Winter Pony

  To Black Jack—

  who loved the snow and the sound of the bells

  —J.S.D.

  For Whitney

  —R.S.

  Chapter One

  “Hey, Mokey!” Ginny Anderson ran down the hill. She called cheerfully to her pony. A small bucket of hot mash swung from her hand.

  Mokey whinnied in answer. Ginny could hear her through the twilight. Ginny could also hear the sound of quick hoofbeats. She saw Mokey in a blurred pattern of brown and white. Mokey trotted up to the paddock gate.

  “Hi, Moke.” Ginny stopped to give her pony a quick pat. Then she let herself into the small tack room. It was in the stable, next to the paddock. She turned on the lights and unhooked the narrow door into the stall. Mokey was waiting inside. She was peering into her feed tub. She looked like she was waiting for her supper to appear like magic. Ginny poured the sweet hot mash into the tub. Mokey stuck her muzzle deep into the swirling steam with a sigh of joy.

  Ginny left the pony to enjoy her supper in peace. Ginny went to stand for a moment by the open stall door. It led to the paddock next door.

  The frosty twilight sky was turning purple. The evening star glowed brightly over a far ridge of trees.

  “Star light, star bright,” said Ginny. She stopped. There was no need to go on. For years she had wished on every star, ever since she could remember, for a pony of her own. Now she had Mokey, with her brown and white spots, her one blue eye and one brown, her black forelock and white mane and black tail. Mokey was not exactly the beautiful pony of her dreams. But she was a real, live pony.

  Mokey was fat now and shaggy. Her winter coat was getting thicker. The new little stable had just been finished. It was painted a deep red with white trim. It smelled like fresh sawdust, drying paint, sweet hay, and pony.

  Ginny squinted up at the evening star. It seemed hard to remember how thin and shabby Mokey had been just last spring. She and her mother had found the pony at the Sweetbriar Pony Farm. They rented her just for the summer. But the whole family had become so fond of the pony that they couldn’t let her go when the summer ended.

  It was getting colder. Ginny shivered. She went outside to close the heavy Dutch doors of the stall to shut Mokey in for the night.

  Mokey finished her mash. She slobbered a last happy mouthful over the front of Ginny’s jacket. Then she turned to start on her hay. Ginny finished cleaning the stall. She added fresh bedding and filled the water bucket to the brim. The weather report said there would be a hard frost that night. Ginny brought out Mokey’s new winter blanket and buckled it on.

  “You greedy thing,” Ginny said to her pony. “This blanket fit just right when we got it for you. Now I have to loosen the back belt buckle. You’re getting fatter every day.”

  Ginny smoothed the pony’s mane. She gave her a loving pat.

  “Tomorrow is Saturday,” Ginny said. “We can be out all day. And you sure need the exercise to work off some of that tummy!”

  Ginny bolted the narrow door behind her as she left the stall. She stood for a happy moment in the tack room. She checked to see that everything was in its place. Bales of hay and shavings for bedding were neatly stacked at the back of the room. The ceiling lights glowed on the dark leather of the halter and bridle. They were on their racks on the wall. Ginny could see the white cotton lead ropes. The buckets and metal storage cans for grain were under the shelf where the brushes and grooming things were kept. The pitchfork, rake, and broom were hung on the wall where they belonged. Ginny was humming softly under her breath. She turned off the lights and latched the door behind her.

  Saturday morning was clear and bright. But it was the middle of the morning before Ginny could escape from the house.

  “Not an inch,” her mother had said firmly. Ginny had given Mokey her morning feed and had finished her own breakfast. “You are not stirring one inch from this house, young lady, until you clean your room! Honestly, Ginny, how can you keep your stable so neat and your room so messy?”

  Ginny didn’t know, either. She flung her things into her drawers. She made her bed. Feeling a little guilty, she kicked an old notebook under the bed. Cleaning up her room was a chore. Taking care of Mokey was fun. It was as simple as that.

  She snatched her hunt cap from the shelf. Then she tugged on her jacket and finally ran down to the stable.

  She was supposed to meet Pam Jennings at her place in fifteen minutes. Ginny brushed Mokey quickly. She gave her a pat. She promised to do a better grooming job the next time. Then she bridled the pony and started on her way.

  Mokey knew where they were going. She never minded being ridden alone. But she always liked going out with Pam’s chestnut pony, Firefly.

  Mokey broke into an eager trot and then into a strong canter. There were patches of silver frost on the shaded path through the woods. The air was crisp with the cold. Mokey gave a happy buck and a kick. She waved her long black tail.

  Ginny pulled Mokey back to a quiet walk. They turned into the Jennings stable yard. She had expected to see Pam waiting on her pony. But the yard was empty. There were no hoof-prints in the smooth raked gravel in front of the wide white doors.

  Ginny slipped off Mokey’s back just as Pam started to roll back one of the doors.

  “Hi!” she said to Ginny. Pam was out of breath. “I thought I heard you coming. Then Firefly started to whinny, so I knew it was you. Come on in.”

  Ginny led Mokey into the sunlit aisle between the two rows of box stalls. Firefly whinnied again from his stall. Mokey whinnied in answer.

  “Gosh, they’re noisy,” said Pam. She put her hands over her ears. Once they had said hello, the ponies were quiet.

  “I’m sorry, Ginny. I tried to call you in time,” Pam said when she could be heard again. “But you’d already left. I can’t ride Firefly today.”

  “What’s the matter? Is he sick?” said Ginny with worry.

  Pam glared at the closed door of the tack room.

  “Michael’s such a worrier,” she said. “Firefly has a tiny cut on his fetlock. You can hardly see it. But Michael has that dumb pony wrapped up in enough bandages to keep a hospital going for a year.”

  She stopped and flushed with guilt. Michael was not in the tack room. He was just down the aisle with one of the other horses. He came limping out of the stall.

  Michael was lean and strong. He had ridden steeplechasers in England. But then a bad fall had given him a limp and ended his racing career. He was still able to ride and care for horses. Mr. Jennings had bought two hunters from him in England a few years ago. He had then asked Michael to come with the horses to school them and care for the others in his stable. Michael had been with them ever since.

  “Now, Miss Pam,” he said crisply, “that cut’s not much right now. But it will leave a scar if it’s not cared for.” Michael nodded to Ginny and went into the next stall.

  “Glass,” Pam said bitterly. “That pony is made of glass. Every time he gets the littlest lump or bump or bruise he ends up in slings.”

  “Never mind,” Ginny said. “We’ll have lots more days to ride together this winter. It’s not like Mokey’s going to be leaving, so it’s not the same as it was last summer.”

  “That’s true.” Pam cheered up. “I guess I got used to feeling like each ride was going to be our last. Now that Mokey is really yours, it’s different, isn’t it?” She gave the pony a hug.

  “I don’t really want you to fall on your head again,” she said to Ginny. “But it sure was fun to have Mokey here and take care of her when you couldn’t ride those few weeks. You’re not planning to break a leg or something this winter, are you? Just so I can have her here again?”

  Ginny grinned.

  “Not right away,” she said. “It�
��s much too nice having the new stable finished and Mokey home again. My father put the last of the shingles on the roof two days ago. It’s all done just in time for the cold weather.”

  “Too bad.” Pam ruffled Mokey’s forelock cheerfully. “Ginny, if you’ve got a minute, come see what Michael’s been working on this morning.”

  Ginny slipped a spare halter over Mokey’s bridle. She cross-tied her in the aisle. Then she followed Pam into the warm tack room at the end of the stable.

  Chapter Two

  A row of gleaming bridles hung high on one wall over a lower row of saddles. The bridles were protected by fitted linen dust covers. There were bright hunting prints on the other walls. Glass-doored cases displayed horse-show ribbons and silver trophies.

  Ginny and Pam went into another room. Michael was inside whistling under his breath. He worked near a sinkful of steaming water. In the center of the cleaning room, a heavy hook hung from a chain on the ceiling. On the hook was the most confusing jumble of black leather that Ginny had ever seen.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” said Pam. She was excited.

  Ginny ran her finger over the glowing black leather. She was unsure.

  “I’m sure it’s wonderful,” she said at last, “but what is it?”

  “It’s a harness!” said Pam. “Look, here’s the bridle.”

  She lifted it off the hook. Ginny knew the blinkers were part of a driving bridle. She’d never seen one quite like this before. Not even in pictures. The blinkers were shining patent leather. On each of them was a delicate silver monogram. The brow band was also patent leather. Fastened over it was a chain pattern of square silver links.

  “Mother used to show driving ponies,” said Pam. She turned the bridle in her hands. The silver twinkled and glowed. “That was ages ago, of course, before she married my father. Then they started showing hunters instead. She kept this harness because it was one of her favorites. Michael keeps it in the storeroom. He gets it out to oil and clean it now and then. It’s in great shape, isn’t it? I wonder if anyone will ever use it again.”

  “If you take good care of nice leather, it lasts for years,” said Michael. “But not if you leave it outside on a fence rail and let horses chew on it.” He frowned at Pam. He took part of the harness off the hook. Then he went over to the sink.

  “Oh, dear,” whispered Pam. “He’s still mad that I left Firefly’s halter out in the paddock last week. I thought he’d forgotten about it by now.” Pam sighed. “What do you want to do this morning, Ginny? Do you want to go on riding without me? It’s too bad that dumb pony of mine had to hurt himself on a Saturday. We’ve waited through a whole week of school for a good long ride.”

  Ginny had been looking forward to spending the day with Mokey. But she didn’t like to leave Pam with nothing to do. She hesitated.

  Suddenly Pam spun around. The driving bridle was still in her hand.

  “Michael!” she said with excitement. “Wouldn’t this fit Mokey?”

  Michael looked at the harness thoughtfully.

  “Probably,” he said. “The last pony your mother drove was her bay, Hackney. He was just about Mokey’s size.” He frowned through the steam. The soapy sponge was still in his hand. “Now, Miss Pam, don’t you go getting any of your crazy ideas. You can’t just throw a harness on a pony’s back and drive it away. There’s a lot more to it than that. It takes some time to break a pony to harness.”

  He turned back to the sink with a firm shake of his head. “And the pony cart can’t be used. A friend of your father’s borrowed it. The shaft was cracked when he brought it back.”

  “Darn.” Pam slumped down on a stool. She put her chin in her hands.

  Ginny felt a sharp stab of disappointment. She’d often wondered what it would be like to drive a pony. It looked like fun. She’d like to be able to drive a pony of her own.

  Pam jumped to her feet. “Let’s harness-break her anyway!” she said. “Michael, you’ll show us how, won’t you? You keep saying what wonderful manners Mokey has, and how smart she is. She’d be great in harness, wouldn’t she? Then maybe we could get the shaft fixed.”

  “Miss Pam, there will be snow on the ground by the time you’ll be able to use that cart. Then you couldn’t take it out anyway,” said Michael.

  Pam grinned with pride. “Then I’ll get the bells,” she said. “Where are they, Michael?”

  Even Michael had to smile at her excitement. “They’re wrapped in a gray flannel bag. It’s in the top drawer of the storage chest,” he said.

  Pam ran out of the room. Michael let the water out of the sink. He dried his hands. “I think I’m in for it this time,” he said. “But Mokey is your pony, Miss Ginny. Do you want to teach her to drive?”

  Ginny was confused. She didn’t understand what Pam and her bells had to do with Mokey and the harness. But she nodded her head.

  “It would be great,” she said. “If Mrs. Jennings says it’s okay for us to use her harness.”

  “It should be okay,” said Michael. “It’s good for tack to be used. But we’ll ask her, of course, before we start.” He shook his head in amusement. “Anything to keep you two girls from moaning around the stable, getting in my way.”

  But Ginny knew he didn’t mean it. Michael seemed as happy with the idea as she was. Pam came racing back into the tack room. There was a shimmering, tinkling sound coming from something she was holding. It was hidden behind her back.

  “Just look,” she said to Ginny. “We’ve got a sleigh and these are the bells.” She handed them to Ginny.

  Ginny looked at the bells. She was speechless. There were three of them mounted on an arched metal stand. Every time Pam moved her hand, they chimed. They made a silvery, whispering sound.

  “Have you ever seen anything so pretty in your entire life?” said Pam. “They fasten to the harness in the winter when you’re driving a sleigh. I don’t know how, but Michael does. Oh, Ginny, wouldn’t it be fun to go sleighing this winter? It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. But we never had a pony who was broken to harness to pull the sleigh before. At least, not since I can remember!”

  “You won’t have one this winter, if you don’t get on with it.” Michael took the bells from Ginny and put them on a shelf. “We won’t need these for a while. The two of you can polish them up some rainy afternoon while you wait for it to snow. In the meantime, you both have a lot to do.”

  Chapter Three

  It seemed to take forever before Michael was finally happy with the way the harness fit Mokey. Ginny held Mokey in the stable aisle while Michael tested and fitted each strap and buckle. He moved slowly. He let Mokey get used to the feeling of each piece of harness before he added another.

  Pam left the stable. She came back with news. Her mother was pleased that the harness was to be used, as long as it was done with Michael’s supervision. She looked forward to being given a ride in the sleigh.

  “If he ever gets done with all this before the snow thaws next spring,” whispered Pam under her breath. Michael went to get a leather punch to shorten a strap.

  Ginny patted Mokey. She smiled at Pam’s impatience. Mokey moved her head. She was uncertain. The driving bridle felt strange to her.

  Finally Michael was done.

  “Right,” he said. He was satisfied. “Lead her down the aisle and back again.” He stepped back and nodded to Ginny. Ginny clucked to Mokey. The pony took a step or two forward. Then she suddenly skittered to one side. She bumped the wall. Then she bumped into Ginny and almost knocked her down.

  “Ouch!” said Ginny. She hung on to Mokey’s bridle. She was able to make the pony stand still. She rubbed her shoulder where the heavy driving bit had bruised it. Then she frowned at Mokey. “What was that all about?”

  Mokey’s eyes were rolling in a strange way. She was standing with her back humped up. “She’s not used to the feeling of a harness,” said Michael. “And it startled her when she moved. Pat her and talk to her. Now try again.”

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bsp; Mokey snorted her protest. She gave a halfhearted kick as she started to walk again. But soon she became familiar with the feeling of the harness on her back. She paid no more attention to it.

  “Outside with her now,” said Michael. He rolled back the wide white stable door. Ginny led Mokey around the stable yard. They stopped when Ginny was red in the face and out of breath and Mokey was bored.

  “Very good,” Michael said at last. Ginny took Mokey back inside the stable. Michael took the harness off. He put it back on again a few times. By this time Mokey paid no attention to any of the straps. They were dangling and tapping against her hindquarters and flanks. Sure that nothing was going to hurt her, she half closed her eyes. She relaxed one hip and stood dreamily in the sunny aisle. Michael showed Ginny how to put the harness on by herself.

  “That should do it,” Michael said at last. “We’ll do the same tomorrow.”

  “You’re kidding!” said Pam. “What about putting the reins on the bridle? What about—”

  “That’s enough for one day,” Michael said firmly. “Slow and easy does it, Miss Pam. Hurry has no place with horses.”

  “Let’s go look at the sleigh,” said Pam. The harness had been returned to the tack room. Michael had shooed the girls out of his way. “It’s in the storage barn beyond the paddocks. It’s been there for years. I don’t know when it was last used.”

  The two girls both got on Mokey. They trotted down the lane that ran between the white-fenced paddocks. Ginny held Mokey. Pam tugged at the doors of the barn. They finally opened with a shriek. Inside, dim gray light filled the old hay barn. A small red sleigh with delicate, curled runners stood in a corner.

  “It needs a new paint job. But Michael said he came down here and checked it just a little while ago. It’s in good enough shape to be used,” said Pam. At first Mokey didn’t want to walk into the barn with its wooden floor. It made a funny noise under her hooves. After a little bit of coaxing, Ginny was able to lead her over to the sleigh.