Fear of Falling

  Dr. Mac checks the parade horses over, and then we begin loading the horses into the trailers that will carry them to the starting point of the parade. It’s not far into town, but with the traffic and crowds, Mr. Quinn feels the horses will be calmer and safer in the trailers. He really loves his horses. That’s one reason he and my dad were always such good friends—they shared a love of horses.

  It was Dad who first taught me to ride. Now that Dad’s gone, Mr. Quinn has been teaching me. When Mr. Quinn first started giving me jumping lessons, I was excited, but now I’m not so sure I’m ready.

  “Here we go, David. It’s D-day—let’s see how Trickster loads,” says Mr. Quinn.

  I lead Trickster to the trailer, talking in a calm, low voice to reassure him.

  Trickster hesitates, but only for a moment, and then he walks up the ramp into the trailer without a second glance. Yes!

  I turn to Mr. Quinn. “He did it!”

  He winks at me and nods. “Looks like all your hard work paid off, huh?”

  I grin. Mr. Quinn doesn’t hand out praise easily, especially to me. I had a little trouble convincing him I was a responsible kid a while back. But he’s been patient with me.

  While the other horses are being loaded, I notice a new horse, very tall, charcoal gray with a silver mane. He’s awesome!

  I walk over to one of the stable hands. “Hey, Joe. Who’s the new horse?”

  “Oh, him.” Joe puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head in admiration. “His name is King’s Shadow—he’s a jumper. A real beaut, huh? He’s a new boarder, just brought in yesterday.”

  “He’s amazing,” I say. I stretch out my hand, palm down, to let King’s Shadow smell me.

  Over near the trailers, I catch Mr. Quinn watching me—or is it King’s Shadow he’s watching? When our eyes meet, he quickly glances away with an odd look on his face. What’s that about?

  Dr. Mac calls us. “Let’s go, kids. We don’t want to be late.”

  I forget about Mr. Quinn’s strange look. I’m going to ride Trickster in a parade!

  Chapter Two

  Dr. Mac says the Ambler Thanksgiving parade is “old-fashioned America.” Everyone from miles around comes to town for the event. Excitement is in the air, and everybody’s in a holiday spirit. Families line the streets, fathers holding their kids high up on their shoulders.

  Families. The thought is like a punch in the gut. Holidays are supposed to bring families together. I think of Dad and try not to search the crowd for him. If he shows up, he shows up. If he doesn’t…

  I shrug. I’m too old to think like Ashley—to think that I can blow out birthday candles and my wish will come true just because I want it to.

  In the parking lot behind the grocery store, we unload the horses from the trailers, backing them out one by one. Trickster does just fine. I’m so proud of him! I give him a quick final brushing. His chestnut coat is a rich reddish brown, and it shines in the sunlight. As usual, his long forelock flops over his eyes. I smile—he likes his bangs in his eyes, just like me. Carefully I comb his forelock into the center of his forehead, and he shakes it right back into his eyes. He’s playful—that’s how he got the name Trickster.

  The horses are used to being around people for riding lessons and horse shows. Still, we’re careful to talk softly and keep them calm as we saddle up. The excitement grows as we take our places in the parade.

  “Sunita and I are going to head over to the booth now,” Dr. Mac says. They’ve set up a Dr. Mac’s Place table, where they’ll hand out information about pet care and vaccinations. She waves to us. “We’ll be watching!”

  Up ahead I spot Maggie with a bunch of her friends from school. They’ve all got their dogs, and they plan to entertain the crowd with obedience tricks. Maggie has her big old basset hound, Sherlock Holmes, on a leash. He’s not exactly the fastest dog in the west, but Maggie’s got him so well trained, I know he’ll put on a good show.

  Brenna is darting around taking pictures of everything. She’s really into photography, and she’s hoping that one of her photographs will get printed in the newspaper.

  I put my left foot in the stirrup and swing up into Trickster’s saddle. Wow, what a view! Trickster is fifteen hands high. Since a hand equals four inches, that means Trickster is five feet tall at his withers, where his neck and back meet. So I’m way above the crowd! I can see everything…Girl Scouts wearing reindeer antlers, a city fire truck all polished up and decorated with bunting, the high-school marching band playing holiday tunes.

  “Brenna!” I call down to her. “You should be up here. You can see almost the whole parade!”

  She snaps a picture of me, then looks up from behind the lens. “Yeah, right. And which hand would I hold the reins in while I’m focusing the camera?”

  She has me there.

  Suddenly, off in the crowd, the sunlight hits a shock of blond hair—a man craning his neck—and my heart leaps. Dad!

  But when the man turns, I realize it’s not him, and I feel like an idiot. This is no sappy holiday movie, I remind myself. I can’t help wondering how Ashley’s going to feel when Dad doesn’t show up for Thanksgiving dinner.

  How will I feel?

  Trickster snorts and steps sideways. I guess I was squeezing his sides too tightly. “Sorry, boy,” I whisper, patting his neck. He can probably tell I’m feeling tense. Dad says horses always know what we’re thinking and feeling, even when we don’t know ourselves.

  “David!”

  “Huh?”

  “Quit daydreaming,” Zoe says with a grin. “The parade’s starting.”

  “Hey, I’m ready!” I tell myself to forget about Dad. Because right now I’m doing my favorite thing in the world—riding Trickster.

  As the parade gets under way, I start to relax and have a good time. Being in a parade is so cool! I scan the sea of faces lining the sidewalk and spot Brian with some of his buddies from the multiplex.

  “Hey, David, nice wheels!” Brian calls out, shooting me the thumbs-up sign.

  I can’t help breaking into a grin, thankful that he didn’t shout out some snotty insult to impress his friends. You just never know what a big brother is going to do when he’s out in public.

  Rachel, the cute girl who sits in front of me in science class, waves at me like I’m some kind of celebrity. “I love your horse!” she shouts. She and her friends fall all over themselves, giggling.

  “David! You’re blushing!” Zoe teases from her horse, a tall bay named Claiborne.

  I duck my head and turn toward the other side of the street, pretending that I have to wave an equal amount on both sides. Is there any way to make your face un-blush? But I have to admit I love getting all this attention. I feel like a movie star.

  Suddenly the fire truck up ahead blares its siren, startling me—and my horse. Trickster spooks and skitters sideways, catching me off balance. I clutch the saddle as my legs fly out of the stirrups. It feels like I’m going to fall, but I regain my balance just in time and quickly bring Trickster under control.

  Behind us, Claiborne snorts. Turning to check on Zoe, I see Claiborne rear, his forelegs pawing the air. Zoe’s face is white. I’ve never seen her look scared on a horse before.

  “Hang on, Zoe!” I shout.

  Zoe grabs a handful of mane and leans forward into Claiborne’s neck, her legs tight against the horse’s flanks. Just as suddenly, Claiborne drops back down, his hooves clattering on the asphalt, and Zoe loses her grip and tumbles to the street.

  “Zoe!” I cry, reining Trickster to a stop, terrified that she’ll be trampled by Claiborne’s hooves. She needs help, but I’m not sure what to do; I’ve got my own horse to control. Just as I’m about to dismount, Mr. Quinn rushes up and grabs Claiborne’s reins.

  “Are you all right?” I call down to Zoe.

  She stands up slowly, brushing off her arms. “I think so!” she says breathlessly. She looks at her elbow. It’s badly scraped.

  “Mr. Quinn,” I
call out. “Zoe’s bleeding!”

  Mr. Quinn glances at her arm and pulls out a bandanna for her to wrap around the scrape. “You need to go to the first-aid station, Zoe,” he tells her. “I’ll take care of Claiborne.” He points out a booth with a red cross on it. “Can you make it there on your own?”

  Zoe nods, but I can tell she’s disappointed about not finishing the parade.

  “I’m sorry, Zoe,” I tell her.

  She shrugs. “No biggie. Don’t worry about me. You go ahead. Have fun!”

  I wave good-bye to Zoe and continue on with the other riders. We’re past the shops now, and both sides of the street are lined with tables. The firefighters have a safety exhibit, and the 4-H club is signing up new members. When we pass the Dr. Mac’s Place booth, Sunita and Dr. Mac are so busy handing out pamphlets about vaccinations and spaying and neutering that they don’t even see us ride by. Dr. Mac must be really pleased. She likes it when people want to learn about being responsible pet owners.

  I can smell hot dogs and sausages grilling. That means we’re near the end. My stomach rumbles. Man, am I hungry! Maybe I can sneak in a little snack without Mom seeing. Her health-food kick is starving me to death!

  We round a corner, and up ahead I spot a little girl in a purple sundress waving wildly in my direction. Don’t tell me Mom actually let Ashley wear that dress! As I draw closer, I see she’s got jeans and a sweater on under the dress. Looks like she and Mom worked out a deal. I have to hand it to Mom—how many mothers would let their daughter go out in public dressed like that?

  “You’re one block from the end,” Mom calls as I ride up. “Come join us for lunch after you’re done.”

  “Mom packed a picnic!” Ashley shouts. “With pickles!” The people around her chuckle. That’s my sister for you—never a dull moment.

  “OK, Ash, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I call down.

  At the end of the parade, we circle back to the trailers and load the horses. Then I meet Mom and Ashley at the park for lunch.

  “One of the booths had the cutest goat,” Ashley says, sucking on a pickle. “It had long curly hair. Can we go pet it?”

  Long curly hair on a goat? This I have to see. “All right if we go, Mom?”

  Mom nods. “Just walk Ashley home when you’re done.”

  “Can I feed my sandwich crusts to the goat?” Ashley asks as we pack up the food.

  “Well, we can ask the owner if it’s OK.” I take Ashley’s hand so I don’t lose her in the crowd, and we start back up Main Street. Now that the parade is over, the booths are mobbed.

  Suddenly Ashley looks worried. “But what if the goat bites me?”

  “Don’t worry. Goats don’t have any teeth on their upper jaw, so they can’t hurt you,” I tell her. “Besides, I’m sure it’s a nice goat, or they wouldn’t have brought it here.”

  “Look, David, there it is!” Ashley points, and through the crowd I spot a small white goat in a wire pen. It has long curly hair, just as Ashley said. In fact, it looks almost like a sheep, except for the narrow horns curving back from its head. Suddenly it bleats. I wonder if it’s scared of all the people.

  The table in front of the goat pen displays handmade posters about spinning and knitting with mohair wool. A woman in a long skirt demonstrates a spinning wheel, while a girl who looks about ten years old hands out wool samples.

  I approach the girl. “Hi—is it all right if we pet your goat?”

  The girl nods. “Sure. She’s real soft because she’s an Angora. She’s a little noisy, but don’t worry, she’s very friendly. Her name is Sabrina. If you call her, she’ll come right up to you.”

  “Will she eat my crusts?” Ashley holds up her chewed sandwich remains.

  The girl smiles. “She probably would, but she needs a special diet, so they wouldn’t be good for her.”

  “A diet? Is she too fat?” Ashley asks.

  The girl shakes her head and laughs. “No, but to make all that nice long hair, she has to eat special high-protein pellets. If she fills up on your sandwich, she might not eat her dinner.”

  Ashley nods knowingly. “That’s just what my mom tells me!”

  As Ashley and I walk over to the pen, the goat bleats again. She’s got her head poking through the fence, watching us.

  “Here, Sabrina,” Ashley calls, but the goat doesn’t move. No wonder: as we come up to her, I can see that the wire fence is caught behind her horns, and she can’t pull her head back through.

  “Let’s get you unstuck,” I say to the goat. Holding a horn, I gently twist her head, then slowly back it through the square of fence. Suddenly Sabrina squirms and bleats again. “Hold still, I’m trying to help!” I mutter. “There!”

  The second her horns are free of the fence, Sabrina jerks her head back and bolts across the pen.

  Ashley trots around the pen after Sabrina, who stops and lets Ashley pet her. “Ooh, look at all her fancy curls everywhere. And her white eyelashes!” my sister marvels. “Hey, David, look—the poor goat is crying. Do you think she’s sad that she doesn’t get to eat my crusts?”

  “Animals don’t cry, Ashley.”

  “Then how come there are tears coming out of her eye?”

  What on earth is Ashley babbling about this time? I go over to the goat. Sure enough, tears are running out of Sabrina’s left eye and down her furry cheek. The eyelids look squinty, too.

  “See?” Ashley’s lower lip trembles. She’s about to cry herself. “We have to comfort her!” She reaches her arms through the fence, trying to give Sabrina a hug.

  “We have to find out what’s wrong with her eye,” I reply, peering more closely. Suddenly Sabrina shakes her head, and I catch a flash of red on her neck. What was that?

  I pull apart the long woolly ringlets. On the skin of her neck, I find a red cut about two inches long, with blood oozing out. It was practically hidden in all her hair.

  I go back and examine the place in the pen where Sabrina was stuck. Where the fence is nailed to the post, there’s a sharp piece of wire sticking out with a tangle of long white hairs stuck on it. Sabrina must have scratched herself when she yanked her head back through the fence.

  I tell Ashley to stay put, and then I run back to the girl at the table to borrow some paper towels and a cell phone. I hope Dr. Mac has her pager switched on.

  A few minutes later, while we’re waiting for Dr. Mac to arrive, the girl and her mother look at Sabrina’s injuries. The neck cut looks terrible now, with blood dripping all down the goat’s white hair. I press a wad of paper towels firmly onto the cut, like a pressure bandage, to stop the bleeding. But it’s the scratched eye that worries me the most.

  Ashley is trying to be brave, but as we wait for Dr. Mac, she begins to sob. The girl, whose name is Julie, cries a little, too, and her mom looks anxious. Only Sabrina seems calm and unconcerned.

  When Dr. Mac arrives, she puts a drop of anesthetic into Sabrina’s eye to numb it, and then a drop of yellow-green stain. Then she examines the eye with her ophthalmoscope, which looks just like the kind people doctors use to check their patients’ eyes. Peering through the scope, she rolls back the goat’s eyelid and shines a little beam of light all around. Goats have funny eyes, yellow with a flat pupil shaped like a bar.

  “There’s a scratch on the cornea,” Dr. Mac announces. “The stain makes it show up. That’s why this eye is tearing so badly.”

  “Will she be all right?” Julie whispers.

  “I think so. I’ll give you some antibiotic ointment to use so the eye doesn’t become infected, and I’ll recheck her in a few days. The eye should heal up nicely on its own.”

  Next Dr. Mac rinses the neck wound with saline from a squeeze bottle. She examines the wound closely, frowning. “This cut’s rather deep. It’ll have to be stitched up.”

  Dr. Mac gives Sabrina a shot to sedate her. Next, as I hand Dr. Mac the tools one by one, she shaves the wound, cleans it with antibacterial soap, paints it with iodine, then sutures it
up using a long needle and surgical thread.

  I didn’t think Ashley would be able to handle seeing Dr. Mac push the needle into Sabrina’s skin, but Ashley is fascinated. “Hey, it’s just like sewing,” she exclaims. “We did that in preschool!”

  Dr. Mac smiles. “That’s right, it’s exactly the same thing. And the skin will grow right back together where the stitches are.” She gives Sabrina an injection of antibiotics and a tetanus shot, too, just to be on the safe side. Finally Dr. Mac stands up. “OK, keep her quiet for a few hours, and she should be good as new in no time.”

  Julie and her mother thank Dr. Mac. Then, to my surprise, they turn to me and start telling me how grateful they are. Julie’s mother gives me a hug. I blush. Sheesh!

  “Um, actually, the real hero is my little sister here,” I stammer. “She’s the one who noticed that Sabrina was crying.”

  Everyone turns to praise Ashley. “Someday, you’ll make a top-notch vet volunteer,” Dr. Mac tells her. “Just like your big brother.”

  Ashley beams. Watching her tear-streaked face go from worry to joy, I know just how she feels. There’s nothing like helping an animal to make you feel really good about yourself.

  After we get home, Mom gives me a ride back out to the stables. Mr. Quinn has asked me to help him saddle a bunch of horses for a big trail ride.

  As I walk over to the barn, Mr. Quinn calls out my name. I turn around, and he hands me a pitchfork. “You’re going to need this first,” he says with a grin.

  I know, I know. I’ve gotta do my share of cleaning up after the horses. Not my favorite chore, but you can’t exactly leave the stuff lying around in the horses’ bedding! Mr. Quinn always says anybody can take riding lessons, but the true horsemen are the ones who care for the horses as well, all the way down to the last dirty detail.

  So I shoulder my pitchfork with pride and head for the stalls.

  That’s when I see him.

  He looks straight at me. “Hello, son.”

  Chapter Three

  Dad!”

  Without thinking, I drop the pitchfork and rush to give him a huge hug. It feels great, it feels weird, it feels—I don’t know what it feels like. Here I’ve just talked myself out of expecting to see him, and he appears in front of me. I’m not prepared for this.