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  Rosie hurried to Kezzie’s stall. She was continuing her lessons on her grandmother’s horse until Scamper was old enough to ride. When she slid the door open, the chestnut mare came to her, lowered her head to Rosie’s level, and sniffed. Rosie put her arms around the horse’s neck and squeezed. “I’m glad I have you to ride, old girl.” She snapped the rope on Kezzie’s halter, led her down the aisle, and followed Grandma and Scamper out of the barn.

  Grandma stopped when they reached the middle of the arena. “You work with Kezzie, while I work with this little guy. She’ll be a good example for him.”

  They spent the next fifteen minutes leading the horses, practicing stops, starts, turns, and backing, then Grandma announced that they had done enough for one day. “At his age, he has a short attention span. It’s important to stop on a positive note.”

  They put Scamper and Kezzie back in their stalls. “You can stay here a while longer and brush him while I go fix us a snack. Double-check that his door is latched before you leave the barn.” Grandma had changed the style of locks on the stall doors after Jet’s escape so that none of the horses could get out.

  ***

  Rosie reached for a rubber currycomb and curried Scamper vigorously under his neck, causing him to stretch his head forward as Jet used to do. “You like this, don’t you, boy?”

  Switching over, she curried the other side, then picked up a body brush. She enjoyed spending time in the barn with the horses. The previous summer she had overheard someone at the county fair complaining about the smell in the horse barn. That didn’t make sense to her. She loved everything about her grandmother’s barn: the worn and faded boards, the smells— leather, grain, and the hay stacked in the hayloft. But most of all, she loved the smell of the horses themselves.

  Scamper turned and extended his head toward Rosie. She blew gently on his nose and waited until he blew softly back. She liked the sweet scent of his breath and imagined this was a secret language they shared. Rosie began to sing to him, daydreaming about the two of them taking first place in the jumper class at the fair some day. Scamper’s eyes blinked, and his head drooped as he began to doze.

  “Hi! Whatcha doing?”

  Scamper jumped sideways. Rosie dropped the brush and whirled around to see a thin, blond girl about her own age standing in the barn aisle just outside the stall. “You shouldn’t scare people like that!”

  Rosie stroked Scamper’s neck to calm him. Who was this girl?

  Chapter 7

  Carrie

  The girl, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, peeked through the partially open stall door. “I’m Carrie. I live over there.” She pointed roughly in the direction of the pasture to the left of the barn.

  That was odd. Rosie didn’t remember ever seeing any kids at the neighbor’s house. “I’m Rosie.”

  “When I got off the school bus, I saw you out front with the horses. Why don’t you go to school?”

  “I don’t go anywhere to school. I’m homeschooled.” Rosie was still annoyed that the girl had startled her and Scamper.

  “I wish I was homeschooled. My school is boring.” Carrie looked around the barn. “Where’s your mom? I saw her helping you with the horses.”

  “That wasn’t my mom,” Rosie shook her head. “That’s my grandmother.”

  Carrie frowned. “Oh. I don’t have a mom either.”

  “No! I didn’t mean that!” Rosie quickly explained. “I do have a mom. I just come to my grandmother’s a lot. She’s teaching me how to ride.”

  “Where’s your grandmother then?”

  “She went inside to fix something to eat.” Rosie realized she had lost track of the time. She had no idea how long she’d been at the barn. “Grandma probably wonders where I am. I should go over to the house now.”

  Carrie walked into the stall and stood beside Scamper. “Could I ride him?”

  Rosie’s eyes grew wide. “Of course not! He’s only a few months old. No one can ride him for a couple more years.”

  “What about that horse?” Carrie nodded toward Kezzie in the next stall. “Could I ride that one?”

  Rosie began picking up the brushes she had used on Scamper. “That’s my grandmother’s horse. We’re not allowed to ride her unless my grandma is out here.” She didn’t want to be rude, but she wished Carrie would go back to her house. She dropped the last brush into the tack bucket, stepped out of Scamper’s stall, and motioned for Carrie to follow her. When they were both in the aisle, she closed and latched Scamper’s door.

  Carrie crossed her arms and stared at Rosie. “You’re just afraid to ride her.”

  “Kezzie?” Rosie put her hands on her hips and glared. Why was this girl being so rude? “I am not afraid. I’ve ridden her lots of times.”

  “Let me see you get on her then.”

  Rosie hesitated. “I’m not allowed to, because my grandma isn’t here.”

  “You’re a scaredy-cat! You’ll be afraid to ride that little one when he’s older too.” Carrie pointed toward Scamper.

  Rosie could feel her face growing hot and knew it was turning bright red. “I’ll show you. Just watch this.” She stomped into Kezzie’s stall, climbed the boards of the side wall, and leaped onto the horse’s back. Kezzie slowly turned her head and stared at her small rider.

  “Rosalyn Marie!” Grandma’s voice thundered from the front of the barn.

  Oh no. Rosie steadied herself on Kezzie’s back and turned to see her grandmother marching down the aisle.

  “What in the world are you doing?”

  Carrie stood frozen for a moment. “Uh, I th-think someone’s calling me.”

  Grandma pointed a finger at her. “You wait just a minute, young lady.”

  Carrie bolted past her, and ran out the front door.

  Grandma stepped into the stall. “You know you’re never to be on the horses unless I’m out here. You don’t even have a halter or bridle on Kezzie! That wasn’t a very smart thing to do.”

  Rosie hung her head as her grandmother helped her down. Grandma walked across the aisle and sat on the tack box. “Sit down and tell me what happened. Who was that girl, anyway?”

  Rosie was too worked up to sit down. She paced back and forth in front of her grandmother. “She said she lives next door. Her name is Carrie. I was mad because she said I was afraid to ride Kezzie. She called me a scaredy-cat.”

  “Hmm, I didn’t know there were any children next door.”

  “I wanted to show her I wasn’t afraid. Grandma, I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “At least you’re not blaming someone else for what you did wrong.” Grandma’s voice softened. “I’ll have to talk to your mom and dad about this. A couple weeks away from the horses should help you remember to do the right thing next time.”

  Rosie couldn’t believe what she had heard. Weeks away from Kezzie and Scamper? That didn’t seem fair!

  “When I was your age, I used to have a problem with letting other people talk me into doing things.”

  “Really?” Rosie sat beside her grandmother.

  “Yes. Let’s see. . . Candy was my neighbor and best friend. She and I always had a great time riding our ponies, Frosty and Dolly, together. One summer afternoon, Candy and Frosty came over. We were standing by our front door talking, when all of a sudden, I saw a sparkle in Candy’s eye, and a big grin spread across her face.

  “She looked at the door and then back at me. ‘I bet Frosty would go into your house.’ I didn’t doubt that. Frosty was the kind of pony you could do anything with. We often had three of us kids riding him at once. When he got tired, he would head for the closest tree. If we didn’t jump down quickly, he would take us under a branch and help us off.

  “I shook my head at Candy and said, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ My mom was inside, and I was certain that she would not appreciate a pony in our house. But Candy challenged me, ‘I guess you’re scared to try it.’

  �
��‘Scared? Me?” Grandma shook her head. “I remember I held out both hands and said, ‘Give me that rope.’

  “Candy handed over Frosty’s lead and opened the door while I steered that chubby little pony through. Once inside, Frosty glanced around and seemed to smile—as if he felt right at home. We traveled through the kitchen and into the dining room. A left turn brought us into the living room where my mom was relaxing in a recliner, absorbed in a book.

  “Maybe it was the sound of Frosty’s hooves clip-clopping on the hardwood floor or Candy and I giggling—something got my mother’s attention. She peered over the top of her book and then jumped straight up in the air. I’d never seen such a look on her face. When she was able to speak, she yelled, ‘Viiicki, get that pony out of here—NOW!’”

  Grandma laughed. “The three of us didn’t waste any time leaving! It’s a good thing Frosty didn’t use the bathroom during his visit. I can’t imagine what my punishment would have been then.”

  Rosie giggled. “Did you really do that, Grandma?”

  “Yes, Rosie, I did. It’s a funny story, but it shows how easily I was persuaded to do something I shouldn’t have. I was more concerned about what my friend thought of me than about doing what was right. Throughout your life, you’ll always have people who will try to get you to do wrong things. You need to be strong enough to resist that pressure. The Bible says that bad company corrupts good character. (1) You need to be careful who you choose to be your friends and what kind of influence you allow them to have on you.”

  Was Carrie “bad company?” Rosie wasn’t sure how you could tell, when you had just met someone. She remembered what good friends Jet and Kezzie had been. She wanted to have a close friend like that. “Do you think I shouldn’t be friends with Carrie?”

  Grandma pursed her lips. “Someone moved in that house a few weeks ago. I should have gone over to introduce myself before now. I’ll do that this afternoon—and I’ll invite Carrie over so we can get to know her better.”

  She patted Rosie’s knee. “I hope you learned a lesson from this. Bad choices like that can have effects that last a lifetime. What if Kezzie had jumped and you had fallen off? You might have been seriously injured.”

  “I don’t know how I’ll be able to stand two weeks without seeing Scamper and Kezzie.” Rosie’s shoulders drooped as she slowly followed her grandmother out of the barn. “Couldn’t you spank me instead?”

  Grandma stopped. “No, it will be better to give you time to think it over. Scamper won’t change much in two weeks, and then you can come back and work with him again.”

  Rosie sighed. “I’d still rather have a spanking.”

  1 1 Corinthians 15:33

  Chapter 8

  Kezzie’s Story

  “Hi, Mrs. Watson.” Carrie ran to join Grandma at the riding arena fence. She stuck her head through the rails and watched Rosie walk Kezzie over a wooden practice bridge.

  Grandma greeted her and asked, “What do you think? Rosie’s a good rider, isn’t she?”

  Carrie nodded without looking at Grandma. She had never ridden a horse before and was dying to ride Kezzie, but she was afraid to ask. Was Rosie’s grandmother mad at her for daring Rosie to get on the horse?

  Carrie had stopped over one day the previous week to see whether Rosie was there. Grandma had explained that Rosie was grounded from the horses for a while. Carrie felt bad for getting her in trouble.

  It would be nice if they could be friends, but maybe Rosie was mad at her. It seemed she had a knack for saying or doing the wrong thing and getting herself—or someone else—in trouble. Carrie was normally shy, but in her previous foster home the other children had picked on her. She learned to be mean in order to protect herself.

  Grandma smiled at her. “Would you like to learn how to ride Kezzie?”

  Carrie’s face lit up. “Me? Ride Kezzie?” Grandma nodded.

  “I’ve never ridden a horse before.” Now that her dream was about to become reality, Carrie was a bit uncertain.

  “I’ll have to talk to your mother first. If it’s okay with her, we can start tomorrow.”

  Carrie dug a hole in the dirt with her worn tennis shoe. “Mrs. Robinson isn’t my mother.” She hated explaining this to people. It made her feel more awkward than usual. People always gave her a funny look when they learned that she was a foster child.

  Grandma raised her eyebrows. “She’s not?”

  “The Robinsons are my foster parents.” Carrie leaned against the fence and sighed. “I don’t know what happened to my real mom. No one tells me anything about her.” She usually didn’t like to talk to adults, but there was something about Rosie’s grandmother that made her feel safe. She counted on the fingers of one hand. “This is the fifth foster home I can remember.”

  “Carrie, you won’t be around me too long before you learn that I have a horse story for about every situation. Do you have a few minutes?”

  Carrie nodded and followed Grandma to a picnic table under a big, shady maple tree.

  Grandma called out to Rosie, “Walk her until she’s cool, and then bring her over here.” Turning back to Carrie, she began. “The horse Rosie is riding is Kezzie. She’s been my horse for sixteen years. This story is about the night she was born. Her mother, Satin, was a black Tennessee Walking Horse that belonged to Rosie’s mother.

  “As Satin neared her time to foal, my girls and I took turns checking on her every few hours. One night I decided to go out earlier than my scheduled time. When I entered the barn, Satin was lying in her stall about to have her foal.

  “My heart started pounding. For a moment, I couldn’t make up my mind what to do. I wanted to stay at the barn, but I also wanted to let my husband and the girls know it was time. I knew the foal would be born any minute so I ran to the house and banged on the windows, yelling, ‘Satin’s having her foal!’ It’s a good thing we don’t have close neighbors; I probably would have woken them up too. I made it back to the barn just in time to see the foal born.”

  “That was Kezzie, right?”

  “I hadn’t named her yet, but yes, that was Kezzie. Something didn’t seem right though. Kezzie wasn’t moving, and Satin didn’t so much as sniff at her baby. I grabbed a cloth and cleared the foal’s nostrils so she could breathe. She lay there so still and quiet; I began to wonder whether she was alive. But finally I saw her move.”

  Rosie rode up on Kezzie and joined them at the picnic table. She listened for a moment, then patted the horse’s neck. “She’s telling your story, girl.”

  Carrie wrinkled her forehead and looked at Grandma. “So Kezzie was all right after that?”

  “Not exactly.” Grandma returned to her story. “I took a towel and rubbed Kezzie all over until she was dry. She was so cute—reddish brown with a stripe down the middle of her forehead. She was determined to stand, but she couldn’t get her long, spindly legs arranged well enough to maintain her balance. I hated to see her tumble over into the straw again and again. When she mastered it and was able to stand for the first time, we all cheered quietly. Then it struck me that Satin still showed no interest in her baby.

  “It’s important for foals to nurse soon after they’re born, and Kezzie’s instincts led her to seek out her mother. When her foal approached, Satin pinned her ears back and raised a hind leg as if to kick her. Each time Kezzie came near, Satin grew more aggressive. I hated to wake my vet at three o’clock in the morning, but I didn’t know what else to do. Dr. Rings arrived an hour later and informed us, somewhat groggily, that it was her birthday too.

  “After examining both of them, Dr. Rings gave Satin a tranquilizer to calm her so Kezzie could nurse. She left another shot and advised me to give Satin the second dose in a few hours if she was still aggressive toward the foal.

  “Kristy and I spent the next several hours sitting in the barn aisle watching the foal through the open stall door. When the medication began to wear off, Satin again started to kick at Kezzie, so I had to give her the second shot.
After many long hours, Satin accepted her role as mother, and we felt it was safe to leave the two alone while we got some much-needed sleep.”

  Carrie frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t Satin want her baby?”

  “That’s a good question. I wondered that too. I also remember thinking that as bad as it was for Satin to reject Kezzie, it was much harder to understand why some people abandon their children. In the Bible it says, ‘When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take care of me.’ (1) And in Deuteronomy, God promises that He will never leave us or forsake us.” (2)

  Grandma got up from the picnic table and patted Kezzie’s neck. “Carrie, you may never know what happened to your biological parents, but I hope someday you will come to know that God is your heavenly Father and that He loves you very much. He’s already taking care of you by bringing you to the Robinson’s and next door to me.”

  Carrie sat with her chin resting on both hands, staring at Kezzie and thinking about the story. Rosie’s grandmother talked as if she knew God personally. He was supposed to be her Father? Carrie didn’t know what it felt like to have a father. She supposed she had one somewhere. She didn’t remember ever seeing him, but something deep inside her ached to know him. “I go to church with the Robinsons, but no one there talks about God the way you do.”

  “My stories might not make sense to everyone, but horses help me understand our relationship to God.” Grandma put her arm around Carrie. “Trust me. He has a plan for you. It says that in the Bible. He wants to give you hope and a future.” (3)

  Carrie squirmed a little. She wasn’t used to people hugging her. Hope and a future? She just hoped the Robinsons wouldn’t decide to send her to another foster home. “Thank you, Mrs. Watson.”

  “Would you like to call me ‘Grandma’? ‘Mrs. Watson’ sounds a bit formal.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Wats—” Carrie giggled. “I mean Grandma.” “Why don’t you help Rosie take Kezzie back to her stall?