Helping Hands

  “Darn, I forgot.” David stands up, too. “Do you have a cell phone on you?”

  “No, but I can borrow my mom’s.”

  “I’ll stay here with these guys. Call Dr. Gabe and tell him we need him. Tell him everything you noticed about the way Buster’s been acting, plus that his leg is warm, he won’t let me check his shoe, and we don’t see any cracks, cuts, or puncture wounds. Tell him what a rotten person Gus is, too.”

  “Got it!”

  • • • • •

  The size of the crowd in the store stops me in my tracks. We’ve never, ever had this many customers. Dad is grinning as he rings people up at the register. He winks at me as I walk by, but keeps talking to the man who is buying a post hole digger. Mom stands in the middle of the spring plants display, listening to a couple busy loading up a box with blue-and-white pansies. By the time I make it over there, the couple have gotten in line to pay for their flowers.

  “There you are!” Mom has dirt on her forehead and nose, and her cheeks are red from heat or excitement, or a little of both. She looks happier than she’s been since we moved here.

  “How are the ponies?” she asks.

  “Ah . . .” I don’t want to worry her with all these customers around. “Great. We just finished.”

  She smiles. “I was skeptical, but you and Jules were right: the ponies were a big draw today.”

  I force a smile because I know she expects it. I’m super-glad business has been good, but I feel awful about Buster. “Can I use your cell? David has to call home.”

  “Sorry, kiddo, it’s dead,” she says. “I forgot to charge it again.”

  A tall woman with a long white braid walks up to us carrying two kinds of poison ivy killer. “Excuse me,” she says to my mother.

  “It’s okay,” I assure her. “We’ll use the upstairs phone.”

  • • • • •

  I take the stairs up to our apartment two at a time. Thankfully, Sophie and Jules are giggling in their bedroom. I use the kitchen phone and open the window so I can see and hear what’s going on in the back lot.

  Darn it! Gus has returned and is hollering at David, who is slowly walking the ponies from the grassy area to the parking lot.

  Dr. Gabe picks up on the third ring. I explain everything about Buster as fast as I can. “Do you think it’s serious?’ I ask.

  He chuckles. “I’m not that good, Josh. I actually need to see a patient before I can make a diagnosis. Ponies can go lame for lots of reasons. His shoe could be loose or, given what you told me about his owner, he’s had those shoes too long. More serious issues would be laminitis, an abscess, a torn ligament or tendon, or even some kind of fracture.”

  “A fracture! You mean he’s walking around on a broken leg?”

  “I was just listing possibilities,” Dr. Gabe says. “Most likely he slipped or took a funny step, kind of like the way you can twist your ankle playing soccer. If that’s the case, all he needs is some rest.”

  Out in the parking lot, Gus stomps his foot, his face beet-red. He loses his balance a little and takes a couple steps to the side before he catches himself and starts yelling again. David is still letting Buster set the pace. They’re moving at snail speed.

  “Dr. Gabe, can you take a look at Buster when you get back tonight?” I ask.

  “Sure, as long as the owner agrees. I should be in Ambler by five.”

  “Hang on.” I open the window. “Hey, Gus,” I shout. “Up here!”

  The pony handler looks around blindly for a moment, and then he squints up at me.

  “What do you want?”

  “You see how Buster is limping? I’ve got a vet on the phone. He’ll be here by five to check him out.”

  “What?” Gus snatches the hat off his head and throws it to the ground. “No vet’s gonna steal my money, no sir-eee. Ain’t happening.”

  David and the ponies are getting closer to the man. “His leg is really inflamed,” David explains.

  “No vet,” Gus repeats loudly. “Get those ponies in my trailer.”

  I close the window so I don’t have to hear Gus yell. “He said no,” I tell Dr. Gabe.

  “I heard,” Dr. Gabe says. “I’m really sorry, Josh, but I can’t treat any animal if its owner doesn’t want me to.”

  “But he’s neglecting them,” I say.

  “You told me that the ponies gave rides for hours; if they were truly neglected and sick, they couldn’t have done that. Yes, Buster is a little lame, but we don’t know why.”

  “They flinch when he yells at them,” I say. “He doesn’t groom them, and their trailer is disgusting. David thinks they might not be getting enough food.”

  “He doesn’t sound very responsible, but neglect is usually a lot worse than what you’re describing, sad to say. Tell Gus to soak Buster’s foot in a warm Epsom salt bath a couple of times a day. That will help the pain and inflammation. How long is he going to be there?”

  Gus opens the back gate of the horse trailer and lets the ramp drop with a crash. “Looks like he’s in a hurry to leave,” I say.

  “I’ll swing by tonight, just in case. Maybe if I talk to him face-to-face—”

  I drop the phone.

  Gus is trying to pull the ponies’ leads out of David’s hands! Babe’s ears are back, and she’s whinnying and tossing her head. Buster has raised his sore foot and dropped his head as low as he can. David’s holding on to the leads tight, but Gus is twice his size and made of nasty. David digs his heels in and wraps the leads around his hands again, but he looks as if he doesn’t know what to do next.

  I do.

  I fly down the stairs, shouting as loudly as I can. “Dad!”

  Chapter Eight

  Let them go!” I shout at Gus.

  “Whadder you talking about?” Gus says. His voice sounds funny. “These are my ponies. Mine.”

  “I think he’s drunk,” David says.

  “What’s going on here?” shouts a loud, sharp, drill sergeant voice.

  Everyone jumps—even me, and I was the one who asked for his help.

  Dad rushes across the parking lot, quickly taking in the scene. “Let go of those ropes!” he orders Gus. “You’re hurting David and the ponies.”

  “What are you gonna do if I don’t?” Gus sneers.

  Dad takes a long, slow breath, puts his hand on Gus’s shoulder, leans forward, and whispers something to Gus. The pony handler’s eyes go wide, either from the pain of Dad squeezing his shoulder, or whatever promise my father just made. Dad steps back, and Gus releases the pony leads.

  “That’s better,” Dad says. His voice is friendly now, but his eyes are as intense as lasers. “You okay, David?”

  David is rubbing the angry red marks left on his hands by tight lead ropes, but he says, “Yes, sir, thank you.”

  Dad points at Gus. “You’ve been drinking.”

  “Just had a couple beers,” Gus protests.

  “It was more than that,” Dad says. “If you get behind the wheel, I’ll have you arrested for driving under the influence. Now get off of my property and don’t come back until you’re in better shape.”

  Gus scowls, but he’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut and leave. As soon as he disappears around the side of the building, both ponies relax. Babe nuzzles against Buster and rubs her head on his neck, nickering softly.

  I laugh out loud. “That was awesome, Dad!”

  “You like that?” He cracks a smile. “When you came down the stairs hollering at the top of your lungs, I wasn’t quite sure what you wanted.”

  “Is everything okay out there?” Mom calls from the back door.

  “We’re fine,” Dad answers. “I’ll be right in.” He turns to me. “Can you give me the short version of what’s going on?”

  David tells most of the story, and I fill in
the rest, ending with Dr. Gabe’s advice about soaking Buster’s leg, and his promise to stop by to check on the pony around dinnertime.

  “We sell Epsom salts in the store,” Dad says. “Why don’t you grab a box of it and a bucket? Poor little guy looks like he needs all the help he can get.”

  “They’re hungry, too,” David points out. “We gave them some hay and alfalfa pellets a couple hours ago, but . . .”

  Dad tilts his head to the side. “Am I correct in guessing that the food came from the store, too?”

  “Yes, sir,” I admit nervously. “And the two buckets we used for their water.”

  Dad nodded. “Anything else?”

  “Ah, yeah,” I admit. “Babe, the healthy one, she ate most of the flowers and herbs Mom put in the planters yesterday.”

  “All of the plants,” David corrects.

  “All of them?” Dad asks.

  I nod my head, miserable and sure I’m about to be grounded for the rest of my life.

  Dad smiles, then chuckles. “This pony ate your mother’s flowers. Right there on Main Street.” He chuckles again, harder. “Where the entire world could watch!” He bursts into laughter. “No wonder business has been so good today—you’ve been entertaining the entire town.” He laughs long and hard, tries to say something else, then cracks up some more.

  David looks at my dad, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised. I shrug; I don’t know what’s going on, either.

  Finally, Dad says, “Wooh!” and wipes a tear out of the corner of your eye. “Thanks, boys, I needed that. Although I’d love to see your mom’s face if we showed her the planters, let’s not tell her about it yet, okay?”

  “Are you giving me permission to lie?” I ask.

  “No,” Dad says. “I’m asking you to help keep peace in the house until I figure this one out.” He ruffles my hair. “Quite a day, huh? I better get inside. I’ll leave the back door open. If Gus turns up again, you come and get me right away. It doesn’t matter if the president himself is in the checkout line. Promise me?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say.

  “Okay. Come with me, David,” Dad says. “I’ll show you where the Epsom salts are.”

  It takes us three tries.

  The first time, we fill the bucket with warm water, add the Epsom salts, and then try to convince Buster to put his sore foot in the bucket. He uses his good foot to kick the bucket halfway across the parking lot, soaking me for the second time that day.

  When David stops laughing, he convinces Buster to put the sore foot in an empty bucket, and then he fills it with warm water. But he adds the water too quickly, and Buster shies away, kicks the bucket, and soaks David.

  After we both stop laughing, I fetch more Epsom salts, alfalfa pellets, and carrots from the store (pausing to thank my father 10 million times), and we finally get it right. We move a few sections of the corral into the shade where it’s cooler and tie Babe close to Buster, because having her near calms him down. While I feed them, David convinces Buster to put his bad foot in the empty bucket again. Then we slowly, very slowly, pour the warm water and Epsom salts in the bucket.

  Victory!

  “That’s it, there you go,” David soothes.

  I scratch Babe’s back right at the bottom of her neck, and she closes her eyes in enjoyment.

  It’s cool in the shadows, but the heat of the day is still coming off the blacktop, making the temperature perfect. Both horses look like they’re dozing. Even David is quiet, absently patting Buster’s side and keeping an eye on his sore leg. After such an insanely busy day, this is a welcome break.

  “Do you think Gus really cares about these guys?” I ask.

  “Not at all,” David says.

  “What if we could find a better place for them, maybe find someone who could buy them from Gus and give them a better life?”

  “In a perfect world, right?” His voice is bitter, which surprises me.

  “What about Quinn’s stables? The owner is a friend of your dad, right? He must have a ton of money and plenty of space.”

  “He doesn’t have either,” David says. “He puts all of his profits back into the stables: upgrading the barn, fencing, all kinds of things. Most of the horses there are boarders; their owners pay to have Mr. Quinn take care of them. Some of the owners are months behind on their payments because of the stupid economy. Mr. Quinn can’t take any charity cases, and even if he could, he doesn’t have the room.”

  “But—”

  Before I can get the next question out, Gus comes around the corner, this time with reinforcements.

  Chapter Nine

  Here comes trouble,” I mutter.

  David stands up next to me, with the horses between us. The man walking next to Gus looks to be in his sixties or so—the same age as Gus—but his eyes are clear and his face clean-shaven, and his clothes aren’t all rumpled like he slept in them. The expression on his face isn’t angry like Gus’s, but he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’s going to pay attention to what a couple of seventh graders have to say.

  “I think you should get your dad,” David says quietly.

  “Yeah,” I answer, but to my surprise, Dad is already walking our way.

  “Are those the ponies you were talking about?” the new guy asks Gus.

  “Hold it right there!” my father calls. “Who are you?” he asks the new guy.

  “Name’s Karl.” The new guy reaches out to shake my father’s hand. “Fellow here is paying me to drive him and his animals back to their camp. Seems like he’s had a few beers and he wants to do the responsible thing. Now me, all I drink is coffee. Two spoons of sugar and a little milk.”

  “Responsible?” I say. “Him?”

  David points to Buster. “This pony needs to see a vet.”

  “That’s not my business,” Karl says. “I’m just lending a hand. Seems—”

  Gus cuts him off. “Stop yapping and load them up.”

  Buster whinnies nervously, and Babe tosses her head. Just being around Gus upsets them. I know how they feel; he bothers me, too.

  “Just here to do a job, folks,” Karl says. “Pardon me.”

  At least Karl knows what he’s doing. He gets Babe in the trailer in a flash and doesn’t rush Buster up the ramp. Before I know it, they’re both in, and Karl is locking up the back gate, David at his side explaining about Buster’s sore foot, and the need to soak it with Epsom salts and keep it clean.

  Gus looks at my father. “You owe me for today.”

  Dad’s gaze is steady, his eyes narrow. “You’ll get paid this time tomorrow, provided you bring the ponies back and do what we agreed to. The corral stays here. I’ll chain it up to make sure it doesn’t get stolen.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re the one stealing it.”

  “On the contrary,” Dad says. “You showed up late, you let these boys do the real work, and one of your animals is lame. You better be here right on time tomorrow—with working animals and a better attitude—if you want to get paid.”

  Karl climbs in the cab and starts the truck, and David joins Dad and me. Gus looks like he wants to argue, but the look on my dad’s face convinces him that would be a bad idea.

  “We’re not gonna make it to the campground unless you have money for gas,” Karl calls through the open window.

  “I got it,” Gus snaps as he gets into the passenger seat. “We’ll be back tomorrow,” he says to Dad as Karl shifts the pickup into gear. “Make sure that corral don’t walk away.”

  “Remember to soak Buster’s leg,” I shout as the truck pulls the trailer away.

  “Remember to feed your ponies,” David adds. “They’re hungry!”

  And then they’re gone.

  “Well,” Dad says, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, “never thought that owning a hardware store would lead to situations
like this.”

  “You rocked, Mr. Darrow,” David says.

  Dad smiles. “At least we kept a drunk driver off the road.”

  I know how important that is, but it’s hard to be too enthusiastic, knowing that Buster and Babe are stuck with an owner who doesn’t care about them and that Buster is injured.

  “Why did you make such a big deal about the corral?” I ask. “Aren’t the ponies more important?”

  “Of course they are,” Dad says. “I was just trying to find a way to make sure he’ll show up again. Gus seems to be motivated by money and nothing else.”

  Mom appears at the back door. “Honey, I could use some help. And David? Your mom just called and asked me to send you home.” She disappears back inside without waiting for an answer.

  “Gotta go, boys,” Dad says.

  I look at David. “I thought your dad was going to pick you up,” I say.

  “I thought so, too,” David says, his eyes clouded. “Well, sorry I can’t stick around to help you clean up, Josh. I’ll call you tomorrow night, okay?”

  “What about Dr. Gabe?” I ask.

  “Just call him,” David says. “Tell him what we did and what happened. Maybe he’ll have some advice about tomorrow.”

  • • • • •

  After David leaves, I shovel the pony dung to the far corner of the lot, then sweep up the trash and Gus’s cigarette butts and throw them into the Dumpster. With each push of the broom, I get angrier about Gus, more worried about Babe and Buster, and more frustrated that I can’t figure out how to save them.

  Once the parking lot is tidy I help Jules restock the shelves and displays in the store. Looks like everyone in Ambler—heck, everyone in the whole county—bought something at Wrenches & Roses today. Even my hammer display has to be restocked. Mom and Dad are both beaming and talking about how their hard work might be paying off.

  It should be a perfect family evening, especially when my parents decide to celebrate a great day by splurging on pizza for dinner. But I can’t shake my dark mood. I’m not really old enough to make a difference, like the way Dad got rid of Gus earlier. And I’m too old to be innocent the way Sophie is, drawing pictures and singing her pony song without realizing that Buster and Babe work for a man who might turn them into dog meat one of these days.