A Difficult Boy (29 page)

Mr. Ward spoke first. “What's the matter with your arm, boy?”

“Nothing, I'm sure,” Mr. Lyman said. “He's a clumsy boy, always getting into mischief. Walk her around there, Paddy.”

Daniel tugged his cap brim and nodded. Ethan wound up his sling and whispered an apology. The pebble flew true. Ivy thrashed her tail. She pulled away from Daniel and tossed her head. A second stone had her kicking and snapping and looking around for her tormenter.

“Doesn't look very calm to me,” Joshua said.

“Oh, no. She has quite a mellow temperament,” Mr. Lyman reassured him. “Bring her here, Paddy.”

Ivy snapped and stomped as the men checked her teeth and feet.

“What have you done to this horse, boy?” Mr. Lyman asked Daniel.

“She's only restless 'cause she ain't been out today. And maybe her season's coming on a bit soon. She'll be fine with a
bit of a romp.” He thrust the lead rope under Joshua's nose. “Hold her. I'll fetch her tack so you can take her for a run and see how nice she goes.”

Ethan selected a sharp black stone. The pebble struck the mare just as Joshua stared down at the bruise on Daniel's arm. Ivy pawed the ground and clicked her teeth.

“She bites!” Joshua took a quick step backward. “Look at his arm!”

Ethan held his breath as Mr. Lyman ordered Daniel to hold out his arm. “Have you been provoking that horse?” he demanded. Daniel winced when Mr. Lyman pressed down on the bruise.

“No, sir. I must'a got hooked by one of them cows. Ivy never done it, I swear. Ain't you been driving her six years and never a bit of temper from her?”

“He's lying,” Joshua said. “That horse is vicious. That's why they're getting rid of her.”

Silas's voice rumbled so low that Ethan had to strain to hear him. “Careful what you say, Joshua. It's not only Paddy you're accusing.”

Mr. Ward raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Nobody's accusing anybody of anything.”

“I should hope not.” Mr. Lyman crossed his arms. “Haven't I always dealt fairly with you, Robert?”

Mr. Ward nodded. “I can't deny that. But this horse, George. This horse . . .” He reached for the lead rope. Ivy tossed her head and backed away. Mr. Ward made soothing noises in his throat until Ivy settled. When he tried to lead her around the yard, she balked, then followed with uneasy, choppy steps.

“She's never given you any trouble, George?” Mr. Ward said as he handed Ivy back to Daniel.

“She's always behaved for me.”

“Hmmm, yes. For
you
.” Mr. Ward took a long puff on his cigar, letting the smoke out in a leisurely
O
that floated over his head for a long time in the still summer air before it broke apart. “I'm not much of a horseman, but I suppose horses are like people in some ways. Some take well to change; some don't. Maybe you've got yourself one of those that don't.”

“She's just showing a bit of spirit. Give her a little time—”

Mr. Ward rested a hand on Mr. Lyman's shoulder. “I'm sure Joshua could break her in fine. But I can't have the younger boys fooling with an unreliable horse. I'd have their mother to answer to if anything happened. And you know my Abby. No, George, I'm sorry. She's a fine horse, but she's a little too lively for the young ones. No hard feelings, now.”

Mr. Ward shook hands with Mr. Lyman and Silas, then headed home with Joshua in tow. Ethan held his breath as the Wards disappeared around the corner of the house. His body trembled from the strain of keeping himself pressed flat against the roof.

Mr. Lyman flung his cigar in the dirt and trod on it. He spun on Daniel, gripping his bruised forearm hard. Ivy snorted and took a little hopping step away. “What are you playing at, boy?” Mr. Lyman said. “What have you done to this horse?”

“Nothing, sir. And she done nothing to me, I swear.”

“That's a rather convenient bruise.”

Daniel's shoulders bunched up as Mr. Lyman's fingers dug deeper into his arm. “It's just a bruise, is all, sir. Could'a been anything done it. Didn't I get thrashed just the other day for letting the sheep get into the flower garden?”

“And the mare? What's gotten into her?”

“Could be her season, like I said before. Or maybe she don't fancy Joshua. Can't say I blame her.”

Mr. Lyman's free hand twitched as if he were about to strike Daniel.

“It's no secret there's bad feelings between Paddy and that Ward boy,” Silas said. “The mare must have sensed it, and it made her nervous. I should have led her out myself.”

Mr. Lyman's head tilted toward Silas. “Yes. Yes, you should have.” He threw his hands up in disgust, shoving Daniel aside. “Aren't you a fine pair of dunderheads? I expected better of you, Silas, but I see that's too much to ask.” Acid dripped from his voice. “I suppose I'm the only one who knows how to think around here.”

“Yes, sir,” Silas said. From the tilt of his hat, Ethan guessed that Silas was avoiding his father's glare.

“As for you—” Mr. Lyman turned abruptly to Daniel. The boy seemed to shrink without moving. The mare flattened her ears against her head and sidled behind him. “The next time someone looks at this horse, you make yourself scarce, understand?”

“Yessir.”

“And keep your—your ‘bad feelings'”—Mr. Lyman sneered around the words—“to yourself.” He spun away and stalked back into the house.

Ethan waited until Mr. Lyman and Silas were gone before he stuffed his sling in his pocket and crept back into the house. Lizzie was alone in the kitchen, finishing the washing up. He waited until she headed downstairs to put some of the leftovers away. He slipped inside and pretended to be coming down the back stairs when she returned from the cellar.

She didn't seem surprised to see him. “Feeling better?” She brushed his hair back from his forehead, checking for fever.

He avoided her eyes. “I—um—yes.” It wasn't entirely a lie.

“You were watching them, weren't you?” Lizzie said. “So was I.” She tipped Ethan's chin up to look into his eyes. “He'll sell her eventually, you know.”

“But not to Joshua Ward.”

She gave him a little smile and released him. “No, not to Joshua Ward.” She took a piece of bread and slathered butter and jam on it. “I suppose your stomachache's gone now.”

Ethan shook his head. His stomach was still fluttering too much to put anything in it.

“Well, maybe Daniel's hungry,” she said. Ethan's head jerked up at the forbidden name. Lizzie folded the bread around the jam and prepared another piece as serenely as if she'd said nothing unusual. She wrapped the jam sandwiches and four slices of cake in a cloth and held it out to him.

“You boys take a lot of chances,” she said, her voice soft but firm. She slipped the bundle into his hand, then grabbed his wrist and pulled him close. Something brushed his hip. He looked down and saw his sling dangling from her free hand. “Maybe I should keep this for a bit,” she said. The sling disappeared into her pocket. “No one will think of looking for it there, will they?” Her face glowed with smiles and secrets.

“You—you mean you won't tell?”

Lizzie's eyebrows arched innocently. “Tell what?”

Ethan ran to join Daniel and Ivy. Everything would be all right now. Joshua wouldn't have Ivy. And maybe it would be too late for Mr. Lyman to buy the black horses.

He wished he had brought some carrots to show Ivy he was sorry about the pebbles. Or maybe to show Daniel. He tossed and caught the little bundle of bread and cake that Lizzie had given him. Maybe Ivy would like some of that just as well as a carrot. Maybe she'd like it even better. Maybe
Daniel would let him give it to the mare himself, and maybe it would make Ivy like him a little better.

He found Daniel and Ivy standing at the upper pasture gate, oblivious to the cows and sheep grazing around them. Daniel's arms were wrapped around her neck, his face buried in her mane. The mare's ears tipped forward, quivering to catch his words. She looked easy now, her feet quiet in the long grass, her tail bobbing gently in the breeze, her eyes soft and calm. She rubbed her chin along Daniel's ribs and whispered back to him. It was only when Ethan got right up to the gate that he could hear Daniel murmuring, over and over,
“Tá brón orm. Tá an-bhrón orm.”
(“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”)

“Excellent! Excellent!” Mr. Lyman practically chortled. His fingers slid along his lapel as he grinned down at the pieces of paper in his other hand.

“Good news, sir?” Mr. Bingham asked from the other side of the store, where he and Ethan had been reading the newest letter from Mr. Bingham's brother in Ohio.

“Indeed. Two pieces of good news in one day's mail.” He held up two letters. “Mr. Jordan in West Springfield has agreed to a price for his geldings, and Mr. Smead's cousin in Blandford expresses an interest in buying the mare.”

“N-no one in town wants her?” Ethan said.

“Not since that blasted son of Ward's started telling tales about her temper.” Mr. Lyman laid the letters on the counter and took out a pencil. “None of it true, of course.” He nodded at Mr. Bingham.

“Of course, sir,” Mr. Bingham said.

Mr. Lyman tapped the pencil on one of the letters. “Jordan says here he knows of a carriage for sale at a good price. Not new, but in good repair, and newly painted. For that, plus the horses . . . I'll sell the old wagon and chaise, too, but later . . . yes, it will do. It will do quite nicely.” He muttered to himself and scribbled numbers on the back of one page as he figured his costs. “Now, if I send Silas to Blandford overnight, perhaps, or a day or two . . . Shouldn't take the first offer, I don't think. . . . Maybe he can get a better price
than Smead's cousin will pay. . . . Twenty miles to West Springfield . . . hmmm . . .” He straightened and tapped his pencil on the counter. “Well, Lucius, I shouldn't wonder if we have horses and carriage within, say, two weeks at the most.”

“Two weeks?” Mr. Bingham repeated. “Ah. Quite nice . . . quite nice indeed.”

Ethan's heart plummeted. Two weeks, maybe less. He took a deep breath, gathering all his courage. He had to at least try to do something while Mr. Lyman was in a good mood. “S-sir?” he said tentatively, barely able to hear his own voice over the pulse pounding in his ears. “Couldn't you, um . . . maybe wait a little bit? Silas wants to get the rye cut soon, and there's ever so much work to be done before the end of summer.”

“Wait?” Mr. Lyman frowned thoughtfully as he considered what Ethan had said, then his eyes grew warm and his lips curled upward. “Well, boy, Silas is making a decent farmer of you, isn't he? I could go myself, I suppose, but no, there's too much for me to do here, with the new goods due to arrive any day now. It'll have to be Silas. Mr. Pease can be in charge while he's gone.” He laughed and snapped his fingers. “Perhaps I'll hire that boy of Ward's for a few days. I could discount his wages for the trouble he's put me to.”

Ethan suppressed a shudder. How could things get any worse? Silas gone away to sell Ivy, leaving Ethan and Daniel with both Mr. Pease and Joshua Ward to contend with. Ethan swallowed the lump in his throat. If asking for a delay took all of his courage, asking for a reprieve surely would need a miracle.
Please
, he prayed.
Please help us
. . . . “D-d-d-do you really have to sell Ivy?” he asked. “She's such a good horse. C-couldn't you maybe think about changing your mind and keeping her?”

“There'll be two horses in her place. You and Paddy will each have a horse to mind. What do you think of that?” Mr.
Lyman hooked a thumb in his vest pocket, looking as kindly as Ethan had ever seen him.

“Da-Da-Da-Pa-Paddy—” Ethan stumbled over the hated name. “Paddy will miss Ivy something terrible.”

“Tish—he hasn't seen these other horses.” Mr. Lyman dismissed Daniel's feelings with a wave of his hand. “Once he sees them, he'll forget all about Ivy, and so will you. She's a nag compared to them.”

Ethan couldn't help thinking about the bit from the Shakespeare book the peddler had given Daniel, the part Daniel read over and over to himself until he had it memorized:
She is pure air and fire. She is indeed a horse; and all other jades you may call beasts
.

“Anyway,” Mr. Lyman continued, “it's not his place to say what I can and cannot sell, is it?”

“N-no, sir. But he—he loves her.”

“She's a
horse
, boy,” Mr. Lyman said with a laugh. “An animal. A tool. Would he love a shovel?” His mouth was still turned up in a half-smile, but his fingers drummed on the counter.

“Now . . . now, sir,” said Mr. Bingham. “There's more to an animal than that . . . more than that, to those who're fond of 'em. My mother dotes . . . positively dotes . . . positively, on her cat.”

Emboldened by Mr. Bingham's words, Ethan pressed on. “It'll break his heart if she goes. He loves her like—like you love your family. If one of them was gone—” Even before Mr. Bingham grabbed his shoulder and hissed him into silence, Ethan saw his mistake. Mr. Lyman's face went gray, and his hands clenched into fists around the letters, his knuckles as white as the paper, the light in his eyes smothered into bleakness.

“You know nothing, boy.” Mr. Lyman's finger shook as he
pointed it at Ethan. Ethan stepped back against Mr. Bingham, certain that it was only the clerk's presence that kept his master's hand from turning into a fist. “You know nothing of heartbreak,” Mr. Lyman said, his voice taut as a stretched wire. Then he stalked into the back room, slamming the door behind him.

“Two weeks.” Daniel hacked viciously at the rye with his reaping hook. “Maybe less.”