Season of Ponies Read online

  The music came nearer and nearer, and very slowly and carefully Pamela stood up and went to the window. She was afraid to make a sound or even move quickly for fear it would fade off into a dream. Outside the light was dim under the great oak trees. The air was clear and clean and smelled of rain. Slanting rays of sunlight slid through the black branches here and there to turn the last raindrops to crystal tears. Out by the creek a strange white mist drifted and swirled. Long fingers of fog wavered up across the wet lawn, past the twisted trunks of the oaks which seemed to rise from ghostly white islands. Nothing moved but the flowing fog.

  The music grew and grew. Pamela found she was shivering, not with cold or fear, but with the certain knowledge that something was about to happen—something strange and wonderful, something beyond imagining.

  Then shadows moved in the white mist and suddenly the fog was full of—ponies! They were coming right down the old Valley Road just beyond the creek. They came out of the dim light and the swirling mist, but Pamela could see them quite plainly.

  They were only a little taller than Shetland ponies, but not stubby and shaggy like Shetlands at all. Their heads were very small and as delicate as the heads of sea horses. Their necks were long and slender and sharply arched. Like Arabians, their long legs were quick and supple and their dark eyes vulnerable and proud. They were of many pale and misty colors; cloudy grays, pale golds, smoky blues, and even a dusky pink like the color of clouds at sunrise just as they fade from pink to gray. But, perhaps most wonderful of all were their manes and tails. Of deeper and brighter shades then their pale bodies, their manes and tails foamed and plumed in clouds of color as they pranced through the swirling mist.

  Pamela’s breath came in quick little gasps and her heart pounded just at the bottom of her throat. She had never seen anything so beautiful as the proudly prancing ponies moving through the wisps of fog, tossing their sea-horse heads. The last one was larger than the rest and—and there was someone on his back. It was a boy! Not a valley boy, surely, but a stranger, a stranger with curly brown hair, too long for a boy, that fell down over his forehead like a pony’s forelock. A stranger with pale gold skin and great dark eyes.

  The boy sat straight and slim on the dancing pony’s back and played a flute. As the pony passed, the boy did not stop playing, but he turned his golden face toward Pamela’s window. And then, just as he began to fade into the mist, the pony whirled back to face the house. The boy raised his hand and pointed with the shining flute straight towards her window, and Pamela thought she saw him smile. Then he turned quickly and disappeared into the mist.

  The music began again and once more the damp air was full of the wild sweet sound. But it was fading now, softer and farther away, and Pamela was alone again with the shadows spreading under the oaks and only raindrops falling from the eaves breaking the silence of the old house.

  Pamela Makes a Choice

  PAMELA STOOD AT THE window for a long time, although everything was still now, except for the drifting fog. “What a strange thing to happen,” she mused. “Ponies don’t really look like that. They were like ...like ...” She ran to her bookcase. On the top shelf were dozens of horses. Horses her father had brought her from all the places his work had taken him. Horses she had bought herself whenever she had had a chance. Even two little china horses from Aunt Elsie.

  There were horses of china, copper, silver, wood and—glass! That’s what they were like. The glass ponies were at one end of the shelf arranged on their own green silk handkerchief pasture. They were her favorites. Her father had once taken her to watch a man who shaped animals, birds, and ships, from slim tubes of molten glass. They had bought every horse he had. The smallest was a colt of clear yellow glass with a little golden teardrop of a tail.

  They were all tiny things, so fragile you were almost afraid to pick them up. When you held them to the light their pale colors glowed. Their necks arched proudly, and their dainty hooves were poised for prancing.

  A sudden thought made Pamela catch her breath—the amulet! She examined it thoughtfully. It looked just the same; the same strange symbols and wisely staring eye. Nothing was a bit different. But still—“Give the searching heart an eye, and magic fills a summer’s sky.” Could it be that magic might really fill the sky, even the sky of Oak Farm?

  “Pamela! Time for dinner.” Aunt Elsie’s voice startled her. It seemed to come from another world. With a sigh, she tucked the amulet back under her dress. She gave her hair a quick brush and hurriedly checked her hands and face. They would have to do. No time to get ready properly. But as she walked down the stairs, slowly and with her head up as Aunt Sarah felt was necessary for young ladies, she suddenly laughed out loud. It was almost fun to be dignified and ladylike when underneath you had such an unbelievable secret.

  The giggle seemed to startle Brother, Aunt Sarah’s haughty tomcat, who was sitting on the landing where the stairs turned. He gazed at Pamela sternly. Once, Aunt Elsie said, there had been two kittens, Brother and Sister, but Sister had died years ago. Pamela thought it was almost as hard to imagine Brother as a kitten as it was to imagine Aunt Sarah as a little girl. Brother was now the only animal on all the many acres of Oak Farm, and he felt his importance keenly. He resented Pamela, and his cold green stare and flicking tail plainly said so. But he was often sitting on the landing when Pamela came to dinner, and she thought she knew why.

  Pamela sat down and put her face close to Brother’s. His whiskers twitched nervously. “You mean old thing,” she whispered. Just sitting there hoping I’ll try to make friends again just so you can snub me. Well, I don’t need you for a friend any more. So there!” Pamela marched on down the stairs while Brother batted his green eyes in surprise.

  In the dining room the aunts were already at the long table. Aunt Sarah’s frown told Pamela that she was late. She slipped quickly into her chair. “I see you have forgotten the talk we had about punctuality just a few days ago,” Aunt Sarah said.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Sarah.”

  Very little else was said until the meal was half over. Then Aunt Elsie cleared her throat nervously. “About the school, Sarah,” she said.

  “All right, Elsie. I hadn’t forgotten,” Aunt Sarah replied. “Pamela, your Aunt Elsie feels you are lonely and that, in spite of the problems involved, you would be better off attending the Valley School. She tells me that there is a summer session beginning next week.”

  Pamela’s mouth flew open.

  Aunt Sarah raised her hand. “Now I want you to think carefully before you answer. You have been told my reasons for keeping you at home. Your Aunt Elsie is a trained teacher, and you have been making good progress in your work. Valley Road isn’t kept up as it should be, and the school bus is in a disgraceful state of disrepair. Finally, as you well know, many of the children who attend Valley School now are not the kind of people you would enjoy. However, your Aunt Elsie—and your father I might add—feel you are not being sufficiently amused here at Oak Farm. I want you to consider all these things carefully before you answer.”

  Pamela didn’t need the warning. She was speechless with surprise. She didn’t remember when anyone had changed a decision of Aunt Sarah’s, certainly not Aunt Elsie. Pamela could imagine what Aunt Elsie must have been through. At any other time she would have wept with joy. For years she had pictured herself in a classroom surrounded by friends. But now, did she want to go? Now—when something strange and wonderful had come to Oak Farm?

  Pamela closed her eyes for a second and tried to bring back the old pleasant picture of herself in a real schoolroom—but somehow it was gone. The eyes of her mind were full of something else—something that moved mysteriously through a white mist. Something that ran and danced to a brave wild song of freedom.

  Hanging her head so she wouldn’t have to look at Aunt Elsie, she mumbled, “I don’t mind studying at home. I don’t think I want to go to Valley School, Aunt Sarah. Thank you anyway.”

  Even Aunt Sarah seemed surpris
ed at Pamela’s answer; but her eyes gleamed triumphantly as she said, “You see, Elsie? I was right. All the fuss was quite unnecessary.”

  During the rest of the meal Aunt Sarah had a great deal to say about the wisdom of Pamela’s decision. But Aunt Elsie was quieter than ever, and Pamela could feel her worried glance. Aunt Elsie had known and understood just how she felt. It was no wonder she didn’t understand now.

  Pamela longed to say something, to tell Aunt Elsie why. But she knew she couldn’t possibly explain, not to anyone, not yet. How could she make anyone understand that a necklace was more than a necklace, and a riddle more than a riddle, and right outside her window there had been something that was more, much, much more, than a strange white fog.

  A Warning

  THE NEXT MORNING PAMELA reported to the library for her lessons earlier than usual. Once the day’s assignments were finished, she would be free. Free to go outside to—she wasn’t sure just what. But she was sure, with complete certainty, that somewhere outside there would be waiting for her the strangely beautiful ponies and the boy with the silver flute.

  She arrived so early that Aunt Elsie was still busy in the kitchen. Pamela wandered restlessly up and down the library. Now and then she reached up to touch the stiff leather binding of a familiar book—greeting an old friend. Aunt Elsie had helped Pamela discover that many of the dull-looking old books held fantastic adventures. Together they had spent hours reading and talking about the stories until Pamela had been able to substitute for real playmates, dozens of friends from history and fiction. Her favorites were the legends and myths of ancient times, full of marvelous heroes, terrifying dangers, and magical events.

  The library at Oak Farm was a dim and dusty room with long thin windows and stiff scratchy furniture. The air was heavy with the smell of dust and aging leather, and the huge old globe on its carved wooden frame showed countries and territories with bygone names and boundaries. Here, even more than in the rest of the house, everything seemed asleep and dreaming of the past.

  Near the big desk, on a low shelf, were Pamela’s schoolbooks. This corner of the library was the only schoolroom she had ever known, and Aunt Elsie had been her only teacher. Furthermore, Aunt Elsie, who was a trained and qualified teacher, had never had another pupil. Aunt Sarah had allowed Aunt Elsie to go away to college; but afterwards, as Aunt Elsie explained it to Pamela, “I just couldn’t go away and leave your Aunt Sarah here all alone. I did think about teaching at the Valley School, but Sarah was sure I wouldn’t like it there.” Pamela never said so, but she was quite sure that Aunt Elsie would have liked it fine.

  Aunt Elsie finally arrived, and Pamela fairly flew through her lessons. She had always been good at schoolwork and it never took her long, but today she even amazed herself. She rushed through arithmetic, history, and spelling in record time.

  As she worked, she wondered if Aunt Elsie would ask her why she had changed her mind about going to Valley School. What could she possibly say? But all during the lessons, Aunt Elsie talked only about fractions and adjectives and the rivers of South America. Then, just as Pamela was gathering up her books to put them away on the shelf, the dreaded question came.

  “Pamela, I’ve been trying to understand your decision about going to a real school. I’ve been worried about it.” Aunt Elsie put her hand on Pamela’s shoulder, and her mild blue eyes were full of concern. “It’s not right for people your age not to have friends and things to do. I know you’re feeling sad because you wanted to go with your father, but...”

  “Oh, it’s not that,” Pamela stammered. “I—I—can’t quite explain it, Aunt Elsie. But I just don’t want to go away every day just now. I—I—wouldn’t have much time to play outdoors,” she finished lamely.

  Aunt Elsie didn’t look a bit less worried. Pamela hastily put away her books and started from the room, knowing that she hadn’t been very convincing. Halfway to the door she stopped and came back. “But I do thank you for talking to Aunt Sarah about it.” She kissed Aunt Elsie’s pale cheek and turned to go.

  “Wait, dear!” Pamela turned to see Aunt Elsie touching the spot on her cheek where Pamela had kissed it. “Wait,” she said. “I want to tell you something.”

  Pamela came back, but for quite a while Aunt Elsie only arranged some pencils neatly at the edge of the leather frame that held the desk blotter. She seemed to be arranging something in her mind, too. Suddenly she said, “Someday you must leave Oak Farm. If your Father doesn’t take you, you must leave by yourself, as soon as you are old enough. For your own sake, mostly, but for your father’s, too.”

  “For my father’s sake?” Pamela repeated falteringly.

  “Yes, dear.” Aunt Elsie paused, but looked as if she might go on.

  Sharp firm footsteps interrupted. Aunt Sarah was walking down the hall past the library door. Aunt Elsie jumped up. “Well, run along and play, dear. We’re all through for the day.” She hurried from the room.

  Left alone in the library, Pamela traced the carving on the huge old desk with her finger as she thought about what Aunt Elsie had said. She almost understood. It had something to do with why her father was so different when he was at Oak Farm.

  The more she thought about it, the more confused and unhappy she felt. Suddenly she shook her head firmly as if to shake all of it from her mind, and ran from the room quite forgetting how Aunt Sarah felt about running in the house.

  A Search and a Pale Pink Clue

  AS THE HEAVY OLD front door with its great bronze knocker closed behind Pamela, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was always nicer to be outdoors at Oak Farm. The huge old house with its great dark rooms, so empty of people, seemed sad to Pamela, as though it were remembering a happier time. Outdoors, things were better. Of course, the barn and stable and storerooms were all empty, too, and even the pastures and meadows grew untouched. But at least the sun shone brightly, birds sang, and the wind was alive in the oak trees.

  And on this day there was the wonderful hope that somewhere there might be the ponies and the boy.

  Since she had seen the ponies on the road beyond the creek, that seemed a good place to watch and wait. She could sit on the railing of the old bridge that led from Oak Farm to the Valley Road.

  On one side of the bridge the road wound away for miles and miles to the mouth of the valley. But on the other it ended just a little way above Oak Farm, and the mountains and forest began. The road was little used these days. The nearby farms were mostly abandoned, and the people down the valley seldom came up so far. Aunt Elsie said that when the Old Families still owned the valley land, the road had been kept in good repair; but now it was dusty and full of potholes. Pamela sometimes tried to imagine those days when many cars and carriages came up the long road and turned in at Oak Farm. It was not hard; Aunt Sarah had told so many stories about it.

  Pamela sat on the railing and swung her feet. The sun was bright, and the water of the creek murmured companionably beneath the bridge. She could see minnows and tadpoles in the quiet eddies. It had been fun to catch them for pets until she had slipped one day and gotten her dress muddy. Then Aunt Sarah had forbidden her playing in the creek. But today Pamela no longer regretted the loss of the tadpoles.

  It seemed the kind of day for something to happen, but the hours passed and nothing did. Once or twice Pamela thought she heard the wild clear notes of the boy’s flute, but each time the sound faded into silence or lilted into the song of a bird. Shadows lengthened across the old road, and still nothing stirred. Dinner time came without a sign, and Pamela finally decided that the road must be the wrong place to look, especially on a bright clear day. It was different, perhaps, on strange silent evenings when white mists rode the damp air.

  That night after Pamela was ready for bed she couldn’t go to sleep. She slipped out of bed in her long white nightdress and stood looking at the glass ponies on their green silk pasture. When she almost closed her eyes, she could imagine that a white mist was beginning to form around the tiny po
nies. If she closed her eyes even tighter, she seemed to see them begin to grow. As they grew, the cold clear glass clouded into warm and living velvet, and the gracefully frozen poses melted into lovely flowing motion. She opened her eyes and the ponies were again tiny, cold, and lifeless.

  She sighed and took out the amulet, studying it carefully, as if its strange symbols could tell her what she wanted to know. But the bronze eye stared back at her silently.

  In the days that followed, Pamela looked in many places. She looked in the fruit orchard among the neglected old apple trees. She looked at the edge of the woods, where it came down the hill close to the barn. She looked in the deserted farm buildings: the barn, the stable, the blacksmith shop and the granary. Perhaps she would have been discouraged sooner, but she found two strange things that made her keep looking.

  The first she wasn’t sure of: a mark on the soft ground behind the barn, a mark that might have been a small hoofprint. But it was rather indistinct and she couldn’t be quite sure. There was no doubt about the other, however.

  She found it on the third day, when she was looking in the farm buildings and had just been in the granary. It was almost empty. Pamela saw nothing but some dusty grain sacks and a few empty barrels, until she started to leave. Then she noticed something caught on the rough wood of the door frame. It was a long strand of hair. The hair was long and silken soft, and when Pamela held it up to the sunlight, it gleamed—palely pink!

  She stayed near the granary that afternoon until she was nearly late to dinner again, but she saw nothing more. Finally she had to run for home. She coiled the pink strand into the palm of her hand before she opened the kitchen door. Fortunately, Aunt Elsie was still in the kitchen. “Thank goodness,” she said as Pamela came in. “I was afraid you were going to be late again. Run upstairs and wash up.”