,’ he said. ‘You can help me and Flo check on the lambs. You need to get some practice in.’

  Addie searched Ruth’s face. What was going on?

  Ruth rested her hand on Addie’s arm. ‘Sam wants to talk to you, Addie,’ she said. ‘We both do.’ Her eyes were softer than ever; her voice gentle. ‘We had a chat with the vet, before she left. She’s concerned about that little foal. He’s been through such a lot in his short life.’

  Addie let the pizza fall back on to her plate. ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘That’s why it’s good he came back here. I’m his friend. I’ll look after him.’

  Ruth nodded. ‘And he couldn’t have a better friend than you, Addie. He knows that; knows that you love him. He trusts you.’

  Addie kept her eyes fixed on Ruth’s face. ‘So, that means –’

  ‘That means you have to do your very best for him, Addie. Like you’ve always tried to do. But right now, that means thinking very hard about what this foal really needs for the future.’

  Heat crept into Addie’s face and burned behind her eyes. She looked away, fiddled with her fork. She knew exactly what this meant. It meant grown-ups deciding they knew best, deciding things the foal might not like. Things she might not like.

  Well, she was the one who knew best about him. Not the vet who’d only met him three or four times, not Ruth and not Sam. He was ‘just a sheep and cow man.’

  ‘I already know what the foal needs,’ she said. ‘He needs me.’

  Her bottom lip began to tremble. Images of the foal wandering wounded and alone on the moor pushed their way into her mind. She shouldn’t have taken him back there.

  She hadn’t known best about that, had she? Not at all.

  She covered her mouth with her hand. A large tear made its way down her cheek, slipped between her fingers.

  Ruth drew her chair closer, put her arm round Addie’s shoulders.

  ‘You’re right, Addie. The foal does need you. And you need him too. We can all see that. What we have to do is make a plan that lets you two be together as much as possible, but in a way that gives the foal the other things he needs, too: space to run free, the company of other ponies and people who really know about horses to watch over him. We can’t give him those things here.’ She leaned round, looked into Addie’s face. ‘And, Addie,’ she said gently, ‘the foal won’t always have you here to look after him either, will he? What happens when you go home?’

  Addie took in a shaky breath. ‘Suppose,’ she whispered. ‘But that’s not yet, is it?’ And if he goes to that sanctuary, we’ll hardly ever get to see each other while I am here. She wiped her hand over her eyes. ‘It’s too far away.’

  Ruth shook her head. ‘It doesn’t need to be the sanctuary. Jo’s given us some other ideas. Sam’s already on the phone about one of them.’

  Addie’s heart fluttered and jumped in her chest. ‘He’s not – he can’t make the foal go anywhere yet. He’s sick!’

  ‘It’s all right, Addie. No. Not for a while. The foal needs some rest and recovery time. Sam’s just checking out possibilities, that’s all. All right?’

  Addie nodded. Her head felt heavy on her shoulders.

  ‘He’s talking to Bill and Anne Johnson,’ Ruth went on. ‘Apparently, they’re about to adopt a couple of Exmoor colts. It was all arranged through a special Exmoor Pony Trust. Sam’ll tell you all about it.  And – ’ she paused, brought her hands together – ‘Jo thinks that Anne and Bill might be open to taking your foal too. If she’s right, it could be perfect. They certainly have the space and they really love their horses.’

  Addie felt a quiver of hope. The Johnsons’ farm was just down the road. She passed it every day on the way to school. If she cut across Jude’s meadow, and round the edges of the Sam’s cornfields, she could get there even quicker than that. She chewed at the inside of her cheek.

  Could this be OK?

  She thought of the horses that already lived at the Johnsons’ farm. Peanut and Beauty: great, placid cobs with huge fluffy feet; Tulip and Lupin: the retired donkeys who stood patiently in the meadow, flicking their tails against the flies and waiting for Mrs Johnson to come and feed them apples. All were lovely, sweet creatures. They would be kind to her foal, she was sure.

  But what about the new colts that were about to arrive?

  ‘What if those new ponies don’t like the foal?’ she asked. ‘What if they bully him?’

  ‘Don’t look so worried, Addie,’ Ruth said. ‘According to Jo, the new colts are absolutely lovely – they’re pretty tame, like your foal, and a little older – more mature. If it turns out that your little one might join them, Bill and Anne will do some careful introductions. They know about horses. And –’ Ruth smiled her soft smile – ‘they’d have you to help them, wouldn’t they?’

  Addie pushed back her chair. ‘Can we go and find Sam?’ she said. ‘And see if the Johnsons said yes?’

  Ruth got to her feet and pulled off her apron. ‘Let’s do that,’ she said. ‘He’ll be in the snug. Nothing’s certain yet, mind, Addie. We might have to think about a different plan.’ She touched a finger to Addie’s chin, lifted it a little; looked into her eyes. ‘But, whatever happ
ens, Addie, when things need to be decided, we’ll decide them together. That’s a promise.’

  Addie woke with the birds. A bubble of excitement bounced in her chest. She sprang out of bed as soon as she heard footfalls on the landing, the thud of the front door.

  She dressed and ran downstairs. The kettle whistled as she passed the kitchen. Gabe was in there, humming one of his silly tunes. Something sizzled in a pan: bacon. It smelled good.

  But breakfast could wait. Mrs Johnson would have fresh-baked bread waiting. And thick golden honey from her own bees.

  The front door was open. Early sunlight stretched into the hall.

  Addie knelt down on the step and laced her trainers. The air was heavy with the scent of autumn roses. They seemed to have bloomed overnight, creamy pink against the red and yellow honeysuckle on the trellis round the door.

  There was still a slight breeze, but it was going to be quite warm: another of Ruth’s ‘Indian summer’ days. Addie would be fine in her thin T-shirt. She threw her sweatshirt on to the settle and set off across the yard.

  Ruth came round the corner of the house. She was carrying a basket of eggs.

  ‘I knew you’d be up with the larks again,’ she said. She smiled, pointed to the basket. ‘I’m going to do some hard-boiled eggs. For a picnic lunch. I thought we’d spend the morning on the beach; make the most of this surprising weather.’

  Addie touched one of the eggs. It was still warm. She looked up at Ruth, shielding her eyes with her hand. ‘I’m going over to the Johnsons’ farm, though,’ she said. ‘You promised I could spend the whole day there, seeing as it’s nearly the end of the holidays.’

  Ruth laughed. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘All sorted. Sam’s staying behind. He has loads to do. But he’ll check in on you every so often; bring you your lunch. Mira’s coming with us to the beach, to keep Sunni company. And we’ll have Gabe, so none of my picnic bakes will go to waste anyway!’

  Addie laughed too. It felt strange. But familiar. Nice.