The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [92]
The scream that cut the evening air came from close by. Tom Furzey’s sister only lived across the green. She and John Pride didn’t speak much since the pony business, but their children saw one another most days. You couldn’t do much about that. And the scream came from Harry, a boy his own age.
‘Help!’
He ran out of the yard and across the green, skirting the edge of the pond. The sight that met his eyes was shocking. Harry’s mother was lying face down on the ground. She seemed to have slipped by the gate and maybe banged her head against the post. She was lying very still. Harry was trying to lift her, without success. Just as he got there her husband and Tom Furzey came out of their cottage. Tom must have been visiting. The rest of her children came as well.
Tom was all action, knelt down beside his sister, felt her neck for a pulse, turned her over, glanced up. ‘She’s not dead. Hit her head, I reckon. You boys’ – he gave young John a quick nod – ‘take her legs, then.’ He and her husband each lifted under her arms, and they carried her into the cottage. ‘You better go out now,’ Tom told the children. He was gently patting his sister’s cheek as they left.
John hung about there for a few minutes. Another neighbour came by. He didn’t notice anyone over by the Pride farmstead, though.
After only a few moments Tom came out and gave them all a smile. ‘She’s coming round. Nothing to worry about.’ Then he went back in.
A few moments later John thought he’d better go back to his home. He walked round the pond and into the small yard. He glanced into the paddock and didn’t immediately see the pony. He frowned, looked again. Then, rushing round, with an awful, sinking sense of panic, young John Pride saw that the field was empty. The pony had gone.
But how? The gate was shut. The field was bordered by an earth wall and fence: surely it could not have jumped that. He ran to check the shed. It was empty. He dashed round on to the green and started running round it. Halfway, he saw Harry, who called to ask him what was up. ‘Pony’s gone,’ he cried.
‘Hasn’t been here,’ the boy replied. ‘I’ll come with you.’ And he ran with John back to the Pride farmstead. ‘Let’s try the heath,’ he shouted. So together they ran out on to Beaulieu Heath.
The sun was sinking now. A reddish glaze was covering the heather and the gorse cast dark shadows. Here and there, sure enough, were the dark forms of ponies by the brakes. Young Pride looked out desperately.
Then his companion nudged him and pointed. ‘Look there.’ It was the pony. He was sure of it. The little creature was standing by a gorse brake over half a mile away. The two boys started running towards it. But, as though it had seen them, the pony suddenly seemed to dart away, and vanished behind a dip in the ground.
Harry stopped. ‘We’ll never get him this way,’ he gasped. ‘We’d better ride after him. You can ride my pony. I’ll take my father’s. Come on.’
They hurried back. Young Pride was so anxious that he wouldn’t even wait to saddle up. So a short while later the two boys set off, with the red glow of the sunset behind them.
‘I reckon they’ll be out all night,’ Tom chuckled.
He had planned it all exactly and it had worked.
Some time after dark, Mary had led the pony through the woods behind their farmstead and he had helped her bring it into the little barn. There, with the door closed, they had inspected it by lamplight. It was even prettier than he had remembered. He could see, although she said nothing, that Mary was thinking the same thing. It was well into the night when they finally left, bolting the door behind them.
When Tom woke it was already past dawn and the sun could be seen above the horizon. He leaped up. ‘Feed the pony,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll send word when you’re to come.’ And without pausing, he hurried out of the cottage and along the track towards John Pride’s. He didn’t want to miss Pride’s face when he returned.
All was well. Pride was not yet back.
But his son was. Poor young John was sitting