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    The Chestnut Mare
    The Chestnut Mare
    The Chestnut Mare
    Ebook62 pages54 minutes

    The Chestnut Mare

    By Marion Day

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Amy loves to stay on Barnabus Johansson's farm in her school holidays to get away from city life. It's her safe haven, with animals like Tripod the three-legged dog, Molly the goat, and Gutsache the cat. It's where she rides her beloved Chestnut Mare. When tragedy strikes,
    Amy learns some of the harsh realities of country life but bravely steps in to protect a frail new-born foal that will carry a legacy of love.
    Review: Marion Day's preteen novella, The Chestnut Mare, is a marvellous coming of age story set in remote bush. I loved Day's descriptions of the environment and the birds and creatures Amy sees during her visit. And, like Amy, I really didn't want to leave the farm when her holidays drew to a close. Day describes a world that's quite different than the modern one Amy knows from school and home - one that Amy plans to stay in once she's finished with school. The Chestnut Mare is most highly recommended.
    Jack Magnus (Readers' Favorite Reviewer) *****

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCreateBooks
    Release dateAug 26, 2018
    ISBN9781386235965
    The Chestnut Mare

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      Book preview

      The Chestnut Mare - Marion Day

      Chapter 1

      The springs of the seat jabbed into Amy’s backside as she rode in the old Bedford truck. I need more meat on my bones, she muttered, reciting her mother’s words and shifting off the sharpest of the uncovered springs. Already her bottom felt red-raw and they still had half an hour to travel on the rough road. To cushion the pain, she slid her blue jacket beneath her and felt instant relief. Then, remembering the old crocheted blanket lying on the ledge between the back window and the seat, she grabbed it and spread this under her as well.

      Ahhhh, that’s better!

      Barnabus Johansson nodded. Amy glanced at him with a swish of love. He was the closest thing to what she imagined a dad would be. He’d been her grandfather’s best friend and a soldier too, and just before her grandfather died in one of the hardest fought and bloodiest battles in Vietnam, he’d asked Mr Johansson to take care of her mother. Amy realised how lucky she was that he’d kept his word because, after she was born and old enough, he invited her to come and stay on his farm whenever she could.

      As for her father, Amy had never met him. Although she knew his name, he had abandoned her mother before Amy was born. Her mother spoke little about him, and at this stage of her life, Amy had no real desire to meet him. Sometimes, though, she wished she could see a photo of him, so she could have closure in knowing what he looked like. Did she have the same features as him? Because she didn’t resemble her mum at all.

      Elbows on the door frame, chin on her hands, Amy twisted in her seat and looked out the open window. Spider webs woven between the moss-covered battens and fence wires sparkled like rainbow jewels as the bright sun spread its rays through the dew on the silken threads.

      Mr Johansson, she sighed, don’t you just love this part of the road in the early morning?

      Again he nodded.

      The high-pitched whining from the truck’s diff changed as Mr Johansson shifted to a lower gear and nosed the truck off the road. The narrow track, just two wheel ruts with camomile daisies growing in the middle, led down a steep bank into the river, and that’s where they would go – into the river then up the slope on the other side.

      I hate this part! Amy closed her eyes as the truck dropped into the water, but opened them again to watch the bow wave race ahead of the truck and splash up against the slight rise in front of them.

      Look at those little fish, Mr Johansson! she shouted.

      When the wave slid back into the river, a couple of tiny native fish floundered on the wet rubble until their fins flapped them back into the river again.

      Can’t look, Amy. Gotta keep my eyes on the track.

      The engine roaring, he spun the wheel madly from side to side. The truck slewed across the watercourse until the front wheels got traction on the far bank.

      Hold on tight, he shouted. It’s pretty slippery here.

      Amy took a firm hold of the door frame as she leaned out the window and looked back to scan the rubble for any further movement. Aware the fish were native and a protected species, if she saw more tiny wrigglers, she’d ask Mr Johansson to stop so she could throw them back into the water. Although it would feel insignificant in the whole grand scheme of things, she knew it was very important to do it. If everyone did a little bit to help a protected species, she thought, it would mean, together, everyone’s actions would add up to a lot and help towards its survival. None littered the bank – they had all flapped their way back to the stream.

      Minutes later, Mr Johansson pulled up before a rusty steel gate. Out ya go. Ya know the rules. Driver never gets the gates.

      It wouldn’t be so bad if the gate wasn’t half off its hinges. Then I wouldn’t have to lift and drag it over the ground, Amy snapped in a pretend angry voice before jumping from the truck to open it.

      As Mr Johansson drove through, arm resting on the open window frame, he winked at her. She dragged the gate closed and latched it. I must fix that, he said as Amy jumped back in her seat, puffing.

      Knowing he said it every

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