Dream of Night - Hardcover

Henson, Heather

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1416948996 ISBN 13: 9781416948995

Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 2010

Synopsis

Untamable. Damaged. Angry. Once full of promise and life, now a fiery knot of resentment and detachment. This is the story of Dream of Night, an injured and abused racehorse. It’s also the story of Shiloh, a sarcastic eleven-year-old foster child. By chance, Dream of Night and Shiloh both find themselves under the care of Jessalyn DiLima. Just in time—it’s a last chance for them both.

Jess fosters animals and kids like Dream of Night and Shiloh for a reason—she’s a little broken, too. And as the three of them become an unlikely family, they recognize their similarities in order to heal their pasts—but not before one last tragedy threatens to take everything away.

About this title

About the Author

Heather Henson lives on a farm in Kentucky with her husband and three children, and is the author of several critically acclaimed picture books and novels, including the Christopher Award–winning That Book Woman and Dream of Night.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Two

SHILOH

Day breaks and Shiloh pulls the scuffed black canvas suitcase out from under the bed. Everything she owns in the world fits inside. She doesn’t even bother folding the T-shirts and jeans and shorts. They’re all hand-me-downs or Salvation Army castoffs anyway. Who cares if they are wrinkled?

A faint knock comes halfway through the packing. Shiloh ignores it. She ignores the muffled, fluttery voice, too. The door isn’t locked but she knows the old woman is too timid to open it.

When she’s done, Shiloh leaves the case where it is on the floor and folds herself into the closet to wait.

Small places are the safest. Easily forgotten.

There, on a low shelf near her head, she sees an old ballpoint pen.

Click, and it’s open.

She tests the ink on her palm. And then slowly, carefully, she writes all the bad words she knows on the pure white walls of the closet for the old couple to find later, after she’s gone.

The doorbell rings.

Click, the pen is closed. She tucks it into her jeans pocket.

The muffled sound of voices, low and secretive. She knows what the voices are saying even though she can’t actually make out the words.

We tried.

Too angry.

Too much trouble.

We’re sorry. So very sorry.

Shiloh hates the word “sorry.” One of the things she’s learned in her twelve years is that people who say they’re sorry never really mean it.

“Shiloh?”

The state lady. Just outside the door. Her voice cheerful and bright.

What a fake.

Shiloh yanks the door open. She ignores the fake smile as she walks by. She ignores the old couple sitting on the couch on her way through the TV room.

“Good-bye, Shiloh,” the old woman calls in her high, fluttery voice. “Good-bye. I hope...” The voice trailing off, as usual. “Well, I just hope...”

Shiloh doesn’t wait for her to finish the sentence. She doesn’t say anything back as she walks out the door. It doesn’t matter. She’ll never see the old woman again.

JESSALYNN

Before the pickup even rolls to a stop, Jess is out of the passenger side and making her way toward the paddock. Rain pelts her hard but it doesn’t matter. She’s used to being out in all kinds of weather. Rain doesn’t hurt unless it has some ice to it.

A great mass, dark and muddy, is wedged against the white plank fence. As Jess comes near, the mass breaks apart, screaming and snorting, becoming not just one body but many.

Becoming horses.

Skin and bone. Every one. Barely strong enough to stand, by the look of them.

Still they wrestle with all their pitiful might. Jerking their hooves up from the dark, sucking mud. Stumbling and shrieking, eyes rolling back inside their heads.

Jess takes a slow breath, gazes down at her muddy boots. The anger rises up fast. The taste of bile sharp at the back of her throat.

It’s the same every time. With this kind of rescue. It never gets any easier.

Horses shouldn’t look this way. Skeletons with a bit of skin attached.

Horses shouldn’t act this way, either. So fearful of human touch they would break off their own legs just to get as far away as possible.

“Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you.”

The singing is a reflex. Automatic.

“Away, you rolling river.”

Soft and low. Not really meant for human ears.

“Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you.”

A song her father used to sing when she was a girl. Many years ago.

“Away, we’re bound away, ’cross the wide Missoura.”

Most times the sound is soothing, a comfort. But not today. These horses are way too spooked.

Screaming and snorting, nostrils flared, the pack manages to pull itself up and away. As far as it can go. Until the thick mud cements hooves in place once more.

“Hey, Jess, this way!”

A voice, calling through the rain and terrible racket.

“They’re ready for us.”

The voice of “emergency.” At four thirty in the morning.

With Nita, “emergency” always means horses.

“Foster or for keeps?” Jess hears Nita asking as she comes out of the drizzle into the dry barn.

“Dunno. Court’ll decide in a month or so.”

Jess can hear the exhaustion in Tom’s voice. She can see the dark circles under his eyes when she comes up beside Nita. Tom’s in charge of this rescue. He’s probably been up all night.

“Can’t keep ’em here that long,” he continues, waving a clipboard in the air. “We’re splitting at the seams. And there ain’t enough to keep ’em all fed as it is.”

Nita nods. She knows all this. So does Jess. It’s the same story, time and again.

A bunch of sickly horses finally get rescued after being mistreated and starved, and the pain and suffering isn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. Because there’s never enough feed at the Humane Society, never enough hay. Never enough hands to help and never enough homes for the horses to go to.

“I ’preciate you gals coming out like this. On such short notice,” Tom says. “And in such great weather, too.”

“At least we’re not the only ones today.”

Nita nods toward the trucks and trailers already lining from the barn to the end of the driveway.

“Yeah, we managed to get it in the papers and on the radio first thing. Word of mouth spreads pretty quick.”

“Especially with Nita around,” Jess says under her breath. “How many calls did you make this morning, anyway?” She grins over at her friend.

Nita gives a shrug. “I lost track at twenty-five.”

“Nita Horne!” Tom cries. “I don’t know twenty-five people I could call at this hour of a morning!”

“I don’t either.” Nita winks. “I just opened up the phone book.”

Tom lets out a big laugh. “All right, then, ladies.” He taps a thick finger against the clipboard. “First one up is number ten. And she’s got a foal.”

“Two for one.”

“You got it.”

Nita turns to Jess, zipping up the hood on her rain slicker.

“You ready?” she asks.

“As ready as it gets nowadays,” Jess replies.

The women enter the paddock. Wading through mud, circling, arms fanned out. Trying to get a look at the numbers on the brass tags attached to halters, separate one horse from another, load each one up into a waiting trailer.

All this without stirring up a ripple of panic. Because a ripple builds into a tidal wave. Just like that.

“Whoa! Whoa! Watch it!”

Too late, the black mass senses danger and seizes back. Then forward, surging, a dark sea. Churning and dangerous. Barely missing Jess and another volunteer.

“You’re slowing down, old lady,” Nita calls over the roar.

“That’s what I would’ve told you this morning,” Jess mumbles, “if you’d stayed on the line long enough.”

The terrified herd settles into a far corner, and the volunteers try it again.

And again.

The rain doesn’t stop, and the mud gets thicker. A stew of woman and man and beast. Something out of a movie. A scene in old black and white runs through Jess’s head. A man alongside a muddy riverbank, wrestling alligators.

Because that’s what this is like. Sorting through this lot is like wrestling alligators. Jess loses all sense of time. And place. Maybe she has been here forever, dodging hooves and teeth. Maybe she has died and gone below, to the place her granny always warned her about.

After a while, though, the sorting starts to inch its way toward easy. Easier. The mares start to give up. Worn out, pure and simple. Broke.

Only the foals stay fierce. Wild. Determined to remain free, untouched.

It’s the same every time. With this kind of rescue. The foals are in better shape than the mares. Because they can still nurse even while their mamas are starving.

And even though she knows one of the feisty, long-legged little foals could kick her in the head if she’s not careful, Jess is glad. Just watching the foals makes her heart glad. Because it shows how life goes on. Even in the mud and misery. Life continues.

Another hour slips by, two. Jess ignores the familiar nagging in her lower back, the stiffness in her joints. The only thing that finally stops her is the time.

“Sorry, but I gotta go,” she calls to Nita, tapping a finger on her mud-splattered watch. “Got somebody coming at three.”

“Which one you taking?” Nita calls back.

“The palomino.”

No foal and sweet as pie. Worn out from all the youthful shenanigans. The old gal will fit in fine with Jess’s other horses.

“Okay, go get the truck,” Nita says. “I’ll round her up. Key’s under the flap.”

Jess nods and heads out of the barn. The rain has let up, but the clouds to the east are still dark, threatening.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

A jolt of sound, sudden and close. Like thunder, but not. At least not the kind that comes from the sky.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

It’s hooves slamming against metal, a new horse trailer pulling up. The kicking going on inside so full of force, Jess half expects to see hoofprints stamping through the walls.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

“Whoo-wee, glad we made it!” The driver is jumping down from the cab of the truck. “Not sure the trailer was going to hold.”

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

“Why didn’t you tranq ’im?” Tom has come out of the barn with his clipboard. He doesn’t look happy.

“We did!” the driver yells over the noise. “He’s got enough Ace in his veins to drop an elephant.”

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

“Lord have mercy,” Tom says softly. He stands, watching the horse trailer shimmy and shake. “Well, what’re we going to do with him now? Where we going to put ’im?”

“You tell me,” the driver says, holding his empty palms up.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

Jess checks her watch again. She’s going to be late, even if loading up the palomino is smooth and easy.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

But she can’t resist a closer look.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

And what she sees through the metal slats makes her stomach churn all over again. Because what she sees is a shell of a horse, a skeleton, barely alive, but kicking to beat the band. Kicking to show his stuff, to show what he once was.

A Thoroughbred. Jess can see it, despite the thinness and the filthy, rotting coat. A racehorse, most likely. A king, once upon a time.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

Nothing but bones now. A bag of bones and skin covered in mud.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

And scars. Thick scars winding their way around his neck like a noose. Thinner scars flicked along his sides.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

The whip, of course. But chains, too. Jess has seen it before. Willful horses chained to a barn wall to make them mind.

“Listen at that.” Tom has come up behind her. She knows he’s not talking about the kicking. He’s got his head cocked, listening to something behind that. “Pneumonia for sure. Who knows what else. Can’t let him get near the other horses. Even if he was calm as milk.” Tom tugs at his cap, lets out a sigh. “Truth is, I don’t know what to do with him. Probably best to put ’im out of his misery.” He turns away. “Shoulda done it back there before bringing him all this way, stressing him out even more.”

“Now you tell me,” the driver says.

There was a time Jess would have protested. Loudly. She would have let Tom have it. Told him how wrong he was. And she would have taken this horse home just to prove her point.

But that was before her back went out the first time, before she woke up with pain and stiffness most mornings.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

Before she got old.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

Now she’s not so sure Tom is wrong.

Out of his misery. Probably the best thing. A horse this bad off, this far gone.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

This angry. Jess is about to turn away, nothing she can do, when it happens.

The horse stops. Kicking at his cage. Just stops. And reaches his neck around. Turns his head. To look at Jess.

Is it the singing?

She hadn’t even realized. Because it’s a reflex, automatic.

Is it the melody?

A song about a river, not a girl. Her father had to explain that to her long ago. Shenandoah is a river, not a girl like Jess imagined. Not a song about love but about longing.

Is it the voice?

Doubtful. Jess knows she doesn’t have her father’s baritone, which was like an oak tree, deep-rooted, strong.

Whatever it is, the horse is looking at Jess.

And Jess is looking back.

And what she sees she can’t explain. Not in words, anyway. What she sees is what this horse once was.

A champion. A king.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

The song ends. The moment is gone.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

The kicking starts up again. Harder now. Harder even than before.

“What’s his name?” Jess asks, turning to Tom.

“Well, he’s registered. A money winner, in his day.” Tom flips through the list. “Let’s see... Here we go.” He squints up at the trailer. “Nice name. Dream of Night.”

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

“Well, he’s nobody’s dream now!” The driver spits out a wad of tobacco with the words. “More like a nightmare.”

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

“I’ll take him,” Jess says, her words getting lost in the noise so that she has to say it again. “I’ll take him.”

Tom pushes his cap back, looks at her. “I dunno, Jess. Even if he does make it through the night, he’s a wild one all right.”

“I’ll take him.” Jess says.

“No offense, ma’am, but you’re crazy!” the driver blurts.

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” Jess winks at Tom, and he lets out another of his big laughs.

“What about this sweet gal?” Nita asks when Jess comes into the barn to sign the paperwork. She has the palomino ready to go. “She’s just a doll.” Rubbing her cheek along the mare’s muddy neck.

“Can’t take both. I’ve got to go now, and the other’s already loaded up.”

As if that’s the reason. The black horse is already loaded up.

“Thought you weren’t taking the hard cases anymore,” Nita says, some slyness slipping into her voice. “Thought you were too old.”

“I am,” Jess answers, checking her watch, letting the second thoughts worm their way in.

What in the world is she doing, anyhow? Taking on a sickly ex-racehorse at this point in her life, at this moment? She’s too old, too rickety to handle some crazed-out-of-his-mind Thoroughbred stallion. She’ll have her hands full as it is. With the kid coming, this very afternoon — Jess glances down at her watch — this very minute, in fact.

And not just any kid.

“Tough as nails,” the social worker said over the phone. “Angry at the world.”

Jess studies her muddy boots. The irony does not escape her. An angry kid and an angry horse. Both the same day.

“Whe...

About this edition

• Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers
• Publication date: 2010
• ISBN 10: 1416948996
• ISBN 13: 9781416948995
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 224