My Fairy Godmonster (5 page)

“Oh, how beautiful!”

“All the furniture belonged to my mom.”

She runs her fingers over the beautiful chest
of drawers. “Your mother has wonderful taste. Can you tell me about
her?”

“You’ll have to ask David. She died when I
was born.”

“I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I didn’t
know.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault that my
brother never talks about her. I used to ask Dad questions, but he
looked so lost, it was worse than not knowing about her.”

Claire says, “Don’t you have any relatives
you could ask?”

“Some distant cousins. They live in
Europe.”

“Surely there is some information inside
these trunks.”

“Haven’t opened them.”

Surprise fills Claire’s face. “Why not?”

I shrug.

“If it were me, I’d have to know what’s in
them,” she says.

Why haven’t I opened them? Probably because I
forgot they’re here. Or because I’m busy with the ranch. Or maybe
because I’m afraid to.

“Maybe I’ll rummage around after the
wedding.”

“If you don’t find what you want to know,
I’ll get David to tell me. Then I’ll tell you. A girl should know
about her own mother.”

She sounds sad.

“Do you know your birth mother?”

“No. They sealed the papers and won’t tell
me.”

“That’s awful.”

“
Yes, it is.”

Claire moves to the door. “See you in the
morning.”

“Goodnight, Claire.”

I put on my t-shirt and wonder what’s worse.
Knowing your mother is dead or not knowing anything about her.

Chapter 9: Do Not Enter – Interloper

The warmth of the sun shines
across my face. Oh, oh. I roll over and
look at Mom’s crystal clock. Seven a.m. I overslept. Dressing
quickly, I rush downstairs hoping everyone isn’t mad at me for not
cooking breakfast sooner.

I hurry into the kitchen and stop like I hit
a tree. Mrs. Dudley is frying bacon.

“Hello, Winifred. Your father went out to the
stables to feed that beast. He asked me to take over the cooking
chores. It’s hard to say no to him. Such a handsome man.”

Shivers wiggle up my spine.

“He said you wouldn’t mind. Do you?”

Yes, you thieving rat. I keep my mouth shut
for Dad’s sake.

She keeps talking. “It’s been so long since I
cooked. I didn’t realize how much I missed it. With my experience,
it might be easier for me to handle the cooking, don’t you
think?”

I grit my teeth.

“Whatever,” I manage to croak. I can’t get
out of the house fast enough. I run through the kitchen and out to
the stable looking for Dad.

He’s in his office. Kong leaps up and
slobbers on my shoes. I pet him, trying to calm down.

“Good morning, Win.”

“How could you let that woman into my
kitchen?”

Dad frowns. “I don’t like the tone of your
voice. You will be civil.”

“But, Dad, you didn’t even consult me!”

“Before they arrived, you complained about
cooking for nine people. I thought you’d like a break.”

“She’s taking over.”

Dad says, “You can handle it. In a month
it’ll all be over. Everything runs smoothly here at the ranch
because we divide chores and work together. You need to sit down,
talk with Mrs. Dudley and organize a schedule.”

“Do you see the way she treats me? And she
drools over you.”

Dad frowns and ignores the comment. “Now, I
really have to work on the finances for that stallion. I need to
buy him before anyone else does. This ranch needs to expand if we
want to keep it.”

Cold chills wash over me. “What are you
taking about? Is the ranch in trouble?”

“Not yet. We need that stallion for breeding.
It will be an enormous financial boost. Eleven months of pregnancy
and training colts until they’re ready to ride, takes time. With
rising costs for equipment and vet bills, we need to expand now.
I’m pretty sure I have enough saved. If we don’t buy one now, we’ll
barely keep ahead.”

“Why haven’t you told me this before?”

“School is your priority. Talk to Mrs. Dudley
about the division of labor. I expect you to set a good example for
our family.”

He goes back to his books like I’m dismissed
from class. Set a good example! What about a dad who shuts out his
own daughter from the important facts that affect her life?

Stomping out, I wonder if I can live a month
without shattering into a million pieces. I slump into the barn.
Dancer neighs. I grab a brush from the tack room and go into his
stall.

“Hey, boy,” I whisper. I brush his silky,
black coat. Dancer turns and pushes into me for a scratch on his
head. Paso Fino horses are beautiful. All colors. Big brown eyes,
long manes and tails, and wonderful personalities.

I lean my head into his neck. He nickers
softly. “It’s going to be a long month, Dancer.”

He lifts his head when Scott comes down the
aisle.

“Brought you some breakfast.” He holds out a
banana and apple.

“Thanks. I’m starving.” I look at the food
stains on his jeans. “What happened to you?”

“Daria spilled her breakfast on me. Getting
even, I guess.”

Scott unfolds a napkin filled with bacon. “I
snitched this when the cook wasn’t looking. She’s pretty put out
you didn’t come in for breakfast.”

Dancer nudges against Scott. A good sign.

“Cool horse,” he says.

I feed the apple to Dancer and eat the rest.
I ask, “Ready for your first lesson?”

“You bet.”

Scott looks like a kid at Christmas.

I get Dancer’s leather bridle. “This is a
snaffle bit, used by those who ride English saddles. It goes in the
mouth like so.” I put my fingers at the side of Dancer’s mouth. He
opens it and I slip the bit inside. He takes it easily, pulling it
to the back of his mouth.

I pull the bridle over his nose. “This strap
is called the crown piece and goes over his head behind the ears.
The strap in front of his ears is called the browband. The one
under his chin is called the throatlatch. You hook it here at the
side of his head to secure the bridle.

I grab a helmet. “See if this fits.”

Scott stares at the black, round hat with a
small brim.

“That’s for sissies.”

“Everyone should wear protective gear for
their head. A horse can throw you when you least expect it.”

“Do I have to?”

“If you want to ride.”

Scott straps on the hat.

“You look like half of an English rider,” I
say. “You just need the clothes. Let’s go.”

“Hey, wait a minute. Where’s the saddle?” he
asks.

I laugh. “You don’t get one. Learning to ride
bareback is the best way to feel the horse under you. To learn
balance.”

“This horse stuff is harder than it
looks.”

“No kidding.”

We walk into the arena and I close the gate
behind us.

Scott, close beside me, says, “I thought we
could go for a ride.”

Chills. The good kind. “First things
first.”

David and John stride out from the house and
lean on the fence. John laughs. “How you gonna’ stay on? There
isn’t a handle.”

“Go away.” Scott glares at his brother. “I
need to concentrate.”

David adds, “On what? The horse or the
girl?”

Scott turns pink.

“Get lost,” I order.

“We need your help on the big project,
Scott,” says David, “if you have the time.”

Sweat breaks out on Scott’s forehead.

I announce, “We’ll be done in an hour.”

David and John walk over to the hay barn,
laughing.

Scott is silent.

Big brothers can be a pain.

I continue with the lesson.

“Always be aware of everything around you
when riding a horse. Some horses are skittish at the slightest
noise. Others think there is a lion behind every tree. Dancer is
not like a rental horse that is willing to walk on a known trail
and follow another horse. He is twelve-hundred pounds of muscle
with a mind of his own.”

Scott looks a little nervous.

“Don’t worry. Dancer is terrific. Very smart.
He knows what you’re thinking, so relax and you’ll be fine. Hold
onto the mane.”

I put my hands together to give him a boost
up. “Put your left foot in my hands and throw your right leg over
the horse. Glide on gently. Don’t come crashing down on his
back.”

Scott mounts easily.

Dancer looks at me and shakes his head. I
know he’s wondering what I’m doing on the ground.

“Sit up straight. It’s easier to balance. Be
like a clothespin on a line. Keep your heels level with the ground
or a little down. I’ll lead him around.”

“Don’t I get to hold the reins? I feel like a
baby.”

“Not yet. I don’t want you yanking on them.
Dancer’s mouth is very sensitive.”

I walk Dancer around the arena several times,
so Scott can get used to the horse’s rhythm. He’s a natural.
Relaxed, straight-backed and balanced.

“You could be a good rider.”

Scott beams. “Thanks. I never thought I’d get
this dream.”

“All guys want to be cowboys.”

Scott looks down at me. “I want to be a
horseman.”

“You’re not like other boys.”

“No way,” he mumbles.

What does he mean by that? I decide not to
ask.

I put the reins over Dancer’s head and put
one rein in each of Scott’s hands. “This is a direct rein. You are
guiding Dancer by exerting pressure directly on his mouth. Always
move your hands forward and backward slightly in rhythm with
Dancer’s head as he moves. When you go left, a very little pull
with your left hand. Right, use your right hand.”

I put my hands around his to show Scott what
I mean. Touching him sends a shot of hot white fire down to my
toes.

“Okay, you’re on your own,” I whisper.

“Giddiyup,” Scott says.

Dancer doesn’t move.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you about the leg
cues,” I say.

“Thanks a lot.”

I laugh. “Squeeze both your legs into
Dancer’s sides. Just a little, unless you want to gallop across the
arena and land in the dust. Pressure on the left leg, to go left.
Right leg, to go right. When you get better, you won’t need to use
the reins to change direction.”

Scott squeezes lightly and Dancer walks
forward.

“Awesome,” he says.

The hour lesson flies by. I wonder why
teaching Scott is more fun than teaching my other students?

We groom Dancer and then go into the
kitchen.

Weasel and Claire argue in the dining
room.

I get us some water.

Claire says, “I already asked Winifred,
Mother.”

“I don’t like the fact that you didn’t inform
me before choosing your maid-of-honor.

After all, I am your mother.”

“You are making all the decisions. This is my
wedding.”

Weasel answers, “But Claire, think about it.
This is the most exciting day of your life. It must be perfect. I
doubt if that girl has ever worn a dress and heels. What if she
falls? And then there’s her hair and complexion.”

A rush of blood drains to my toes. I look at
Scott, mortified. I tear out the kitchen door.

I hear Scott whisper, “Winifred, wait!”

I keep going, Mrs. Dudley’s words pounding in
my head. “Her hair and complexion.” I knew I was ugly. I didn’t
have to hear it from a stranger and in front of Scott.

I rush into the stable. Dancer neighs and I
don’t bother to saddle or bridle him. I slip onto his back. Grab a
hank of mane. We jump over the back gate and race away.

Dry air blows the tears from my face. Fresh
pine fills my nose. My chest throbs like somebody slammed a rock
into it.

We race for miles through the forest. Dancer
reaches our favorite meadow. Stops dead. I flip into the air. My
butt hits the hard ground.

“Ow!”

Dancer whinnies in fear behind me and gallops
away.

“Whoa, Dancer! Come back!”

Chapter 10: Monster Crossing

What spooked Dancer? Fear sweeps through my
body like a flash flood, tingling every nerve. Dragging myself up,
I look around for bear or cougar.

The air glitters with a purple mist. A dainty
hand with a wand floats before my eyes.

A sweet voice says, “Don’t be afraid. I’m
your Fairy Godmoth ... OOOFFF.”

Electricity cracks in the air. Chills slither
down my spine.

The hand disappears in a flash.

BOOM!

The ground shakes. I scramble backward and
thump into a tree. Dark clouds

menace the meadow. Heartbeats crash in my
head. I can’t breathe or move.

An engine roars overhead. Chrome plunges down
through the mist.

I scream and hit the ground.

A Harley Davidson pops through the vanishing
mist. Metal wings on the sides of the motorcycle clank back and
forth in flight as it lands. Astride it, is a tall, female figure
in a cool, red leather jumpsuit that fits like skin. Her yellow
knee boots shine.

“Be quick about it,” says the rider in an
irritated, yet sexy voice. “My stylist freaks if I’m late and it’s
not a pretty sight.”

She pushes a button. The metal wings fold up
against the sides of the motorcycle.

Silence and exotic perfume fill the air.

I try to move, but I’m shaking too much.

Suddenly, I notice the whip hooked onto her
silver-studded black belt. I scramble backward and bump against the
tree. Dry bark digs into my hands.

The rider removes the black helmet.

I scream. It’s the monster in my
nightmare.

“Buck up,” orders the rider.

I run away on shaky legs.

A gloved fist grabs me by the back of my
shirt. I hang in the air like the catch of the day.

“Going someplace?” the voice purrs.

“H-home.”

“Not.”

The fist swings me around. I stare into
yellow, cat eyes.