The Painted Ponies of Partequineus and The Summer of the Kittens Read online

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Other books by Peter H. Riddle

  Author’s Note

  The Painted Ponies of Partequineus

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  The Summer of the Kittens

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Back cover

  The Painted Ponies

  of Partequineus

  and

  The Summer of

  the Kittens

  Two Novels for Young Readers

  Peter H. Riddle

  CCB Publishing

  British Columbia, Canada

  The Painted Ponies of Partequineus and The Summer of the Kittens: Two Novels for Young Readers

  Copyright ©2012 by Peter H. Riddle

  ISBN-13 978-1-77143-005-0

  First Edition

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Riddle, Peter H., 1939-

  The painted ponies of Partequineus ; and, The summer of the kittens: two novels for young readers [electronic resource] / written by Peter H. Riddle – 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-77143-005-0

  Also available in print format.

  1. Ponies--Juvenile fiction. 2. Kittens--Juvenile fiction. I. Title.

  PS8585.I4152P33 2009 jC813'.6 C2009-901227-8

  Additional cataloguing data available from Library and Archives Canada

  Extreme care has been taken to ensure that all information presented in this book is accurate and up to date at the time of publishing. Neither the author nor the publisher can be held responsible for any errors or omissions. Additionally, neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Publisher:

  CCB Publishing

  British Columbia, Canada

  www.ccbpublishing.com

  Other Books by Peter H. Riddle…

  Fiction

  Keeping Rebecca

  Choices

  Whistle Up a Wind

  Coming Home Again

  Running Away

  Fourteenth Concerto

  Thirteenth Summer

  Twelfth Birthday

  Children’s Poetry

  with illustrator Shelley Patterson

  No Room

  Non-Fiction

  Trackwork For Toy Trains

  The American Musical

  Wiring Your Toy Train Layout

  Track Planning Ideas For Toy Trains

  America’s Standard Gauge Electric Trains

  Easy Lionel Layouts You Can Build

  Tips & Tricks For Toy Train Operators II

  Tips & Tricks For Toy Train Operators

  Greenberg’s Guide To Lionel Trains 1901-1942: Vol. III

  Wiring Your Lionel Layout, Vol. III

  Wiring Your Lionel Layout, Vol. II

  Wiring Your Lionel Layout

  Trains From Grandfather's Attic

  Author’s Note: The two stories in this volume are very different, but are linked together by a beautiful book, now more than half a century old, that captures the interest of the two young protagonists. I can remember reading Paul Gallico’s The Abandoned at the age of nine or ten, my first “adult” novel, and it had a compelling effect upon me. By introducing me to the power of the written word, it profoundly influenced the career choices I was to make. If you can locate a copy, I believe you too will find it rewarding. Pass it on for the young people in your life to read - they will be richer for the experience.

  The Painted Ponies

  of Partequineus

  This story was written in honour of these fine young adventurers (alphabetically by first name):

  Aaron Doerfler

  Alexander Moggy

  Christina Starr

  Evan Doerfler

  Frank Starr

  Spencer Payne

  Steven Moggy

  Tristan Payne

  And, of course, especially for

  Vanessa Starr

  who was the first to read it

  Vanessa had plans. She was going to finish school, and go to university, and do something useful with her life. She wasn’t yet sure just what that would be, but she knew that it was important for her to try to do her best, because every person on earth has the power to make the world into a better place.

  ONE

  Vanessa was just eleven years old. But in the land of Partequineus, she was ten, or possibly twelve. Or nine, or maybe even a hundred and twenty-two. Ever since the purple mist drifted out of the fireplace and into her bedroom one Friday afternoon at precisely four o’clock, she had begun to think about time in a whole new way.

  At the beginning of the third week of August, Vanessa and her mother moved into a pleasant, well-kept home on beautiful tree-lined Chestnut Street near the edge of town. She was happy. It was a small house, but ever so much bigger than the tiny, dark apartment where Vanessa had been forced to sleep on a pull-out couch in one corner of the living room. From now on, her Mom had promised she could have her own bedroom, all to herself.

  The house was very old - more than two hundred years, the real estate salesman said. Vanessa thought it was beautiful, with lots of windows that let in plenty of light, and a huge yard that looked almost like a park. Many different kinds of birds nested in the tall trees, and red and grey squirrels chased each other through the branches and ran up and down the telephone poles that lined the street.

  They had just come from the lawyer’s office, where they signed all the papers that meant the house really belonged to them. They climbed the porch steps and rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, a small woman with white hair, a wrinkled face and a wide pleasant smile invited them inside.

  “You’ve come just in time,” Grac
e Baxter said. “I’ve already called for a taxi, and I’m just about to leave. I have your keys all ready for you.”

  “Thank you, Grace,” Vanessa’s mother said. They stepped into the bright foyer and followed the old woman into the living room. Vanessa looked around excitedly at the big comfortable sofa, the soft upholstered chairs, the polished wooden end tables, and the gigantic grandfather’s clock that stood across from the fireplace. Everything inside the house was theirs, too. Grace Baxter was moving to an assisted living residence, and wouldn’t need all that furniture any more.

  “I’m so glad such nice people will be living in my house,” Mrs. Baxter said. “I’ve spent many pleasant years here.” She opened a desk drawer and took out a ring of keys. She handed them to Vanessa’s Mom.

  “The biggest one is for the front door,” she said, pointing to a shiny silver key. “The two smaller ones are for the back door and the outside cellar entrance.” She turned to Vanessa. “And here’s an extra front door key just for you.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you,” Vanessa’s mother said. “Vanessa gets home from school before I’m finished at work, so she’ll be able to let herself in.”

  Grace Baxter stared thoughtfully at Vanessa. “That’s strange,” she murmured. “It seems as if I’ve seen you somewhere before. Many years ago, perhaps.”

  “I’m only eleven,” Vanessa said.

  “I know,” the old woman said mysteriously.

  Then they heard the sound of a car horn outside.

  “There’s my taxi,” Mrs. Baxter said. “I have to be going.” She headed toward the door, but paused with her hand on the latch. She looked back at Vanessa once more. She cocked her head to one side, as if trying to make up her mind whether to say more.

  “There’s something I think I should tell you both,” she said seriously.

  “What’s that?” Vanessa’s Mom asked.

  “Have you decided which bedroom your daughter will sleep in?”

  Vanessa and her mother looked at each other, puzzled. “Not yet,” Vanessa’s Mom said.

  “Give her the front one,” Mrs. Baxter said. “You should take the one in back for yourself.” She leaned forward, staring directly into Vanessa’s eyes, so close that the girl backed up a little in alarm. The old woman’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “The room at the back of the house was mine when I was your age, child, so I know what I’m talking about. It’s best if you don’t go in there at all. Not ever.” She took a long, deep breath and straightened her shoulders.

  “Well!” she said, a little too loudly and cheerfully, “I must be going now. I hope you’ll be very happy here.” She pulled open the door, stepped through it, and was gone in an instant.

  “What was that all about?” Vanessa asked.

  “I have no idea,” her mother said, “and I’m not going to worry about it. Let’s go exploring, shall we? The moving van should be here in about an hour, and we have to decide where to put all of our things.”

  TWO

  Less than five minutes later, the truck from the moving company pulled into the driveway.

  “Oh, dear!” Vanessa’s Mom said. “They’ve come too early. We haven’t had a chance to think about where everything should go.”

  Three men climbed out of the van and began bringing in a few pieces of furniture that had come from the old apartment. They put boxes of dishes in the kitchen, and moved the television set into the living room. They carried suitcases full of clothes up the stairs and left them in the hall. Next came cartons of books and pictures for the walls and all the other things that people need in order to live.

  When at last their belongings were safely inside the house and the truck was gone, Vanessa and her mother unpacked the boxes in the kitchen. They put the dishes in the cabinets and the knives and forks and spoons in one of the drawers. They arranged the canisters of flour and sugar and tea and coffee on the counter. Vanessa organized the refrigerator, and her Mom stacked cans of soup and vegetables and boxes of cereal and cookies in the spacious pantry. When they were finished, they decided to go upstairs and unpack their clothes.

  There were two bedrooms on the upper level, one at the front of the house and one at the back, with a bathroom in between. Vanessa thought the bathroom was as big as their whole apartment had been - well, almost. It had an old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub along with a modern shower, and not one, but two basins, one for each of them.

  There was a big double bed in the front bedroom, and a tall chest of drawers. An antique dressing table stood opposite two side-by-side windows that faced east. It had a huge mirror that reached almost to the ceiling. The closet was wide and deep, with plenty of room for lots of clothes, and there was even a big brick fireplace in the corner. Vanessa had never seen a fireplace in a bedroom before.

  The walls were painted a sort of dusty tan colour, and the woodwork was finished in a dark brown walnut stain. Vanessa thought the room seemed gloomy, and even a little bit depressing. She didn’t think she could sleep very well in there. But her mother thought it was beautiful. She especially liked the ornate furniture, and the east-facing windows that would let in the morning light.

  “We’ll paint it yellow,” she said. “That will brighten it up.”

  Vanessa decided to check out the room at the back of the house. As soon as she entered, she knew that she could be happy there. It was smaller than the front room, but it was much more cheerful. Two tall windows overlooked the beautiful back yard, where hundreds of flowers were in bloom. The one on the left was open, and through the screen she could hear the birds singing in the trees.

  The woodwork was pure white, and the walls were a rosy pink colour that made the room feel warm and inviting. Best of all, there was a tiny fireplace tucked away in one corner, faced with blue and white tiles that had little Dutch windmills painted on them.

  All of the furniture was white, too, and there was even a desk where Vanessa could do her homework, and a table for her computer. Two big bookcases stood on either side of the windows, giving her plenty of room to store schoolbooks, her collection of favourite novels, and all of her stuffed animals.

  “Mom!” she called out. “Come and see. This is the room I want.”

  She had already forgotten about the old woman’s warning.

  THREE

  August faded away into September. Because their house was just a few blocks away from their old apartment, Vanessa still attended the same school, with all of her friends. She especially liked her new homeroom teacher, Mr. Carson, who taught English and had a huge library of books that all of the students could borrow, any time they liked.

  School started on the Wednesday after Labour Day. By Friday, Vanessa already had half a dozen homework assignments to complete over the weekend. She arrived home a little after three and let herself into the house with her own key. Her mother wouldn’t be home from work until shortly after four, so she decided to get a head start on her math.

  She poured herself a glass of orange juice from the refrigerator, drank it quickly, and took an apple with her up to her room. She sat at her desk and opened her math book. She had a whole page of word problems to complete (“If an airplane leaves New York and travels west for two hours at a speed of 650 kilometres an hour…”), and, with the headphones of her iPod plugged into her ears, she started to work.

  At ten minutes to four she finished the page and decided to stretch out on the bed for a while. She watched the wind blowing through the leaves of the big oak tree nearest her windows, and she began to feel drowsy. Still listening to the music, she let her eyes fall closed, and was almost asleep when she heard a voice softly calling her name.

  “Vanessssaaah.”

  The whispery voice seemed to blend in with the music in her ears, and she stirred restlessly.

  “Vanessssaaah!” the voice came more urgently.

  She jolted awake and her eyes flew open. She screamed. Her room had vanished. Her desk, the windows, the sunlight outside - everyt
hing was gone. All around her, the world was bathed in a swirling purple mist. She pulled the headphones from her ears and jumped off the bed. There was no floor beneath her feet, just a soft, cottony vapour of purple that hid her toes and wove in and out between her knees. She screamed again.

  “Don’t be afraid, Vanessa,” the voice whispered.

  “Who are you?” she said aloud. “Where are you?”

  “Right in front of you. Come and see. It’s safe. And it’s beautiful over here.”

  “Over where?” Vanessa was frightened and confused. “What happened to my room?”

  “Your room is right where it’s always been,” the voice said. “But you aren’t in it any more. You’re in the gateway to Partequineus.”

  “What’s Partequineus?”

  “Let me show you. Take three steps forward and reach out. I’ll take your hand.”

  “No!” Vanessa cried out. She backed away, one step, two, then three, and tripped over her chair. She lost her balance and sat down hard on the floor, and the purple mist rose up in a miniature tornado, spinning crazily near the ceiling. Like a genie diving back into a bottle, it plunged into the fireplace and vanished up the flue.

  Vanessa looked around wildly, at her bed, her desk, her bookcase filled with her beloved books, and her closet, which was standing open where she could see all of her clothes hanging up in neat rows. Nothing had changed.

  “Wow!” she murmured. “That was some scary dream.”

  “Vanessa!”

  She jumped at the sound of her name, startled, then realized it was only her mother, just getting home from work. She stood up from the floor and smoothed her skirt down, and went out of the room and down the stairs. Vanessa’s Mom was in the kitchen, putting some groceries in the pantry.

  “Have a good day at school?” she asked her daughter.

  “It was okay.” Vanessa walked over to the counter. She took a carton of eggs and a pound of butter out of the bag and put them in the refrigerator.