Beth’s eyes widened in surprise; then she giggled, and sat down at the table to dig into the plate of eggs that was now waiting for her. When she was finished, she scraped the leavings into the sink, rinsed the plate, then picked up the waiting bag of garbage and headed out the back door. She dumped the trash in the barrel as she crossed the little terrace, then waved to Ben Smithers, who was busy in the rose garden.
She ran all the way to the door of the stable. As soon as she stepped inside, she knew that Peter, as she’d hoped, was not there yet. There was a stillness in the little barn—a quiet that was broken only by the soft snufflings of the horses as they became aware that someone had come into the stable.
Beth let herself relax as she closed the stable door behind her, and started down the aisle toward Patches’s stall. The big mare was stretching her neck out as far as she could, and whinnying softly.
“Hi, Patches,” Beth whispered, reaching up to scratch the horse’s ears. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
The horse snuffled, pawing at the floor of her stall, then tried to poke her nose into the pocket of Beth’s jeans. Across the stall, the feed trough was empty.
“I don’t see why Peter can’t leave you something to eat during the night,” Beth told the big mare, scratching her affectionately between the ears. “What if you get hungry?”
The horse snorted softly, and her head bobbed as if she had understood every word Beth said, and agreed with her. That, Beth decided, was the neatest thing about Patches—she could say anything to her, and never have to worry about whether the horse believed her or not.
It wasn’t at all like it was with people. With people, if you said something that sounded just a little bit strange, they started calling you crazy.
Either that, or they didn’t believe you were telling them the truth.
Beth sighed, hugged Patches’s neck, then started down the aisle toward the feed bins to find something for the horse to eat. The hay wasn’t down yet, but there was a big sack of oats beneath the hayloft.
As she found a pail and began filling it with oats, Beth wondered if anyone would ever believe that Amy was real.
So far, it didn’t seem like anyone would.
Except for old Mrs. Sturgess.
But had the old lady really believed her, or was she just pretending to for some reason that Beth couldn’t understand? Yet if she was only pretending, why would she have said that when she came home from the hospital she’d show Beth something that proved there really was a girl named Amy? And why would she have asked Beth what Amy wanted?
Beth didn’t think Amy wanted anything. All she wanted was for them to be friends.
She took the pailful of oats back to Patches’s stall, opened the door, and let herself inside.
“Look what I’ve got for you,” she said, holding the pail up close to the big mare’s nose.
The horse sniffed at the pail, then backed away, tossing her head.
“It’s only oats,” Beth said, moving slowly forward until she could reach out and take hold of Patches’s halter. “You like oats, remember?”
She offered the pail once more, but the horse, sniffing at it again, tried to pull her head away. But Beth, prepared for it, tightened her grip on the halter, and held Patches in place.
“Maybe she doesn’t want any,” she heard a voice say from behind her. “Maybe she’s not hungry.”
Beth felt herself redden, and whirled around to see Tracy standing at the stall door, smiling in that superior way of hers that never failed to make Beth feel stupid. “She likes oats,” she said. “She just wants me to feed her, that’s all.”
“She doesn’t want you to feed her.” Tracy sneered. “She doesn’t even like you. She just wants you to go away!”
“That’s not true!” Beth flared, stung. “Watch!”
Still holding on to the horse’s halter with one hand, she set the pail on the floor, then took a handful of the grain and held it up for Patches’s inspection.
The big horse eyed the grain, then tentatively opened her mouth and licked. Beth raised her hand, and the horse’s lips curled out, closed, and pulled in the oats. As she munched slowly, then swallowed, Beth reached down for another handful.
“That’s the way,” she crooned softly as the horse ate the second handful. “See