The sun enhanced his golden coat, making it shine like a diamond The smell of baking bread filled my nostrils as I walked into the house, carrying my basket of eggs. “Carrie! Did you bring in the eggs?” Mama called from the kitchen. “Yes, Mama.” I set the basket on the table, where Mama was kneading bread dough. It was strange seeing her alone in the kitchen; usually Colleen was helping her. But since Papa died, Colleen had been spending more time with her friends to avoid the emptiness of the house. Jack took care of the cattle and the horses, and it was my job to look after the sheep and chickens. “Give me that salt, please, dear,” Mama said, nodding toward the can on the table. I scooted the can her way. “Can I help?” I asked. “Please. You can chop those onions and potatoes for the soup.” I quietly went about my work, then asked, “Where’s Colleen?” Mama sighed, folding the dough over once again. “She’s off with Katie and Nancy again.” “Why don’t you make her stay here?” I asked. “She’s seventeen years old, Carrie. I can’t just make her stay in the house.” “But you’re her mother! She should do whatever you tell her to.” “It doesn’t work that way.” I could see the sadness in her eyes as she rinsed flour from her hands. Her body was here, but her mind was far away. With Papa. “Thank you for helping, dear, now why don’t you go outside?” Mama said. I could tell she needed some time alone. I went to the room I shared with my brother, Jack, and grabbed my sketching pen and paper. Once I was outside, I did not waste any time climbing my special tree and beginning to draw. First I sketched the brook running alongside the barn; it was unusually pretty today. Then I began slowly shaping the outline of a pony’s head. Pointed ears, alert eyes, flaring nostrils, streaming mane—when I was finished adding details and wisps of stray hair, I was surprised at how good it had turned out. Some say I should be angry with horses. After all, it was because of one that my papa had been killed. But my love for horses was as strong as ever. Three months ago, my papa had gone with a group of cowboys to round up mustangs. It was the cowboys’ job to round up horses when the herds got a little crowded; the mustangs were then sold. On that particular day, the lead stallion had not been happy with his mares being taken. So he charged around, neighing and bucking, and finally Papa’s horse was spooked. The horse reared, and Papa fell under the flailing hooves of the lead stallion. I sat in my tree, thinking about Papa and how much I missed him. My mind was so occupied that I almost did not notice the beautiful horse on the horizon. But when I did notice it, I was amazed and hypnotized. He was gorgeous. The sun enhanced his golden coat, making it shine like a diamond. His mane and tail were white, pure white. Other than that, he was completely golden, all over his body. I could not resist climbing down the tree to get a better look. He was not any less beautiful on the ground. He stampeded across the earth as if he owned it. I ran inside. “Mama! Mama, you have to come see him, he’s beautiful, it’s…” “Calm down, Carrie. What do you want?” Mama asked. “Just… come outside!” I grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door. “Look!” Suddenly, Mama froze. She became pale, and her eyes glazed over with bitterness. “Carrie.” She spoke sharply. “I don’t want you near that horse.” I stared at her in confusion. “What? Why?” “It’s… it’s that devil horse. Just stay away from it.” She gulped and went back inside. As I watched the beautiful horse galloping around, I tried to understand what Mama meant. Suddenly, I realized. That horse was the lead stallion who had killed Papa. * * * When I walked into the barn the next day, I did not expect to see the palomino stallion munching hay that had fallen from the loft. I had figured by the open the door that Jack was inside caring for the horses, but I was met instead with the surprised eyes of the palomino stallion. When he saw me, he flicked his ears back and took a tiny step backward. Not thinking about the fact that he could easily bolt and mow me over, I slowly held my hand out. With a fair amount of hesitation, he sniffed it. Overjoyed as I was to be petting the mustang, I knew Jack would be coming out soon, and Mama would surely order the horse shot. “You need to go,” I said. I backed against the wall and raised my voice. “Go! Go, or you’ll be killed!” His muscles tensed and, laying his ears back, the stallion galloped past me and out of the barn. As I watched him become smaller, approaching the sun, the perfect name struck me. Diablo. It meant devil in Spanish, and devil horse was how Mama had described him. * * * Diablo did not come so near the house after that; I just watched him on the place where earth and sky met to make a beautiful picture. Each day that I watched him, I developed a stronger bond with him, and I felt I had an obligation to him. It was strange. But I felt we were great friends. Over time, I began to wonder if Diablo had come back to apologize. It sounded crazy, but I thought it was possible. No; I knew it was possible. Something else, too; it seemed that every day, Diablo galloped closer and closer to the house. It was like he was gradually trying to get closer to me. One day,
Horses
Silent Friends
Freedom. That was the word that came to my mind as I watched them. They were so beautiful. So majestic. They were completely unaware of my presence, and yet I was enjoying theirs so much. They were wild horses. They walked and breathed as if they were a part of the earth. Drops of sunlight made their coats glimmer and shine. They moved with elegant grace and power. I rested my chin on my hands and sighed. I could have sat there, behind my special rock, forever. But the sun was slowly disappearing behind the emerald trees. I knew that I should saddle up and go home. I felt a warm breath on my cheek and looked up to see my horse, Aspen, standing beside me. I smiled and leaned my cheek against hers. “They’re beautiful, huh girl?” I said. My golden-and-white paint horse lifted her head and whinnied to the wild horses. They raised their heads in surprise. Some nickered in return. It was a beautiful sight, one that I wished would never end. Pink, orange, and blue clouds highlighted the purplish sky as the sun hid beneath the horizon. Foals and yearlings frolicked and played, and the lead horses kept an eye out for danger. I sighed. It was too bad I could not go any closer. I would be considered a danger if I approached them further. But it was no matter. For now, I was content just watching them. I always marveled at wild horses—their strength, their will. They suffered through many trials and losses, and still they went on gracefully. It was a beautiful sight, one that I wished would never end Slowly, I moved to sit on top of my rock. The lead stallion saw me and watched me with a scrutinizing eye. When he saw I meant no harm, he walked away. Still, I could tell he was carefully aware of me. This herd was special to me. I could not explain why—perhaps it was just because I was a horse-lover at heart. But they were my friends. They did not know that, of course—they were my silent friends. A friend that is not necessarily friends with you, but you are undoubtedly friends with them. I smiled. I liked that idea. A name, I thought suddenly. Each horse needed a name. After all, if I was going to be friends with them—silent friends, of course—I needed to know what to call them, individually. First I thought of a name for the lead stallion, a muscular, fiery bay with a blaze on his face… Blaze. That was perfect—not only because of his markings but because I could tell the word matched his temperament, his personality. Next I named the cute little gray foal that always stood out to me. That was Twister—not only was he a stormy color but he seemed to like jumping and twirling like a tornado. I gave a name to each and every member of the herd. Sunflower, Star, Bunny—I mentally marked them all with a special name that I saw fit. But I could not always call the herd by all their names, or even simply “the herd.” That was not special enough. As night fell and I readied Aspen for the ride home, I smiled. It was simple. They were my Silent Friends. Emily Grant, 13Potosi, Missouri Libby Marrs, 13Albuquerque, New Mexico
Royal Blue
“We’ll see who the better horse is tomorrow, won’t we?” I paced nervously back and forth in front of Royal Blue’s stall and wondered why Dad was taking so long talking to Mr. Fields. Mr. Fields wasn’t going to buy Royal Blue even if he paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for the successful racehorse, I knew, since Dad had told me just that morning that he wouldn’t sell. Dad turned down many offers already. Why wasn’t he giving Mr. Fields just a flat-out no? I stopped walking and patted Blue’s satin nose, which was sticking out of the stall. The chestnut stallion was scheduled to race in the Kentucky Derby tomorrow, and since he had shown so well in races before, people from all over the country were coming to put in an offer before the race. “We’re not selling you,” I said softly to Blue, looking up into his caramel-colored eyes. “You’re going to run in our barn’s colors tomorrow, boy. You can count on that.” Finally, Mr. Fields appeared from the office and walked down the aisle. He looked a bit disgruntled, which I gathered to mean that Blue was still ours. “Fine thoroughbred,” he commented, giving Royal Blue a small sugar cube from his coat pocket. “Good luck tomorrow.” “Thank you,” I replied a little frostily, wondering why Mr. Fields was bothering to talk to me. When he had made offers on some of our other thoroughbreds, he had always ignored me. “You’re going to need it. You know King of the Wind, my prized race horse, will be competing tomorrow, and it is well known that he has won just as many races as Royal Blue!” My heart jumped to my throat. King of the Wind was one of the winningest horses in the Derby, and although I knew Royal Blue was just as fast, he was recovering from a strained tendon. It took months of rehabilitation and training until Blue was fit enough to run again. “Well, good luck to you, sir,” I said, glad that I had a decent poker face. “We’ll see who the better horse is tomorrow, won’t we?” Mr. Fields chuckled. “Yes, I think we will.” He smiled and left the barn, still laughing under his breath. I grimaced from his mocking me and wished I thought of a good retort, but I was consoled by the fact that Royal Blue might win, letting us have the last laugh. Dad strolled over to me at Blue’s stall and smiled. “Well, Sam, we still have Royal Blue.” “That’s great, Dad,” I said, forcing a smile, not wanting him to know I was worried that King of the Wind might breeze ahead of us at the first of the Triple Crown races. “Don’t worry, hon. Think of how Royal Blue has won so many other times.” Dad patted me on the back, seeing through my front. I nodded absently, thinking of just the opposite, of how many Blue hadn’t won without anything to explain for a poor performance. “Good night, Blue. See you at the track, buddy.” Dad stroked Blue’s nose once before turning to leave the barn. “Sleep tight, Blue! You’ve got a long day ahead of you, boy,” I said, smiling and following Dad. * * * The day of the race dawned bright and early for everyone at the track. We arrived at the barn before any spectators were around, yet before we were halfway through with grooming and saddling Blue, people started milling around, wanting autographs from trainers and jockeys and snapshots of the horses. I was Blue’s groom and the daughter of the owner; so as I walked him to stretch his legs, I had to put up with reporters asking question after question after question. “Miss Sam Kinsley,” one reporter called out, running up to us as we walked. “How do you think your chances of winning are today, compared to your biggest rival, King of the Wind?” I thought carefully, knowing anything I said could be twisted into anything the reporter wanted. “Well, racing is a gamble, and anything could happen on the track today. King of the Wind will be a threat, but I’m sure we’ll be up to the challenge,” I replied. The reporter wrote this down, but before he could press me more, another reporter came on the other side of Blue with another question. “Mr. Fields, King of the Wind’s owner, is boasting that his horse can win the Derby, as well as the Triple Crown. Do you think this is so, Miss Kinsley?” “Every horse out there has a chance today,” I said simply, knowing that was the most diplomatic response I could give. Luckily, I returned to the barn by this time and was able to get the door open and me inside. However, it isn’t so easy to fit a thousand-pound animal inside a small crack; so in widening it, a few other people followed me in. Thankfully, it was only Mr. Williams and Mr. Ridge, two friends of my father’s, and Jim Crawly, a reporter who respected our privacy and never published anything about us without asking our permission. “Well, hello, Jim,” Mom said. She was dressed in a pretty print dress and a blue floral hat. “How d’you do, ma’am,” Jim politely replied. “Very well, thank you. I’m sorry I can’t stop to chat. I’ll save you a seat though.” “In the winner’s circle?” Jim quipped back confidently. Mom left, and since everyone else seemed pretty busy, I decided I’d go warm up Blue. I led him to the exercise track and swung up on his saddle. “Hello, Miss Kinsley.” I stiffened at the voice behind me. Carl Davis, the head exercise rider for the horses at Mr. Fields’s stable, rode up behind me on King of the Wind. Carl was definitely not my favorite person and, since he always condescended to me because I was just a groom, I avoided him as much as
