Chapter 16
The next morning, Twilight was different. She was as good as gold with the main barn door open, almost as if she didn’t see the sunlight streaming past her stall. The next day was the same, so I blocked the big door with the wheelbarrow and led her out of her stall. She followed me, sedate and morose, up and down the barn aisle.
At first I felt happy. I finally had exactly what I wanted: an obedient Twilight. Yet as minutes passed, I could hardly bear to walk with her. She was far too subdued, as if the spark that was her was shrinking with every passing moment.
But maybe it was just my imagination. Time for a test. I moved the wheelbarrow and led her outside. She followed me with her head down and her ears loose, like an old plow horse after a hard day’s work. I felt sick looking at her, so I took her back to her stall and almost ran from the barn. Loonie and Rusty got a lot of attention that day.
The next day was Kestrel’s day to come visit. I led Twilight from the barn when Kestrel rode into the yard. Surprise was alive on her face when she saw us.
“Wow, Evy, she’s being so good.”
I smiled a half smile. “I know.” I led my filly toward them as Twitchy minced around muddy patches. Kestrel kept her eyes on Twilight and I searched her expression, knowing my friend would tell me the truth. So far, so good. Then her forehead crinkled. We stopped when we met. Twitchy sniffed at Twilight as Kestrel dismounted.
“Something’s different about her,” said Kestrel. “It’s weird, but she seems smaller than I remember.”
I sagged against the filly’s neck, and in my moment of hopelessness, I dropped my guard – and I felt what Twilight was feeling.
Not anger. Not fear. Not resentment.
Nothing. That’s what she was feeling. Her emotions were completely blank. Being held captive had beaten down the beauty that had been hers. Twilight had become an empty shell.
All the while that she was fighting me, I held firm, but in that instant, when I realized she was giving up on life, everything changed. What right did I have to keep her? She’d hurt her leg and I’d healed her, but she didn’t ask me to. Helping her had been my choice. I couldn’t expect her to pay for my actions by doing something so foreign to her nature as become a domestic horse.
I had two choices. One, let her return to her home. Or two, murder two horses in her herd – both Twilight and Willow – because killing Twilight’s spirit was murder.
Kestrel was staring at me and I realized I hadn’t answered her last comment. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
My friend understood immediately. She put her arms around me in a hug. “You saved her life. She’ll never forget you for that, even if she goes back to the wild ones.”
I wished I could take comfort from Kestrel’s words, but she didn’t know that Twilight saw me as the enemy. This beautiful filly, with whom I’d fallen deeply and madly in love, would only despise me forever. Kestrel suddenly realized I was doing more than just feeling bad – I was crying – and she hugged me harder, which didn’t help at all.
When my sniffling turned into sobs, she turned me toward the barn. She knew I wouldn’t want Mom to see me like this. The two horses walked placidly behind us, one happy that her day’s work was over, and the other, reluctant. Broken.
When I could talk, Kestrel and I made plans in quiet voices. Before we let Twilight go, she needed to become stronger. Plus we thought it would be good if there was grass for her to eat once she returned to the wild. One month, that would be long enough for her to finish healing. It would allow time for the rest of the snow to melt. Last year’s grass would be uncovered and shortly after, new grass would be growing.
All the while, Twilight stood with her head to her knees, watching us with dull eyes. I almost wished to see that spark of hatred again.
When the plans were finally made, I cried a bit more, and then as soon as my eyes weren’t too red, Kestrel and I headed up to the cabin. Being around Twilight only made me feel worse.
As the days passed, Twilight continued to be depressed and dull about everything. I had a hard time getting her to eat and it was good that she didn’t have competition for her food, because she even lost her gusto for oats. The hay itself, much of the time, looked untouched in the mornings. She started losing weight.
There were some good things for her too though. Socrates and Plato started sleeping in her stall after she became resigned to what she thought her fate. After a couple of lessons about the fence, she was allowed to go out with Rusty and Cocoa and the three of them seemed to enjoy each other’s company. However, her favorite thing was to go on excursions with Rusty and me – okay, with Rusty. From her point of view, I just happened to be there too. But that was when I’d see her almost happy. When Rusty was ready to go and I was walking toward her stall with her lead rope and halter, she wouldn’t hunch up as if pained.
Two weeks after the decision had been made, on the day that Kestrel normally came to visit, I asked Mom if I could go to meet Kestrel a bit early – actually ride to her house and visit there for a few minutes before heading back home. Her older sisters were always nice to me, and her dad was always teasing her mom, which was fun to watch. I had another motive different from watching family bonding, though – I thought it would be good for Twilight. She would get some exercise, plus she might feel less depressed if she spent more time out of her stall.
I went out to saddle Rusty just as the day was breaking. If I wanted to catch Kestrel before she left her house, we’d have to leave early. By the time we left the barn, the sun was just above the horizon, a round red ball. I waved goodbye to Mom as I passed the window. She was already painting up a storm. I couldn’t believe the number of paintings she’d finished over the last couple of months – five or six now. And they’d been getting more abstract and impressive and amazing all the while. Edward was going to be thrilled when he came this spring.
We’d made out our supply list last night, Mom and I, telling him what to buy with the proceeds of her sales since last fall. The letter was now in an envelope in my saddlebag. Kestrel and her family always mailed letters for us, since Mom never went into town. They also received letters for us: Edward’s letters for Mom, and for me, three secret pen pals. I didn’t feel too guilty about it – a girl needs some contact with the outside world – and had a letter ready to send to my Vancouver pen pal, Ally, in my saddlebag.
The land lay quiet as we strode along. It felt great to be riding toward Kestrel’s house. I hadn’t seen any sort of civilization for almost four months and the thought of seeing the big ranch house at Kestrel’s, the big barns, basically any large human-made structure, seemed totally exciting. I hoped we’d have time to hang out in Kestrel’s room for a while. She had posters all over her walls and the walls themselves are bright green and not plain logs like in our cabin. And she had her own room. She didn’t even share with her sisters. Just with her fat cat, Snarly, named for the tooth that angled out of his upper jaw and held his lip up. He was always fluffed at the foot of her bed, a big pile of tangled fur with a permanently grumpy face.
I asked Rusty to go faster and he moved into a ground-eating trot. Twilight loped alongside, keeping the lead rope loose. The birds shrieked around us, ecstatic that the winter was almost over. The earliest spring birds were back, and they flung their little bodies from branch to branch. I inhaled deeply, imagining I was drawing in birdsong with each breath. What a great morning to be out with my two lovely horses – no, my one lovely horse and the wild one… In two weeks, Twilight would be gone.
I glanced down at the filly. She loped along with her head up and ears forward. She was enjoying the excursion as well. Maybe I could keep her after all? No! I’d already made that decision. It was best for her to be free, and I had to do what was best for her.
But what if she was now, finally and belatedly, getting used to captivity? What if she did regain some of that precious Twilight-ness and was able to keep it, even as a domestic horse? Maybe sh
e’d just needed a bit more time to adjust. Okay, a lot more. But still, maybe she was adjusting.
Rusty stopped short, Twilight beside him. Had he heard my thoughts? Instantly, shame colored my face. But he was looking through the trees to the right of the rutted road, his ears pricked forward.
I didn’t want to ask him what he noticed in case Twilight overheard our communication, so I simply encouraged him to walk on, thinking he’d want to investigate whatever it was. I was right. He headed into the trees. Twilight dropped behind him so she could follow as he wound his way among the tree trunks. I ducked low over his back and peered ahead. A natural meadow appeared through the forest, small, ordinary, and a bit wet because of all the snowmelt. Then I saw the small band of horses.
I pulled Rusty to a stop and slid from his back, then put my hand over his nose so he’d know to be quiet. Twilight hadn’t seen them yet, thank goodness.
I tied Rusty to a tree and Twilight right beside him so that Rusty’s big gray body was between her and the distant horses. It was the only thing I could do other than ride away, and I really didn’t want to do that. They could be wild horses. Rusty seemed to know what to do and stood stoically between Twilight and the glimpses of meadow.
Quickly, I moved through the trees toward them. The going was easy because there was no snow and the twigs were too soggy to snap. As long as I didn’t rustle any bushes and stayed hidden, the horses wouldn’t know I was there. Every few seconds, I’d stop to watch them and the closer I got, the more certain I became that they were wild horses. I couldn’t see any brands.
Then everything started happening at once. Twilight’s plaintive neigh rang out – she’d seen them! I could hear her mad struggles and Rusty calling me. The wild horses spooked across the meadow and were about to thunder into the trees on the other side, when Twilight neighed again – and a sorrel mare broke from the herd and stopped. The others disappeared into the trees, but the mare didn’t follow. She held her head high and her answering neigh echoed across the meadow. Then she trotted toward us. The way she moved seemed so familiar and I wondered where I’d seen her before. The sun glimmered on her rough coat and I could see the patches where she’d been shedding. Then I recognized the star on her forehead, jagging toward her right eye.
Willow.
But how could she be here? She was dead.
Slowly, I stood to face her. The mare saw me and stopped short, staring in horror. Then quick as breath, she wheeled away and ran. I followed her without thinking, dashing around tree trunks and leaping over obstructions. I entered the meadow just before she disappeared into the trees on the other side. It was Willow, for sure. Not just her identical star and similar appearance – she was just shaggy and older now – but the fact she came to Twilight’s call. She’d remembered her sister and friend.
A tremendous lightness suffused me as I turned back to Twilight and Rusty. I wasn’t a murderer! I hadn’t caused Willow’s death! She just lived with another herd now. Maybe the rival stallion that had fought with Night Hawk before the cold snap had stolen her. And she hadn’t limped as she trotted across the meadow toward us. I hadn’t even maimed her. She’d just needed time to heal.
Twilight’s scream brought me to my senses and a sudden, dreadful abandonment slammed into me. I shoved it into the back room of my mind, but not before tears of longing studded my eyes. Poor Twilight! She wanted to follow Willow so badly that she was beyond reason. She called again and again as I hurried back to her. She was straining against her rope and staring past me at the meadow as I approached her and Rusty. She hardly noticed when I touched her neck and stroked her. She neighed again and again.
Kestrel’s call came from the road. “Who’s there? What’s wrong?”
“It’s me,” I called. “I need help.”
Even with Kestrel’s help, it took all our strength to untie Twilight’s rope once she stopped pulling. As we rode back toward our cabin, the filly jerked against the rope again and again, hoping against hope that somehow she’d find herself free to follow Willow. Kestrel and I rode in silence. It was too hard to converse when we had the filly fighting us every step of the way, calling out over and over for a friend long gone.
I was glad we couldn’t talk much. I couldn’t really tell Kestrel the things in my heart, as I’d never said anything about murdering Willow. She’d never understand the complete and total relief that overwhelmed me at finding the mare well and healthy. And besides, I was worried about what she’d say if we started talking. I could feel her thinking that I should turn Twilight loose right then, and in a way, it would have been a good solution. Twilight could always join Willow’s herd.
But I couldn’t release her yet. There were things to explain to Twilight, now that I was free to talk to her. I needed to tell her that I’d saved her life, that I wasn’t a monster. I needed her to know I wasn’t trying to hurt her when I cleaned her wound.
And I needed to tell her that I loved her.
Maybe then, with the silence broken, she would see she’d misjudged me. Maybe then she’d love me back.