Free Horse Dreams by Dandi Daley Mackall Page A

into tears.
    The pinto inches up the road toward me. She stops so close I can see the moon in her big brown eyes. And suddenly she looks beautiful. She’s still scrawny. Her head is too big for her body. But her eyes . . . and her good heart . . .
    It was right there all the time. “You! You were right there all the time!”
    I throw my arms around her neck and let myself cry into her mane. “God answered my prayer, and I couldn’t even see it.” I cry and cry. And yet, somewhere during the cry, my tears change from sad to happy.
    â€œYou know what, pinto?” I tell her, wiping my tears on my sleeve. “It’s a free country. If you want to walk with me, I can’t stop you.”
    I turn and start walking. So does she. When I take a corner, she does too.
    We walk like this all the way to my house.
    When we pass Colt’s place, he and his mom are pulling into their driveway. “Hey! Ellie!” Colt hollers out the window. “What are you doing with the pinto?”
    I wave and shout back, “We’re going home!”

16

    Dream
    The pinto follows me into the backyard. As soon as we’re there, I see a small shadow moving behind us. Then a cat springs onto the pinto’s back. The calico, of course.
    â€œLike I told your friend,” I inform the cat, “it’s a free country.”
    The pinto drops her head and starts grazing like she owns the place. I could watch her eat all night. The big spot on her back that looks like a saddle still makes me laugh. I notice other spots—one on her leg that could be a star if it had another point. A triangle spot. An ear-shaped one on her chest. I love all of them.
    I plop cross-legged in the grass and study her until I hear Dad’s car pull into the garage.
    Ethan finds me first. He runs into the yard, takes one look at the horse, then holds up his hands in the moonlight. Somebody at Scouts said they were sending your horse away. I didn’t believe it.
    My horse? I sign back.
    He grins. He knew. Somehow, my brother knew.
    Mom and Dad join us. I tell them everything about how the horse followed me home. Finally I get to the point. “Can I keep her?”
    They look at each other. My parents have their own sign language. They talk with their eyes.
    I watch them. This is the end of my report, the last third of the “experiment.” No begging. No crying. Just prayer. Years and years of prayer. I’ll turn in my report on Monday. And this is my ending. Horse or no horse?
    When I can’t stand it another second, Dad asks, “Where would you keep her?”
    I wave my arm over the yard. “Right here. Ethan and I could help you build a fence. We’ve got plenty of room.”
    â€œEllie,” Mom says, serious now, “think about what you’re doing. Didn’t you want a fancy black show horse? That’s what you’ve begged us for since you were knee-high to a grasshopper.”
    I nod. She’s right. Only sitting out here in my backyard with the pinto, I’ve had a lot of time to think about that black stallion. “It’s funny,” I begin, trying to put my thoughts into words because it feels important to get it right. “I’ve begged, I’ve cried, and I’ve prayed that I could have a black stallion show horse. I even tried to get scientific about it for Miss Hernandez.”
    Mom and Dad exchange a frown and possibly a dozen silent questions and answers.
    â€œBut I finally figured it out.” I reach up and stroke the pinto. “You’re looking at the answer to all my prayers.”
    â€œThe pinto?” Dad asks.
    â€œThe pinto,” I answer, more sure than I’ve ever been of anything. “This is the horse of my dreams.”
    After a minute of silence from Mom and Dad, Ethan elbows me and signs, What’s her name?
    Without even thinking about it, I respond, “Ellie’s Dream.”
    And the