When the Wind Blows by John Saul Page A

pet him?”
    Christie, happy to be back on familiar ground, let go of Diana’s hand and approached the horse. “Hi,Hayburner.” She reached up and scratched the horse’s neck. “My name’s Christie. You’re going to take me everywhere, and we’re going to be best friends. How do you like that?”
    Hayburner pawed the floor of his stall, and his tongue emerged from his mouth to investigate Christie’s hand for a possible sugar cube. “He likes me!” Christie cried. “Aunt Diana, he likes me!”
    Diana grinned. “He likes everybody, sweetheart. I think he’s some kind of a freak—he looks like a horse, but he acts like a dog.”
    “He does not!” Christie protested. She opened the stall and went in. Hayburner backed up to make room for her, then began nuzzling her. Diana quickly moved forward.
    “Be careful—he’s not used to you yet.”
    “Yes he is. See? He loves me! Can we put a saddle on him? Right now? Please?”
    Diana hesitated, disturbed by the look of pure joy on Christie’s face. She cast about in her mind for an excuse but found none. “Why not?” she said. “Come on—you might as well learn the tack room.”
    They went to the back of the barn and began sorting through the various saddles.
    “What about this one?” Christie asked. She pulled a piece of canvas off a saddle that stood on a rack in the corner. Though it was obviously old, it was polished brightly and smelled of saddle soap. Diana frowned slightly, then shrugged.
    “All right—it was my saddle when I was a little girl—it’ll be perfect.” They chose a blanket and a bridle, then Diana picked up the saddle. Returning to Hayburner’s stall, they began saddling the horse, while the big gray continued snuffling at Christie. When they were done, Christie led him outside.
    “Do you need a block?” Diana asked. She started toward the barn, but Christie was already scramblinginto the saddle. “Let me help you,” Diana cried, hurrying toward the struggling child.
    “I can do it,” Christie protested. “I’m not a baby, and my teacher in Chicago said you have to be able to get on a horse by yourself.”
    The words stung Diana, and she watched helplessly as Christie put her left foot in the stirrup and swung herself up onto Hayburner’s back. The horse craned his neck to peer up at her, then began walking slowly around the corral. Christie whispered to him, squeezed him with her knees, and he broke into a trot.
    “How’s it feel?” Diana called.
    “It’s neat! It’s different than the saddle I used in Chicago. Wider.”
    “Easier on the horse, harder on you.”
    Diana climbed up onto the top rail of the corral and watched as Hayburner trotted around the corral once more. Christie, she realized, rode better than she had expected. In a way, Diana felt disappointed—she had hoped to be able to teach Christie riding, just as her mother had taught her. Then, as she watched the girl and the horse moving together so naturally, she began to wonder if she’d made a mistake. In her heart, she could feel the horse coming between herself and Christie.
    “That’s enough,” she suddenly called. Christie looked up, startled by the anger she heard in Diana’s voice, and quickly reined Hayburner to a halt next to Diana.
    “Can Hayburner be my horse, Aunt Diana?” she asked. “Please? I love him, and I can tell he loves me, too.”
    Diana was silent for a moment, her emotions in upheaval. Finally, reluctantly, she nodded. “All right,” she said slowly. “He’s yours. But I won’t have you getting too attached to him, do you understand? He’s old, and he could die.”
    The happy smile faded from Christie’s face. “Why would he die?” she asked.
    When she spoke again, Diana’s voice was muted, and Christie had to strain to hear the words.
    “Because that’s what happens,” Diana said. “You love things, and they get taken away from you. Or they die.”
    As the words sank in, Christie’s eyes brimmed with tears,