8

Fiery Furnace

Sunday morning when I wake up, my head hurts. I know I’ve had a horrible nightmare. Only I can’t remember it.

Then I do remember. The worst nightmare I’ve ever had . . . and it was real.

Someone wants to take away my Dream.

Panic stabs both sides of my head. I rush to my window, open it, and scream, “Dream! Dream! Dream!”

Dream gallops to my window. She sticks her head inside. I sit on the window ledge and run my fingers down her blaze. I memorize this jagged streak of white lightning that spreads down to her nostrils. A miracle of God’s creation.

I stay like this, afraid to leave my horse, until Mom hollers that I have to get ready for church.

I can’t eat, so I just pick at my scrambled eggs until they look like my brain feels. After a few minutes, Mom tells me to get dressed.

I pull clothes from my closet and put them on. But if somebody were to ask me what I’m wearing, I’d have no idea.

A horn honks. Suddenly I realize the house feels really quiet. Everybody else must be in the car already. I take one more long look out the window to make sure Dream is still there. Then I drag myself to the car and climb into the backseat.

“Where’s Ethan?” Dad asks. He signs it too, as if Ethan were here to sign back.

I shrug.

“That boy’s never late,” Mom says. “He’s probably worried about that little fish that’s looking so poorly.” She squints out the back window. “There he is. I think he’s coming from Colt’s house.”

In a minute Ethan hops in. Sorry. I was talking to Colt.

Nobody says anything. We all know what they were talking about.

Our car has never been so quiet. I stare out the window on the way to church and imagine I’m riding Dream. Dream and I have ridden every road in Hamilton. I picture us galloping now, keeping pace with the car. I imagine jumping ditches and hedges as we pass by.

I close my eyes. I don’t want to imagine anything else.

Dad parks the car, and I follow Ethan into church. We take the front right pew because that’s where the interpreter, Mrs. Gorton, stands. Mrs. Gorton has white hair and could play Mrs. Santa Claus without a costume. She signs all the songs, the announcements, and the sermon. Sometimes I watch her to see what she leaves out so I can tell Ethan later.

Only not today. This morning I’m not watching or listening. My head feels like it’s underwater—so deep nobody can get to me. I stand up and sit down when Ethan does. But I don’t sing. Ethan sways to the music even though he can’t hear it. He says he can feel the organ vibrate. And I guess he can, because he’s always right with the rhythm. His fingers move through the lyrics, signing the words, and I know he’s singing in his heart.

But I’m not.

I don’t hear a word of the sermon until halfway through, when Ethan elbows me.

Don’t you wish Colt were here? he signs.

I frown at him and shrug. Then I hear Pastor Alan say, “They refused to worship Nebuchadnezzar, even when he threatened to throw them into the fiery furnace.” I figure he must be talking about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

“They told the king that they knew God could save them from getting burned to death. But even if God didn’t come to their rescue, they’d still be okay. They could get through anything because God would be with them. And when old Nebuchadnezzar peeked into that fiery furnace, he saw four people walking around. Our three friends had the Lord with them, even in the middle of the fire.”

Our pastor keeps going with the story, but I can’t hear him. I’m too busy imagining Grayson in a crown, about to push Dream and me into a fiery furnace.

When we get home from church, Ethan races into the house. Munch barks and chases after him. Squash runs after him too. When the rest of us trail in, my brother is standing over the fish tank. He turns around, and his face says it all. Abednego, he signs. He’s dead.

We hover over Ethan and his dead fish.

“I’m sorry, Son,” Dad says. He pats Ethan on the head.

“It’s all my fault,” Mom insists. “I never should have brought you an almost-dead fish. I hope you know that you got more life out of that little guy than anyone else could have.”

“I’m sorry, Ethan,” I say, signing it at the same time. I want to come up with something more. I just can’t think of anything to say. He looks so sad, as if he’s known this fish his whole life.

Ethan chooses a “burial at sea” for his fish. The four of us gather around the toilet. Ethan holds Abednego by the tail. He closes his eyes, and Mom and Dad do too.

I know my brother is praying. I wish he’d sign it. I want to know what he and God are talking about. Because somehow when Ethan prays, things happen.

Ethan opens his eyes and smiles. Then he flushes the toilet. He was a good fish, Ethan signs. I’d better go check on Shadrach and Meshach.

The rest of the day I spend with Dream. We walk, trot, and canter all over Hamilton . . . as if this will be our last ride.

It’s getting dark when we arrive back home. Just as I get to the house, Mom drives up with Dad and Ethan in the car. I realize I’ve missed our Sunday evening supper out at Crazy Larry’s Dairies. But I don’t care. I wouldn’t have wanted to leave my horse.

I brush Dream and get her settled, then walk inside.

There’s a voice I don’t recognize, and at first I think there’s someone else in the house. But when I tiptoe to the kitchen, I only see Mom and Dad and Ethan. They’re huddled over the phone. The voice I hear is coming from the answering machine. Dad hits the button again, and I listen as Mom signs to Ethan.

“This is Martin Clayton, Grayson’s father. I know my sister brought the kids to your house and confirmed that you have our horse. We would prefer not to involve the authorities. My sister believes you came upon the horse by accident. Apparently she was unable to resolve this herself. I’ll be in your area tomorrow. I’ll make arrangements to haul the horse away at your convenience. Please call me when you get this message.”

His voice sounds like a television announcer’s. I picture a larger version of Grayson. The man gives his phone number and again asks—no, tells—us to call him back. He ends the call with something like “The law is the law, and it’s on our side.”

The machine clicks off. All eyes turn to me.

Without a word, I walk to my room, fall onto my bed, and cry myself to sleep.