Wendy's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

The address burned in Wendy's planner, but the town lay hours north, and her car sat dead in the inn's gravel lot. She turned the key again. Nothing. The engine had died on the drive up, and now the dashboard stayed dark. She pressed her forehead to the wheel. The trail she had chased for three weeks would go cold before she ever reached the street written on that page. She climbed out and marched back to the inn's porch. The lantern-lit windows glowed against the dusk. The innkeeper stood by the door, coiling a garden hose. "My car won't start," she said. "I need to get north tonight. Is there a bus? A garage? Anyone who drives?" He shook his head. "Nearest garage opens Monday. No bus till then." He looked past her toward the barn. "You could take the trailer. It's hitched and ready. But you'd need something to pull it." Wendy followed his gaze. Inside the barn, the shaggy pony stamped one hoof and flattened its ears. Beside it sat a small cart, its harness looped over a rail. She almost laughed. A pony would not carry her hours north. Then the innkeeper said the thing that changed everything. "The woman left more than an address." He set the hose down. "She left a number too. For the bills. I've got it inside." Wendy went cold. "You didn't tell me that." "You didn't ask about the pony's papers." He shrugged and stepped inside. She waited on the porch, gripping the planner. When he returned, he handed her a creased receipt. At the bottom, below the woman's name, ran a phone number in the same careful hand. Wendy dialed before she could lose her nerve. It rang four times. A woman answered, wary and low. "I have the pony," Wendy said. "The Shetland. I need to bring it to you." A long pause. Then: "Who is this?" "Someone he left behind." The line went quiet. Wendy heard breathing. She thought the woman would hang up. Instead she spoke again, faster now, frightened. "Don't come here. He's not who you think. If you bring that animal, you'll bring him too." She gave a different address, whispered, three streets from the first. "Meet me there. Come alone. And don't tell anyone where you're going." The call ended. Wendy stood in the lantern's glow, the receipt shaking in her hand. She no longer needed the car tonight. The woman had come halfway to her. But the words stayed lodged in her chest. He's not who you think. Inside the barn, the pony snorted and turned its back, stubborn as ever. Wendy folded the new address into the planner beside the old one. She had wanted to find her groom. Now she was not sure she wanted what she would find.