The Gift: A Horse, a Boy, and a Miracle of Love Read online

  THE GIFT

  A Horse, a Boy, and a Miracle of Love

  Lauraine Snelling

  Published by eChristian, Inc.

  Escondido, California

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  About the Author

  Copyright

  One

  “Cody, old horse, you look as lonely as I feel.”

  Cody raised his head from the water trough and, his lower lip hanging loose as always, he dribbled water on Turner McNeally’s down vest.

  “Boy, you sure could use a brushing.” Turner flipped the water droplets off his front and rubbed the leopard Appaloosa’s dirty white ears. “Dani would be on my case like you going after the last kernel of grain in the feed box.”

  Cody snorted, sending smaller droplets in the direction of Mac’s face. Turner had lived most of his forty-two years known by the handle of Mac. He’d never cared for Turner, renaming himself even before he went to grade school. He drew a red print handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his face, brushing the water off his mustache, which matched his silver-flecked, sealskin brown hair. His daughter, Danielle, now away at college, teased him about the silver, telling him he looked distinguished.

  “You about done or do I get another bath?”

  Cody rubbed his forehead against Mac’s shoulder, leaving behind a sprinkle of white hairs on the red and black plaid flannel shirt. When the horse paused in his rubbing, Mac took the hint and scratched the broad plate between the horse’s eyes.

  “You know, sometimes I get so I could drive clear to Chicago just to see her.” Or bring her back. He never could figure out why a country girl like his Dani would choose a big city college like Northwestern. Of course, it might have had something to do with the full scholarship they’d offered her. Danielle was not only pure grace on the basketball floor, she had a mind that considered physics child’s play and quantum physics pure fascination.

  “Couldn’t stand in her way, now could we?”

  Cody shook his head, both ears and lower lip flopping in the process. He nudged Mac again, a tad more firmly this time. After all, the fingers had ceased their motion, and the man had yet to stroke the black-dotted neck.

  “All right, I get the point.” Mac took up stroking again, wincing at the cloud of dust and loose hair that followed his hand. Danielle. My Dani. How the light had gone out of his life after seeing her get on that plane at Los Angeles International Airport. It was almost as bad as when they notified him that his wife and son had been killed in a traffic pileup on Highway 58, down by Caliente. Well, not really, at least he’d see Dani before summer, God willing. He’d never taken good-byes for granted again, and ten years passing didn’t make them any easier. Nowhere had he read a guarantee that you would see someone you loved again after you said good-bye. Now he always said, “I’ll see you,” and he knew that to be true, whether here or in heaven. Only God knew which.

  “Come along, Boy, let’s get you cleaned up and then I gotta go check on the cows.” He headed for the barn, the horse tagging along as he always did, his nose bumping the man’s elbow every few steps, as if to remind him he wasn’t alone.

  After brushing the horse and pouring a can of feed in the black rubber tub in the manger, Mac carefully locked the gate behind him and headed for the truck. Driving out to the west pasture was easier than walking. Riding Cody would have done them both some good, but the truck was faster. Not that he was in a hurry or anything. He checked the float in the round stock tank, scooped out a couple handfuls of floating green algae, and counted the cows with their calves that grazed the ten-acre pasture. About time to switch them to the next section. If only the rains would come so he didn’t have to move the irrigation pipes again. While winter had come to much of the country, fall hung on here in the Tehachapi Mountains of California.

  Back at the house, on the rear deck overlooking the wooded hills that rose from Cummins Valley, he automatically kicked the dust off his boots at the bootjack by the back door before he entered the darkened family room. If you don’t like the dark, you can’t blame anyone but yourself, he scolded himself. You’d think by now you’d remember to leave a light on. He flipped the light switch, ignoring the sorrow that still knifed through his soul and caught him unawares, even after all these years. As he knew by now, it would go away and sometimes the joy of their time together would sneak up and comfort him. He seemed to have no control over either.

  Since Danielle, who’d become an excellent cook, left for school, he had decreed cooking a waste of time. He often made a large pot of something on Saturday and when he got tired of eating it, bagged the leftovers and threw the bags in the freezer. Each night, he took out whatever looked good and, within minutes, the microwave had his dinner hot. He’d rather read than cook any day—unless he had the pleasure of cooking for company.

  Tonight he chose stew. When the oven dinged, he took his bowl to the table and wrote out an ad to run in the local paper. The Tehachapi News, unlike many weeklies, was worth reading.

  Old horse needs young companion. He crossed it out and started again.

  Old horse lonely.

  Needs young companion.

  Not for sale.

  Not forever.

  Just for fun.

  He eyed the form and half-shrugged. Not bad and it would attract more attention in free form than straight paragraph. “Lord, You know what I need. What Cody needs. Surely You have just the perfect kid in mind. Boy, girl, doesn’t matter, but someone who needs us, too.” He scrubbed his forehead with callused fingertips. “Good thing I can talk out loud to You or someone coming in would think I’ve gone round the bend.”

  Bungee, the cow dog with one blue eye, one marbled, rose from his place beside Mac and laid his head on the man’s thigh.

  “You think that?” Mac stroked the gray, black, brown, and silver mottled fur and read over his ad again. Bungee only whimpered deep in his throat. “Well, Lord, unless You have something better in mind, I’ll turn this in tomorrow morning on my way to the Miller job.” He glanced at the calendar. To meet his bid, he only had three days left to finish the rough-in phase of the plumbing on the house in progress. “Should make that.” He stroked the dog’s head again and, using both hands, fluffed Bungee’s ears and rubbed his thumbs down the sides of the dog’s face. “I imagine you want to eat, too.”

  Bungee brushed the aging hardwood floor with his fluffy bit of a tail and whined again.

  Mac read the ad one more time. “Just for fun.” He nodded. “Sure as I’m sitting here, I hope it will be.”

  Two

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wilkinson. I wish I could offer you some hope.”

  “You did. You said there is no physical reason why Jonah doesn’t talk.” Rebecca Wilkinson refused to use the word can’t. Not that she believed her eight-year-old son chose not to talk but . . . She nodded and sighed simultaneously, then forced her knees to do their job and help her get upright. At the moment legs, joints, mind, all felt like jellyfish looked. They’d been given that name for a reason. Rebecca pasted on a professional smile and held out her hand. “Thank you for being so good with him.”

  “I just wish I could say and do more.” Winsome Amy Cartwright, who
looked more like a high school gymnast than an accredited speech therapist, turned with Rebecca to look through the one-way glass to watch the boy.

  Small for his age, his dark hair was cut so it fell straight from a center spot. The tip of his tongue peeked between rosy lips. His dark eyes matched those of his father’s. He leaned forward, meticulously coloring in the last picture he’d drawn for the therapist. A mommy, a little boy, and a daddy with no head. The male figure always wore a green uniform, indicative of the U.S. Army.

  Rebecca sometimes wondered if her son was forgetting his father. Anymore, Jonah seldom shed tears when he held the picture of U.S. Major Gordon K. Wilkinson—missing in action but later found dead, possibly a casualty of friendly fire in war-torn Bosnia. But Jonah’s detail-rich drawing, even down to the epaulets on his dad’s shoulders, convinced Rebecca that her son’s memories of his father had survived.

  She stared through the glass as if, by concentrating hard enough, she could will her son to talk—to return to the laughing, chattering child of his first four years of life . . .

  . . . Jonah, whose father lifted him to touch the ceiling, both of them chuckling a belly laugh, one baritone, one soprano, a perfect blend of joy.

  . . . Jonah, a fist full of angleworms rushing back outside to loose them in the garden soil when she gently told him they needed dirt to live.

  . . . Jonah and Gordon watching a spider spin a web and cheering when the spider trapped a fly.

  She leaned her forehead against the glass, her fingers spread, palm flat against the cool surface. Jonah, how can I help you?

  Rebecca turned at the gentle pressure on her shoulder, wiping her eyes with her fingertips.

  “I have a suggestion for you—well, a couple of suggestions, in fact. I’m glad you are mainstreaming him. He is hard to place since he spoke at one time, but putting him with the autistic or hearing-impaired kids will be a disaster. Did you try teaching him to sign? Some classes are learning sign as part of the curriculum—” Dr. Cartwright flipped the pages in a notebook on her desk before shaking her head. “—But none of them in Tehachapi. Sorry.”

  “I took him to a class once, and he sat there with his hands clenched under his arms. The look on his face made it real clear he would have none of it. I suppose we could try again now that he is a bit older.”

  “My next suggestion is a pet. Many times animals can reach a heart and actually make the owner healthier.”

  Rebecca knew she’d been shaking her head through the entire last line, if not on the outside, for sure on the inside. “We live in an apartment that doesn’t allow pets, at least not dogs and cats.”

  “What about a rat or a bunny, something that likes to be cuddled.”

  “I–I’ll think about it.” Rebecca kept her aversion to critters with naked tails to herself. “Can rabbits be housebroken?”

  “Oh, yes, quite easily. Birds like a cockatiel or parakeet are a possibility, too, but they don’t cuddle quite as well.”

  “Looks like I better be searching for a house sooner than I thought. My plan was to rent for six months to a year and see how we like it up here before plunking the money down on a house.” She turned back to the window. “But if a pet would help, I’d do it.” I’ll do anything to bring Jonah back to himself.

  “If you could, something to keep in mind, as far as I’ve observed, the larger animals are more helpful.”

  “Larger than dogs and cats?” At the therapist’s nod, Rebecca could feel her brow furrowing. “You mean horses, cows, that sort of thing?”

  “If you can. Are you an animal lover yourself?”

  “I don’t know. I’m an army brat, and my father said no pets since we moved around so much. Then I married a career officer, and I guess I assumed the no-pet rule still held.” She let her hands fall to her side. “And after Gordon was killed, I–I just had to get through it.”

  Jonah quit talking, and I started running. What a wounded pair we are.

  “If you get a place where you can have a dog, check out the animal shelters, either down in Mojave or in Bakersfield. There are rescue organizations in Tehachapi too, check the local paper. There are so many good dogs or cats there who need loving homes.”

  Nodding, Rebecca picked up her purse. “Thank you, I will.” She extended her hand. “And thank you for your help. If you locate a signing class, I’d appreciate it if you would let me know.” She followed the therapist to the door and entered the playroom. “Time to go, Sport.” She took his jacket off the peg and held it for him to slip into, then knelt to join the zipper slide and zip it up. “You better wear your hat; it’s cold out there.”

  After handing Jonah her purse, Rebecca shrugged into her cream and green polar fleece jacket. The stately pine trees that bordered the jacket reminded her of the last place she’d really called home—Fort Lewis in the state of Washington, where towering fir trees shaded their backyard. She and Gordon had loved Washington’s primeval forest. But that was several moves ago, before the high desert of Tehachapi, where the wind that ran the windmills on the eastern ridges also tried to steal hats and jackets. She reached for Jonah’s hand, ignoring the look of resentment in his eyes.

  “Don’t want you blown clear across the valley.” One thing she’d learned since moving here: The wind seldom took a vacation.

  Back in their two-bedroom apartment, located on the second floor as a safety measure, she hung up their jackets, nodded when Jonah pointed toward the television, and ambled into the red and white kitchen to fix them a snack before starting dinner. Slicing some cheddar cheese, she put it along with Ritz crackers on two red glass plates and took them into the living room. She placed one by Jonah, who lay on his belly on the floor, feet in the air, crossing and recrossing at the ankles. The only time some part of Jonah was not moving was when he was asleep.

  He smiled his thanks.

  “You’re welcome.” Taking her snack to Gordon’s dark leather recliner, she curled up with the stack of mail and The Tehachapi News. Since most of the mail went directly into the round file, she put the two bills to one side and read the postcard from a friend playing in the waves of Hawaii. She couldn’t help but drool over the unbelievably blue water her friend said was really that color. Someday, she promised herself as she set the card on top of the bills. Someday we’re going there, too.

  She read the headlines on the front page, flipping through until she found Jon Hammond’s nature column. While she read, she chuckled over his descriptions of deer mice. He makes even me, a virulently anti-rodent woman, want to watch them. From a distance, of course.

  She read the local wit’s column, the lines under the pictures, skipped the athletic news, and ended at the ads. After perusing the houses for sale, a boxed poem caught her eye under the Animal column.

  Old horse lonely.

  Needs young companion.

  Not for sale.

  Not forever.

  Just for fun.

  The phone number at the bottom seemed to blink in flashing neon lights.

  A horse? He’s too little to ride a horse. A pony perhaps—but a horse? She glanced over at her son, who was dividing his attention between a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show on television and a book on dinosaurs open in front of him. Jonah never had liked the commercials.

  Had he always been so solitary? Were there no children who called him friend or who he played with at school? Surely he was not the only new kid in the third grade this year? After all, at parent/teacher night, Miss Swenson said he was doing well. Did that mean socially as well as academically? She’d been so relieved at the news, she’d forgotten to ask about friends.

  Rebecca turned her attention back to the ad in the paper. Old horse needs companionship. The therapist had said an animal might help Jonah. Could this be a match? Surely an old horse would be plenty tame and gentle.

 
She closed her eyes. If anything happens to Jonah—God in heaven, You couldn’t be so cruel again. Could You?

  Three

  “McNeally here.”

  “I’m calling in response to the ad in The Tehachapi News about an old horse needing a young companion?”

  “That’s me.” Lady, I’m not going to eat you. Loosen up. Mac leaned back in his brown leather recliner, the cordless phone clamped between ear and shoulder. One hand found its way to rub Bungee’s ears while he smoothed his mustache with the other.

  “Ah, could you tell me something about the horse? I mean, my son has never been near a horse before.”

  Poor kid. “Sure, Cody is my daughter’s horse, and with her off to college, he needs a friend. He’s gentle, wouldn’t hurt a fly . . . .” Now that’s one of the stupidest things to say. Of course he’d hurt a fly. He’d kill the pesky things if he could catch ’em. “I mean, he’s really good with people of all ages, but kids especially. Dani, that’s my daughter, used to work him with handicapped kids in the local program.” Talk about running off at the mouth . . . Mac shook his head. You’d think I never had anyone to talk to. “How old is your boy?”

  “Eight, but he’s small for his age. Third grade.”

  “Well, if you’d like to bring him on out, we can see how they go together.”

  “Could you tell me the charge, please?”

  “Charge? Lady, you’d be doing me a favor.”

  “Oh. But—I mean, like I said, Jonah has never been around horses . . . .”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be there to show him what he needs to know.”

  “And . . .” The pause stretched. “You–you wouldn’t leave him alone—with the horse, I mean.”

  Mac rolled his eyes. What kind of an idiot did she think he was? No one left an eight-year-old kid alone with a strange animal, especially a child with no experience. “Do you have a pencil and paper? I’ll give you directions. We’re easy to find.”