Stacey's Dream

Stacey’s Dream

Stacey loved horses. She had plastic horse figures on her dresser, horse posters on her walls, and even a horse bedspread. She read nothing but horse books and spent most of her free time dreaming about riding horses.

Stacey’s mother didn’t feel the same way. Her mother thought that dreaming about horses was a waste of time. She always said, “Stacey, you know we scarcely have enough money for the clothes you need, not to mention the rent and electric bills. You might as well stop dreaming of riding horses all the time. There isn’t any money for that kind of thing.”

Stacey looked up at her mom, seeing the fresh worry lines on her forehead. The sight of them saddened Stacey. Before her dad left them, Stacey’s mom had always smiled. She used to sing, too, in the kitchen when she was fixing dinner, and when she vacuumed the carpets. Her voice was really pretty. Stacey wished her mom would sing again.

Stacey worried about her mom a lot, wishing she knew how to cheer her up, but Stacey went right on dreaming about riding. After all, thinking about horses didn’t cost money, and it did keep her from remembering the things that hurt.

Besides, Stacey couldn’t stop dreaming, no more than she could stop breathing. All her compositions in school revolved around horses. When she handed in her homework, there were horse sketches on it. When she made up math word problems, she wrote about horses. Even when she said her prayers each night, she kept praying that someday she’d get to ride.

Stacey spent her spare time over by the new neighbor’s pasture where she could watch his two horses. They were so beautiful. One was a bay mare. Her mane and tail were long and black, and her coat was milk chocolate. The mare was so pretty to watch when she lifted up her tail and trotted around the pasture. She did that whenever something startled her. Then she’d snort and blow through her fiery nostrils.

But it was the other horse that Stacey liked best. He was a gelding, which means, he was a boy horse that wasn’t a stallion. He was younger than the mare and much more exciting to watch. He liked to run around the pasture just for the pleasure of running.

As Stacey would sit and watch, the gelding would throw up his heels in a kind of buck, and then toss his head back and forth as if he were saying “no” to someone’s questions. Then he’d gallop across the pasture, his black coat shining in the sun.

Usually both horses would come up to the fence for Stacey to feed them a carrot or slices of apple. They’d reach their long, sleek necks over the fence to nibble the treats from her hand. Their whiskered muzzles tickled her hand as they took the treats.


When their snacks were all gone, the horses always seemed to itch just under their eyes, and Stacey would give them a good scratch until their heads lowered like they were falling asleep from the caress.

One Saturday, Stacey rode her bike to her usual spot at the pasture’s fence. She put her kickstand down, opened up her backpack, and took out the bag of apples and carrots she’d bought.

“Misty, Ebony,” she called. She knew what they were called because she’d once heard the man who owned them call them by name.

“There you are,” Stacey said as her eyes located the two horses in the pasture. They were behind the trees, standing head to tail as they did sometimes on warm spring days. Stacey knew that they liked to stand that way because their tails would keep away each other’s flies.

Stacey whistled. Misty’s ears perked up, and she plodded slowly closer. Ebony waited for a moment, watchful–eyed, as if he debated whether it was worth giving up his last minute of sleep. Then with a whinny of complaint, he trotted forward, determined not to be left behind.

It was Ebony who was the first to munch greedily at the carrots. Stacey laughed. “You’re always so selfish, Ebony. Save some for Misty.”

“What are you doing there?” yelled out a deep, angry voice from behind.

Stacey turned around to look up into the stern eyes of the owner.

“I was just feeding your horses some carrots. Is that OK, Mr. Taylor?” she asked, worried that she’d get in trouble for trespassing.

“Just carrots? No sugar cubes?”

“Oh, no. I would never feed the horses sugar cubes. I know sugar’s bad for their teeth. I only bring them carrots and apples.”

Stacey had turned her back on the horses. She felt one of them nibbling teasingly at her shirt. Stacey gently pushed Ebony away.

“So you have come here before?” he asked, his eyes dark as storm clouds and his brow creased with by stress lines.

Stacey’s legs trembled, but she replied truthfully. “I come all the time. I like to watch Ebony and Misty. They're so beautiful.”

Mr. Taylor’s eyes glared at her, but his anger seemed milder. “All right, but you be careful. Horses bite fingers if you don’t know how to feed them correctly," he barked, his voice as stern as the school principal’s.

Stacey gulped nervously. “I read that horses think your fingers are carrots. That's why they bite sometimes.”

Mr. Taylor ignored her words and continued his lecture. “You stay out of the pasture, too. If I find out that you ever go in there with the horses, I’ll tell your parents never to let you come back. Understand?”

Once again his frown frightened Stacey. She nodded she understood and watched as Mr. Taylor swatted the morning newspaper several times against his leg.

“I won’t go into the pasture,” Stacey promised. She gave her bravest smile, but Mr. Taylor didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were unfocused, staring at the empty mailbox, as if by thinking hard enough he could make the mail come.

He turned without another word and strode off toward his house. Stacey watched as he walked away. His boots of gray snake skin raised up little puffs of dust as in protest at the anger in his step.

Boy, is he a grump, Stacey decided. I’d never do anything to harm his horses, and I sure won't get hurt just sitting here watching them.

Stacey swung her backpack across her shoulders and mounted her bike to pedal off. Somehow she didn’t think she’d enjoy watching Ebony and Misty that day. Mr. Taylor had spoiled it.

But the very next morning, Stacey was back again. Her eyes were red, and she hardly saw Misty and Ebony as she stared out into the pasture. Her mother, crying softly in the bedroom, had driven Stacey out earlier than usual, and the ache inside her head had no other place to go. Even a grouchy owner was better than hearing her mother cry behind a locked door.

Stacey felt guilty for not trying to comfort her mother that morning, but she had tried in the past, and her mom had just got all funny and pretended that she hadn’t really been crying. Then she’d forced that fake smile on her face and rushed around cleaning the house, like it was really dirty. Stacey figured it was probably better just to leave her mother alone and let her cry, but it was hard to pretend not to notice the tears.

Stacey leaned against the fence and fought her own tears. Out in the pasture, Ebony thought he heard something. He raised his head and snorted into the air. Stacey looked in the direction that Ebony was staring, but she couldn’t see anything. Horses have wonderful hearing. Stacey knew that from her reading, so she watched, worrying that it was a rattlesnake or a stray dog.

But in a moment Ebony was once again cropping the grass. Stacey smiled. That was Ebony, all right. He was always looking for something to “shy” about. Stacey had read all about "shying". It meant to bolt because a horse either saw something that scared them, or they imagined it. Stacey had watched Ebony panic one day because a paper rose into the wind. Ebony had galloped across the pasture as if wolves were after him.

Stacey relaxed and pulled her book out of her backpack. The Return of the Black Stallion was her favorite. She began to read, pausing every so often to watch Ebony and Misty.

Several times in the next few days, Stacey saw Mr. Taylor. He never said anything to her. He didn’t even wave at her when she greeted him. He kept going to the mailbox and looking in, and when the mail came, and he shuffled through it, his forehead shriveled up into lines that looked like prune wrinkles, and his boots almost dragged in the dusty dirt as he walked back to the house, his head lowered like he’d been scolded.

Several days later, Stacey stopped by to say “good morning” to the horses. She was on her way to school, but she still had time to give each of the horses a carrot. Misty came running up for her treat, but Stacey couldn't see Ebony? The two horses were always together. Where could he be?

She whistled for him, but no nicker answered. Stacey scanned the pasture, worrying that he might be hurt or sick. Then behind her, she heard the sound of thundering hooves. It was Ebony galloping toward her. But Ebony was on the wrong side of the pasture fence, and he had a saddle and bridle on.

Holding her hand flat, Stacey walked calmly toward the young gelding. “Come here, Ebony,” she told him. “I have some juicy carrots.”

She spoke softly and soothingly. The wild look began to leave Ebony’s eyes, and he walked calmly up to her and began munching the carrot she held out for him.

Poor Ebony. His coat was all leathered in sweat. He looked like he had run quite a distance at a full, frantic gallop.

Murmuring soothing sounds, Stacey told him, “It’s all right, Boy. I’ll walk you until you’re dry.”

She reached forward to slip the bridle reins over his head. Using them as a lead rope, she led the young gelding about the yard.

“Oh, no,” Stacey exclaimed so abruptly that she caused Ebony to snort. “I’m sorry, Ebony,” she said, patting his neck until he was calm again.

“Oh, what a dunce I am. I never once thought about Mr. Taylor. He probably took you out, and you shied and dumped him. Oh, I hope he's not hurt.”

She patted Ebony, scratching under his eyes until he almost purred. “Mr. Taylor,” she called out. “Mr. Taylor?” No one answered.

“What should I do?” Stacey asked herself. “I can’t leave you all hot and leathered. You could get colic and be very ill.” (She knew all about colic after reading how Black Beauty had almost died when he’d been put away wet.)

“I’ll just have to walk you to my house. Please, be good, Ebony,” Stacey pleaded.

It was getting late, but checking her watch, she was relieved to see that her mother would not have left for work yet.

Stacey walked quickly, gripping the reins tightly in her hands. Ebony seemed content to walk with her. Thankfully, he was well-behaved and too tired to shy or try to pull away.

“Mom,” Stacey called when she reached the house. “Mom!”

“Stacey, what is it?" her mom said from the doorway. Then stepping out, she added, "Where’d you get that horse? Why aren’t you in school?”

“Mom, I think Mr. Taylor, our neighbor, has had an accident. Ebony came galloping up without him.”

For a moment Stacey’s mom was silent as she regarded her daughter. Then her eyes moved away to peer at Mr. Taylor’s property as if she was hoping to see the man walking toward them. The moment passed. She turned and grabbed her purse and the phone at the same time.

“Stacey, go take that horse back. Tie him up or put him in the pasture or whatever you do with horses. I’ll call work and tell them I’ll be late, and then I’ll take the car and see if I can find your Mr. Taylor. That poor man. I hope he's ok."

Stacey didn’t worry too much. She knew that her mother would handle it. Soon everything would be OK.

So she turned Ebony around and began the walk back to the pasture. She slipped her hand under Ebony’s chest as they went. Feeling the dryness of his coat, Stacey sighed with relief. She knew then that he wouldn’t get sick.

Ebony began to prance as he neared the pasture. He was very excited to see Misty. The two neighed at each other until Stacey let them touch noses over the fence. Then Misty began to graze again, and Ebony settled down.

Stacey tied the gelding to the gate and then carefully removed his saddle. She had never done that before, but it wasn’t very hard, except the part where she had to lift the saddle off. The big Western saddle was very heavy, but she tugged, and it slid down. Heaving it up on top of the fence was impossible for her, so she left it on the ground for the moment.

Then she opened the gate and led Ebony in. She was careful to latch the gate shut behind them before she unbuckled the bridle and slipped it over Ebony’s head.

The gelding knew immediately that he was free. He trotted off and found a good, soft place to roll. He rolled over and over, scratching his back with such complete enjoyment that Stacey had to laugh. “It itches, doesn’t it, Ebony. I wish I had a brush so I could groom you. I’d get rid of all those itches.”

Stacey watched another moment, and then she left the pasture, locked the gate behind her, hung the bridle on the fence, and worked on getting the saddle up on top of the gate. With a might heave, Stacey finally got it up onto the top. Then she rested, wiping the perspiration off her forehead.

The sun was warm, and Stacey began to feel itchy as she walked down to the end of the long driveway. She wished she could go home and take a quick shower, but she didn't want to leave in case Mr. Taylor and her mother came back. She walked down to the end of the driveway. There were still no cars in sight. For a while Stacey paced there, trying not to get the powdery, dry dust onto her school clothes.

She had become very worried. She knew that if Mr. Taylor were able to walk, he would have returned already. And surely her mother would have found him if he were hurt. Where could they be?

Stacey returned to her backpack. It was still leaning up against the pasture fence, waiting to be hoisted onto her back as she rode her bike to school. Stacey reached inside and pulled out the drink for her lunch. The apple juice was already warm from the heat-heavy air, but it helped soothe the awful lump of fear sitting inside her throat.

As she drank it, Stacey thought about how much she hated apple juice, but she couldn’t tell her mom that. She'd want to know why since it used to be her favorite. Stacey couldn’t tell her that it no longer tasted the way it had back when her dad was there.

Apple juice used to be her favorite. That was when they'd made it from the apples out in the orchard behind their old house. The orchard had been untended, and the owner had told them to help themselves. So Stacey and her father had picked the apples, put them through the juicer, and made the most delicious apple cider. They had kept it in the refrigerator, where it stayed cold as the water down in Sutter’s Creek.

The stuff that came in cartons said apple juice on the label, but it tasted flat, like stale donuts. Stacey thought about that and then she thought about her father and his new wife. Did he make apple juice with her? They had moved clear across the United States to Florida. Did they even have apple trees in Florida?

Stacey put away the empty carton and sat down on a clump of dried brown weeds. She should have headed off for school, but she knew she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate, not while she worried about Mr. Taylor. She sighed, searched the road again, and then dragged out her arithmetic book. In between frequent glances up the road and toward the woods, Stacey began to work on the next two assignments.

It was almost two hours later when her mother finally drove up. Mr. Taylor was in the car with her. He had his arm in a sling, and Stacey could see crutches grasped between his legs.

“Are you all right, Mr. Taylor?” she asked worriedly as she sprang up to stand next to the passenger side of the car.

“I am, thanks to you, Young Lady. I’ve broken an arm, a couple of ribs, and my leg is in a cast, so I’ll be laid up for awhile, but if it hadn’t been for you and your kind mother, I’d still be lying down there in that meadow, yelling for help.

“I can’t thank you and Stella enough,” he continued, gazing at Stacey’s mother as if she were an angel.

Stacey watched as her mother smiled back at him, her worry lines almost smoothed away, making her look happy again.

“Charles, I’m just glad I was there for you,” Stacey’s mom said, “If my daughter hadn’t noticed . . .”

Mr. Taylor turned and patted her arm. Then his eyes traveled to Ebony. “There’s that devil. He decided to act like a colt and buck me off. I see you removed his saddle and bridle. Thank you, Stacey. Was he hot?”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Taylor. I walked Ebony down until he was all cool.”

Mr. Taylor’s eyes smiled at her. Stacey could even see a twinkle buried in his eyes, as if it were just waiting for an excuse to pop out.

“You have quite a horsewoman there, Stella,” he said. “Do you suppose I could hire her for a while to take care of Ebony and Misty while I’m out of commission?”

“You mean it?” Stacey said. “I’d love to take care of them.”

Stacey’s mother looked at her and smiled. “You’d have to do your homework first.”

“Oh, Mom,” Stacey said.

Mr. Taylor added, “You’ll need to brush the horses and feed and water them twice a day. Let’s say I give you $15 a week. Is that OK?”

Stacey’s eyes widened. “Oh, Mr. Taylor, I’d do it for free. I love Ebony and Misty.”

Stacey’s mom and Mr. Taylor laughed.

“Do you ride?” he asked her, but his eyes were focused on her mother’s face. “You could saddle Misty and ride in the pasture if you want,” he added.

Stacey felt like there was a hand stretching out to offer her all her dreams, but she knew not to bother to reach out to it. That hand would snap back before she could ever claim such a prize.

She struggled hard not to cry. She stared down at her feet instead, as if suddenly seeing the layers of dust coating her school shoes. She tried to breathe, but the air seemed too thick to enter her lungs. There was only dust and huge clouds of disappointment.

For a moment her dream had been so real. She could almost feel the brush in her hand as she groomed the sleek coats of Ebony and Misty, but her moment of dreaming was about to be stamped into the dirt. Did dreams shatter like glass when stepped on, or did they just wilt in the heat of the day, like discarded melon rinds rotting into the dust?

Mr. Taylor had asked her the one thing that Stacey had hoped to hide. But she had to tell him the truth. She started to answer him, but her mother blurted it out. “Stacey doesn’t know how to ride. She’s never been on a horse.”

Mr. Taylor’s eyebrows shot up. For a moment he looked like the grouch he’d been every time she’d seen him. His eyes moved from Stacey’s mother to Stacey and then back again. Then as if someone had pulled a cord, the tension inside him released, and his eyes softened. His were puzzled eyes, but not angry ones, when he turned to look down again at Stacey.

“I assumed you knew all about horses. How did you know to cool down Ebony? And how did you know how to take off the saddle and bridle? Do you think you can handle the job?”

Stacey wanted to go down on her knees and beg, but she stood still. She almost didn’t recognize herself as she answered him. Her voice sounded so strong and capable. “I can handle the job, Mr. Taylor. I've read every library book I could find about horses. That’s why I knew just what to do. And your horses know me. They trust me. I know I can take care of them.”

Mr. Taylor chuckled. “All right, then. But why don’t you ride?”

Stacey shot a glance at her mom. Her mom’s cheeks were flushing red with embarrassment.

Stacey couldn’t stand to see her Mom hurt. “We can’t afford the lessons,” Stacey blurted out before her mother could. Then Stacey felt her own cheeks begin to burn. But it was better for Mr. Taylor to know the truth than for him to think she didn’t want to ride.”

Again his eyes softened. He shifted in his seat, and one of his crutches slipped sideways. He ignored it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

His eyes were watching Stacey’s mom, and there was a new look in their depths. It was as if he were struggling not to throw his arms around her.

Stacey saw that it wasn’t like it was in those romance movies on TV. Mr. Taylor didn’t look like he was thinking about kissing her mom and hugging her until you’d think any moment her ribs would make that cracking sound – like sparkling apple juice when you uncapped it that first time. Mr. Taylor was looking at her mom like he wanted to circle her with a bubble of caring.

But Stacey’s mom didn’t even see the look. She was too busy staring at her hands pressed against the steering wheel. Stacey wondered if she was aware how white they looked, as if all the blood had emptied out of them from the pressure of her grip.

“I’m divorced, Charles,” Stella said. The agony in her voice was like a violin string snapping in the middle of a beautiful melody. Stacey swallowed hard.

Her mother still didn’t look up as she continued. “There never seems to be enough money for extras. Right now Stacey and I are just. . .” She couldn’t finish. She stopped as if she’d forgotten what she was going to say, but Stacey knew what she meant, and so did Mr. Taylor.

“I’m recently divorced, too," he said. "In fact, I just got the final papers in the mail yesterday. I understand what you're going through, completely.” His words were like little bullets. Each one pinged against his brow and brought forth heavier lines and wrinkles.

He reached over for the fallen crutch. Then he gathered both of them in one hand, swung open the car door, and carefully moved his right leg onto the ground.

Stacey could see the pain of his movement in the muscles that tightened in his face, but she didn't say anything, not knowing if she should offer to help.

Mr. Taylor stopped and turned to look at her. “What would you say to some riding lessons? I can hobble out to the pasture, and you can ride Misty. Would you like that? If your mother permits, of course.”

Stacey’s mom released her grip on the steering wheel. She sighed and glanced at Mr. Taylor. Stacey couldn’t believe it when she saw the smile on her mother’s face. Her mother looked young and pretty again. She looked like the mother Stacey used to know, but she hadn't yet answered the question. Stacey held her breath, not daring to hope.

For a moment her mother continued to study Mr. Taylor, as if measuring him for integrity. Then her smile broadened, and Stacey saw the dimples in her cheek, the ones Stacey had thought she’d lost. Next, her mom was nodding her head and saying “yes.”

Stacey just couldn’t believe it. Not only would she be able to take care of Ebony and Misty, she was going to ride a horse! And Mr. Taylor didn’t seem so grumpy, and Mom looked happier than she’d been in a long time. It was like all her wishes were coming true.

Her mother came around the car to help Mr. Taylor. Stacey saw that his face was pale, and he emitted a low moan of pain as he stood. Her mom put her arm around his waist, and together they began to hobble towards his house.

Stacey felt a flash of guilt. She knew she shouldn’t feel so happy when poor Mr. Taylor was in such agony, but how could you turn happiness off?

She bounded forward to open the front door. Then realizing it was locked, she turned to ask for the key. Her mother and Mr. Taylor had stopped for Mr. Taylor to catch his breath, but Mr. Taylor wasn’t really resting. He was smiling at her mother as if . . .

Stacey didn’t feel any guilt then about being happy. She felt like she’d burst with joy. If she’d known how, she would have done the Spearmint kick because she’d also seen that her mom was smiling just as warmly at Mr. Taylor.

Stacey turned back around to face the house and waited for them to catch up, but in the meantime, there was a huge grin on her face, and Stacey was thinking how wonderful it was that dreams really do come true!