Holiday Horses
by Darren Stone


Dan Storm stood in the sawdust and shavings, trying to imagine the horse that would be deserving of this most beautiful chunk of tree. He had come across the huge maple log quite by accident one day, while following a slow-moving cloud across the sky.
"It’s as big as a horse," he remembered thinking; and so his rocking-horse project had begun.
Already, you could make out the shoulders and ribs, the general shape of the nose, and most of the tail - although it was still a mystery just how dramatic the tail would finally fly. The legs were finished; they lay in a box near the snow shovels and dry kindling. Dan knew from the inception how the legs must be, and they came quickly. Strong, muscular, lean - one set contradicting the other in motion - yes, these were ideal racing legs. Wild, untamed spirited legs. Rocking-horse legs.
The maple itself had the most beautiful figuring Dan had ever seen; it was easy to find the animal straining to break free inside. The lines curved and stretched and broke apart, and Dan could feel the horse’s heavy chest now.
Still, it was hard to imagine the face. The eyes. They should be gentle, yet determined. And inviting. The eyes would show the horse’s personality, and Dan spent many nights sketching eyes. Lemon-shapes. Almonds. Angry. Joyful. Bold. All kinds of eyes.

The work on the torso continued as this eye deliberation went on. The horse would be grand. Dan had made platters and chairs before, and even dolls’ heads, but never anything as magnificent as a rocking-horse. He had thought once or twice before, about getting himself a real horse. After all, it was just himself and his tools up here on this big mountain. It could get a little lonely, and a horse…….well, a horse would be a fine way to wander the forests, if the weather wasn’t too bad. A distraction from the cozy home with the unused bassinet and the half-empty bed he slept in.
Might be a nice change from sitting in that rocking chair up on the porch, and watching the rain fall through the holes in his life.
But a real horse was still too many priorities away; especially for a man with half a wooden horse still hiding in a block of maple.

The snow was falling in fat slices as Miss Mandrake began the last half-day of class before the holiday break. The children would not be expected to have an actual lesson today. It would be as treasonous as declaring no Christmas at all! Christmas was erupting inside them all, and this was no time for nouns and verbs and subjects and predicates. Many of their mothers were here also, helping with the pies and punch; making as much party for themselves as for the children.
After every child had a plate piled high with cookies and candies and Mrs. Singh’s mystery sandwiches, and all the desks had been arranged in the traditional Holiday semi-circle, Miss Mandrake began this special day’s lesson.
"What I Would Give," she wrote on the board.
"As you are enjoying your fruits and pies," she said, "please consider what you would give, if you could give Anything in the world. I will be expecting a paragraph from each of you."
The moaning went on for a few minutes, but finally the children grew quiet and began to write. The munching sounds of cookies and nuts began to fade. The red punch crackled gently over the ice. Soon, all was silent. Even the room mothers fell to silence as they pondered what they might give, if they could give Anything.
Nobody heard the windows rattle as the December wind gusted.
Nobody heard Miss Mandrake slip her shoes off under her own desk.
And miles away, nobody heard Dan Storm’s rhythmic sanding and filing of a child’s rocking-horse.


"Mama says we have everything we need, and don’t take no handouts. But I keep thinking it would sure be nice to give Steven a horse. He’s my little brother, and his legs ain’t right. And Mama says he will be able to walk when God is good and ready for him to walk. But if he had a horse he could ride beside me and Cotton when we go out and play. That’s our dog. If I could give Anything, I would give Steven a horse."
This was the third time Miss Emily Mandrake had read Adam’s assignment, and she felt a familiar pain in her chest. She remembered her own sister, Eve, and the first time they laid eyes on Ginger, The World’s Most Beautiful Horse. A horse that was so loved by the two girls, Emily could still sense the slight jealousy their father sometimes hinted at. "I can arrange to move your bedroom into the barn," he had said so many times, she could even remember the way he held the "rrr" in "barn." Soon enough, Eve had her own horse, Emily had Ginger for herself, and the two sisters would ride from sunrise through the story books, around the world, and into the night.
But she had no horse now. "Where would I keep it? Besides, it’s hard enough just taking care of myself. What man wants an old schoolteacher who smells like a horse?" And she dismissed the whole idea as if she had just been offered a job as The Snake Woman in the carnival. This was Adam’s wish not hers. "And I mustn’t forget to pick up rock salt on the way home."

Dan raced home to his woodshop and stared the great, blind, wooden horse in the face. He held a small chisel in one hand, the horse’s mighty jaw in the other. Within an hour, the deed was done. The miracle of sight. The soul of this beast was finally released, and Dan fell to his knees, weeping. He wept because the birth of this maple animal brought him joy.
And he wept in pain. For in his haste to rush home to the wood with no eyes, he had overlooked one detail. Who’s eyes had actually inspired this frenzy?
"Where was…who…?" He clenched his fists and hit his temples, but still nothing seemed clear. The back of Buddy’s General Store was generally a little dark, but he had seen those eyes. She had simple features. Those eyes. Was it a blue dress? Those eyes. She had smiled at him. Yes! She had smiled! And she was asking Buddy’s son for salt.


Christmas was three days away now, and Dan had agreed to show the rocking-horse in Buddy’s front window. On the seat a sign was placed, "Display Only, Not For Sale," but it would draw the attention of passers-by, and perhaps Dan would get an order or two for next Christmas, or even a birthday. True, there were no great maple logs just lying around, but there was plenty of oak and ash and other nice wood. "Just tell the folks to leave their names, and so-forth, and I’ll be in touch with ‘em."

When Emily Mandrake passed by and saw Ginger in the window, her heart stopped.

"But I’ve just got to have it," she insisted.
"Well, like I said ma’am," Buddy shook his head. "I seen ol’ Dan’s face just a-leavin’ it here, and I don’t think he’s got no idea at all ‘bout givin’ her up." As Buddy looked up from the rocking-horse there was something familiar about Emily’s gentle, determined look, but he couldn’t place it, and just said, "I’ll tell him if I see him."

I’ll tell him myself, if you’ll just write the name of his establishment here," and Emily handed Buddy the back of a ruled notebook.
"Miss Mandrake, I been tryin’ to tell you - there ain’t no establishment. It’s just Dan Storm and a house full of wood and tools. He sorta takes to the woods around his place, and don’t spend a lotta time around town. But he’s a kind man, and I don’t think there’s no harm in me givin’ ya’ his directions.
"Bundle up good now, and if I were you, I’d take along a lemon pie or somethin’."


The eighty yards or so from the main road to Dan’s front door were only accessible on foot. Emily was glad she had waited until the next afternoon to visit the woodworker. It hadn’t snowed all night, and the sun was out today. "My what a lovely place to live," she mumbled to herself. "Just Dan Storm and a house full of wood, huh?" she continued. "Well, Mr. Storm, I hope you turn out to be amiable to guests," and she began to wonder if and how a hermit woodworker would entertain any lady friends.
"Bit of a walk, isn’t it?"
She looked towards the home, still a good thirty yards off, but the voice was coming from a clump of young trees on her left.
"Yes, and it…," and her voice trailed as she recognized the stranger wearing the same purple flannel he had been wearing in Buddy’s tool aisle a week or so ago. The strange man she almost had the nerve to introduce herself to. The lunatic who had looked her way, stared at her face, then dropped his rubber mallets and sandpapers and whatevers, running out of the store as if he alone had heard the cry of "Fire!"
She looked him in the eyes, still searching for a clue to his disposition.
Now it was Dan whose heart stopped.
Those eyes.

Emily had been doing most of the talking for the next hour, and Dan had only managed an occasional, "I understand," or, "I’m sure you would." She talked about Ginger, and her sister, and the wonderful memories of childhood. She learned about Dan’s own notions of owning a real horse, and how he was almost inspired enough to just go out and buy one last month. She was so comfortable in his presence, she made herself careful not to talk too much about herself. Suffice it to say, he could name his rocking-horse price, and she would pay it.
Dan, on the other hand, was not very conscious of anything he may have said. He fell into her eyes an hour ago; her sweet voice holding him in such a trance, he was unable to think clearly. He was able to compliment her on her clothing - some kind of a periwinkle skirt, and those eyes - and, "Yes, this lemon pie is truly delicious. You must have been talking to Buddy."
They sat for a while longer in silence. Then, Emily rose and turned towards the door. "You are a unique man, Mr. Storm," and Dan had to wonder what secrets he might have told while under her spell. "Perhaps, another time," and she let out a surprisingly audible sigh. "Perhaps another time."
He wished he had made two rocking-horses. His heart burned, "With another horse I may have won the heart of this lady." So many thoughts of how a rocking-horse might save him from his loneliness. Shaking his head, he just said, "I’m afraid it’s no use. That rocking-horse cannot be yours. There are already....umm....arrangements........"
"But Buddy said it wasn't for sale....and the sign in the window......who did you sell it to?  I could pay extra."
"I'm afraid it's already gone.  But, maybe I can get my hands on another maple..."
Emily was shaking her head, "It has to be THAT horse."
Dan just bowed his head. "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do. I'm just.....sorry."
Twenty….thirty….forty yards from Dan’s fireplace now, and Emily thought she heard, "Please come back and visit again very soon," but she only heard the words, and not the desperation behind them.


The children were reacquainting themselves with their desks and their lunchboxes and their knapsacks. Miss Mandrake was rested from the Holiday, as much as a teacher can expect to rest. Almost everyone was in place now. She watched Janice as she wrapped her tooth back into her handkerchief and smiled her new smile to her friends. "Hmmm…Christina’s blonde hair in perfect braids with new ribbon. There’s Adam right up front where……..Adam who wished he had a horse to give his brother. And here I am where I belong. No husband. Got all my teeth, though. Dan. No braids. No horse. Dan. No rocking-horse. How is Dan?"
It was typical post-Holiday fair, and all the children knew it was coming. "What I Did For Christmas," was scratched onto the chalkboard up front; Miss Mandrake reacquainting herself with the proper grip for holding chalk.
The moans began, the desks opened and shut, tablets flipped, and thirty-two children sat like statues.
"One page, that’s all," declared Miss Mandrake. "Just tell me how you spent your holiday. I’ll give you about thirty minutes now, and any free time you have the remainder of the day. Put your papers on my desk before you go home."


It was Friday night by the time Emily sat down with the last five "Christmas" papers. It was 9:30 when she picked up the final paper. "What I Did For Christmas by Adam Shipp." She did not think of Dan, just now. Her mind was four pages deep inside the childrens' Holidays. She began.
"We had us a Christmas tree even before school let out, and lots of presents too. Daddy kept saying the Shipps have finally come in, and Mama and me laugh with him. I tried to tell Steven what that means, but he’s too young. Mama said if I helped clean house and shovel the walk, she would give me some special money to go buy Steven something from me all on my own. And that was going to be a cop car with real doors and a siren. I went to Preston’s where I saw one once, but on the way I saw something so unbelievable I couldn’t walk no more. In this one window of a tool store was the most beautiful rocking-horse you could ever see. I was just standing there looking at it and this man asked me if I was okay. He thought I was crying, but I think I had dirt in my eye. He told me it sure was a mighty beast wasn’t it? I said yes sir and I wish my brother could see it. I told him we didn’t have no horses but that some day it would be fun for Steven to ride along side me and Cotton. That’s our dog. And one day I would buy Steven a horse. Then this man goes in the window and puts the rocking-horse in his truck. And he asks me where do I live because he is bringing the rocking-horse to my house for Steven. I got to ride in the back and hold the horse while he took me home. He even put his big purple shirt around me so I wouldn’t freeze. Mama told him he was silly and then hugged him real big. It wasn’t even Christmas for two whole days but we decided to have Christmas that day. Daddy said that night that we were honored to be the care takers of such a noble steed. Mama says that means horse. Now when me and Cotton go out and play we can just put Steven on his horse and he bounces up and down just like he was with us. That’s what I did for Christmas."



It was early Saturday morning. The snow had fallen all night and Dan wrapped himself in a blanket and sat on the porch. "Yep, it’s not so bad living alone," he thought. "What better way to enjoy new snow, than all by yourself in the mountains?"

"We’re going to need to build a sleigh real soon." Emily’s voice cut through the chill, and Dan felt his chest pounding.
Forty yards to his left, walked the love of his life, a pair of perfect cream palominos close behind, and today’s Bill Of Sale tucked deep in her vest pocket, where Dan would not find it for thirty years.

 
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