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  Soon Grandma reappeared, leading her chestnut mare toward the arena. “Let’s ride in the woods.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “I don’t know about you, but I think Jet’s had enough of this dust.”

  Rosie loved any kind of riding, but she especially liked it when she was allowed to leave the arena and ride around the property of Sonrise Stable. Jet whinnied a greeting to her friend, Kezzie. Rosie envied the horses’ friendship. Someday she hoped to have a best friend too.

  Grandma opened the arena gate for Rosie, then mounted Kezzie. They rode the horses at a walk past the barn, across the pasture, and into the woods.

  “Fall is my favorite time of year,” Grandma said. “Don’t you love the sound of the horses crunching through the leaves?”

  “What? I can’t hear you,” Rosie shouted. “The leaves are making too much noise!”

  “Whoa.” Grandma pulled back on the reins, and Kezzie stopped. She turned the horse around to face Rosie. “Those leaves against Jet’s black coat would make a beautiful picture. I wish I had brought my camera.”

  Rosie leaned over, laughing as she tried to catch the multicolored leaves spiraling down from the trees. “It’s snowing leaves!”

  Jet stopped when she felt her rider’s weight shift in the saddle. The pony stood patiently, leaves swirling around her, and waited for Rosie to reposition herself.

  “You silly girl.” Grandma smiled. “It’s a good thing that pony knows how to take care of you, otherwise you’d probably land on your head.”

  “Jet won’t let me fall off,” Rosie said. “It’s not that far to the ground anyway.”

  “Come on, you two.” Grandma waved Rosie forward.

  Rosie urged her pony into a trot to catch up. When she got close enough, Jet gave Kezzie a playful nip on the hindquarters. The chestnut mare squealed and stomped her foot as a warning to the mischievous pony. Although she was much smaller, Jet didn’t seem to realize it. She loved to be the leader and was not intimidated by trail obstacles that often frightened larger horses.

  Rosie and her grandmother rode side by side along the trail, rocking gently to the horses’ rhythm.

  “This is the kind of riding I love. No horse shows or competitions—just taking it easy, enjoying my horse and the beauty of God’s creation.”

  The breeze flipped a section of Kezzie’s long, flaxen mane over her neck. Grandma reached down and moved the hair back to the correct side. “Sometimes it seems like only yesterday that I began training her. Good horses are rare, and she’s been a great one.”

  “But she’s not as good as Jet,” Rosie insisted.

  “Maybe not, but almost.” Grandma paused with a mysterious smile on her face. “Next year, I’ll have another training project. You’re learning so quickly; I think you’ll be ready to help me.”

  Rosie tilted her head and looked up at her grandmother. “Me? Train a horse? How could I do that? I’m not that good yet.”

  “Not exactly a horse. A foal.”

  “A foal?” Rosie repeated, still not understanding. “Yes. Jet’s foal.”

  As the meaning of her grandmother’s words sank in, Rosie nearly bounced off the pony. “A foal? Jet’s going to have a baby? When?”

  Grandma smiled at Rosie’s reaction.

  “Oh, no! Am I hurting her?” Rosie stood in the stirrups. “Should I be riding her now?”

  “Calm down. She’s not going to have it tomorrow! It takes horses eleven months to have a foal.”

  “Oh.” Rosie gently sat down and tried to calculate when eleven months would be.

  “You can keep riding Jet for a while. The exercise will be good for her. She won’t have the foal until early next spring.”

  ***

  When they returned to the barn, Rosie helped her grandmother removed the saddle, then she ran a brush lightly over the pony’s side.

  “She won’t break. You can groom her like you always have.”

  Next, Rosie dumped a wheelbarrow full of fresh shavings into Jet’s stall. “This will make a nice, soft bed for you.”

  The pony pawed at the pile of shavings.

  “I know you like to arrange it yourself. That’s why I didn’t spread them out.” Rosie moved the wheelbarrow into the aisle, then stood by the open stall door watching the pony paw the shavings around until she was satisfied with the arrangement.

  Rosie dumped Jet’s water bucket outside the barn and refilled it, then put a flake of grass hay in the rack. “Is there anything else I should do, Grandma?”

  “That’s everything for now. We can ride again this evening if you want to.”

  “Of course!” Rosie slipped her small, soft hand into Grandma’s strong one, and they walked toward the house together.

  ***

  Rosie spent most of the next three days at the barn with her grandmother and the horses. She wished every day could be like that, but her brief vacation soon came to an end. When her mother returned, Rosie eagerly told her the news about Jet.

  Kristy looked surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me, Mom? There haven’t been any foals at Sonrise Stable since Ebony had Jet.”

  “I just found out last week for sure and wanted Rosie to be the first to know.”

  “It’s a good thing we homeschool, Rosie. If you work hard and finish your work early, we’ll come out twice a week now so you can ride and help Grandma with Jet and Kezzie.”

  “I will, Mom,” Rosie promised. “Grandma needs my help.” And Rosie kept her word.

  Kristy suggested that maybe Jet should have a foal every year, if it would motivate Rosie to do so well with her schoolwork.

  ***

  The days shortened and grew increasingly crisp and cool as winter approached. The trees were bare now, having long ago shed their leaves. Everything was a dull, drab brown, except for a few green pines—reminders that spring and new life would come again.

  With the cold weather, Rosie wasn’t riding as much, but she still enjoyed spending time with her pony. Rosie shivered as she and her grandmother walked to the barn one particularly cold day.

  “Don’t you have a heavier coat?”

  Rosie nodded. “I didn’t think it would be this cold.” She crossed her arms tightly, her teeth chattering. When they reached the barn, she slid Jet’s stall door open. “She looks bigger.”

  “You’ve been feeding her too many carrots, haven’t you?” Rosie jerked her head toward the pony, then looked back at Grandma. It dawned on her that her grandmother was joking. “I better not feed her quite so many—just in case.”

  “We’ll have to be careful about her diet,” Grandma agreed. “We don’t want her to gain too much weight too soon.”

  Rosie watched the pony chew her hay. “I still can’t believe Jet’s going to have a foal!”

  Chapter 3

  Christmas in the Barn

  Rosie perched beside her grandmother on the bottom row of a stack of hay bales in the barn. The mid-December day was so cold she shivered inside her heavy winter coat. She moved closer to Grandma and pulled Jemimah, the calico barn cat, onto her lap. The cat burrowed under Rosie’s coat creating something like a feline furnace.

  “What are we doing, Grandma? Can I give Jet her present now?” Even though it wasn’t Christmas yet, Rosie couldn’t resist bringing her pony an early gift. Her grandmother had insisted that she leave it in the tack room until later.

  “In a few minutes.” Grandma reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small New Testament. She turned to Luke’s gospel and began to read the Christmas story.

  “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed—”

  Rosie stared at the small, foggy clouds that formed as Grandma’s breath encountered the zero-degree temperature. Kezzie and Jet munched hay in their stalls, occasionally looking over as if they were listening to the story.

  “I’ve never heard of anyone reading the Bible in a barn.” The wind whistled fiercely outside. Ros
ie put her arms around the bulge of cat inside her coat and scooted closer to her grandmother.

  “I started doing this at Christmas when your mom was about your age. Of course you remember that Christ was born in a stable—”

  “Because there was no room in the inn,” Rosie added. “And He was laid in a manger—a feed box.”

  Grandma nodded and resumed reading. “And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.”

  Rosie fidgeted as she listened. As soon as her grandmother finished the story, she leaped off the hay bale. “Ow!” She reached inside her coat and carefully detached Jemimah’s claws from the top of her leg.

  “Sorry, Jemimah! I forgot you were in there. I have to give Jet her Christmas present now.” The cat climbed up higher in the stacked hay, and Rosie disappeared for a moment, returning with a red stocking stuffed full of carrots. She tied it to the hanger on the front of Jet’s stall and stepped back to watch.

  Jet heard Rosie and popped her head over the door to investigate. She nuzzled the fuzzy stocking, wiggling it until she got her teeth around one of the carrots. The pony pulled a large carrot out and crunched into it while Kezzie looked on enviously.

  “Where’s my horse’s gift?” Grandma protested.

  “I guess Kezzie can have one. Just one.” Rosie pawed around to find the smallest carrot and fed it to Kezzie. The horse bobbed her head as she ate.

  When Jet finished her last carrot, she grabbed the stocking between her teeth. The pony shook her head up and down and pulled the stocking off its hook.

  “No, girl!” Rosie ran to the door, but Jet disappeared into the back of her stall. “Grandma, if she eats the stocking, she’ll get sick!”

  Grandma hurried into the stall. “Jet, you give me that. Right now!” She pulled, but the pony clenched her teeth and pulled back.

  Rosie heard a ripping sound. “Oh, Jet!”

  Grandma grabbed the pony’s halter, stood at her side, and pried the stocking out of Jet’s mouth. She held it in front of her with the tips of her fingers and handed it to Rosie.

  With her gloved hand, Rosie tried to brush bits of partially chewed hay and carrot from the soggy, torn stocking. “Jet, you bad girl! You ruined your Christmas present.” She frowned at the pony, who tossed her head.

  Jet didn’t seem at all remorseful about tearing the stocking, only angry that Grandma had taken it away from her.

  Rosie set the stocking down on the tack box. “Grandma, when will I get to ride her again? If she was getting more exercise maybe she wouldn’t be so naughty.”

  Grandma sat on a bale and leaned back against the hay. “If only I had an indoor arena. I’ve always wanted one, but they’re so expensive. As cold as it gets around here, it’s difficult to ride all year without one.”

  “Cold like today!” Rosie jumped up and down in the barn aisle doing a few jumping jacks to warm herself.

  “In the spring, Jet will be too close to her foaling date, but you’ll have plenty of time to ride next summer, after the foal is born.” Grandma placed her hand on Rosie’s shoulder. “I think you’ll be ready for your first horse show then.”

  Rosie’s eyes widened. “Really? Now I have two things to wait for—the foal and my first horse show. I don’t know if I can stand it!”

  “I know what you mean,” Grandma laughed. “I’m almost as excited as you are. Now, let’s go back to the house. How does a big cup of hot chocolate sound?” She patted her gloved hands together. “I can’t feel my fingertips anymore. The problem with reading the Christmas story in the barn is that it’s freezing out here!”

  Rosie gave Jet a quick kiss, then walked out the door with her grandmother. “I’ll race you to the house!”

  Grandma counted, “One, two, three—go!” She stomped her foot on “go,” and Rosie took off like a shot.

  Rosie was halfway to the house when she paused to look back. What? Grandma wasn’t running at all. She’d barely even left the barn.

  An eerie sound filled the cold winter air. Yip, yip, yip, ar, ar, arrrrrrrrr…

  Rosie gulped and turned slowly, looking all around her. She ran back to her grandmother and pressed close to her side. “Wha—What was that?”

  Grandma cocked her head as she listened to the haunting sound. “Sounds like coyotes—or maybe a pack of wild dogs.”

  Rosie noticed the worried look on her grandmother’s face. “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but it sounded like it was coming from the woods. Let’s hurry and get inside.” Grandma grabbed Rosie’s hand and walked briskly toward the house.

  Chapter 4

  The Storm

  March blew in, with glimpses of the spring that would soon follow. Kezzie and Jet grew restless after being cooped up in the barn all winter. When it wasn’t raining or snowing, Grandma hooked their back stall doors open so they could go out to the pasture for fresh air and exercise.

  On her next visit to Sonrise Stable, Rosie ran to look into her pony’s stall. “You are so fat, Jet! Grandma, I think she’s ready to have her foal right now.”

  The pony still had a full winter coat, which exaggerated her roundness. As Jet turned to face them, Rosie could see her abdomen bulging on both sides as if she carried twins. The pony didn’t seem concerned about the loss of her slim figure. She stared at Rosie, waiting for a treat.

  “While you’ve been on vacation the past few weeks, Jet’s been busy eating. The foal’s not due for another month, but she is very plump, isn’t she?”

  Rosie couldn’t wait for the foal to be born. She entered the stall and squeezed Jet’s neck. She walked around the pony, marveling at how much bigger she looked since she had last seen her. “Did you miss me, chubby girl?”

  “I’ve started checking on her several times a day now and once in the middle of the night,” Grandma said. “I wish your grandfather were still alive. He was never much for riding, but he loved taking care of the horses.” Grandma covered her mouth, fighting unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. “I could use his help now. I can’t seem to get enough sleep with this schedule.”

  Rosie wondered what it would be like if her grandfather were still alive. Her memory of him was formed mostly from old family photographs, since he had died when she was just a baby. Her dad’s parents lived in another state, so she didn’t see them often. “Aren’t I a good helper, Grandma?”

  “You’re a great helper.” Grandma patted her on the head. “I don’t know how I’d take care of these animals without you.”

  ***

  After saying goodbye to her granddaughter that evening, Grandma sank onto the couch in front of the crackling fireplace. She stared at the flames and smiled—Rosie was the spitting image of her middle daughter, Kristy, when she was that age. It would be fun to work with the foal together with Rosie, and the girl would learn so much about training a horse by starting with the basics.

  Grandma tried to keep her eyes open, but between getting up in the middle of the night all week and the warmth of the fire, she drifted into a deep sleep. Two hours later, she woke with the uneasy feeling that something was wrong at the barn. Hurrying to the laundry room, she jammed her feet into a pair of boots and pulled on a coat, hat, and gloves. She grabbed a flashlight from the shelf.

  The wind nearly yanked the door out of her hand as she stepped outside. Icy rain pelted her face. She shivered and drew her coat more tightly around her. The beam of the flashlight bounced crazily on the path as she slipped and slid through several inches of new fallen snow crusted over with ice.

  A banging sound alarmed her as she approached the barn. Grandma caught her breath when she saw the rear door of Jet’s stall swinging back and forth in the strong wind. What? I’m sure I fastened that this afternoon!

  Inside, Kezzie pranced nervously in her stall. Where was Jet? Grandma fr
antically searched the barn, but there was no sign of the pony.

  “Don’t worry, Kezzie.” Grandma paused briefly to pat her horse’s forehead. “I’ll find your little friend.” She walked out the back of Jet’s stall into the pasture. The darkness was so thick she could barely see ten feet in front of her.

  Grandma tramped through the snow to the center of the field. Holding the flashlight in one hand and shielding her eyes from the stinging, icy pellets with the other, she turned slowly around. The beam of light only revealed more snow and ice. “Jet, where are you? Come on, girl; it’s cold out here. Let’s get you back into the barn!”

  Grandma continued on. When she reached the woods, the trees provided shelter from the wind and icy rain, but it was darker than ever.

  She tripped over a root and threw her hands forward to catch herself. The flashlight sailed through the air and landed with a thud followed by pitch-blackness.

  “Ow!” Grandma winced and rubbed her hands together. Rising to her knees, she crawled, patting the ground around her until her hand bumped into the light. She picked it up and flipped the switch, but nothing happened.

  “Come on.” She hit the flashlight against the palm of her hand a few times. The light flickered and finally stayed on. A branch cracked to her right. Whirling around, she aimed the flashlight in that direction. Squinting, she tried to make her eyes focus in the darkness. Something moved in the distance—a shadowy shape too small to be Jet. A coyote?

  She stood, nearly frozen with fear, then took a few halting steps backward. Switching the flashlight over to her left hand, she bent down, never taking her eyes off the animal. A short, thick stick poked up out of the snow. She grabbed it and shook the snow off. The stick wasn’t much, but it was all the protection she had. She squeezed it tightly and backed up again. The animal seemed to be stalking her, slowly moving closer and closer.

  Grandma stepped behind the nearest tree and peeked out, straining to see what was approaching. She glanced up to see how high the closest branch was. A coyote wouldn’t be able to climb a tree, but she wasn’t sure she could either.