Keeping Barney Read online

  “Yes, he seems to be quite a personality. By the way, how old is he? I couldn’t quite tell.”

  “He’s sixteen. We got him when Missy was eight and he was six. Sal—no, Sarah, would you mind getting me that photo album from the television table?”

  Sarah brought it, and Mrs. O’Brien folded back the cover lovingly. The first snapshot was centered in the page to show its importance. It showed Barney, a slimmer, sleeker Barney, with a pale-haired little girl on his back. A huge, supremely happy smile lit up the girl’s face. “The day we gave him to her.

  “And this was the day they won their first horse-show ribbon.” The little girl, in patched breeches and a hard hat miles too big, grinned out at them. She held up a small, crumpled green ribbon that Barney was curiously nosing. Other pictures showed the little girl graduating to red and blue ribbons, to well-fitting apparel and a better seat; in a bathing suit, using Barney as a diving board; going to a Halloween party as the Headless Horseman; riding along back roads in the fall, with a background of bright leaves; a wonderful series of Barney rolling in the snow; spring pictures, with horse and rider mud-spattered; and one shot of Barney in an oversized work harness, plowing the garden. Sarah had to laugh at his dejected expression in that one.

  The last picture was a fuzzy long-distance shot of Barney grazing. Missy sat forlornly on his back, her fingers twined in his mane. “That was the morning she left for school.” Mrs. O’Brien’s mouth drooped sadly. “She misses him so much. Us she can call on the phone, but not Barney.” She stared at the picture for a moment. Sarah met Mom’s eyes uneasily.

  The picture seemed to call Mrs. O’Brien back to the present. She began asking questions: did they have a good barn, was there adequate pasture, how much experience did they have with horses? Sarah and Mom were able to satisfy her, and at last she said, “We have to farm him out this winter, but I can’t do anything without Missy’s say. If you can wait, I’ll get her on the phone.”

  There was a long delay as she heaved herself out of the chair and crutched across the room, Velvet rubbing in affectionate hindrance around her legs. Then they had to wait for Missy to come to the phone. Sarah tried to stay outwardly calm, but her toes clenched inside her shoes.

  “Hello, Missy? Yes, yes, how are you, sweetie? Yes, he’s fine, fat and frisky as ever. Yes, Dad gives him carrots every Saturday. Velvet is fine, too—yes, she misses you. Missy—Missy love, quiet a minute and listen to me. I’ve got a little girl here”—Sarah’s thirteen proud years winced—“who wants to take the old boy for the winter. I thought maybe you’d like to talk with her.” She listened a minute, her eyes on Sarah. “OK, I’m putting her on.”

  Sarah stumbled across the room and gripped the receiver. “Hello?” She hated the questioning way she said it—that certainly wouldn’t inspire confidence.

  “Hi, I’m Missy. Mom didn’t tell me your name.” The voice sounded hurried and breathless.

  “I’m Sarah.”

  “Hi, Sarah. I understand you want to take care of Barney this winter. Have you met him yet?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’d you think?”

  The question tumbled out so quickly, so proudly, that Sarah didn’t have time to realize how important it might be. Her shyness vanished. “Oh, he’s wonderful! He’s so furry—just like a little bear.”

  “Bear is one of his nicknames,” said Missy eagerly. “Actually, he answers to almost anything that begins with B. Even Benedict; I called him that the summer I was sixteen, ’cause I thought Barney was too plain. But Bear really fits him, especially in winter.” A pause, perhaps as Missy realized that so far she’d done all the talking. “How much do you know about horses?”

  Oh dear. “Well, I’ve had four years of riding lessons”—again, the questioning lift at the end of the sentence, when she should have sounded self-confident. “I’ve never really taken care of a horse, but I’ve read a lot.” Looking nervously around the room, she spotted Mom, and added hastily, “And my mother had a horse when she was young.”

  The line was silent, while Missy thought it over. “Well, I’ve got to get him out of there. Mom worries—hmm. Well, just don’t trust the books too much. Barney’s read them all. Let’s see … on the trail he likes to take shortcuts, so watch him. He has a ticklish spot over his right hip, but he’ll only lift his foot when you brush it, never kick. And … darn, there’s too much to tell over the phone. Give me your address and I’ll write you a letter.”

  Sarah gave the new address, hoping she remembered it right. “Thanks,” said Missy. “You’d better put Mom back on, then. Bye, and good luck.”

  Sarah held out the receiver to Mrs. O’Brien, looking dazedly at Mom. “She said yes.”

  “Wonderful!” Mom smiled, and her eyes narrowed in a friendly challenge. “Now go ahead and prove me right, girl!”

  (3)Dramatic Entrance

  Mr. O’Brien was to truck Barney over on Saturday, and Dad promised to help Sarah get the pasture fence repaired before then, providing that white-hot inspiration didn’t strike. His grimace said that wasn’t too likely.

  The writing still wouldn’t flow. At the supper table that night he sat silent, absorbed and angry. In the midst of her happiness, Sarah could sense his struggle, and unspoken fear. What if this had been a foolish move, as all their city friends had said? What if the dream wouldn’t work? It meant as much to him as horses did to her. After a while, he got up heavily and went back to the writing room, and the vicious, sporadic pounding of the typewriter began again.

  But joy didn’t leave Sarah much room for worry. All winter Barney would be hers; her own horse, at last! They would become friends. He would grow to love her, even more than Missy. He wouldn’t want to go back, and in the end she would buy him.… She stayed awake for a long time that night.

  On the bus the next morning, she plowed her way to the back to sit with Albert. It was weird to have her best friend on the bus be a boy, but Albert was fat and nice and read all the time, so none of the other kids paid much attention. He greeted her briefly, and buried his nose in his book again.

  Sarah frowned. This wouldn’t do at all. She was bursting with the wonderful news, but she didn’t want to pour it forth to someone who was absorbed in something else.

  “What’re you reading, Albert?”

  Albert started, blinked, and showed her the cover wordlessly. Science fiction, of course. Rockets and space suits—why didn’t he read horse books instead?

  “Is it good?”

  “Mmm.” Albert looked slightly distressed, torn between the necessity of making conversation and the desire to go on reading. Sarah knew the feeling, and she tried to catch him before he could escape again.

  “Hey, Albert, guess what?”

  “What?”

  She exploded her bombshell. “We called about Barney yesterday and went to see him, and I can have him!”

  A smile spread out from Albert’s eyes. “That’s nice,” he said warmly.

  “Nice! It’s wonderful! It’s the best thing that ever happened to me! My own horse to ride, all winter—I can go riding with you and Jill now, and we can …” Her voice trailed off. Between one moment and the next, Albert’s face had iced over, and suddenly she didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched on. With a distant, apologetic smile, Albert returned to his book, and Sarah just sat there, bewildered and deeply embarrassed.

  Jill, however, greeted the news with an enthusiasm that made her red hair and braces glow. “Oh, Sarah, I’m so glad! I wanted to get him, like I told you, but Mom said we didn’t have room enough with all the goats, and besides, all the other kids would be jealous and want to ride him. But if you’ve got him, we can all go riding together, if Alb will still let me ride Ginger. Oh, isn’t it just wonderful?”

  Jill couldn’t have been happier, and gradually Sarah was able to forget Albert’s reaction. But it was mystifying. Even Jill finally noticed.

  “Hey, Alb, what’s the matter? Don’t you think it’s w
onderful? We’ve got all fall left to ride, the three of us, that is, if Ginger’s still up to my weight, and then all spring—we can even go over Woodfield Mountain like we said we were going to.”

  “That’ll be fun,” said Albert, barely glancing up from his book. Jill made a face.

  “Never mind him, all he wants to do is read. When are you bringing Barney home? I bet you can’t wait. If it was me, I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink all week.…” Sarah never got a chance to answer half the questions, but Jill didn’t seem to notice.

  Fence mending proved to be much harder than she’d expected. The stiff barbed wire seemed to have a mind of its own, and a very nasty mind at that. It scratched and caught on clothes, and once, while Sarah was holding it so Dad could hammer in the staple, a big coil sprang away from her and barely missed his face. From then on she gripped it as tightly as she could, but, despite her care, they came in for supper every night with new scratches.

  Jill came after school Thursday to see the barn and help with the fence, and on Friday they finished it.

  “That should hold him,” Dad said. “And maybe the work has cleared my head; I think I’ve got an idea. Cross your fingers for me after supper, Peanut.” He seemed to be right. That night, the typing sounds flowed evenly and steadily, for a long time.

  Saturday, Sarah awoke before her alarm clock went off. She lay waiting for it to ring, and watching the gray sky lighten to pastel blue. It seemed to take hours. The house was completely still, save for the jingle of metal tags as Star scratched an ear.

  When the alarm finally went off, Sarah dressed, tiptoed downstairs, and took Star outside. The barn drew her, and she went to gaze into the stall that would be Barney’s. She could see him in it already, his eager head looking over the door as he nickered a welcome. How long would it take before he knew her step, her whistle, how long before he came to love her?

  After breakfast she sat out on the doorstep, to brush Star and listen for the truck. At every moment it seemed that it must be coming, but the wait was a long one. She kept going to look at the clock, to find that only ten or fifteen minutes had passed. Mom and Dad were busy and couldn’t talk, and none of the familiar books could hold her interest, not even The Black Stallion. At twelve, she asked if she could call to find out what was taking so long.

  “No, wait a while,” Mom said. “It isn’t polite to hurry people. What would you like for lunch?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You need something. I’ll make you a sandwich.…” Star’s triumphant yap heralded another vanquished squirrel. “Oh, hurry and shut her up. Your father’s working.”

  Sarah captured Star and took her to the burn, avoiding both lunch and the clock. With nothing to measure it by, time seemed to move faster, but not fast enough. Finally, though, she heard the roar and rattle of a truck coming up the rough dirt road. She ran out to the yard as a short, smiling man got out of the cab.

  “Hello, there, you must be Sarah.”

  “Yes, hello.” What took you so long, she wanted to ask—but now that he was here the long wait didn’t seem to matter much. Mom came out and said hello, and while Barney’s hooves thudded impatiently on the floor of the truck, they discussed where to unload.

  “Here’s as good a place as any, I guess,” said Mr. O’Brien. “Hope the little cuss’ll cooperate. Took me an hour and a half to get him in this morning. Beats me—Missy just leads him, but I used up a whole loaf of bread teasing him up the ramp.”

  “He eats bread?”

  “Eats most everything.”

  Barney turned his head anxiously as the ramp was lowered. Mr. O’Brien stepped up beside him and slapped his rump. “Get over, old man.” Barney paid no attention. Mr. O’Brien squeezed past and untied the halter rope. “Back now, back. Stand away, ladies, he wants to rush.”

  Barney’s hooves thundered briefly on the ramp, and then he was in the open, puzzled and snorty. He shied and blew at Star, then froze, staring at the burn and pasture. With his bright eyes and quick, nervous ears, he was a different horse than the one they’d seen Monday.

  “He’s full of ginger,” said Mr. O’Brien tolerantly. He gave the lead rope to Sarah. “Here, you take him, and I’ll bring out the gear.”

  She was holding Barney’s lead rope for the first time. Barney, inspecting Mom as though he’d never seen anything like her, didn’t seem to notice, but Sarah felt all the drama of the moment. The first time, the beginning … the bridle dropped out of Mr. O’Brien’s arms with a jangle, and Barney leaped back. The rope slithered through Sarah’s hand, and she clutched desperately at the end, just in time. Barney stared at the bridle in frozen horror, while she secured her grip on him.

  “Come on, you’ve seen one of those before,” Mr. O’Brien scolded. “I’ll warn you, Sarah, he’s an independent old cuss, and he’ll get away with as much as he can. Isn’t much harm in him, but don’t let him out-bluff you.” He set out a bucket filled with brushes, rags, and fly spray, and looked at his watch. “If I’m going to get some hay over here this afternoon, I’d better move along.” He glanced at Barney, who was looking, bright-eyed, for something else to shy at. “Best put him in the pasture before I start the truck, or we’ll be chasing him all over the next county. Want me to take him in, Sarah?”

  Sarah shook her head. All the horse books said you should never let a horse know if you were scared of it, and the power in Barney’s leap, his quickness, had made her as nervous as he was. “I’ll do it.”

  Mom swung open the gate for her. It creaked on its hinges; Barney lunged sideways, jerking Sarah half off her feet, and jolted to a stiff-legged stop, snorting explosively.

  “Barney,” Mr. O’Brien warned. “Bring him up now.”

  Sarah tugged hesitantly on the halter. Barney ignored her. She pulled harder, and this time he took a reluctant half-step. They entered the barnyard that way: tug, step, tug, step, tug, step.

  Once past the gate, Barney broke into a trot. Sarah bobbed helplessly in his wake; she pulled as hard as she could, but her arms didn’t have enough power to stop him.

  “Step out to the side,” Mom called. Almost by accident, Sarah obeyed. The change in the angle of the pull made it more effective, and Barney stopped. He dropped his head to sniff at a clod, and Sarah hastily unsnapped the rope.

  “He’ll settle down soon enough,” said Mr. O’Brien, as she climbed the gate. The truck rattled down the road, Mom went inside, and she was alone with Barney.

  (4)Bold Charger

  They stared across the fence at each other. Barney looked even shaggier than he had Monday, his jaw bearded with thick hair and the outline of his ears blurred. He radiated robust health and spirits.

  He blasted a snort at her and turned away, moving along the fence at a trot. His high head turned constantly as he neighed, loud and imperious. He must be looking for other horses, Sarah realized. His small, flinty hooves bounced him energetically over the barnyard. All that power; he must be just like Justin Morgan, able to do everything. She remembered the part in the Marguerite Henry book where the shaggy little plow horse defeated two fancy New York Thoroughbreds in two consecutive races. That was the kind of horse Barney was.

  Getting no answer to his calls, Barney slowed indecisively. The barn door stood open, and after a few snorting false starts he plunged through. Sarah heard the thud of his hooves on the boards, and then silence.

  What was he doing in there? Could he get into the spare stall? She couldn’t remember if she’d shut the door, but the barbed wire was in there, and a pail of fencing staples. She hurried to check.

  But halfway across the barnyard, she heard the rattle of staples spilling across the floor, and the startled thunder of Barney’s hooves. He lunged, wild-eyed, out the door, and raced around the yard. Sarah turned to watch him, exhilarated by the sense of power in his short stride. He was more showing off than scared, shaking his head, flinging up his heels, skidding agilely into the corners and speeding up along the straightaway. “
Faker,” she shouted.

  He slowed, and seemed to notice her for the first time. His ears cocked speculatively. Then suddenly they flattened. He squealed deep in his chest, almost a growl, and charged straight at her.

  Fear rooted Sarah to the spot, and Barney kept coming. He loomed high and dark, and the drumming of his hooves filled her ears. Right in front of her he skidded to a stop, so close that the dirt spattered her legs, and half reared, his head snakish and ugly. He thudded back to earth with a grunt and a squeal, and tore off across the barnyard.

  Rousing out of her trance, Sarah whirled and raced for the gate. Her body felt clumsy with fear, and the rumble of approaching hooves filled her ears. She clawed at the top bar and hauled herself up. Turning, she saw Barney just behind her, half rearing. Again, like a quarter horse, he spun on his heels and galloped around the yard, his neck bowed in an arch of triumph.

  Sarah was still sitting on the gate when Mr. O’Brien returned with the hay. Barney had calmed down somewhat, but the sound of the truck sent him tearing around the yard again. “He’s full of oats,” said Mr. O’Brien, shaking his head in admiration.

  He backed the truck into the upper part of the barn, and they unloaded the hay into the mow. Then he drove off with a cheery wave. Sarah climbed back on the gate.

  According to the books, simply sitting there being human and alien should be enough to gain the wild stallion’s interest and set you on the path to conquering his proud heart. But Barney seemed to be cast in a more self-centered mold. Instead of transfixing her for hours with an eagle’s gaze, he roamed the barnyard for a while, sniffing things, and then began to eat.

  Sarah watched awhile, gaining confidence as the calm stretched to half an hour. Mom came out once to look at him and, with a curious glance at Sarah’s perch, asked how things were going. Not wanting to mention the charging, Sarah said, “Fine.” This was something she’d have to work out on her own.

  When Mom had gone again, she gathered her courage and slid down off the gate. “Hello, Barney.” He cocked an ear at the sound of his name, but went on grazing. Sarah came forward, feeling bolder. “You’re not really so mean, are you? You were just trying to scare me, right? You did a good job the first time, so don’t try it again, OK?”