Beware the Mare Read online

  Beware the Mare

  Beware the Mare, Book One

  Jessie Haas

  THANKS TO JOSEY,

  WHO GAVE ME THE IDEA

  1

  “HERE HE COMES!” Lily calls from the kitchen window. She sees the old rattly truck turn into the driveway.

  “About time!” Gran sniffs. She strikes a match and lights the blue gas flame under the supper vegetables.

  The truck’s sides wobble, and the big springs creak. Thud! Bang! Whinny!

  “There’s a horse in the truck!” The door crashes. Lily is gone. Closing her lips firmly, Gran turns the vegetables off.

  On the grassy bank in front of the old gray house, yellow daffodils bob. The air is filled with their perfume. It is very early spring. The trees are bare, but the fields are bright green, tempting the animals. Already the young steer has broken the fence three times.

  Lily doesn’t notice the daffodils or the green fields. She can think only of the truck and what might be inside it.

  The truck stops, and Gramp hops down from the high seat. He wears green work clothes and a green cloth hat. Clamped in his teeth is a stained corncob pipe. Beneath the sign that says his name—LINWOOD GRIFFIN, LIVESTOCK DEALER—he Stops to tap the pipe on his palm and put it in his shirt pocket. Gran has made him quit smoking, but Gramp still loves his pipe.

  He looks up now and winks. “Lily, you’re watching me just as sharp as your granny does,” he says. “Don’t you two trust a fellow?”

  Gran thinks Gramp might still smoke his pipe sometimes when he’s out alone in his truck. But Lily has seen that no ash came out when he tapped it. Gramp is only teasing. “I trust you,” she says.

  “That’s good. Watch your toes, while I drop this tailgate.”

  Mom comes from the garden, where she has been digging. Her blonde hair is tied back under a red bandanna. From the house Gran walks out and stands with her arms folded across her apron front.

  “What you got, Pop?” asks Mom.

  “I think I got a deal,” says Gramp, scratching his white bristles, “but I dunno.”

  He releases the stiff bolts at the back of the truck and lowers the heavy tailgate to the ground. Lily stands right behind it, so she can see as soon as the truck is open.

  The truck is a dark cave, big enough to hold two workhorses. The bay mare in the cross-ties looks very small. She twists, looking over her shoulder at the big opening. The rims of her eyes show white. She whinnies loudly.

  “Stand back, girls,” says Gramp to all of them. He walks up beside the mare, speaking in a calm, clear voice.

  “Easy there,” he says. “Move over.” He pushes with the flat of his hand, and the mare steps aside. Every move Gramp makes is slow and clear and easy to understand.

  Now he unties her and leads her down the ramp. They both trot. She lands at the bottom and stops with her head high, looking toward the barn.

  The other horses mill around, looking back and neighing: Stogie, the wild black Morgan; the Girls, who are workhorses; the three horses Gramp is going to sell; and the pony. The bay mare is bright-eyed and eager to go meet them, but Gramp turns her away.

  “Barbie,” he says to Mom, “just lead her up and down the drive for me. I want to watch her move. Careful!” he warns as Mom takes the lead rope.

  Gran looks at him sharply. “What’s wrong with the animal?”

  “Nothing, far as I can see.” But if this is true, why does he sound puzzled, and why does he reach up under his green hat to scratch his head as he looks the mare over?

  The mare is nervous. She holds her head high. Her little ears work back and forth, listening to the other horses and to the ping of the cooling truck hood. But she walks quietly beside Mom. She doesn’t crowd; she doesn’t shy; she doesn’t try to nip.

  “You want to trot her, Barb?”

  “Why not?” says Mom.

  “Careful,” Gramp says again. What is he afraid of?

  Mom runs down the driveway. The mare trots beside her. She is nervous, but she is trying very hard to be good.

  “Hmph,” says Gramp. He sounds as if there is something he doesn’t understand.

  “She felt good to you?” he asks Mom.

  “She’s an angel!”

  “Hmph!”

  “She’s pretty,” says Lily, cautiously.

  Usually when Gramp brings a horse home, he warns Lily, even before he lowers the tailgate: “Don’t fall in love with this one. He’s not a keeper.”

  Today he hasn’t said that. This mare is just the right size for a girl outgrowing her first pony, the pony who was Mom’s pony and is old and tired. What is wrong then? Why isn’t the rope given to her? Why doesn’t he say, “Here, Lily, she’s yours?”

  “She’s sound, of course?” Mom says. Mom is wondering, too.

  “Sound as a dollar—sounder! Feel those legs.”

  Mom runs her hand down all four legs.

  “Perfect,” she says. She stands back and looks.

  The mare is shaggy. Her winter hair has shed out on her back and shoulders, but not yet on her belly. Her mane is tangled. She hasn’t been brushed in a long time. But she looks strong and fine and lively.

  Mom puts her arm around Lily’s shoulders. “All right, Pop, what’s wrong with her?”

  “I … dunno,” Gramp says. He looks embarrassed. “I don’t like her name, that’s all.”

  “You don’t like her name?”

  “Nope.” He scratches under his green hat. “Ain’t much to go on, is it?”

  “What is her name?”

  “Beware. Her name is Beware.”

  “Where did you buy this animal, Linwood?” Gran asks. Everyone else calls him Lin or Woodie. Only Gran calls him Linwood.

  “I got her off Clyde Jones,” Gramp says, and Gran sniffs. Gramp and Clyde Jones are always trading horses, and one of them usually cheats.

  “What did he say about her?”

  Gramp glances at Lily. “I told him what I wanted her for. He said she’s been a kid’s horse. He’s had her a couple months, out in the barnyard with the rest of ’em. No sign of trouble.”

  “Clyde wouldn’t cheat you about something important,” says Mom. She likes Clyde Jones.

  “Course not,” Gramp says, but he scratches under his hat again. He looks at Beware as if he is trying to see through her, see her bones, and see her past. “If it wasn’t such a good deal, I wouldn’t have thought twice. But I’m pattin’ myself on the back, driving home, and it hit me. Beware. Beware of what?”

  The mare pays no attention as her name is repeated. She is looking off at the other horses, with her ears forward and her eyes bright. She is beautiful. Lily’s hand wants to close around the lead rope.…

  “What did you pay for her?” Gran asks.

  “Not a red cent,” Gramp says. “Traded the steer for her.”

  Gran’s face goes still. “That steer was meat for our table.”

  “The girl needs a horse, Gracie!” He turns away from Gran, taking the pipe out of his shirt pocket again. “I’ll get another steer.”

  “There’s six horses and a pony on this place right now!”

  “Pony’s too small.” He isn’t really listening. He clamps the pipe between his teeth, watching the mare thoughtfully. “Beware, huh? Well, I haven’t seen you take one false step. Lily—”

  “Linwood!” Gran’s voice cracks like a whip. “Before you break that child’s heart, and maybe her neck, you wait! You haven’t owned this animal half an hour yet!”

  Mom’s hand tightens on Lily’s shoulder, a quick little love squeeze.

  “You find out who owned her before Clyde Jones,” says Gran, “and you make sure she’s safe!”

  Gramp reaches up and scratches under his hat. Gran watch
es sharply as the pipe turns upside down.

  “All right,” he says at last. “I don’t know why they’d call you that, little mare, but just this once we’ll listen to The Boss.”

  He turns to Lily. “Sweetheart, if she behaves herself, she’s yours. But for now don’t go near her unless I’m right there with you. Understand?”

  Lily nods. She doesn’t know if she should feel happy or not. “Can I pet her?”

  “Yup. Move slow; you know how.” He has taught Lily never to move quickly around horses. If you move quickly, they think there is something to fear. They may jump and hurt you, or they may kick.

  “Hello,” says Lily, softly but clearly. Horses like things to be clear. She puts her hand firmly on the mare’s warm, smooth shoulder. “Hello, Beware.”

  “Maybe they called her that just to sound dangerous at horse shows,” says Mom. She has come into Lily’s bedroom to say good-night.

  “Why?”

  “Can’t you imagine? ‘Now entering the ring, Lilian Gifford riding Beware!’ Doesn’t it sound dashing?”

  Lily can imagine that. “Beware, because she’s such a good horse. Beware, ’cause she’s going to win.”

  “That’s a possibility,” says Mom, looking straight at Lily. Her eyes are clear and blue, like Gramp’s. They always seem full of light. “Another possibility, though,” she says, “is that Beware means, ‘Watch out! This horse is dangerous—really dangerous.’”

  “But Clyde Jones wouldn’t—”

  “Maybe not, but he might not know all there is to know about her.”

  Lily sinks deeper into her pillow. She wants to go back to imagining Lilian Gifford, entering the ring on Beware.…

  “It’s hard, I know,” says Mom, “but don’t get too attached. You know how many horses go through here. If this horse isn’t right, your gramp will find one that is.”

  “Yes,” says Lily. She waits for Mom to kiss her and go away.

  2

  EARLY THE NEXT morning, while the sky is still gray, Gramp comes to Lily’s bedside.

  “Wake up,” he says, “and come on down to the barn.”

  Downstairs Gran is making coffee and sandwiches for Gramp’s lunch. He’s working on the road crew. Sometimes on Lily’s way home from school she sees him out the bus window, leaning on the handle of a spade or raking hot black tar into a pothole.

  “Linwood, what are you doing?” Gran asks as Gramp and Lily pass through the kitchen.

  “We’ll just get acquainted with the little mare,” Gramp says. “And we’ll load Mr. Steer in the truck,” he tells Lily when the door has closed behind them.

  Beware is in the barn, in a stall big enough for a workhorse. She looks very small in there. She has shavings in her mane.

  “Good, she laid down to sleep,” says Gramp. “That means she got to feeling calmer.”

  He goes to the wall and takes down a halter from a peg. He picks up a whip.

  Lily watches. She knows Gramp would never hurt a horse. He is always kind and fair. But she doesn’t like to see the whip.

  “Hey, Big Eyes!” He laughs at her. “Don’t worry! This is just to make her turn and face me if she tries to kick.”

  “Will she?”

  “Don’t know. She must do something. You stand out here, Lily, and watch.” He goes into the stall and pulls the door shut behind him.

  Beware turns to look at him. She has been by herself all night. She is glad to see Gramp, even though he is not another horse. She takes two eager steps and reaches out her nose to him.

  “Huh!” he says.

  He leans the whip against the wall and puts the halter on Beware.

  “All right, Lily, open the door.”

  Beware’s eyes are bright. She steps eagerly to the door. But she is careful. Even though she is excited, she doesn’t jump, and she doesn’t push Gramp.

  Gramp leads Beware to the cross-ties. He snaps one rope in one side of her halter and the other rope in the other side. The two ropes hold her in the middle of the aisle.

  “Stay back, Lily,” Gramp says. “Maybe she won’t stand tied.” He walks away from Beware.

  Beware watches him and bobs her nose. She would like to go with him. She hopes he won’t leave her all alone.

  But she stands still and waits.

  “All right,” says Gramp. “Maybe you bite.” He walks back to Beware and holds out the flat of his hand. That is how you give something to a horse: make your hand like a table, and keep your fingers out of the way.

  Beware drops her beautiful soft nose into Gramp’s hand. She would like a treat, but he doesn’t have one.

  Gramp wiggles his fingers under her mouth. “Come on, little girl,” he says, “try one! Look just like carrots, don’t they?”

  Beware gives a big, sad sigh and turns her head away.

  “Well,” says Gramp, “then maybe you kick.” He walks all the way around Beware, very close to her. “This is the safe way, Lily,” he says. “Stay close. If she does kick, she won’t have room enough for a good swing. She’ll only be able to push you.”

  Beware stands still.

  “She’s watching you,” says Lily. Horses’ eyes are different from people’s. Horses can see behind themselves because their eyes are on the sides of their heads. Beware’s eyes roll, following Gramp as he walks around her. Her ears follow him, too.

  “Now I’ll do it the wrong way,” says Gramp. He walks quickly around Beware, close and then far. He walks straight up to her from behind, without speaking to her. He takes off his hat and flaps it. He holds the hat up in the air above Beware’s head, and he passes it under her belly.

  Beware stands still. One ear points one way, and one points the other. She is confused, but she is trying to be good.

  “So you don’t kick,” says Gramp. “Get me the brushes, Lily.”

  Lily brings him the round rubber currycomb and the hard brush and the soft brush. She sits on a hay bale and watches Gramp brush Beware. Beware’s long winter hair falls onto the barn floor. Her coat is deep red, like a glowing coal. Her mane and tail and feet are gleaming black.

  While Gramp grooms her, Beware stands still. Not once does she fidget or try to bite.

  “I dunno,” says Gramp, scratching under his green hat. “Nothing to beware of yet!”

  Every morning for three days Gramp wakes Lily early. They go through the kitchen and stop on the front doorstep, to look around at the new day.

  “Seen any blackflies yet?” Gramp asks Lily.

  Every day Lily says, “Not yet.”

  Then they go down to the barn.

  Every morning Gramp tries something different with Beware. And every morning he says, “You watch her for me, Lily.” Gramp has taught Lily how horses speak. They hardly ever use their voices. They speak with their ears and with their faces. They speak in the way they move their bodies, the way they swish their tails, the way they stamp their feet.

  “What’s she saying?” Gramp asks as he stands in the corner of Beware’s stall with his back turned.

  Beware is coming up behind Gramp and poking his back with her nose. “She wonders what you’re doing,” Lily says. “She thinks you’re crazy.”

  “And now what’s she saying?” He is leading her down the driveway, the wrong way, walking in front with the lead rope loose and floppy.

  “She wants to eat grass,” says Lily.

  “And now what’s she saying?” Gramp is holding up one of Beware’s back feet and trimming it with a hoof knife.

  “She says she’s bored,” says Lily. “She wants to do something interesting.”

  Gramp straightens up and scratches his head. “Well, it beats me!” he says. He has called Clyde Jones, who can’t remember the name of the people he bought Beware from and hasn’t found the bill of sale yet. “Typical!” snorts Gran. Clyde Jones does remember that Beware was ridden by someone in Pony Club, and he knows what town she came from.

  “If she went through Pony Club, she’s had some good training,
” Gramp says. He’s having Mom check with people she knew in Pony Club, to find someone who might remember Beware.

  “But meantime, Lily, don’t you go near her when I’m not around,” he says.

  But Gramp doesn’t mean that Lily can’t stand on a hay bale and look through the bars into the stall. He doesn’t mean that when Beware comes over and blows her sweet, hay-smelling breath on Lily’s face, Lily has to back away. He doesn’t mean Lily can’t talk to Beware.

  “You’re not bad, are you, Beware? You’re beautiful and good.”

  Beware pricks her ears to listen. Her eyes are soft and calm. Lily wants to pat her, but she knows she mustn’t.

  3

  THE NEXT DAY when Gramp comes home, he has a saddle the right size for Beware. After he has groomed her and cleaned her feet, he puts the saddle on. He buckles the girth.

  “Huh!” he says. “So you don’t even bloat.” Many horses take a big bellyful of air and hold it while the girth is tightened. When they let the air out, the girth feels loose and comfortable to them. But the saddle may slip, and the rider may get hurt.

  “Get me that bridle on the wall,” says Gramp. It is a bridle for a big horse. Beware is only a small horse. Gramp buckles every strap to the last hole. The loose ends of the straps hang long and flappy.

  Beware makes bridling easy for Gramp. She lowers her head and reaches out for the bit.

  Gramp scratches under his hat, tipping it so far back on his head that it almost falls off. “No deal is as good as this!” he says. “Lily, put on your hard hat and come out behind the barn, where your granny can’t see us.” He clips the long, white lunge line to Beware’s bit and leads her outside. He carries the long whip.

  Lily puts on the hard hat, which could save her life if Beware bucks her off. It feels as if something is jumping around inside her stomach. She is going to ride Beware.

  But not yet. Beware has been in the barn a long time now. She is frisky and excited. Gramp lunges her.

  He stands in one spot and makes Beware walk, trot, and canter around him in a big circle, at the end of the lunge line.

  They are near the pasture. The Girls, Gramp’s big chestnut work team, come to the fence to watch. That makes Beware want to show off. She kicks up her heels and races around the circle.