Jigsaw Pony (4 page)

T
he next day Kiera said, “It’s my turn for the long ride.”

Fran was glad. Jigsaw’s feet had needed trimming. Mr. Fletcher said so. But he didn’t seem shocked. He didn’t say they were awful.

If Jigsaw’s feet were okay then maybe something was wrong with Fran. Maybe she wasn’t a good rider.

So Fran was glad just to ride up and down the street. That was easy. Jody walked along.

Then Jody rode and Fran walked along. They met dogs they knew. Neighbors came out to say hi. The baby from two houses down squealed
ee-aw!

“He said ‘Jigsaw!’” the baby’s mother said. “His first word!”

Back in the pasture Kiera was setting up jumps. She used old beanpoles from the garden. She propped them on rocks and buckets and hay bales. There were four jumps in all.

When Jigsaw came back, Kiera got on. She rode in a little circle. Then she asked Jigsaw to canter and pointed him at the jumps.

Jigsaw flew over the first jump just the way Radish used to. Kiera felt as if she were in a real horse show. She felt as if she were about to win a blue ribbon.

Jigsaw landed on the other side of the jump. He cantered toward the second one. He was going slower. Kiera nudged him with her heels, but Jigsaw kept slowing down.

He leaped anyway, but he barely made it. Kiera heard his back feet rap the pole. He slowed to a trot.

He still looked happy, and he was happy. He trotted up to the third jump and pushed the beanpole with his nose.

It fell to the ground. Jigsaw trotted over it. He walked to the fourth jump. He pushed that beanpole off, too, and stepped carefully over it and stopped.

Kiera’s face felt hot. She didn’t look back at Fran and Jody. There was only one thing Kiera was glad of right now. She was very glad she hadn’t teased Fran about the barrel racing.

That night Kiera piled all the pony books on her bed. She got her flashlight. She turned off her lamp and pulled the covers over her head.

Fran turned off her lamp, too. She looked across at Kiera’s bed. A tiny light glowed under the covers. A tiny whisper of sound came every time Kiera turned a page.

Fran knew what Kiera was doing. She was doing the same thing Fran had done. She was trying to figure out how to make Jigsaw do what she wanted.

When they were younger, Fran would have said, “The flashlight’s keeping me awake!” She would have said it loud enough for their parents to hear. Now she didn’t feel like doing that. She lay in bed listening to the pages whisper.

After a while Fran whispered, too. “I don’t think it’s us. We’re good riders. Tish said so.”

Under the covers, Kiera said, “If it’s not us, then something’s wrong with Jigsaw. Maybe he’s sick.”

Fran took her flashlight over to Kiera’s bed. She got under the covers and reached for a book. They both read until the flashlights were too dim to see by anymore.

At breakfast the next morning Kiera said, “We should have a vet come look at Jigsaw.”

“Is something the matter with him?” Mr. Shaw asked.

“N-no,” said Kiera.

“Maybe,” Fran said. “He doesn’t like to keep going fast.”

“He doesn’t like to keep jumping either,” Kiera said.

“Are you sure you’re riding him right?” Mr. Shaw asked.

“I hope not,” Kiera said. Fran didn’t say anything.

“Why don’t you ask Tish to come?” Mrs. Shaw said. “She knows everything about ponies, and she knows how well you ride, too.”

When they called her, Tish said, “I’ll be glad to come. How about Monday?”

Fran went to mark it on the calendar. “That’s the day after Halloween!”

“Halloween!”
Kiera said. “What are we going to
be?”

Usually they spent weeks thinking about their costumes. They had to be exact opposites. A ballerina and an elephant. A vampire and an angel.

This year they’d been too busy to think about costumes. They looked out the window at Jigsaw.

Fran said, “What if we—”

Kiera said, “Perfect!”

A
ll week Kiera and Fran worked on their costume.

First they chose spaghetti Then they chose fabric and yarn. They sewed. They practiced. Jody helped. So did Mrs. Shaw.

Jigsaw ate grass and crisp fall apples. He watched Mr. Shaw put the garden to bed. On frosty mornings the cat warmed her toes on his back. On bright afternoons he curled in the sun. Kiera, Fran, and Jody read him stories.

Jigsaw enjoyed that. He liked their quiet voices. He liked their leaning on him.

One day a letter came from Valerie. Kiera read it aloud.

“I was worried when Gram gave Jigsaw away,” Valerie wrote. “She couldn’t take care of him, but at least they had each other.

“Jigsaw has a good home now, but Gram is all by herself. I’m glad your father has tea with her sometimes and gets things off high shelves for her. Tell him thank you for fixing her stairs.”

“I didn’t know Daddy did that,” Kiera said.

She read the rest of Valerie’s letter. “I never asked Jigsaw to barrel race, so I don’t know if he likes it. We mostly took slow rides in the woods.

“Tell Jig I miss him. Tell Gram, too, if you see her.”

“I’d
like
to see her,” Fran said. “Let’s ask her to the Halloween party.”

Jigsaw sniffed the letter. It smelled like Valerie. He didn’t miss Valerie. He was too happy. But her scent on the paper made him even happier.

Halloween night was warm and windy. Ghosts and dancers, spacemen and black cats walked up and down the street.

A cowgirl led two ponies from house to house. One pony had black and white patches that fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle.

The front half of the other pony was black. The back half was white.

The ponies came right up the steps of the houses. The neighbors said, “Hello, Jigsaw! And who is this pony?”

“Midnight,” said the black head.

“Snowflake,” said the white tail.

“It’s a little confused,” said the cowgirl. “Trick or treat!”

After trick-or-treating, the ponies and ghosts, dancers and spacemen walked to school for the Halloween party. Neighbors and parents went, too.

Mr. Shaw was already there with Valerie’s grandmother. They watched the costume parade. Some of the costumes were scary, but neither pony seemed afraid.

When the parade was over, Jody—she was the cowgirl—brought her ponies across the gym.

“Hello, Jig,” said Valerie’s grandmother.

Jigsaw lifted his nose to her face. He blew his breath on her. “You smell like taffy apples,” the grandmother said.

The other pony came apart. Fran was inside the black half. Kiera was inside the white half.

“Thank
you,” Fran said.

“For letting us have Jigsaw,” Kiera said.

“Valerie told me I was hasty,” said the grandmother. “I should have made sure you’d take good care of him. But I knew you would. Look at who your father is!”

“Jody helps,” Fran said.

“This is Jody,” Kiera said.

Valerie’s grandmother said, “Three best friends.”

“Four!”
Jody put her arm around Jigsaw’s neck.

Valerie’s grandmother gave Jigsaw a kiss. “Go on, you four,” she said. “Don’t miss the games!”

They played Doughnut on a String. Jigsaw bit more doughnuts than anyone. He was the best at apple dunking, too.

Some kids were afraid to go through the Haunted House. Jigsaw went along to help them be brave. Fake cobwebs and spooky noises didn’t scare him.

The baby from two houses down started to cry. Jigsaw blew sweet pony breath on him. Soon the baby was quiet again.

“Jigsaw’s so helpful,” Kiera said.

“Like one of the big kids,” Fran said.

Jody said, “I bet he’d be a great babysitter!”

After the party Jody, Fran, and Kiera led Jigsaw home.

“Tomorrow Tish comes,” Kiera said.

They all looked at Jigsaw. “I hope he’s all right,” Jody said.

“He’s all right,” Fran said. “He has to be.”

T
he next afternoon Tish came. Kiera, Fran, and Jody took her out to meet Jigsaw.

“What a great little pony!” Tish said. “You’ve made a nice barn for him. So what’s the problem?”

“He doesn’t like to keep going fast,” Fran said. She told Tish about the barrel racing.

“He doesn’t like to keep jumping either,” Kiera said. She told Tish about the beanpoles.

“That could be him, or it could be you,” Tish said. “Radish taught you more about slowing ponies down than about keeping them going. But let’s check Jigsaw out.”

Tish felt Jigsaw’s ribs and said,
“Hmm.”
Fran and Kiera looked at each other.

She listened to his heartbeats and frowned. Mr. and Mrs. Shaw held hands.

She took out a tiny flashlight and flashed it in each of his eyes. “Ah,” she said. Jody twisted her fingers together.

Now Tish opened Jigsaw’s mouth. She looked inside.

“Oh, my,” she said. “My goodness!”

Now Fran and Kiera held hands. They didn’t really mean to. It just happened. Mrs. Shaw put one arm around Jody’s shoulders.

Tish let Jigsaw close his mouth. She turned.

“The good news,” she said, “is that Jigsaw is a very healthy pony for his age. You are taking wonderful care of him.”

“What’s the not-so-good news?” Mr. Shaw asked.

“The not-so-good news,” Tish said, “is that Jigsaw is a
very
old pony.”

“How old?” Fran asked.

Tish said, “From the looks of his teeth, about thirty-five. And that means you can’t ask him to do too much work.”

“How much is too much?” Kiera asked.

“Jigsaw’s been telling you,” Tish said. “Three jumps in a row is too much. Galloping around three barrels is too much. He can go for short gallops or slow rides that are a little longer. He can jump over one or two jumps. But that’s it.”

Fran looked at Kiera. Nobody else, not even Jody, understood what she was feeling.

Kiera looked back at Fran. Fran was the only person in the world who knew how she felt.

Jigsaw was old. Too old for barrel racing. Too old for jumping. When they’d dreamed of a pony, Fran and Kiera had dreamed of fast gallops and daring leaps. They had dreamed of long rides. They had dreamed of blue ribbons.

Those dreams were over, and now they had worries.

Fran asked, “Will he—” Kiera asked, “Is he going to—” “He’ll live a long time,” Tish said. “Especially if he gets good care.” She smiled sadly and shook her head. “But maybe you won’t want to keep him since he can’t do everything you want. Lots of people wouldn’t.”

Fran put her arms around Jigsaw’s neck.
“We’re
not like that!”

“We like Jigsaw as a
person,”
Kiera said. She hugged Jigsaw’s neck, too.

Her arms wrapped around Fran’s, and Fran’s wrapped around hers.

Fran said, “Jigsaw’s not the kind of pony you do things
on—”

Kiera said, “That’s right. He’s the kind of pony you do things
with!”

“He’s our friend,” Jody said. She kissed his ears.

“More like a member of the family,” said Mr. Shaw, sneaking an apple out of his pocket.

“He’s a great neighbor,” said the baby’s mother. She’d come over to see if something was wrong.

“-igsaw!” squealed the baby.

Jigsaw tickled the baby with his whiskers. This was turning into another party. More neighbors were crossing the street.

The telephone rang, and Mrs. Shaw answered it. “Tish is right—” she said. “He’s fine, just older than we—” The person she was talking to didn’t let her finish a single sentence.

Jigsaw ate Mr. Shaw’s apple. He breathed appley breath on Jody. He leaned into the hugs Kiera and Fran were giving him.

It wasn’t easy. The hugs were coming from two sides at once. But Jigsaw did it.

He really could do anything.