wanted to take the upper hand.
“We saw the stallion again tonight. Twice in fact.”
“Still running free?”
“As you very well know,” she said.
“Why should I know?” he asked. “I don’t know when they round up the horses for the adoption.”
“Very good,” Lisa said. “Nice try. But we saw you. You were there when the coyotes were calling.”
John looked puzzled. “When was that?” he asked.
“About four-thirty,” Lisa said. “Just about exactly the same time you climbed on the stallion’s back and rode him.”
“Somebody was riding him?”
“Yes, John. We saw somebody—or something—mounted on the stallion.”
John was silent for a moment. Then he spoke. “I’ve heard talk of incidents like that,” he said.
“Come on, John,” Lisa said. She was getting a little tired of his mysterious tale and wished he would just loosen up and tell her the truth. “We saw you.”
“You saw somebody,” he said. “I believe you. But you didn’t see me. I was here. I came home on the school bus, and I never left the mare’s side. The filly was born at five o’clock this afternoon.”
Lisa looked at the filly, and she knew that John would never have abandoned that mare in the middle of foaling just to play a trick on some girls. No way.
E VEN LATER, AFTER it was all over, Stevie and her friends couldn’t believe how much work they got done by the time the fair opened. It seemed like a mad rush to finish everything, and Stevie wondered if they’d ever manage to get their own costumes on, but somehow they did it. At exactly eighteen seconds before noon on Saturday, they were ready. They were still breathless from the dash, but three blind mice and the farmer’s wife all stood in line waiting for the first guests to arrive at the high school basement.
“Where’s Christine?” Lisa asked.
“She’s still getting dressed,” Kate said. “She was very mysterious about her costume. All I know is that her mother seemed pleased with all the work she’d done.”
“Greetings, girls.” It was a boy’s voice, but it was a man’s costume. Stevie looked, gasped, and giggled. It had to be John, but there was no true way to recognize him. He was dressed as the headless horseman! He was wearing black jeans, black boots, and a very large black turtleneck that rose up over his head. Stevie suspected he was using one or two sets of football shoulder pads to hold it up, and the effect was really good. He’d also managed to find a black cloak with a bright red lining, which helped mask the slight oddity of his big, high shoulders and his relatively small, short arms.
“Has anybody seen my friend Ichabod?” he asked.
Lisa laughed. “I think he’ll be here in a few minutes. Why don’t you join us on the receiving line and scare the daylights out of all the kids who are about to arrive.”
“Gladly,” he said, standing next to her.
“You all have done a
wonderful
job,” Phyllis Devine said in the moment of quiet before the storm when the doors would open. “I think we’ll have a great financial success, but I know that, no matter what, we’re going to be running a party here this afternoon that no child is going to forget. It wouldn’t be the same without all the help you have given. So I want to thank you all—say, where’s Christine?”
“I’m right here,” she said, entering the room from behind them. When the girls turned to look, they were stunned. Christine Lonetree was dressed as the young Indian boy from the story that John had told. She was wearing a completely white outfit that was topped by a white cape. On the back of the cape Mrs. Lonetree had painted a flying eagle.
Lisa’s eyes flitted to John, still standing next to her. She wondered what he thought. She couldn’t see his face behind the long neck of his “headless” top, but she could hear his low whistle of admiration.
Before anybody could say anything, the doors flew open and young children filled the
“We saw the stallion again tonight. Twice in fact.”
“Still running free?”
“As you very well know,” she said.
“Why should I know?” he asked. “I don’t know when they round up the horses for the adoption.”
“Very good,” Lisa said. “Nice try. But we saw you. You were there when the coyotes were calling.”
John looked puzzled. “When was that?” he asked.
“About four-thirty,” Lisa said. “Just about exactly the same time you climbed on the stallion’s back and rode him.”
“Somebody was riding him?”
“Yes, John. We saw somebody—or something—mounted on the stallion.”
John was silent for a moment. Then he spoke. “I’ve heard talk of incidents like that,” he said.
“Come on, John,” Lisa said. She was getting a little tired of his mysterious tale and wished he would just loosen up and tell her the truth. “We saw you.”
“You saw somebody,” he said. “I believe you. But you didn’t see me. I was here. I came home on the school bus, and I never left the mare’s side. The filly was born at five o’clock this afternoon.”
Lisa looked at the filly, and she knew that John would never have abandoned that mare in the middle of foaling just to play a trick on some girls. No way.
E VEN LATER, AFTER it was all over, Stevie and her friends couldn’t believe how much work they got done by the time the fair opened. It seemed like a mad rush to finish everything, and Stevie wondered if they’d ever manage to get their own costumes on, but somehow they did it. At exactly eighteen seconds before noon on Saturday, they were ready. They were still breathless from the dash, but three blind mice and the farmer’s wife all stood in line waiting for the first guests to arrive at the high school basement.
“Where’s Christine?” Lisa asked.
“She’s still getting dressed,” Kate said. “She was very mysterious about her costume. All I know is that her mother seemed pleased with all the work she’d done.”
“Greetings, girls.” It was a boy’s voice, but it was a man’s costume. Stevie looked, gasped, and giggled. It had to be John, but there was no true way to recognize him. He was dressed as the headless horseman! He was wearing black jeans, black boots, and a very large black turtleneck that rose up over his head. Stevie suspected he was using one or two sets of football shoulder pads to hold it up, and the effect was really good. He’d also managed to find a black cloak with a bright red lining, which helped mask the slight oddity of his big, high shoulders and his relatively small, short arms.
“Has anybody seen my friend Ichabod?” he asked.
Lisa laughed. “I think he’ll be here in a few minutes. Why don’t you join us on the receiving line and scare the daylights out of all the kids who are about to arrive.”
“Gladly,” he said, standing next to her.
“You all have done a
wonderful
job,” Phyllis Devine said in the moment of quiet before the storm when the doors would open. “I think we’ll have a great financial success, but I know that, no matter what, we’re going to be running a party here this afternoon that no child is going to forget. It wouldn’t be the same without all the help you have given. So I want to thank you all—say, where’s Christine?”
“I’m right here,” she said, entering the room from behind them. When the girls turned to look, they were stunned. Christine Lonetree was dressed as the young Indian boy from the story that John had told. She was wearing a completely white outfit that was topped by a white cape. On the back of the cape Mrs. Lonetree had painted a flying eagle.
Lisa’s eyes flitted to John, still standing next to her. She wondered what he thought. She couldn’t see his face behind the long neck of his “headless” top, but she could hear his low whistle of admiration.
Before anybody could say anything, the doors flew open and young children filled the
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