Ponies of the Heart, the Short Story

One of the best parts of my job as manager of a riding school was getting to play Santa and delivering ponies to the children for Christmas. The following story is a compilation of many different magical Christmas mornings. Please note, this was written and published before the "real" Tugboat book and is not connected in any way except for my never ending love for that pony.

Ponies Of The Heart

By Nanci Turner Steveson

I found Lemon Lane and made a wide turn to the right, clearing the side walk by at least a foot and leaving three sets of tire tracks in the fresh snow. Elizabeth didn’t know I was coming. Or at least, her father and I hoped she didn’t know. It had been a year since her mother left, and the sadness hung on.

Every Tuesday and every Friday eight year old Elizabeth came to my riding stable for her lesson on Tugboat. And every Tuesday and Friday she told me the same thing: “Tugboat is the pony of my heart.” Today he would become more than the “pony of her heart,” he would become “Elizabeth’s,” and I played the role of Mrs. Santa Claus.

Walking towards Tugboat’s stall yesterday, Elizabeth in her pink jacket with blonde hair tumbling down her back, and Tugboat in the pink saddle pad she had bought him, his golden tail swishing back and forth against a deep chestnut rump, the pair had an ethereal quality. Elizabeth cocked her head and whispered something, then put one tiny, pink-gloved hand out, offering him a sugar cube. Tugboat lifted it with his lips and crunched as they turned into his stall together, like water dancers.

The trailer fit snugly into the cul de sac parking spot, and the door rattled as I opened it and pulled down the ramp. Tugboat stared at me, baffled, the red bow I had tied in his forelock still in place. Our feet made tracks in the snow as we followed the path behind the row of suburban townhouses. Elizabeth’s father, Dan, told me to count past four back gates, and the fifth would be his. He was going to tie a red ribbon to the outside. It would have been embarrassing to end up waiting in the wrong yard, a pony in a red blanket by my side, most likely leaving a steaming gift behind in the snow.

The crimson ribbon had fallen to the ground, but I knew it was the right yard when I saw an old broom laid across the top of two trash cans. It was every horse-girl’s signature, a make-shift obstacle in the backyard to jump on their imaginary ponies. Through the sliding glass door I could see the Christmas tree, all the decorations hung on the lowest branches. Dan saw me and quickly turned away. This was the moment! Any minute now Elizabeth would see us, and one of her dreams would come true.

I warmed my hands under Tugboat’s mane. Soon something pink appeared by the tree. It was Elizabeth. Everything in her life was pink, except her pony. “Her” pony! The thought sent a shiver from the top of my head to my toes and I put my arm around Tugboat’s neck. Elizabeth’s head tilted back, her eyes studying the tree as she searched for something. Her father stood at her shoulder giving clues, but not once looking out the window to where I waited with Tugboat. Kneeling down, Elizabeth looked up the tree from underneath, her pink bunny slippers with pom-poms on the toes about three sizes too big for her feet. I suspected Dan hadn’t quite gotten the hang of buying clothes for her just yet. There had been so many things for him to learn.

Elizabeth pushed herself up off the floor and brushed stray pine needles from her hair, glancing outside for a split second before turning back to the tree. Suddenly her body twirled around to the glass door, her face blank, eyes wide, and her hands stretched out in front of her, forgotten. Tugboat’s breath fluttered from his nostrils like sheets of ice crystals. He stood so still I thought, “He must know.” Then his ears pricked toward the pink image and his body tensed.

“Be still,” I whispered. “It’s only Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s right hand touched her cheek, and when it landed she inhaled sharply and mouthed the words, “Daddy.” Dan stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder, the other unlocking the sliding glass door. When he pushed it open snow filtered down from the gutter into the living room, landing on Elizabeth’s pink bunny slippers.

“Daddy?!” I could hear her this time.

“It’s real, Elizabeth, it’s Tugboat, he’s here … for you…. for Christmas.” Dan’s words stuck in his throat. His eyes were damp. There was a momentary hush, then a noise escaped from Elizabeth that must have released a years worth of anguish. The stillness shattered, Elizabeth tripped out the door, skidded across the slippery deck, jumped into the snow and raced across the yard. Behind her, one pink slipper hung by it’s pom-pom from the edge of the deck; the other came off about half way across the yard.

“Tugboat! You’re mine! Forever and ever, you’re mine!” She flung her arms around Tugboat’s neck and buried her porcelain face into his mane. Laughing and crying, her feet continued to dance in place, her tiny toes barely touching the ground. Dan struggled across the yard, picking up her scattered slippers while trying not to slide on the snow. “Elizabeth! Your slippers! You lost your slippers!”

I heard a boy’s voice from the house next door call out, “Hey! Look! Elizabeth got a pony!” A family, still dressed in pajamas, peeked over the top of the fence. A muffled voice coming from the side of Tugboat’s neck proclaimed, “Not just any pony. I got Tugboat! The pony of my heart! He’s mine forever!”

Epilogue:

That night after I tucked the horses away and pulled the barn doors tight, I walked home across crunchy snow. A single light shone through my kitchen window. Inside, my grown daughter stood in her white flannel nightgown stirring a pot of our special Christmas hot chocolate. I remembered the pony of her heart the year her father died, a brown pony we called Coco. Looking up at the endless blue-black sky heavily laden with white lights, I knew that each one of those stars could represent a girl whose life had been made more secure, even for just one moment, by the “pony of her heart.”