The Island Horse by Susan Hughes Page A

seen a wild horse. She probably never would. But she could make up stories about them, and draw them, and these were the things she liked to do most.
    Ellie began drawing a horse with a long flowing mane, standing majestically at the top of a hill. She drew on her slate, although it wasn’t as nice as drawing on paper. But there wasn’t much paper to spare in her home anymore. Not since her mother had gotten sick and died. Not since her father had given up his job on the docks.
    Thinking of her father, Ellie looked up, and through the window she saw him. He was walking up the road in the sunshine. She could see the blue sky stretching above him. She could see the blue of the sea, the Atlantic Ocean, stretching behind him.
    â€œHello, my sweetpea,” he said as he came in the door. But he didn’t move to take off his boots. He took off his hat and held it in his hand. He stood inside the door, squeezing his hat in his fist.
    In his other hand, between his fingertips, he held a single envelope. White, tissue-paper thin.
    â€œHello, Pa. What’s that?” asked Ellie.
    â€œA job offer, I think.”
    Ellie’s mother had been sick for a long time, but last summer her illness had become worse. And so last summer Ellie’s father had left his job. He had said, “We will spend these months together.”
    And they had. All the long summer, Ellie and her mother and father had stayed close. Ellie had drawn pictures for her mother and told her exciting, made-up stories about adventures with horses. When Ellie’s father had cooked simple meals or hung the wash on the line, Ma sat nearby. Ma would ask to go to the top of the hill, and of course they would go. The three of them, Pa carrying Ma. They picnicked there and watched whales. They looked for orchids in the fields and made dandelion chains. They had stayed close, in their small world.
    In the fall, Ellie’s mother died. They buried her at the top of the hill, not far from home.
    Ellie missed her mother every day. She did not want to go to school, but her father told her, “You must.” And so she did, walking back and forth with Lizzie every day. And when she came home, every day, her father was there.
    The long fall had passed in this way, and the winter passed just as slowly. Her father had been trying to find a new job, but could not. Times were hard. There was no paid work in the village. Those with boats fished, but her father did not have a boat. And paid work on the docks or the boats was impossible to find.
    Now, Ellie’s father was holding this letter. For the first time in a long time, there was hope in his voice.
    Ellie waited and watched, the slate pencil between her fingers. The horse waited, its eye wild, its leg raised, unfinished.
    She saw her father take a deep breath and pull a letter out of the envelope. The paper unfolded as delicately as a flower blossoming. She saw him read the letter, saw a smile split his face.
    â€œEllie!” he cried. He grabbed her hands and pulled her from her chair. “Ellie, we’ll be all right! I
have
been offered a job. A good job!”
    Ellie laughed and let herself be spun. She twirled lightly under her father’s arching arms. Now maybe she could have paper for her drawings again, and her father would not be so worried. She only wished her mother was here to share the news.
    Chapter Two
    Later that evening, Ellie’s father tucked her into bed. She waited for him to pause before he closed the shutters. “Good night, Ma,” she whispered, looking toward the top of the hill. It had become her bedtime ritual.
    Her father came to sit on the stool by her bedside. The candle on her nightstand flickered. Ellie was cozied up under an Ellie-sized quilt. It was made of white squares edged in colors, all sewn together. Her mother had sewn it for her, and every night her father tucked it around her, like a hug.
    â€œEllie,” her father asked, “have