On the day of the horse sale, Dad hitched a trailer to Mama’s car, and the two of us made the drive to Tucker.

The stockyard was full of trucks and livestock trailers. The people headed into the auction wore Old Hickory overalls like Grandpa’s, or jeans like Dad and me. The building had high ceilings and concrete floors. I wrinkled my nose at the smells of hay, leather, and manure.

We sat side by side on the bleachers, with a good view of the corral. On my left side sat a real cowboy. I kept sneaking glances at his hat, shiny belt buckle, and boots. He’d make a good character in a bedtime story for Robin.

The auctioneer talked at a fast clip. I didn’t see how anybody could understand him.

The quarter horses were for sale first. “They’re my favorite kind of riding horse,” Dad said.

The cowboy agreed with him. “You can’t beat a good quarter horse,” he said. “I’m hoping to buy one today.”

I looked at the program but didn’t know what some of the words meant. “What’s a Haflinger?”

“Haflingers are chestnut colored with a white mane and tail,” Dad said. “Lot of people use them to pull wagons. Wouldn’t mind owning one myself.”

Since it would be a long time before the ponies, I went to the concession stand for a hot dog. I got in line behind two girls who looked about my age.

The tallest one said, “I wanted to cry when that man in the parking lot hit his pony with a whip.”

The shorter girl shuddered. “No wonder the pony was afraid to leave the trailer.”

I forgot all about buying a hot dog. I stepped in front of the girls. “Do you remember what that pony looked like?”

The tall girl had friendly green eyes, like me. “Yeah, the pony’s chestnut with a white mane and tail. He has the same coloring as a Haflinger.”

“The owner’s name is Granger,” the other girl said. “His wife said, ‘Granger, stop it. If you hurt that pony, he won’t bring a fair price.’ ”

“Thanks. It sounds like that pony needs a good home.”

I hurried back to my seat and scanned the program until I found the pony for sale by Granger Stevens. I pointed to the listing. “We should buy this one,” I told Dad, and then I told him all the reasons why.

When we got our first glimpse of Mr. Stevens’s pony, it broke my heart nearly in two. He had sad eyes and was way too skinny.

Dad frowned. “Looks like that pony has been nearly starved.” He sighed. “Sarah Beth, maybe we should bid on a healthier one.”

I used my pitiful face on him. “Please. He needs rescuing.”

Dad started the bidding at twenty-five dollars.

“Got twenty-five dollars, twenty-five. Anybody give me thirty?” the auctioneer asked.

A woman in a Western shirt raised her hand.

“Please don’t let her outbid us,” I whispered. “Please, Dad.”

“Got thirty dollars, thirty dollars. Anybody give me thirty-five?”

Dad nodded.

The bidding went back and forth between the woman and Dad. Thirty-five dollars, forty dollars, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five.

“Got fifty-five, fifty-five, fifty-five,” the auctioneer chanted.

The woman in the Western shirt shook her head.

“Fifty-five going once! Fifty-five going twice!”

I bounced in my seat like a jumping bean.

“Sold to the man in the R. J. Reynolds cap,” shouted the auctioneer.

I celebrated by throwing my program into the air!

Dad tipped his cap and grinned.

Dad led the chestnut-colored pony on a halter rope to our trailer, but the little pony balked and wouldn’t walk onto the ramp.

“He’s afraid because they whipped him.”

Dad eyed the pony. “He sure likes you, Sarah. Turns his head every time you speak.”

“He’s about the same size as a large dog,” I said. “Maybe we could put him in the back of the car, and I could talk to him all the way home.”

“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Dad said, but he was already opening the car’s back door. Dad climbed in the front seat, knelt down facing the back, and pulled on the halter rope.

I talked to the no-name pony in a soft voice. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re going home with us now.” I petted him until he trusted me enough to scramble into the back, just the way I wanted him to.

The pony was calm on the way home. He rode with his head stuck out the window. I told him all about the farm. How he’d have plenty of grass, oats, and hay to eat, and a big pasture to explore. He snuffled like he understood me.

Dad kept looking in the rearview mirror. “I’d hate to hear your mama if we end up with a load of manure in the backseat of her car.”

I didn’t know how to keep that from happening, but I kept a watch on the pony’s hind end, just in case. We were lucky, and he minded his manners.

Dad tooted on the horn as we headed up the driveway.

Mama, Granny, and Grandpa hurried out to the front porch to see what all the ruckus was about. “You’re pulling a perfectly good trailer behind that car,” Mama yelled. “What in the world is a pony doing in the back?”

Grandpa chuckled. “A better question might be how are we gonna get him out?”

“That’s easy,” Dad said. “All I need is a bucket of oats. It’s been so long since this pony had enough to eat that he’d follow a bucket of oats about anywhere.”

I couldn’t wait for Robin to see her pony. I tugged on Dad’s arm. “Can we move Robin’s cot onto the porch?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” he said. “Robin would probably enjoy a little fresh air.”

Grandpa and Mama moved Robin onto the porch. Dad rattled the oats bucket, while I coaxed the pony toward the house. He stopped and eyed the steps.

“Come on, little fella,” I said. “Only two steps.” And with a final rattle of the oats bucket, the pony climbed up. His hooves clomped across the porch.

Robin’s smile was big and wide, the way it used to be before the accident. I wished I could tell Ruby about it. She’d understand how good I felt, like when her mama sent a letter from Chicago.

Robin made a clicking sound by putting her tongue behind her teeth. “Come here, boy,” she called. “Click, click, click.”

The pony’s ears perked up, and he stopped beside Robin’s bed and nuzzled her hand.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I love him,” Robin said. “He’s beautiful.”

The pony was much too skinny to be beautiful, but if Robin thought he was that was good enough for me.

“I want to take a ride,” she said.

Mama’s face scrunched up like she was trying hard not to cry. “I know you do, but you have to get the cast off first.”

Robin scowled at Mama. “How many days until I’m all better?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Mama admitted.

Robin’s face turned red.

This had been a good day so far. I didn’t want it to be ruined. “Your pony needs a name, Rob. What are you gonna call him?”

The pony stood very still while she petted him. “His name is Surelick,” she said.

I walked over and petted the pony too. “That’s a funny name. Why are you calling him that?”

Robin pointed to the empty oats bucket in Dad’s hand. “Because my pony is a good eater. He sure licked the bucket clean.”

“I like it. It’s an unusual name.”

I kept watching Robin and Surelick. It was love at first sight, but would he really help her get well? I sure hoped so. I was running out of ideas.

After Dad turned Surelick out to pasture, Robin asked for her sketchbook.

Since Mama and Dad were both close by, I tucked my journal underneath my arm and went for a walk in the woods. Normally, I would’ve gone to Ruby’s house, but not anymore. Sunshine sifted through the leaves, warming my face. I wasn’t sure where the path led, but I wanted to find a private place to write a letter to Ruby.

I stepped over tangled vines, slid down a steep hill, and came to a clearing with a pond. I made my way closer to the boy sitting beside the water. His elbows rested on his bent knees, and his head drooped toward his chest.

“Drucker?”

I must have startled him. He jerked his head in my direction. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

My face felt like I had been sitting too close to a campfire. I held out my journal. “Sorry. I was looking for a private place to write. Our house is pretty tiny.”

Drucker patted the ground beside him. “Don’t let me scare you off. Have a seat.”

I sat down and wrapped my arms around my knees. “I’ve never been here before.”

“This is part of my grandpa’s land,” Drucker said. “That steep hill you just walked down is the boundary between your family’s property and ours.”

“Uh-oh, sounds like I’m trespassing.”

Drucker gave me a lopsided smile. “Nobody cares about that. I’m the only company you’ll ever meet out here, except for stray cows.”

I patted my journal. “I was planning to write. What do you do out here by yourself?”

Drucker picked up a rock and scrambled to his feet. “I usually come here to skip stones. It helps me think.” He held the rock between his thumb and fingers and threw it with an arcing motion, like a Frisbee.

I didn’t have to ask what Drucker needed to think about. Just like everybody else in Shady Creek, I knew his parents were getting a divorce.

Drucker’s rock bounced off the water six times before it sank. He picked up another rock and handed it to me. “Here, you try it.”

My rock sank on the first try. Drucker stepped behind me and took my arm. He moved it back and forth. “You need a twenty-degree angle between the stone and water,” he said.

I looked up at him. “Are you telling me there’s a science to this?”

“There sure is,” Drucker said, “and according to the Guinness Book, the record is fifty-one skips.”

“How is that possible?”

“Beats the heck out of me,” Drucker answered. “My personal best is ten skips.” He let go of my arm and picked up some more rocks.

“My dad says you’re the quarterback for the Shady Creek Cougars.”

“Yeah, we should be pretty good this year. We picked up a star running back from the colored school.”

Integration was everywhere, or so it seemed. “How’s that working out? Having blacks and whites on the same team.”

“Hard at first. We had a fight, but Coach broke it up.”

“Did anybody get hurt?”

“Nah, a couple bloody noses is all. We’re doing better now.”

Drucker went back to skipping stones. I thought maybe he’d rather be by himself, since he quit talking to me. Anyway, I couldn’t write with him standing so close by. It would be too weird. I picked up my journal from the ground. “I should get going.”

Drucker threw another rock. “If you decide to trespass again, bring brownies. Your dad said you’re a good cook.”

I ducked my head. It sounded like Dad had been bragging about me. I wondered what else he had told Drucker. It was awful embarrassing!