Snow Foal--the perfect Christmas book for children Page 8

  Addie let the makeshift leading rein fall slack. What should she do now? She thought of Sam, how he calmed his nervous cows with his firm, gentle commands; of Ruth, calming Jude with her stillness, her quiet presence beside him. ‘We’ll just stay here,’ she said. ‘Stand with him a bit. Show him we’re not scared.’

  But Addie was scared. What should she do now? The scarf idea had come from Gabe: he’d told her how he’d used his own to start training Flo when she was a puppy; how animals are comforted by the scent of the person that they trust. This scarf smelled of Addie. That had been enough for the foal. Until now. Now she was asking him to do something much more frightening. Should she leave going outside until another day, or would that make his fear worse?

  And what if they did manage to get him outside and then he really panicked? What would they do then?

  Jude leaned in, cupped his hand round Addie’s ear. ‘I know a good idea,’ he whispered. ‘I seen it in a film. A cowboy one. We got to cover his eyes up.’

  Addie chewed her lip. She’d seen a film like that too; she’d watched it with Mam. She remembered terrified horses in a burning barn; the crackle and leap of flames around them; the thick smoke. Two women had thrown blankets over their heads to still their panic and led them all to safety. But that was all just made up. Not real. And Addie didn’t have a blanket, only her stripy scarf. Could that work, with a real pony?

  Maybe it was worth a try. She didn’t have any other ideas.

  Addie stared into the foal’s eyes and slowly moved the scarf until both were covered, tied it behind his ears. She pressed her forehead against his, smoothed his neck with both hands. She felt him relax a little. Tears prickled behind her eyes. She waited a minute or two, then inched her way through the doorway, hardly daring to breathe.

  The foal followed.

  Addie glanced at Jude. His chin was held high.

  Out in the yard, sensing the open space around him, the foal froze again. But there was no backing away, no rearing high like the terrified horses in the Wild West barns, just sweat glistening on his skin, a trembling in his long limbs.

  Addie rested her hand lightly on the foal’s back, to let him know that she was beside him. She felt his racing heart, the twitch of muscles, the quick breaths. She waited.

  Jude’s curls lifted and twisted in the breeze. Otherwise, he too was still. Addie closed her own eyes, watched the drift of colour and light behind her lids. Was that what the foal was seeing? She wished she knew.

  They might have stood there for ten minutes or an hour; Addie couldn’t tell. But, eventually, she felt the soft fuzz of the foal’s muzzle against her neck. She opened her eyes and hugged him close.

  Jude was sitting on the mounting block, a small statue by the barn door. ‘We did it,’ he said.

  Addie nodded. ‘He did it,’ she said. ‘With your help.’ She kissed the foal’s forehead. She made soft, crooning sounds that she knew from somewhere long forgotten. She eased his blindfold, lifted the edge. Just a little. She tried to keep her own breathing steady and soft. She slipped the scarf down over the foal’s ears and knotted it round his neck, like before.

  His head swung from side to side. He lifted it, stared up into the sky. He whinnied softly.

  ‘Well done, boy,’ Addie said. ‘And well done, Jude.’

  She was suddenly exhausted. And starving.

  ‘That’s enough for today,’ she said to the foal. ‘Let’s get you back inside for some lunch and a good rest.’

  As she settled him in his stall, Addie wondered what Ruth and Sam would say when they heard what she and Jude done. She might be in trouble. It didn’t matter. After today, Gabe and Sam could come with their straps and buckles and their leather reins. The foal would manage just fine – wouldn’t he? Just as long as Addie was there beside him.

  After today, he was one step closer to being back with his mam.

  And Addie would be seeing her own mam before long – Penny had promised. She might even have rung with the arrangements while Addie had been busy in the barn.

  Addie smiled. She would soon be home too.

  She put her arm round Jude’s shoulders as they walked back to the farmhouse, stomachs rumbling in unison. He let it stay there for a moment before shrugging it away.

  Addie slid the leather halter over the foal’s head and fastened the buckle at the side. It was easier now that he had shed most of his shaggy winter coat. Easier now that he was no longer afraid of the clips and straps round his face and neck. She ran her fingers under the cheek straps to make sure they weren’t too tight, like Gabe and Sam had taught her. She was a quick learner, Sam had said.

  And so was the foal. He stood still, let Addie finish, then scraped at the straw with his front hoof.

  ‘You know what this halter means now, don’t you?’ She stroked his nose. ‘Adventure! Good boy,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and find Jude.’

  The foal trotted behind her across the yard, his feet sure now on the cobbles. He stopped when Addie tried to lead him past the tractor, as he always did; pulled back on the leading rein. His eyes sought Addie’s for reassurance. Addie waited, spoke softly in his ear. The fuzz of fur that edged it tickled her nose.

  The foal trotted on. His steps quickened as Addie led him from the yard and on to the narrow path through Sam’s hayfield. His ears swivelled at the sounds of the spring morning: the twitter of birds in the hedgerows, the deep call of sheep in the distance, the thin answering bleat of their new lambs. He strained ahead as they came close to the meadow, lowered his head and nudged at the gate.

  ‘Hold on,’ Addie said. She unlatched the gate, closed it carefully behind her and set the foal free from the rein.

  He didn’t move to begin with, but lifted his head; sniffed the air. He kicked his heels, skipped and danced among the rough grass and white clover. He galloped in a circle. He lay down and rolled on his back. His long legs wriggled in the air.

  Addie laughed; wondered how it might feel to skip and roll on the grass like the foal.

  He’s so happy out here, she thought.  Happy to be free. He had never belonged in the windowless barn. He belonged out here, under the wide sky with the wind ruffling his mane, and the trees waving above him.

  He belonged with his mother.

  Jude was kneeling under his oak tree at the far end of the meadow, counting the pale primroses that had sprouted between the roots. They swayed in the breeze like small yellow butterflies. They were Jude’s pride and joy.

  Mam would love them, too, Addie knew. She would take her sketch pad from her bag and she would draw them; she would capture them with her pen, paper and paint.

  Well, soon she would come and see them for herself.

  Addie sat down on one of the oak’s big roots, resting her chin on her knees. The foal wandered nearby and nibbled at the grass.

  ‘D’you think the foal still remembers his mother, Jude?’ she said. ‘You know, still misses her?’

  Jude looked up from his counting. He frowned. ‘Now I forgot,’ he said. He crawled back to where he had started and began to count again.

  Addie waited. The sun was warm, gentle. She unzipped her jacket, knelt down next to Jude and turned her face to the sky. It was a pale grey-blue. What would Mam call it? Eggshell. Eggshell blue. That was it.

  She looked up into the spread of branches above; at the dark, empty nests balanced there. Sunni had said birds would find them soon and lay their eggs in them; make new families. When would they come?

  Jude finished counting and shuffled closer to Addie.

  ‘What’s ten add eleven?’ he said. He spread his fingers wide, stared at them as if there might be some missing. Fragments of bark and soil clung to his palms. He didn’t seem to have noticed.

  ‘Twenty-one,’ Addie said.

  ‘Twenty-one flowers,’ Jude said. He nodded. ‘That makes . . .’ He held up his fingers again, trapped the little finger of each hand beneath his thumbs. ‘Six new ones.’ He folded his arms across his chest.
‘Sam says there never were so much as there is this year.’

  ‘Many . . .’ Addie said. ‘There were never so many.’

  Jude’s mouth twisted to one side. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘Sam said it’s cos I look after them so good.’

  Addie smiled at him. ‘Brilliant, Jude,’ she said. ‘Well done.’

  Jude stood up. The foal trotted towards him, nuzzled his side. Jude pulled something from his pocket and held it in his palm under the foal’s nose. The foal took it, crunched it between his teeth.

  ‘Not sugar lumps, again, Jude?’ Addie said. ‘They’re bad for him. I told you.’

  Jude shrugged. ‘My dad gave me some,’ Jude said. ‘If I was good.’ He stroked the foal’s nose, pressed his cheek against it. ‘And he is good, aren’t you, foal?’

  Addie smiled and shook her head. ‘No more, though, Jude. And no more Polos either. Except in emergencies. His lovely new teeth might fall out. We have to give him carrot or apple instead now.’

  Jude fingered the gap in his own teeth. ‘Why did his mam leave him – all by his self ?’ he said.

  ‘Don’t know. I told you.’ Addie twisted her fingers in the grass. ‘Sam says he just got missed somehow in the winter round-up,’ she said. ‘And that his mam might’ve got sick, you know, before that . . .’ She pictured the foal huddled against his mother’s side on the winter moor, wondering when she would wake up. ‘He must’ve been so cold and hungry,’ she said. ‘And really, really scared.’

  ‘Why didn’t nobody look for him, though?’ Jude asked.

  ‘It’s like Sam said, Jude. Remember? None of the herd owners knew about him.’

  ‘Only his mam did.’

  ‘Yes. And the other ponies.’

  ‘Maybe they all forgot him now,’ Jude said. ‘Now they didn’t see him for a long time.’ He took the foal’s face in his hands and stared into his eyes. ‘He didn’t forget them, though.’ He looked up at Addie. ‘If he’s got a brother,’ he said, ‘he’ll remember him forever ’n’ ever.’ He buried his head in the foal’s neck.

  Addie’s throat felt tight. ‘Of course he’ll remember him,’ she said. She reached towards him and let her hand brush his arm. ‘You’ll see Thomas soon, Jude. Tim said, didn’t he?’

  Jude looked up, gave a quick nod. He stared into the distance for a long moment. Addie saw that he was somewhere else – remembering. She waited.

  He sniffed loudly, wiped his nose on his sleeve and got to his feet. He clambered slowly across the roots of the oak and collected the watering can Sam had given him. He clutched it with both hands, held it high underneath his chin, stumbled back towards Addie.

  ‘I’m strong now,’ he said, grimacing with the effort. He thumped the watering can on to the ground beside her. Water jumped from the nozzle. ‘But you can help me, if you want?’

  Addie smiled. Jude was back. He was so proud of that watering can.

  She supported one end of the can while Jude tilted it above the primroses; drizzled the water around the base of each of the plants, as Sam had shown him.

  ‘I’m seeing Mam next week,’ Addie said. ‘Well, I might be,’ she corrected, worried that this might upset Jude all over again. Tim hadn’t said anything about him seeing his mam.

  But it wasn’t a might. Mam would be there, for sure.

  Jude looked up. Water splashed over Addie’s shoes. She pretended not to notice.

  ‘I’m supposed to meet her in a café,’ Addie said. ‘With Penny.’

  ‘Is your mum better now?’ Jude asked. He pushed hair from his forehead, his eyes wide; worried. ‘Are you going home soon?’

  ‘She’s a bit better. But she’s got to stay longer at that special place and learn more things.’ Addie stood up and dried her hands. ‘So she can do her painting and feel happy again.’

  ‘Sunni’s mum doesn’t like learning things,’ Jude said. He put down the watering can.

  ‘The social workers was helping her learn how to be Sunni’s mum, only it didn’t work.’ His brow crinkled. ‘That’s why Sunni gets grumpy.’

  ‘She’s just grumpy because I’m here,’ Addie said. ‘She hates sharing her room. She hates me.’

  Jude shook his head. ‘No, she doesn’t, Addie,’ he said, his eyes wide with worry. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s cos she’s sad. About her –’ He stopped, bit his lip. ‘I’m not s’pposed to say about it . . .’ He looked around, as if Sunni might be listening, about to jump out at any moment.

  ‘It’s OK, Jude,’ Addie said. ‘You don’t have to tell me. Not if you promised.’ She looked away. She wasn’t interested in anything to do with Sunni anyway. She bent down, brushed her hand over a nearby cluster of primroses. ‘Can I pick some of these?’ she asked.

  Jude opened and closed his mouth.

  ‘Only a couple. Please. I want to copy them. For Mam. For a present.’

  Jude sighed. He held up one hand, pinned down his little finger with his thumb. ‘Three,’ he said. ‘Just three.’

  The delicate stems were covered in tiny hairs and surprisingly strong. Addie had to tug hard to break them free. The petals were waxy on her fingers. She could see bits of sky through them if she held them up against the spring sun. ‘Beautiful, Jude,’ she said. ‘They’re so beautiful.’

  Jude smiled his small, quick smile. He searched her face.

  ‘You know like I’ve got Thomas?’ he said. Addie nodded.

  ‘Sunni’s got a sister now. An’ she’s better than Sunni cos her mum’s keeping her. That’s what Sunni says.’

  ‘Oh.’ Addie wondered if this was true. Sunni said lots of things. Made up lots of things.

  Maybe she just wanted all the attention for herself.

  Well, Sunni would be happy soon, anyway. Because Addie would be gone.

  Mam was nearly better. She must be, if Penny was letting her come to the café. Addie would be home in no time.

  The foal didn’t want to go back in the barn. Jude had to lean against his bottom while Addie bribed him with a handful of fresh straw.

  ‘He likes it best outside now,’ Jude said.

  ‘I know,’ Addie said. ‘He wants to get back to the moor to find his mam.’

  Jude nodded. ‘Don’t want him to go,’ he said. ‘Do you?’

  ‘No,’ Addie said. ‘But . . .’ Something heavy settled on her chest. She stroked the foal’s cheek, swallowed hard. ‘But he wants to go home, don’t you?’ The foal blinked his long lashes; stared his deep, soft stare. ‘He needs to go home.’

  Addie took a deep breath in; decided. ‘There’s people coming to look at him next week,’ she said. You know, to say if he’s proper Exmoor pony and if he’s allowed back on the moor.’

  Jude nodded. ‘What if he’s not, though?’

  ‘Then we’ve got to take him back there. You and me. Right?’

  ‘Can we?’ Jude said. ‘How can we?’

  ‘Of course we can. We have to.’

  ‘But if you go home, Addie . . .’

  ‘Then you’ll have to do it.’

  Jude’s eyes filled. He ran his hand over the foal’s flank. The foal flicked his tail from side to side. Jude pulled his arm away.

  ‘He won’t let me,’ he said. ‘If you’re not there.’

  ‘If he doesn’t go back, he’ll get sold, Jude. Gabe said. And some rich kids will ride him and plait his mane and make him jump stupid fences.’ Addie’s nails dug into her palms. ‘And he won’t see his mam ever again. Or his brothers and sisters.’

  Jude’s face darkened; brightened again. ‘Sunni can help me,’ he said.

  ‘No, Jude!’ Addie grabbed his arm. ‘You can’t say anything to Sunni. She’ll tell. She’s kind to you but she hates me. And don’t tell Gabe either. He’ll go all grownup and worried and stop you. You’ve got to promise.’

  Jude’s eyes slid away from Addie’s. He looked up at the roof of the barn, as if he might find something he needed among the dusty rafters and giant cobwebs.

  ‘I can’t do promises,’ he said.
He wiped the sleeve of his coat across his face. ‘I promised Thomas. I said I’d look after him. But I couldn’t. Not proper.’ His voice was small, far away, like it might be about to get lost again. His chin trembled, sank on to his chest. He wrapped his arms round his body, as if to protect himself from something that Addie couldn’t see.

  The foal pushed his head towards Jude, nudged at his arms, nuzzled his cheek.

  ‘You look after your primroses, Jude, don’t you?’ Addie said. ‘You’re the best at looking after those.’ She watched Jude’s shoulders shake. He was crying the quiet tears. The ones that hurt the most.

  Should she put her arm round him? Would he let her? How did Ruth always know what to do to help him? Addie wished she was here.

  She imagined baby Thomas crying in his cot. She thought of Jude, lifting him into his thin arms, giving him the last of the milk and singing him to sleep. She wondered about their mam and dad, who kept leaving them all alone.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, Jude,’ she said. ‘Mams and dads are supposed to look after babies.’ She placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘And boys who are only six.’

  She stroked the foal’s nose, ran her finger over the tiny patch of white hair on his forehead. ‘Don’t worry, Jude,’ she said. ‘We’ll get this little one home before I go. We’ll do it together.’

  Addie put her primroses in a jar on the kitchen table, next to the jug of bluebells Gabe had brought from the forest. Addie would draw those for Mam too. Blue was her favourite colour.

  ‘Have them a bit closer, if you want, Addie,’ Ruth said. ‘So you can see better.’ She pushed the flowers across the table. The bluebells nodded on their long stalks.

  Jude leaned in towards them, sniffed; sneezed. ‘Spicy,’ he said.

  ‘Sticky too,’ Sunni said. She pulled a flower from the jug and trailed the stem over Addie’s hand. Jude backed away.

  ‘It’s OK, Jude,’ Sunni said, ‘I won’t put any on you. They’re poisonous. That’s why Gabe got in trouble for picking them.’

  Jude got down from his chair and stood back from the table.

  ‘Sunni . . .’ Ruth said.