Free Beat the Turtle Drum by Constance C. Greene

garage. My father said he might as well get some good out of that horse, so we were making a nice pile of manure for next year’s garden.
    â€œHey, turd collector!” Ellen called. “There’s one over here you missed.”
    Joss brought the shovel right up to Ellen’s face and threatened to wipe it on her hair. Ellen got panicky and fell on her back, kicking her heels in the air.
    â€œStay away from me, you witch. Since you got to be eleven, you’ve turned into a viper.”
    Joss made a few more swipes with her shovel, then went to inspect Prince’s teeth and brush him a few hundred more times.
    â€œThat kid will be a basket case when Prince has to go,” Ellen said. “What’ll she do?”
    â€œProbably live over at Essig’s,” I. said. “Maybe she’ll pay them if they let her be stable girl.”
    We stayed up way past our usual bedtime every night that week. It was hot for June, and we could hear my mother’s and father’s voices from the screened porch where they sat in the dark, looking out at the fireflies. Once or twice they’d call, “About time for bed,” and we’d say, firmly, “Not quite.” They didn’t argue. We were all caught up in a net of summer contentment. The sky turned pale green, then lavender, the first stars came out. The night birds sang as if they didn’t have a thing on their minds except providing music for us. The mosquitoes attacked, even though we’d sprayed ourselves with “Off.”
    Sitting under the apple tree, Joss hugged her knees.
    â€œIt’s so cozy having him here,” she said dreamily. “It’s like having a best friend come to stay. Outside of you, Kate, Prince is my best friend.”
    I was touched. “Don’t forget Jean-Pierre,” I said, so she wouldn’t know. “Think of how Jean-Pierre would’ve liked riding his own horse.”
    â€œYes,” she said, “he missed all the best parts.”
    â€œThe best parts of what?” I asked.
    â€œYou know. He didn’t get to go to the ocean with us that time. He didn’t get to go to the strawberry festival and ride on the Ferris wheel. He also missed the horse show at Major Self’s. Lots of things. It seems to me,” Joss said seriously, “Jean-Pierre missed a whole lot.”
    â€œWell,” I said, curious, “why didn’t you bring him back then?”
    â€œI couldn’t. He was gone. That’s all there was to it. He was just gone. There was nothing I could do. Once I closed my eyes tight,” Joss said, “and wished him to come back. But it was no good.” She put her hands out, palms upward. “He didn’t even say good-bye.”
    We sat looking at Prince. The night seemed to become very still. The next time my mother called, “Time for bed,” we went.

During the night it rained. The thunder and lightning woke me up. I turned on the light. Joss lay on her back, her arms at her sides. She was smiling in her sleep. I could hear Hazel whimpering outside our door. I let her in and even let her sleep on my bed, which was forbidden. Hazel was terrified of storms.
    In the morning the rain seemed to have made things hotter. The thermometer on our back porch said 84 when we went down to breakfast. It was Prince’s next-to-last day. When Joss wasn’t brushing him or feeding or riding him, she was kissing him. Not too many people find horses kissable. Joss did.
    â€œKiss him, Kate.” She offered me a turn. “It’s lovely, all soft and warm.” I didn’t particularly want to kiss Prince, but I did anyway. She was right. It was much nicer than I would’ve thought.
    â€œWouldn’t it be neat if there were no cars at all, only horses, like the olden times?” Joss asked. “We could ride to school and downtown, and at Christmas we’d have a big sleigh with bells, and we’d tuck