The Christmas Pony (11 page)

To Lucy's surprise, Veronica made an appearance at the breakfast table on Sunday. But something told Lucy that she was not in a very happy mood. For that matter, neither were George or Mama. In fact, everyone seemed quiet and subdued, especially after the joviality of their last meal together. In between feeding chickens and filling the wood box, Lucy spent much of the morning trying to pin down Mama in regard to last night's festivities, but Mama had been tight-lipped and something else too. Lucy thought perhaps Mama was
distracted
. That's what Mama said about Lucy sometimes, when her mind was somewhere else. Before she could get to the bottom of it, it was time to go to church.

As usual, the Brewsters stopped by to offer a ride. George also planned to drive. However, his roadster only had one seat, so Grandma and the Dorchesters decided to go with the Brewsters, and Mama was about to join them when George stepped in.

“Why don't you ride with me, Miriam?” he said cheerfully.

Mama looked somewhat surprised but pleased. “Well, I suppose—”

“But there won't be room in the roadster,” Veronica said quickly. “Not if Lucy is coming with us, George.”

Now Lucy stepped back. As much as she liked riding in George's nice car, she wanted Mama to ride with him. “I'll ride in the Brewsters' rumble seat,” she said. “That's fun.”

“But it's so cold,” Mama told her.

“That's all right.” Lucy smiled as she moved toward the Brewsters' car. “I don't mind. I just pretend it's a sleigh ride.” Satisfied that she'd secured Mama a snug spot next to George, Lucy waited for Mr. Brewster to open the rumble seat. But as she got into the outdoor seat, she noticed Veronica's feathered hat ducking into George's car, and then Veronica slid to the center of the seat so that Mama had to sit by the door. Still, Mama seemed fine, holding her head high as George headed the big yellow car down the snowy lane.

Lucy tried not to fume at Veronica as they rode to church. It was bad enough that she hadn't said her prayers last night, but to go to church angry . . . well, that just didn't seem right. Especially on the Sunday before Christmas.

The Brewsters' car pulled up by the church just as George was hopping out of his parked car. Lucy watched as George ran around to the passenger side and, with a flourish and a bow, opened the door, offered Mama his hand, and helped her out of the car. Completely ignoring Veronica, George led Mama up the church steps.

Lucy restrained herself from letting out a victory whoop as Mr. Brewster parked directly behind the yellow roadster, but she couldn't help but feel this meant that George was choosing Mama over Veronica. Feeling just a little sorry for Veronica as she crawled out of the car, adjusting the shiny purple feather on her hat, Lucy jumped down out of the rumble seat, made a sprint toward Veronica, and took her
by the hand. “Did you have a nice ride?” she asked as they walked together into church.

Veronica made a stiff smile, holding her coat closed against the wind. “It's colder than the dickens today. I don't know how you could stand riding in that rumble seat, doll.”

“It wasn't so bad.” Even so, Lucy shivered as they went inside.

“Oh, to be in California,” Veronica said dramatically.

Lucy nodded as if she agreed—and in truth, she did. If a genie appeared right now, offering her one magic wish today, she would ask that Veronica be whisked off to California immediately, or at least before sunset. (Or else she would do the smart thing and wish for three more wishes!) But as the congregation began to sing, Lucy realized that daydreaming about genies and wishes probably wasn't the best use of one's time during church. When it was time to silently bow her head before God, Lucy told him that she was sorry about being late for pageant practice and promised to tell Mama the truth at her first opportunity. After that, singing the hymns and Christmas songs felt so much better. Lucy felt certain she'd be able to say her bedtime prayers properly tonight. At least she hoped so.

T
he rest of Sunday passed in a flurry that started when Mrs. Dorchester tripped while going up the stairs shortly after their midday meal. It took Mama, Grandma, and Mr. Dorchester to get her safely down the stairs and onto the front room sofa, and the whole time she was howling in pain. Mama called Dr. Mickelson, who came by to see what could be done.

“It looks like a bad ankle sprain,” he proclaimed. “Best thing you can do is to stay off of it for a couple of weeks.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” she sputtered. “There's my nephew's wedding to attend to, and then I need to get home, and good grief, our room is up those doggone stairs.” She pointed to the staircase as if it were to blame for her clumsiness.

Dr. Mickelson shrugged as he wiped the lenses of his glasses. “I'll have someone drop some crutches and other things by.” He wrote something down in a little black book. “I've got something in my satchel for your pain.” He glanced over at the stairs. “But you won't be going up those stairs for some time.” He turned to Mama. “Is there a room down here that she can use?”

Mama frowned. “There are only two rooms down here. My mother and I share one, and Lucy is in the—”

“She can have my room,” Lucy offered.

So it was that George spent a couple of hours helping Lucy to switch things from her room and the bedroom upstairs. It
took lots of trips up and down the stairs, but George never complained once. Meanwhile Mama did her best to make Mrs. Dorchester comfortable and happy . . . which was not easy. Grandma tended to her usual chores in the kitchen.

Shortly before dinnertime, everything was set. Lucy was settled in the middle room upstairs, and Mr. and Mrs. Dorchester were down in her room. “Will you be comfortable up here?” George asked.

She grinned. “This used to be my room.”

“Really?” He looked around the small room with interest.

“When my daddy was alive. He and Mama had the big front room and I slept right here.” She patted the bed, which now had her crazy quilt spread over it. “After Daddy died, Mama and I moved our bedrooms downstairs. She said it was warmer down there in the wintertime. Then Mama started renting rooms up here. When Grandma came to live with us, she and Mama decided to share a room.”

“Things changed a lot when your father died.”

Lucy nodded.

“I'm sure you must miss him still.”

She nodded again.

“Well . . .” He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “I'll leave you to it. I'm sure it must be just about time for dinner.”

It wasn't until Lucy was seated at the table, where Mrs. Dorchester's chair was vacant, that she remembered she still hadn't told Mama about being late for the pageant practice and consequently losing her angel's wings. Lucy considered making this announcement now, but she couldn't quite think of the right way to say it.

“Who all wants to go to the Christmas pageant tonight?” George asked everyone at the table.

“Not Mrs. Dorchester, that's for sure.” Mr. Dorchester shook his head. “Not me either.”

“I want to go,” Grandma said. “I'm sure Miriam does too.”

Mama just nodded as she reached for the salt shaker.

Lucy wanted to say she wasn't terribly eager to go but knew that would require a full explanation and wouldn't get her out of her responsibilities either.

“I'd like to go too,” Veronica said. “I've been giving Lucy dramatic advice, and I'm most curious to see how well she performs.”

Lucy felt her stomach twisting.

“I have an idea,” George said. “Since my car holds only two passengers at the most, how about if I make two trips to town. I can drop Lucy and one other person earlier. Then I can take two others for the second trip.” He pointed to Veronica. “Since you've been helping Lucy, maybe you'd like to be in the first trip.”

Veronica looked uncertain. “Well . . . I suppose that would be all right. I could always walk around town a bit, just to kill time. It might be better than being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.”

It was settled, and Lucy knew there was no way out of it. She would've told Mama the whole story, but Mama was busy running back and forth for Mrs. Dorchester. Grandma had given her a bell to ring when she needed something, and it seemed the bell rang about every other minute.

“Time to go,” George told Lucy and Veronica. “Are you ladies all ready?”

“Ready when you are.” Veronica reached for her fur-trimmed coat.

Lucy grimaced. “Yes. I'll get my coat.”

George wasn't even on the main road before Veronica began giving acting tips and advice to Lucy, telling her how to hold her chin high and to look directly out over the audience. Lucy exchanged glances with George, and it looked like he was suppressing laughter, although Lucy didn't see any humor in it.

“Remember what I said about thinking of yourself as an angel, Lucy. Think heavenly thoughts and put a sparkle in your eye and you'll be the—”

“Stop!”
Lucy held up her hands. “Please, stop!”

“Well!” Veronica scowled at Lucy. “That's the thanks I get for all my help and advice. Humph!”

“I'm sorry,” Lucy told her. “It's just that I don't get to play an angel after all.”

“What?” Veronica looked surprised. “Why ever not?”

Looking down at her lap, Lucy explained that being late had cost her the role of angel. “I really wanted to be an angel this year.”

“Well, that's too bad.” Veronica made a tsk-tsk sound. “What are you playing then? A shepherd?”

“No . . . it's worse than that,” Lucy admitted. “A sheep.”

“A sheep?” Veronica made a snorting sort of laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

Lucy shook her head.

“What do you do? Say baa, baa?”

Lucy barely nodded.

Veronica laughed harder. “They are not going to believe this!”

“Who?” George asked.

“The people in Hollywood . . . I mean, when I get there. They are not going to believe I rode through a snowy night
to see my little friend here playing the role of a farm animal.” She threw back her head and laughed loudly.

Lucy felt that lump growing in her throat again. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly.

“What?” Veronica turned to her. “I couldn't hear you over the engine, doll.”

“I just said I'm sorry,” Lucy repeated. “I can understand why you don't want to go now. Maybe you can ride back home with George or something.”

“Hmm . . . not a bad idea.”

George scowled at Veronica. “I'm looking forward to seeing Lucy as a sheep.”

“I'm sure she will make a perfectly charming sheep,” Veronica said lightly.

For the rest of the drive, the only sound was the motor rumbling and the crunching of snow beneath the tires. Lost in her thoughts, Lucy wondered how she would manage to find Mama and Grandma and explain everything . . . all before the pageant began.

“Here we are,” George said as he pulled up in front of the church. As he helped her out of the car, he smiled. “Remember what I told you, Lucy. About the Lamb of God and his humble beginnings.”

Lucy held up her chin and nodded. “I'll try to keep that in mind.”

“Break a leg,” Veronica called from the car.

Lucy frowned. “You mean like Mrs. Dorchester? But she only sprained—”

“No, silly.” Veronica laughed. “It's a show biz saying. It's like good luck.”

“Oh . . . thanks.” Lucy waved to both of them, then hurried into the church. At least she wasn't late tonight. In fact, she was early. She slipped into the back of the sanctuary and into the last row, slumping down into the polished wooden pew and wishing she could think of a reason not to play a sheep tonight.

Before long, other children were coming in. Some were already in costume, and some went back to change. Lucy didn't need to worry about changing much since her costume was just the scratchy, smelly blanket. Even if she didn't grab it until the last minute, it would probably go unnoticed. Just like she would go unnoticed. Most of all, she wanted to keep a close watch on the door. She wanted to explain this business to Mama and Grandma.

Other parents and family members began filling the church pews, and Lucy was just getting worried that she wouldn't get a chance to speak to Mama when she and Grandma came in. “Oh, Mama,” Lucy said as she jumped up from her seat.

“Lucy? What's the matter? Is something wrong?” Mama looked worried.

“Shouldn't you be in your costume?” Grandma asked.

“I have to tell you something first.” Right in the aisle, with others looking on, Lucy spilled out the whole humiliating story of how she'd been late because of the movie. “Now I'm a sheep instead of an angel,” she said breathlessly.

Grandma grinned. “Better a sheep than a goat.”

“Why didn't you tell me this yesterday?” Mama asked.

“I wanted to, but—”

“Lucy Turnbull,” Mrs. Babcock called from up front. “What are you doing down there? Come on, come on.” She clapped her hands. “Front and center.”

“I'm sorry, Mama,” Lucy blurted. Then she turned and hurried up front.

All in all, it wasn't that bad playing a sheep again. Lucy put her heart into it as she thought hard about how a sheep might act. She bent down her head and pretended to eat grass, she said an authentic-sounding “baa” at appropriate times, and she even moved her body like she thought a sheep might do as she followed the shepherd up to the manger to see the baby Jesus, which was really Helen Krausner's old baby doll wrapped in a shredded sheet. Really, she thought, she was doing a much better job than the boys.

Even so, she was thankful when it was over. It was a relief to toss off her “costume” while other children struggled to peel off layers of cloaks and belts and headdresses. She hurried down to the church basement where the audience was to gather for holiday cookies and punch. She spotted George's tall head on the other side of the room, and as she made her way toward him, she spied Mama and Grandma too.

“Nicely done,” George said as he patted her on the head.

“Thanks.” She smiled. “I did my best.”

He held up a frosted cookie shaped like a Christmas tree. “I saved this for you . . . in case you were interested. They were going fast.”

“Thanks.”

Mama gave Lucy an uncertain look but said nothing. Lucy supposed that Mama might be upset at her for keeping something from her. Still, Lucy wasn't sure what to do about it. Helen Krausner was coming her way. She motioned with her fingers for Lucy to come over and talk to her. Lucy wanted to turn and run the other way, but she went reluctantly.

“Where is your movie star friend?” Helen demanded. “You said she'd be here tonight.”

“She decided not to come,” Lucy told her.

Helen looked doubtful.

“She was disappointed when she found out I was only playing a sheep.”

“Or else you just made her up.”

“I didn't make her up,” Lucy insisted. “She's real.”

Helen rolled her eyes upward. “Says you.”

“It's true. If you ask around town, I'm sure you'll hear that other people have seen her.”

Helen shrugged. “I didn't think she'd really come. I could tell you were lying.”

“I wasn't lying,” Lucy protested. “Honest, Helen, Veronica is real.”

Helen tilted her nose up, just the way Veronica sometimes did. “Well, I'll believe it when I see it.” She turned and walked away.

“We'll have to pile into the car on the way home,” George said as he led them outside. “It'll be cozy.”

“Lucy can sit on my lap,” Grandma offered.

Before long, they were all piled into the car with Mama in the middle and Lucy sitting on Grandma's bony knees. “Am I too heavy?” Lucy asked.

“No, dear, you're fine. Just lean back and relax.” She wrapped her arms around Lucy's middle. “I'll pretend like you're my little Baby Lucy again.”