Nathaniel (24 page)

And once again Lulu Shields fell silent, the last, unspoken words of her sentence hanging on her tongue like wineglasses teetering on the edge of a shelf. But in the end, they didn’t fall. Instead, Lulu stepped back from Janet, though her eyes suddenly went to Ione Simpson. “You girls just prowl around and find what you need. All right?”

“Fine,” Janet agreed, then turned away to begin her Shopping before Aunt Lulu could wind herself up again. Thirty minutes later she and Ione left the store together, their arms filled with packages. Behind them came Michael, totally occupied with coping with the giant Raggedy Ann.

“Do you have a way to get home, or were you planning to haul all this stuff by hand?” Ione asked as they approached her car.

“Well, we were planning to walk, but I hadn’t really realized how much there was going to be.”

“Say no more,” Ione declared. Then she suppressed a giggle. “That’s what I should have told Lulu Shields. Isn’t she something else? And don’t you believe she never said a word to her husband. There’s a lot of people around here, me included, who think she talked him into an early grave, and that he wasn’t the least bit sorry to go.”

The three of them piled into the front seat of Ione’s car. Raggedy Ann and the groceries occupied the rear. “You don’t suppose she really thinks Laura’s miscarriage was my fault, do you?” Janet asked as they left the village behind and started out toward their farms.

Ione glanced at her over Michael’s head. “With Lulu, you can count on her not thinking at all. I can’t imagine why she said that.” Then: “Yes, I can. She didn’t think. But she didn’t mean anything by it, either, so don’t worry about it. She’s just a little batty.”

“She’s weird,” Michael said.

Janet frowned at him. “She’s just talkative. And don’t you dare start to get in the habit of calling people weird.” She turned her attention back to Ione. “Who’s Becky?”

“Becky?” Ione repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“The girl they bought the doll for. That’s what Lulu said before she said they bought it for Ryan.”

“I didn’t hear that.” Ione shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t hear a lot of what Lulu says. I just tune her out after a while.” Then her brow furrowed. “Are you sure she said ‘Becky’? As far as I know, there aren’t any little girls named Becky in Prairie Bend.”

“I bet they killed her,” Michael suddenly said as Ione turned into Janet’s driveway.

Janet stared at her son. “What a terrible thing to say!”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “I bet that’s what happened to her. I bet they buried her in Potter’s Field.”

And then, as the car came to a halt in front of the house and Janet got out, Michael slid off the seat and jumped to the ground. “Is Eric home, Mrs. Simpson?” he asked.

“He’s cleaning out the stable—” Ione faltered, shaken by Michael’s strange pronouncement.

“I’m gonna go help him. Okay, Mom?”

Janet, as shaken as Ione, nodded her assent, and Michael ran off. They watched him until he’d scrambled through the fence that separated the two farms and disappeared into the Simpson’s stable, then began unloading Janet’s packages from the back seat of Ione’s car.

“What on earth was Michael talking about just now?” Ione asked when they were in the kitchen.

Though her heart was suddenly pounding, and she hadn’t the least idea what the answer to Ione’s question might be, Janet feigned nonchalance. “Nothing, really. It’s probably just an association with that horrible ghost story Amos told him just after we arrived, and the coincidence of names.” She smiled weakly. “They used to bury paupers and unknowns in potter’s fields, you know.”

“Oh, come on, Janet,” Ione protested. “There’s got to be more to it than that! When was the last time you heard of a graveyard called a potter’s field? The term’s obsolete! And even so—something like that in Prairie Bend? As far as I know, we’ve never even
had
a stranger or a pauper here. And the idea of anybody burying a baby out there—well, it sounds crazy!”

Janet sighed heavily, and sank into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “I know,” she agreed. “And I have to confess I’m a little worried.” She glanced up, wryly. “In fact, I took him to Dr. Potter this morning.” She hesitated. “Michael’s been having some headaches. But the doctor couldn’t find anything wrong. He says it’s probably all a reaction to Mark’s death.”

Ione’s eyes reflected her chagrin. “Oh, God, Janet, I’m sorry. It was stupid of me not to think of that. I must have sounded just like Lulu Shields. Forgive me?”

Janet smiled. “There’s nothing to forgive. But you could do me a favor—”

“Anything!”

“Help me out with Michael. I think he just needs some time to get used to things. He’s lost his father, and he’s living in a new place, and he hardly knows anyone. And I know how kids can be. They can gang up on someone and make his life miserable.”

“And you think that might happen to Michael?”

“Apparently Michael and Ryan Shields had an argument. Ryan already told him he’s crazy.”

Ione’s eyes narrowed as she remembered the boy’s odd behavior the night Magic had foaled. “Well, we’ll just see to it it doesn’t happen with Eric, okay?” She paused for a moment, then: “Janet, I don’t want you to get upset, but if you think you’d like Michael to talk to someone, I know a good psychiatrist in Omaha.”

“A psychiatrist? Come on, Ione, Michael’s just a little boy. He doesn’t need—”

“I didn’t say he does,” Ione interrupted. “But you said yourself he’s been through a lot, and sometimes children can have problems their parents aren’t even aware of.”

Janet looked quizzically at the other woman. “Why does it seem to me unlikely that a farmer’s wife in Prairie Bend would be acquainted with a psychiatrist in Omaha?” she asked.

Ione burst into laughter. “Because I’m a nurse, that’s why! Not everybody in this town never got out. I got out for eight years. But then I reverted to type, and married the boy next door. Anyway, I know someone in Omaha in case you ever need someone for Michael. Okay?”

Janet hesitated, then offered Ione a small smile. “Okay,” she agreed. “And thanks.” Suddenly she brightened. “I have an idea. Why don’t you come over for supper tonight? All of you. It’ll be my first party in my new house, and I can’t think of better people to have than my neighbors.”

“What about your family?” Ione asked. “Don’t you think maybe your first guests ought to be Amos and Anna or the Shieldses?”

Janet considered it, then shook her head. “I’ll have Laura and Buck as soon as Laura’s better, and Amos and Anna must be sick and tired of me by now. Besides, if it’s just the six of us, who’s going to know? Or care?”

Ione shrugged. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it, it’s fine with me.” A wry grin came over her face. “But I can tell you one thing: everybody in town is going to know we were your first guests. Mark my words!”

Michael stepped out of the sunlight into the shadows of the Simpsons’ barn. “Eric?” he called out. When there was no reply, he went farther into the barn. A soft whinny came from Magic’s stall, and Michael paused to pat the big mare’s muzzle. “Where’s Eric?” he asked, and Magic, almost as if she’d understood the question, pawed at the floor of the stall, neighed loudly, and tossed her head. Michael grinned, then called out his friend’s name once again, more loudly this time.

“Back here.” Eric’s voice drifted faintly from the far end of the barn, and Michael abandoned Magic for the tack room, where he found Eric working with a tangle of leather straps.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Trying to make a bridle for Whitesock.”

Michael frowned. “Who’s Whitesock?”

“Magic’s colt. He’s got one white stocking, so we named him Whitesock. I found this old bridle, and if I can make it small enough, I can start training him.”

“Where is he?”

“Out in the pasture behind the barn.”

“Can I go play with him?”

Eric shrugged. “I guess so. But he probably won’t play very much. Today’s the first time he’s been away from Magic, and he’s kinda skittish.”

A few minutes later, Michael was staring over the pasture fence. Just yards away, the colt stared back at him through large, suspicious eyes.

“Hi, Whitesock,” Michael said softly, and the colt’s ears twitched interestedly. “Come on, boy. Come over here.” He reached down and tore up a fistful of grass, then held it out toward the colt. “Want something to eat?”

The colt took a step forward, then quickly changed its mind and backed away. Michael frowned, and shook the grass. The colt wheeled around and trotted across the pasture, then finally stopped to look back at Michael.

Grinning, Michael scrambled through the barbed wire fence and began walking toward the colt, holding the grass out in front of him. “It’s okay, Whitesock. It’s good. Come on, boy. I’m not going to hurt you.”

But when he was still a few yards away, the colt once more bolted and ran off to the far corner of the pasture.

Michael was about to follow the horse once again when he felt something brush against him. He looked down to see Shadow, his tail wagging happily, crouched eagerly at his feet. “You want to help, Shadow?” The dog let out a joyful yelp and jumped to his feet. “Okay, let’s sneak up on him. Come on.”

Slowly, the boy and the dog approached the colt, and this time Michael was careful to do nothing that might spook the little horse. He moved only a few feet at a time, pausing often to let the colt get used to him. Shadow, seeming to sense what his master was doing, stayed close to Michael, matching his movements almost perfectly.

Finally, when they were only a few feet away from the horse, Michael began speaking quietly, as he’d heard Eric do when he was calming Magic. “Easy, Whitesock. Easy, boy. No one’s going to hurt you. Look.” Slowly he raised his hand, offering the colt a taste of the grass. “It’s food, Whitesock. Come on. Try it.”

Michael inched closer, and Whitesock tensed, his eyes fixed on Michael, his right forepaw nervously scraping the ground. Again Michael moved toward the horse, freezing when the colt’s head came up and he seemed to be seeking a means of escape.

At last when he was only a foot from the colt, he reached out and gently brushed the grass against Whitesock’s muzzle.

And then, from the other side of the fence, Eric’s voice broke the quiet Michael had been maintaining. “Hey! Whatcha doing?”

Startled, the colt reared up, his forelegs striking out at Michael. But before the horse’s hooves could come in contact with the boy, Shadow had hurled himself against Michael, knocking him to the ground and out of the way of Whitesock’s flailing legs. Michael rolled away from the frightened horse, then got to his feet as Whitesock broke into a gallop and dashed across the field, Shadow behind him.

“Shadow!” Michael yelled, and the dog instantly came to a stop, turning to stare back at Michael. “It’s okay, boy. Come on. Come back here!” Obediently, the dog began trotting back.

“What were you tryin’ to do?” Eric demanded.

“It was your fault!” Michael shot back. “I was just trying to make friends with him. I was giving him some grass, but you scared him when you yelled.”

“Well, you shouldn’t’ve been in there at all!”

Stung, Michael glowered at Eric, and his head began to throb with the familiar pain. “You said I could play with him.”

“I thought you’d have enough brains to stay out of the pasture. What do you know about horses?”

“I didn’t get hurt, did I? And I wasn’t even scared!”

“Just get out of the field, and let me take care of him, all right?” Then, ignoring Michael’s protestations, Eric climbed through the fence, and holding the bridle in his left hand, started toward the colt.

His headache growing, Michael watched as Eric began working his way toward the colt, weaving back and forth across the field, countering each of Whitesock’s moves with one of his own. Slowly, he began trapping the colt in one corner of the field.

Finally, he moved in on the frightened animal and tried to slip the bridle over the colt’s head. Whitesock jerked at the last second and avoided the harness straps.

Once again, Eric made a move to bridle the horse, but again Whitesock ducked away at the last second. But this time, instead of trying to move away from Eric, he reared up and struck out. Eric dodged the flying hooves, but tripped and stumbled to the ground.

Horrified, Michael watched as the colt danced for a moment on his hind legs, then came down to glare angrily at Eric, who was rolling away at the same time he was trying to scramble to his feet.

He’s gonna kill him, Michael thought. He’s gonna trample him. Suddenly his vision blurred, and Michael’s senses filled with the smell of smoke. And he heard a voice in his head.

“Kill him.”

Obeying the voice without thinking, Michael focused his mind on the colt.

Die
, he thought.
Die. Die. Die …
.

The colt seemed to freeze for a moment, then with an anguished whinny, rose up once again on his hind legs, his forelegs flailing as if at an unseen enemy. Finally, as Eric got to his feet and began backing away from the terrified colt, Whitesock crumpled to the ground. He lay still, his eyes open, his breathing stopped.

Michael’s vision cleared, and his headache faded away. The smoky odor disappeared, too, and all he could smell now was the sweetness of the fresh grass in the pasture. Shadow sat at his feet, whining softly. Michael gazed across the field, unsure of what had happened.

“Eric?” he called. “You okay?”

There was a moment of silence, then Eric turned around to stare at him. “He’s dead,” Eric said. “He’s just lying there, and he’s dead.”

Michael’s eyes shifted from Eric to the colt, and he knew his friend’s words were true.

And he also knew that somehow he had done it.

Somehow, while his head was hurting and his vision was blurred, he’d made Whitesock die.

His eyes filling with tears, he backed slowly away.

Supper was over, a supper during which much of the conversation had centered on what had happened in the Simpsons’ pasture that afternoon. In the end, though, Leif Simpson had put an end to the discussion. “The colt just died,” he had said. “It doesn’t really matter much why it died. The point is that if it hadn’t, it might have hurt Eric pretty bad. So I guess we might just as well chalk it up to providence. It was God looking after Eric, and that’s that.”