Horse Feathers (2 page)

“Well, I just wish it were Sunday morning right now so that we wouldn’t have to wait to meet the mystery horse,” said Carole.

Carole was different from both Stevie and Lisa. If Stevie’s need-to-know often sent her off on some crazy scheme, and Lisa’s need-to-know got her straight As, then Carole’s need-to-know applied only to horses. The only thing preventing Carole from achieving straight As in school was the subject matter. She could accurately list every breed of horse known in North America in alphabetical order, plus their significant—and not so significant—qualities, but she often had trouble recalling the names of the fifty states. She always made sure that the horses got watered and fed on time, but she sometimes forgot to eat breakfast or lunch herself.

Stevie and Lisa had long since realized that even though they were both horse-crazy, Carole was, hands down, the horse-craziest of all of them. Carole had no idea what she wanted to be when she grew up, but she knew for sure that it would involve horses. She had learned to ride almost before she could walk and was what Max liked to refer to as a natural rider. Lisa often thought that Carole galloping her gelding, Starlight, over a set of fences or through a large open field was the most graceful sight she’d ever seen. Stevie and Lisa knew that Carole was undoubtedly one of the best riders at Pine Hollow. Not that this went to Carole’s head; Carole was appreciative and
modest about her ability, constantly challenging herself to become even better.

“Hey, what’s going on over there at your house?” asked Lisa.

Stevie squinted to see into the distance. From where they were, it looked like a small army had congregated on her front lawn. “Uh-oh.”

“What did you do this time?” teased Carole. Being the only girl in a family of four children, Stevie was often the victim of practical jokes from her siblings. Unfortunately, Stevie was just as fond of instigating.

“Nothing that I know of,” protested Stevie. She frowned, now able to make out her brothers, Chad, Michael, and Alex, gathered in the front yard. Her parents were there, too. That many of her family members in one location was never a good sign. Had she forgotten a family gathering? She quickly skimmed through her mental to-do list but couldn’t come up with anything that accounted for the display.

She turned to Lisa. “Was I supposed to do something today?”

Lisa shook her head. “Not that I can remember.”

“Maybe it’s a surprise,” suggested Carole.

Stevie shook her head. “If it were a surprise, they
wouldn’t be standing on the front lawn where I can see them.”

Carole nodded. “Well, intuition and past experience tell me that you’re involved somehow.”

Stevie straightened her shoulders, doing her best to appear offended. “Did it ever occur to you that I may not be the cause of this?” asked Stevie.

“Noooo!” chorused Lisa and Carole, which brought a smile to Stevie’s face.

As the girls got closer, Stevie could see that her family appeared to be staring at something on the grass in the middle of their huddle. But from a distance Stevie couldn’t make out what it was.

“What’s the worst it could be?” Stevie asked, shrugging her shoulders.

Lisa and Carole exchanged looks.

“Okay, forget I asked that,” said Stevie. “Come on, let’s go find out.”

The girls quickened their pace and cut across the street. They hurried up the driveway to the cluster of Lakes.

Stevie pushed into the small circle and peered over Michael’s shoulder to get a look at the object of their attention. It was definitely not anything nearly as exciting as Stevie could have imagined. It was just a large
wooden crate, with
HANDLE WITH CARE
stamped in big, bold red letters across the top of it.

Mr. Lake glanced up. “Ah, Stevie. I’m glad you’re here. This was just delivered.”

“What is it?” Stevie asked, now noticing the other suspicious words stamped on the crate, such as
LIVESTOCK
and
OPEN IMMEDIATELY
!

“We were hoping you could tell us,” said Mrs. Lake.

“Me?” asked Stevie, surprised. “Why me?”

“Because it’s addressed to you,” said her older brother, Chad.

Stevie looked at Carole and Lisa, who had wiggled their way into the circle. Carole shrugged. Stevie, filled with uncertainty, took a cautious step toward the box. As she did, everyone else stepped back.

“It could be a bomb,” said Michael. “They always hand deliver bombs on television.”

Stevie shot Michael a look.

“Well it’s true,” he insisted.

“Don’t be silly,” said Mrs. Lake. “Whatever it is, it’s not a bomb.”

“Although the delivery man did warn us that it was very important to follow the instructions
exactly
,” teased Mr. Lake.

“Stevie, don’t pay any attention to them,” said Mrs.
Lake, smiling her encouragement. But then, as if she couldn’t help herself, she playfully took one small step backward, followed by Chad, Michael, Alex, and Mr. Lake. They seemed to be having an awful lot of fun at Stevie’s expense.

“Very funny,” said Stevie. She eyed the box warily. “I don’t suppose anyone else wants to open it?” she asked hopefully.

“It’s your box,” Chad pointed out, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he took yet another step back.

“Maybe it’s a present from Phil,” suggested Lisa.

Phil Marsten was Stevie’s boyfriend, and it wouldn’t be unthinkable that he would send Stevie a present. Except that Stevie couldn’t remember the last time Phil had ever had a present hand delivered, unless he was the one doing the delivering. And she certainly couldn’t think of anything he’d give her that was this big.

“Here’s a thought,” Alex said impatiently. “Why don’t you just open it and find out?”

Stevie took a closer look at the crate. It appeared to be heavily padded. She shrugged, “It’s not like they would bother padding a bomb, right?”

Chad just grinned.

Stevie shook her head and took another step toward the box.

“Don’t forget to follow the instructions,” Mrs. Lake said.

“Follow the instructions,” Stevie repeated, nodding.

Stevie decided to start with the most obvious instruction:
HANDLE WITH CARE
. She knelt beside the box and very carefully looked for a way to open it. There was a small latch on top, securing the lid. She slid it out of the way, then gently lifted the wooden panel. The inside of the box was lined with Styrofoam, which concealed its contents.

“What’s in it?” Carole asked eagerly, leaning over Stevie’s shoulder for a better view.

“I don’t know. But there’s some sort of battery pack keeping it warm.” Stevie paused. “Isn’t Styrofoam supposed to keep things cold?” Now she was really confused. What on earth could someone send her that required a temperature control?

“Is it ticking?” asked Michael.

Stevie put her ear closer. It
was
ticking. She jumped back. At least she
thought
she’d heard ticking.

“Boys, stop teasing your sister,” admonished Mrs. Lake. “Go ahead, Stevie.”

Encouraged, Stevie inspected the box closer and noticed a return address in small black type on one corner of the box.
If someone was going to send a bomb, they wouldn’t give a return address
, Stevie reasoned. She
glanced closer at the writing. It read:
JOB
’
S COMFORTERS
, followed by a mailing address.

“Job’s Comforters!” squealed Stevie excitedly, immediately forgetting her apprehension about the crate. “Maybe it’s the down quilt I’ve been hoping for!”

“Stevie, if it were a quilt, why would they need to keep it warm?” Lisa pointed out.

Stevie frowned. “They wouldn’t. Unless of course they wanted to make sure it was nice and toasty when I received it,” she tried hopefully.

But her whole family, as well as Lisa and Carole, shook their heads in response. Whatever it was, it was definitely not a down quilt.

Stevie carefully and somewhat nervously plucked off another layer of Styrofoam. There, beneath the Styrofoam, was a compact heating box. She searched her mind for things in the store that might have come with a heating unit. But she came up blank. Even more curiously, the top of the heating box was dotted with small holes.

Stevie peered closely at the top of the box. “Could it be …” She paused midsentence as a thought occurred to her. She looked again at the writing on the outside of the box.

“Livestock?” whispered Stevie. She very cautiously
put her eye to one of the holes and peered inside the heating box. “Uh-oh …”

“Well, what is it?” Alex demanded impatiently. “Move over so I can look.”

Stevie rocked back on one foot, allowing Alex to have a peek. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked uncertainly.

Alex stared through the hole for a long moment. Then he glanced over at Stevie, his face showing the same expression that hers had moments before. “Uh-oh …”

Stevie sighed. “That’s what I thought.” She quickly took another glance through the small holes in the top of the box, just to be sure. But nothing had changed. There, in front of her eyes, or in front of one eye to be more exact, were twelve large eggs, gently nestled in an incubator.

“Stevie! Tell us what it is!” Lisa said impatiently.

“Eggs,” said Stevie flatly.

“Eggs?” echoed Carole and Lisa as if they’d misheard her.

Everyone stared at Stevie, their faces full of confusion, waiting for further explanation.

Stevie shrugged helplessly and glanced down at the box. “I think I’m going to be a mom.”

N
EEDLESS TO SAY
, dinner at the Lake house that night was louder than normal, with the eggs being the obvious choice of conversation. Stevie had even convinced her parents to allow her to bring the crate into the dining room where she could keep an eye on it during dinner. She’d already left the table three times to peek through the holes.

On Stevie’s fourth trip to the crate, Mrs. Lake finally said, “Dear, they’re not going to hatch while we’re eating. Finish your dinner and then you can spend as much time as you like with them.”

Stevie grudgingly made her way back to the table
sitting slightly turned in her chair to keep one eye on the crate.

“Stevie,” prompted Carole excitedly, “tell us what the letter said.” She was referring to the crisp white envelope resting on the table beside Stevie’s elbow.

On closer inspection of the crate, Alex had found the letter slipped between the incubator and the battery pack. It was addressed to Ms. Stephanie Lake, which obviously meant that the eggs had been delivered to the correct house and that it was not a grocery delivery mix-up as Michael had suggested when they’d carried the crate into the house.

“Well,” Stevie said casually, “remember the other week, Mom, when we went to the Bed ’n’ Bath Shop?” Mrs. Lake nodded. “And I had to wait while you searched the
entire
store for a purple bath pillow that was the
exact
same color as the purple flowers in the wallpaper in the upstairs bathroom?” Mrs. Lake nodded patiently. “And it took
forever
?”

“Your point, Stevie?” said Mrs. Lake, smiling at her daughter’s flare for the dramatic.

“Well, I was standing there, aging by the minute”—Stevie continued, ignoring her mother, who rolled her
eyes—“and I noticed this contest being hosted by Job’s Comforters. First prize was a down comforter.”

“But Stevie, you have a comforter already,” said Mr. Lake, clearly not grasping the significance of down versus synthetic fiber.

“Dad,” replied Stevie patiently, “a down comforter isn’t just like any comforter. It’s filled with
down
. Trust me, there’s a huge difference.”

Mr. Lake nodded slowly, knowing that when in doubt, the best defense was to nod.

Stevie continued, “Now, let me also remind everyone that a down comforter
was
at the top of my wish list
last
Christmas. Which, in case no one has noticed, has come and gone.”

“You mean, at the top of your list right under the four million horse-related items,” joked Chad.

“The point is I didn’t get one. So, I thought, maybe, just maybe, I’d win one.”

“You won the contest?” Mr. Lake asked, getting confused.

Stevie hesitated. “Well, if you can call it that. I won sixth prize. Not the comforter, not the down jacket—which, let me add, would have been the most practical choice to keep me toasty warm at the barn this winter—not the comforter cover, third place; not the pillow, fourth
place; not even the mittens, fifth place—which, let me point out, also would have been a bonus for those long winter horseback rides along the snow-covered trails to keep my fingers toasty warm. But nooooo. Instead I won sixth place: a dozen goose eggs and an incubator.”

“Let me guess,” said Mr. Lake lightly. “Practical only if you’re short on breakfast items for the weekend.”

Chad almost choked on his carrots and Mrs. Lake covered her mouth with her napkin to try to disguise her smile. Stevie ignored them all.

“I guess, when you think about it,” she mused, “there
is
a connection between the eggs and the comforter. It’s sort of like a make-your-own comforter.” She glanced over at the eggs, which had yet to hatch, and therefore had yet to produce down. “It’ll just be a little more time-consuming.”