Love and Loyalty. Valerie Tripp
into the woods. Felicity could smell the tannery vats before she could see the tumbledown tannery shed. The vats were huge kettles full of yellow-brown ooze made of foul-smelling fish oil or sour beer. Mr. Nye soaked animal hides in them to make leather.
“Whoosh!” said Felicity. “The smell of the tannery is enough to make your hair curl!”
“Aye!” said Ben. “The whole business stinks.”
Suddenly they heard angry shouts and a horse’s frightened whinnies.
“Down, ye hateful beast! Down, ye savage!” they heard Mr. Nye yell.
Felicity ran to the pasture gate. She saw Mr. Nye in the pasture, trying to back a horse between the shafts of a work cart. The horse was rearing up and whinnying. It jerked its head and pawed the air with its hooves. Mr. Nye was shouting and pulling on a rope that was tied around the horse’s neck.
“I’ll beat ye down, I will,” yelled Mr. Nye.
Ben caught up with Felicity and pulled her arm. “Stay back,” he ordered.
“No! I want to see the horse,” said Felicity. She stood behind the open gate and stared. The horse was wild-eyed and skinny. Its coat was rough and matted with dirt. Its mane and tail were knotted with burrs. But Felicity could see that it was a fine animal with long, strong legs and a proud, arched neck. “Oh, ’tis a beautiful horse,” whispered Felicity. “Beautiful.”
Mr. Nye and the horse both seemed to hear her at the same moment. The horse calmed and turned toward Felicity. That gave Mr. Nye a chance to tighten the rope around its neck. When the horse felt the rope, it went wild again. Mr. Nye was nearly pulled off the ground when it reared up on its hind legs.
“Ye beast!” Mr. Nye shouted. He glared at Ben and barked, “Help me! Get in here and grab this rope!”
Ben darted into the pen and grabbed the rope with Mr. Nye, but the horse reared and pawed the air more wildly than before.
“I’ll beat the fire out of ye!” shouted Mr. Nye in a rage. He raised his whip to strike the horse.
“No!” cried Felicity. At that, the horse took off across the pasture, dragging Ben and Mr. Nye through the dust. They had to let go of the rope and give up.
Mr. Nye waved his arms and yelled at Felicity, “Get away with ye! You’ve spooked my horse, ye bothersome chit of a girl.”
Felicity called out, “You spooked the horse yourself. You know you did!”
“Arrgh!” Mr. Nye snarled. He turned his redrimmed eyes on Ben and growled, “What are ye doing here?”
“I’ve brought the bit and bridle you ordered from Master Merriman,” Ben said.
Mr. Nye held out his hand. “Give it here.”
Ben stepped back. “I’m to wait for payment,” he said.
“Get away with ye!” shouted Mr. Nye. “Keep your blasted bit. That horse won’t take the bit no matter. Go now, before I take my whip to the two of ye. Hear me?”
Ben turned to go, but Felicity backed away slowly. She couldn’t stop watching the beautiful horse. It was running back and forth across the pasture, trapped inside the fence.
“Felicity, come along!” said Ben.
Felicity turned and followed Ben, but she did not even see the road in front of her. “Isn’t she beautiful, Ben?” Felicity said. “Isn’t she a dream of a horse?”
“Aye,” agreed Ben. “She’s a chestnut mare, a blood horse.”
“That means she’s a thoroughbred, doesn’t it?” said Felicity.
“Aye. It means she was trained to be a gentleman’s mount,” said Ben. “That horse is not bred to drag a work cart.”
“She was never meant to belong to the likes of Mr. Nye!” Felicity exclaimed. “She’s much too fine! Oh, just once I’d love to ride a horse like that!”
“She’d be too fast for you,” said Ben. “You’d never stay on her.” He shook his head grimly. “Besides, that horse won’t trust anyone after the way Mr. Nye is treating her. She won’t let anyone on her back ever again. That horse has gone vicious.”
Felicity heard what Ben said, but she didn’t believe it. She’d seen the look of frantic anger in the horse’s eyes. But Felicity had seen something else, too. Under the wildness there was spirit, not viciousness. Just as under the mud and burrs there was a beautiful reddish-gold coat, as bright as a new copper penny. “Penny,” whispered Felicity.
“What?” asked Ben.
“Penny,” said Felicity. “That’s what I’m going to call that horse. She’s the color of a new copper penny. It’s a good name for her, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” said Ben. “Because she’s an independent-minded horse, that’s for certain. Call her Penny for her independence, too.”
Felicity smiled. From then on, she thought of the horse as Penny—beautiful, independent, bright, shining Penny.
By the time Felicity and Ben walked to the middle of town, the sun was melting on the horizon. They hurried along to the Merrimans’ house.
“Felicity Merriman!” exclaimed her mother. “Wherever have you been all this time?”
“Ben and I stopped out at the tannery,” said Felicity. “And, oh, Mother! We saw the most beautiful horse!”
“A horse?” asked Mrs. Merriman.
Mr. Merriman said, “It’s Jiggy Nye’s new horse, I wager.”
Ben handed him the harness and bit. “Mr. Nye didn’t buy these things, sir. He can’t control the horse enough to harness it. ’Tis a headstrong, independent-minded horse, a bright chestnut mare, and fast as fire.”
“How did Jiggy Nye come to have such a horse?” asked Mrs. Merriman.
“No one knows for sure,” said Ben. “Mr. Nye says he won the horse in a bet from a man who found it straying in the woods. He says the man put a notice in the newspaper. The notice said that whoever lost the horse should come to claim it, but no one ever came. That’s just Mr. Nye’s story, though. It’s hard to trust his word.”
Felicity had never heard Ben talk so much. She was surprised at all he knew.
“It’s a pity Jiggy’s got hold of the horse,” Mr. Merriman said. He shook his head. “It will not end well, I fear.”
Felicity could tell by the look on her father’s face that Penny was in danger. She made up her mind to go back to the tannery and see Penny as soon as she could.
Jiggy Nye’s Threat
“In this storm?” her mother said. “Don’t be a goose! The streets are all mud, and you’ll be soaked to the skin in this rain. You will just have to wait till it stops.”
Felicity sighed.
“Lissie, my love,” said her mother. Her gentle voice sounded tired. “Look at this apron you sewed. I’ve had to rip out the hem on it again. It’s supposed to be twenty stitches to the inch, Lissie. And in a