My Fairy Godmonster (17 page)

“Hi.” I smile into his dark, round eyes.

Joey stares at my cheek. His bottom lip
quivers like he’s going to cry.

“He’s very shy with strangers,” Maggie
says.

Thank goodness Weasel interrupts us or I
might cry.

“Attention everyone. It’s time to begin. This
is how we will proceed.”

The practice is short. I have to admit,
Weasel is good at organizing.

David never talks to me, even though we’re
only a few feet apart. To be fair, he really doesn’t get a chance.
Still.

As soon as it’s over, I hurry away and hear
Scott calling to me. “Wait up, Win.”

I stop.

“There’s going to be dancing after the
wedding dinner. Will you be my partner?”

He looks so worried, I smile a little.

“City slickers know how to dance?” I ask.

“Sure. How about cow-er-ranch girls?”

“Of course.” No way can he know I’ve never
danced with a boy.

Dad comes up behind us. “Excuse me Scott, I
want to speak with Winifred.”

Scott gives me a thumbs-up. “Later.”

I turn to Dad.

He looks right into my eyes. “I should have
believed you.”

I don’t say anything.

“It’s inconceivable to me that Daria would
deliberately cause you harm.”

“She didn’t think. She did it out of
spite.”

“When I get a chance, I’m going to speak to
Otis about it.”

I say, “Claire plans to tell Mr. Dudley.
Besides, in two days they’ll be gone and it won’t matter.” I look
him square in the eye. “What matters is that you didn’t believe me,
Dad.”

“I know.”

“It really hurt.”

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Mom says that forgiveness is the way to real
happiness. I’m going to have to work on it.”

Shock and pain cross his pale face.

I turn and walk away.

“Winifred,” Dad whispers hoarsely. I turn to
see tears in his eyes. “Ah, after stable chores, we’re going to the
rehearsal dinner. I want you to come.”

I stare at him, my emotions ripping me apart.
It’s okay to come now that he has some proof that I’m innocent? I
hold my temper.

“I’d rather stay home. I’m not good company
for anyone right now. Especially for the time it will take to drive
back and forth to Salem and eat.”

“David will be disappointed.”

“Please, Dad. I didn’t sleep last night. I’m
exhausted. Let me stay home.”

“Very well.”

“Tell David I’m sorry.”

“I’d stay with you if the rehearsal dinner
wasn’t my responsibility.”

“Go. I’ll be fine.” I won’t, but I don’t want
to see him looking sadder.

“I’ll leave the telephone number on the
kitchen counter in case of an emergency,” he says.

He tries to kiss my head, but I pull away
from him.

“Someday, I hope you’ll forgive me. Winifred.
For a lot of things.”

I see the hurt in his eyes. He can’t see the
hurt in my heart.

I drag upstairs wishing I could find Fairy
Godmonster. She’d know how to cheer me up. Where would I look?

I unlock the door and close it behind me.

No hot tub.

I whip around, relief mixed with wild
excitement. “You got the whip to work!”

The room is empty. Except for Mom’s furniture
and my things. No Fairy Godmonster. No hole in the wall. No marks
on the windowsill. No note. Nothing.

Grief slams into my heart. I collapse to the
floor, wishing the world would go away.

Chapter 25: Storm Warning - New Life

Kong barks his head off when everyone leaves
for the rehearsal dinner. I drag to the stable. Dusk shines pink on
the few clouds sitting like cotton candy in the sky.

Kong dances around me. When we walk toward
the kitchen, I see the white tent and huge water fountain. My
stomach growls, and I vow to see everything after I eat.

I make myself a ham sandwich with mayo,
mustard, pickles and cheese on sourdough bread. I throw Kong a
slice of ham and chow down. The food tastes awful.

Suddenly, I hear the frightened whinny of a
horse. Fear socks me in the stomach. The hair on my neck prickles.
I struggle with waves of nausea and hurry out the kitchen door.

Wind and rain splat me in the face. Dark,
bunching clouds hurl through the sky like a herd of stampeding
horses. All light is gone. I’ve never seen a summer storm come up
this fast.

I run to the stable. Lightning zigzags
through the sky. Kong scuttles behind me and hides in Dad’s
office.

I switch on the aisle lights. Thunder rolls
closer. The horses move restlessly in their stalls. I check each
horse.

When I reach Sunshine’s stall, I stop in
surprise. Lying on the floor, her side heaves and fluid gushes out.
She’s delivering early. Except for grouchiness, she’s shown none of
the usual signs - no milk, no swelling. She’s a maiden mare, her
first foal, so we didn’t expect this.

Sunny moans with a powerful contraction. One,
tiny foot protrudes from her body. I want to holler in joy, but I
don’t. If I’m lucky, it shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.
Her belly rolls with another huge contraction.

I long for Dad to be here. Sharing the
miracle of birth is awesome. Beyond cool when a horse can deliver a
seventy-pound foal.

Sunny struggles to her feet. I wait a minute,
but don’t see the other foot. I enter the stall to check if it’s a
breech birth, hind feet first.

“Easy, girl,” I murmur. I look carefully at
the tiny hoof. It faces down toward the mare’s hooves. I breathe a
sigh of relief. It’s a front foot, a normal birth.

I scratch Sunny. “Not long now. Good
mare.”

My heart thumps inside my head as I run
through the sequence of birthing events; feet first, head, hips,
back feet, afterbirth.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m pacing and trying
to ignore my growing uneasiness.

Sunny lies down and pushes again with a
contraction. She whinnies in pain. My heart leaps to my throat and
I can hardly breathe. Some horses make more noise than others. I
don’t want to take any chances. I need the vet. I race down the
aisle toward the stable telephone on the wall.

BOOM! Thunder rolls over the stable.

CRACK!

The lights go out. I wait a second for the
generator to kick in and remember that Dad is waiting for a new
part.

I stand in complete darkness. Spooky. Shivers
spiral down my spine. My hand slides along the wall for the
telephone. I’m glad I have the vet’s number memorized. I pick up
the phone. It’s dead. Shaking now, I realize that I can’t call Dad,
either. He has the cell phone.

The chills don’t stop when I realize I’m
alone in the dark with a pregnant mare that might be in
trouble.

“Help,” I call. “Faro. Faro!”

CRACK!

I scream. Lightning flashes outside the
barn.

Sunny whinnies.

I hurry along the wall to the supply room.
Trip over a chair that’s not supposed to be there and sprawl to the
floor, ripping my jeans on the concrete. Dragging myself up, I
search for the bottom shelf and find the battery-powered lantern. I
click it on. Relief. I grab the foal kit, race to the bathroom,
wash my hands and arms and dash back to Sunny.

No foal. Sunny’s large brown eyes stare at me
as she moans.

“Easy Sunny.” I re-enter her stall.

I put the lantern in a safe corner away from
the mare’s eyes. It casts shadows across the stall, making
everything seem unreal.

“Dad, I can’t do this. What if something
happens and I lose both horses?”

I stroke Sunny’s head. “You’re gonna’ be
fine. Push, girl.”

Sunny whinnies as another contraction
hits.

Mom’s face flickers in my mind. I remember
her words, “There will be times when you have to make decisions by
yourself. Trust your instincts and act.”

I take off my jacket and open the foal kit.
My fingers fumble with the jar of lubricant. I’m going to have to
go inside Sunny to see where the foal’s head is, so I grease my
left hand and arm. My heart races. My gut twists in nervous spasms.
I’ve only watched this procedure.

I move slowly toward the mare. “Easy, Sunny.
I’m gonna’ help you. I’m pretty small. It won’t hurt.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I take a
deep breath. Sunny stands still. I slide an arm along the
protruding foot into the birth canal and warmth.

“Whoa, easy, Sunny. Good. Relax.”

I find the other hoof and straighten it.
Elbow-deep, I feel the chest and stretch for the head. Find it.
It’s turned at an awkward angle.

“Please don’t be broken. Please don’t be
broken,” I whisper.

I push gently on the top of the head and move
it forward and down toward the front hooves. A contraction hits and
I gasp from the muscles clenching my arm like a vise. Sweat drips
down my face. I slip my arm out before the next contraction.

Sunny whinnies and lies down. The second hoof
comes out.

I hold my breath. The head comes out. Sitting
back in relief, I wait for the rest of the delivery.

Sunny’s nostrils quiver. Another contraction
doesn’t move the foal.

“Please come, please come.”

Sunny whinnies and doesn’t look like she’s
resting between contractions. I take a deep breath and grab a dry
towel from the foal kit. Gently, I wrap it around the foal’s
slippery feet. Hold my breath and pull down toward the mare’s feet.
The foal moves a few inches. I stop and gasp for breath along with
Sunny. I know the hips come next and I pray they’ll slip out fast
and easy.

The minutes creep by, punctuated by cracks of
lightning. Still no hips.

Another contraction hits. I grab the foal’s
feet and try to rotate the hips. The foal slips out, and I land on
my butt with the baby horse in my lap. The clear sack covering the
foal shines like a present.

I can’t stand up with the weight. I scoot
across the straw and slide the foal off my lap by Sunny’s head. She
starts licking off the sac. I crawl away to give her space.
Panting, I fumble around in the foal kit, find the watch and check
the time of birth. Seven thirty-three.

My body is rock-hard with tension. I sit
nervously to see signs of life from the foal. It wiggles its head.
Tears leak down my face. Great sobs of relief shake through me.

Sunny rests for about ten minutes after
removing the sac and then stands up, breaking the umbilical
cord.

I coat the foal’s navel to protect against
infection and realize we have a colt. Another possible stallion for
Smith’s Paso Finos.

I sit there in the gloom. Grinning. Drained.
Unable to move a muscle. Thunder rolls in the distance. If Dad
approves, I want to call the colt, Storm.

Encouraged by his mother, the colt tries to
stand. He makes it up on his two front feet and collapses. Tries
three times before he stands there wobbling on four legs. I stare
in rapt joy. He’s perfect. Black, like his sire, with a white blaze
on his forehead and three white socks.

Sunny licks him all over and I start to dry
him with a towel. The mare expels the afterbirth and I clean it up,
sighing with relief. My legs drag in slow motion. I’m so tired I
can hardly stand.

Shoving the foal kit and towels out the door,
I crawl back inside the stall. Turning the lantern on low, I sit
against the wall watching the foal nurse. My eyes close with
heaviness.

“Win! Are you in here?”

I wake with a start. Sunny nickers.

“Win?”

It’s Jac! I stumble up and let myself out of
the stall. “Back here!”

A light shines in my face with three shadows
hovering behind it.

“Too bright!” I yell painfully. The
flashlight moves.

Jac says, “Oh, gross. Is that dried
blood?”

Her mom stares at me in horror. “Oh,
Chiquita, what has happened? How you hurt yourself?”

Peering into the stall, her dad says, “I
think Winifred just delivered a foal. Congratulations!”

I grin. “Thanks.”

Jac and her mom join Mr. Garcia in looking at
the colt.

“Ooh, he’s so cute!” says Jac.

“A beauty,” adds her Mom.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Mrs. Garcia says, “My Jacinda call cell phone
when we get back from vacation.

Your dad tell us you stay home and no go to
restaurant. When lights go out, we worry for you.”

“How come you’re not at the rehearsal
dinner?” asks Jac.

“Long story.”

“You come inside. Get clean and tell us,” her
mom insists.

My throat tightens with her genuine
concern.

We go to the kitchen and suddenly the lights
come on, flooding the room. I blink in the brightness.

“Gotta’ clean up,” I say wearily.

I’m glad I didn’t have time to put the clean
clothes upstairs. Staggering to the laundry room, I wash up and
pull on jeans and a t-shirt. Then drag into the kitchen.

Mrs. Garcia puts a bowl of ice cream in front
of me. My favorite.

“Eat, you look like scarecrow,” she says.

I dig in and the small, chocolate peanut
butter cups melt in my mouth. I should have tried ice cream sooner.
It’s the only food that’s tasted good all day.

“Talk,” Jac says.

I tell them everything, except about Fairy
Godmonster.

“What ruined the wedding heart?” Jac
asks.

“
They don’t know.” I don’t
lie, but I can’t tell her the truth.

Mr. and Mrs. Garcia whisper together.

“We can use your phone?” asks Mrs.
Garcia.

“Sure.”

She makes one phone call and turns, smiling.
“I have big surprise for you.”

I love Mrs. Garcia’s accent. She is the only
one in her family who doesn’t speak perfect English. Mr. Garcia was
born in America and married her in a poor village in Mexico when he
was in the Peace Corps.

Twenty minutes later, I hear a bunch of cars
honking in the driveway.