The Great Pony Hassle Read online

  “Or drew straws,” suggested Stirling calmly. How could she be so quiet? Staci’s heart was pounding like kettledrums.

  “Or flipped a coin,” said Cathy.

  “I have an even better idea,” said Aunt Caledonia. “Let the pony decide.”

  All around the table faces lifted, and everyone looked at one another and nodded.

  Staci and Toni and Stirling stood in the paddock, each holding a carrot. Bruce McPherson had lined them up so carefully that nobody’s carrot was even a millimeter in front of the others. The adults were enjoying all this. Staci was not. Her stomach was flipping so hard she couldn’t think.

  Aunt Caledonia stood at the other end of the paddock, holding Noodles by the halter. The pony had already scented the carrots, and he stood with pricked ears and eager eyes. “Okay,” Aunt Caledonia called, “you know the rules. Nobody call to the pony. Nobody move. All right? All right.” She gave Noodles a friendly whack and let go of the halter.

  Like a fat dog heading toward supper, Noodles trotted at top speed toward the three waiting girls.

  Please, please, Noodles, oh please choose me.… There was no danger that Staci would break the rules and move. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe.

  Noodles stopped in front of her. Noodles, with eyes as big as the world.… Everything seemed to slow down. Staci noticed how short hairs shagged up from the top of Noodles’s creamy mane, perking in the breeze. She saw the palomino sheen on his fat belly and the snip of white on his pink nostril. She saw the crusts at the corner of his dark eyes, and she wanted to be the one to dampen the sponge and clean them away, the one to take care of Noodles and love him. Surely Noodles had to know how much she already loved him.…

  Maybe he did. With a flounce of forelock and a toss of his head, Noodles bared his teeth and took a tremendous chomp of her carrot.

  Staci heard noises, a cheer from the grown-ups and maybe from Paisley too, a shriek of joy from Toni—that was like Toni, to be happy for her sister—a softer squeal from Stirling. But Staci herself couldn’t scream, didn’t look around, didn’t see anything but white, as if she were floating on a cloud; she had thrown her arms around a golden neck and buried her face in a shaggy mane.

  10

  Of Peace and Ponies

  The adults had gone inside. Paisley sat at the picnic table, with the bug repellent on the bench beside her, where Cathy had put it after making sure she used it. In the paddock, with happy yells, Toni and Stirling were taking turns riding Noodles around and around. His short legs trotted so fast, they seemed to blur. With his low build and all his fluffy mane he looked like a white-and-yellow caterpillar motoring along. When Noodles cantered, he bounced like a tennis ball. Watching, Paisley had to smile.

  The screen door slammed. Staci came out of the house carrying a newspaper, crossed the yard, sprayed her legs so she wouldn’t get chigger bites, and then sat down next to Paisley.

  The two girls sat in silence for a while. They weren’t much used to talking to each other. “Why aren’t you riding your pony?” Paisley finally asked.

  “I figured I’d wait until you got yours. Then we can both ride.”

  “Huh. Whatever.” Paisley turned suddenly, her brown eyes as bright and mischievous as a certain palomino pony’s. “This was my plan all along, you know. A pony apiece. You guys can all thank me.”

  “Right,” said Staci.

  “It was!”

  “You turkey! You lie.”

  “Nuh-uh! I had it all scoped out.”

  “Sure you did.”

  “Did too! Would you ever have had a pony if I hadn’t come along?”

  Staci bared her teeth, set them edge to edge, and said, “Thank you ever so much, O Great Parsley.”

  “You’re welcome, Anastasia.”

  Paisley turned back to watching her sister ride. Staci opened the newspaper.

  “Whatcha reading?” Paisley asked after a while.

  “Classifieds. See if anybody has a used saddle for sale.”

  Paisley said, “Any ponies listed for sale?”

  “A few,” Staci admitted.

  Silence.

  Paisley said, “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, read me what ponies are for sale!”

  “Read them yourself.” Staci handed the newspaper over, trying not to smile. She had already marked the ads Paisley was going to want to see.

  Paisley gave her a look, then started to read aloud. “For Sale, twelve-year-old large grade pony, rides English or Western, quiet, no vices. For Sale, Arabian, six years old, fourteen hands, gray, needs experienced rider—forget that one. For Sale, Welsh mare, shown 4-H, jumps, thirteen hands, ten years old, dark chestnut with flaxen mane and tail—ooh, that sounds pretty! For Sale, black pony with saddle and bridle, good child’s mount—hey, that sounds great!”

  “When you get your pony,” Staci said, “maybe we can ride out that dirt road where we found Noodles.”

  “Sure,” said Paisley. “Sure thing.”

  Late that same summer all four girls went riding out the dirt road to the farm Noodles had come from, and beyond it, to a park by a river, where they rode their ponies into the water and let them drink and giggled when the ponies pawed at the water.

  Paisley rode a big shiny-black pony with a silver-spangled Western saddle and bridle. He was pretty enough to turn heads, and spirited, but not so spirited that she couldn’t handle him. He always responded to her voice and her hands on the reins. She loved him, and he was beginning to love her. He was a crackerjack pony, and Paisley had named him Crackerjack.

  Toni rode a pony who was dark brown all over, mane, tail, face, feet, not a black hair or a white speck on him anywhere. He plodded along quietly, swishing his brown tail, and hardly ever shied or balked. When she had first seen him, Toni had thought, What a plain-Jane pony. Then she had noticed how sweet and gentle his long face was, and how kind the expression of his eye. She had asked Dad McPherson to buy him, and she adored him, and she could ride him bareback all the time because he was so quiet. He was the color of pumpernickel bread, and his name was Pumpernickel.

  Stirling rode a white pony mare, an Arabian-Welsh cross pretty enough for a princess. The mare was small, but she seemed bigger than she was. She floated when she moved. She held her tail high and her head high, and there was black fire in her eyes. Her legs were charcoal gray below the knee, and her mane and tail shone silver. The soft skin around her nostrils and eyes was almost black. And there were tiny speckles of black on her high-arched neck, as if someone had sprinkled her with pepper. Because of that and the fire in her eyes, Stirling called her Pepper. Staci knew now that Stirling was not afraid of ponies, any pony. It took a girl with grit to ride Pepper.

  And Staci? Staci rode the smallest pony, and loved it. Staci rode Noodles.

  The girls got the ponies moving again and splashed across the river and trotted up the bank on the other side. The whole countryside was spread in front of them.

  Paisley said, “We ought to bring lunch sometime. We could really explore far.”

  “Yeah,” everyone agreed.

  “Maybe sometime we could even go camping,” called Toni from her place in the rear—Pumpernickel liked to be last. “Go somewhere and take a tent and the ponies.”

  “Yeah!”

  “Sometime we could go to a pony show,” Stirling suggested.

  “Heck,” yelled Paisley, “we could practically have our own pony show!” Everybody laughed.

  “Lots of things we could do!” Staci yelled back. “We can do anything! We’ve got pony power!”

  “Yeah!”

  “Let’s hear it for pony power!”

  Pony power took Staci and Toni, Paisley and Stirling cantering up the next hill. At the top they all stopped to look: Across hill and valley, they could see home.

  About the Author

  Nancy Springer has passed the fifty-book milestone with novels for adults, young adults, and children, in genres in
cluding mythic fantasy, contemporary fiction, magic realism, horror, and mystery—although she did not realize she wrote mystery until she won the Edgar Award from the Mystery Writers of America two years in succession. Born in Montclair, New Jersey, Springer moved with her family to Gettysburg, of Civil War fame, when she was thirteen. She spent the next forty-six years in Pennsylvania, raising two children (Jonathan and Nora), writing, horseback riding, fishing, and bird-watching. In 2007 she surprised her friends and herself by moving with her second husband to an isolated area of the Florida Panhandle where the bird-watching is spectacular, and where, when fishing, she occasionally catches an alligator.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 1993 by Nancy Springer

  Illustrations copyright © 1993 by Daniel Mark Duffy

  Cover design by Mauricio Díaz

  ISBN: 978-1-5040-2130-2

  This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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