Johanna relented, swayed by the stubborn tilt of Pete's dark head, the pouting movement of his mouth. "I'll come give you a hand, once I've got this bread set to rise again. I'll just get supper started first."
His shrug was no-answer at all, she decided, watching him do up the buttons on his coat as he started across the yard. And then she set to work on the dough, dividing it into loaves and placing them in the greased tins. They fit neatly above the stove, and she gave them one last approving glance before covering them with a clean dish towel.
The meat was nicely browned within minutes, and she sliced an onion over it and added bay leaves before covering it with water and putting on the lid to simmer.
The sight of Pete's unhappiness had nudged her into offering her help. Almost ruing the gesture, she slid into her coat and wound a warm scarf over her head. She donned her gloves then, knowing the damage cornstalks could do to her hands.
From the back porch, she scanned the yard. Not a sign of the boys, but then all week Timmy had been spending his afternoons kitten-watching. Pete would have a hard time interesting him in chores. Even more reason for her to give him a hand. She set off for the far side of the corncrib, where the afternoon sun had long since melted the scant covering of snow that had fallen last night.
The cornstalks waited patiently, the sun shone brilliantly, but Pete was nowhere to be seen. "Pete? Where are you?" Lifting her hand to shade her eyes, she scanned the barn and beyond. There seemed to be no sign of life in that direction. Perhaps he'd gone around back.
The stallion. Her heart quickened as she thought of the beautiful chestnut stud occupying the corral, considered the temptation the animal offered to a young boy. Surely he wouldn't risk his father's displeasure.
But he had. As she rounded the corner of the barn, the small figure came into view, and Johanna caught her breath. Pete was high on the corral fence, straddling the topmost rail, leaning toward the huge stallion with one hand full of hay, tempting the animal closer.
The horse was prancing, showing off for his audience, his ears forward, his nostrils flaring. With a nipping gesture, he reached for the hay Pete offered, and the boy jerked back in surprise as the velvet muzzle touched his hand. He caught his balance quickly and dropped the hay, watching as the big horse bent his head to snatch up the scant handful.
"Here, boy." It was a tremulous command, Pete reaching into his pocket as he held fast with the other hand to the rail. From the depths of his coat pocket, he drew forth an apple, leaning again toward the stud to offer it on the palm of his hand. "Looky what I got for you," he coaxed, his knees tightening visibly as he stretched forth his arm toward the animal.
"I think you need to get down, Pete." Johanna's words were quiet, and she watched, poised to move, only too aware of the danger the boy was in. The horse might very well take the treat with a gentle touch. Or those big teeth could just as easily nip at the small hand, drawing blood, frightening the child into falling. And it was common knowledge that a stallion could be mean, especially when he was riled up from having a mare just the other side of a barn wall.
"Pa won't care if I feed the horse an apple," Pete said stubbornly, maintaining his hold on the fruit. "I'm not gonna try to ride him or anything."
A vision of the boy leaping onto the back of the tall horse assailed Johanna's mind, and she closed her eyes, blinking it into oblivion.
It had been in his mind. As surely as she was alive and breathing, Pete had been considering the thought of riding the stallion in the corral.
Her voice strengthened by her concern for his well-being, she barked out an order. "You get down right this minute, Pete Montgomery. I don't want to hear another word, do you hear me?"
To the child's credit, he knew when he'd been outmaneuvered. Dropping the apple to the ground, he slid from the corral fence, his face a thundercloud of anger. He watched sullenly as the stallion snatched up the apple, chewing it between his strong teeth. A thread of juice hung in a glittering string from his muzzle as the big animal watched his audience. Then, with a snorting whinny, he tossed his head and galloped around the enclosure, tail high, hooves beating a quick cadence against the hard ground.
"Corn, Pete. Come on, I'll give you a hand."
"I don't need any help. I'll do it myself." He stalked away.
There was no need to further irritate the child, Johanna knew. That she'd halted his shenanigans with the stud was bad enough. She wouldn't make him spend the afternoon with her.
When she was back inside, the house held little charm, once she'd put the bread in the oven. The pot roast was simmering nicely, the kitchen redolent with its scent of onion and bay leaf. The sun pouring through the window was a temptation, and Johanna gave in to its beckoning.
Her shawl seemed warm enough, she decided, for a quick check on Timmy in the barn. He'd even slept away part of the day yesterday curled in the hay, watching over his kittens. Johanna walked slowly, soaking up the wintry sunlight.
From the other side of the barn, she heard Sheba's sharp warning bark, and her step quickened. Then Timmy's voice, high and shrill. Johanna's groan was heartfelt. Surely he wouldn't be fooling with the stallion.
Suddenly the child ran pell-mell around the corner, his eyes wide, his mouth open to yell her name. "Miss Johanna!" Skidding to a halt, he waved his hands in a frantic gesture. "Come quick! Pete's gonna-Come stop Pete." In garbled sentences, he sought her aid, and Johanna ran to him, crouching before him, holding his small hands within her own.
"Tell me, Timmy. What is it?"
He tore his hands from her grasp and clutched at her skirt. "He's gonna ride the cows! Pete's gonna practice."
"Oh, dear Lord, no!" Johanna's heart sank. Wandering the edge of the pasture was one thing. The steers Tate had put there were pretty placid animals. But the boys had been told to stay clear of them, and with good reason. Should Pete attempt to climb up on one of them, he could be terribly hurt.
She ran, aware as she did that the boy was indeed circling a wary steer, an animal who'd been roaming the woods and swamp for over a year. At the fence line, Sheba paced back and forth, barking her warning, dashing in to nip at the heels of the steer to send it from Pete's path.
"Pete! Stop it!" She bent as she neared the barbed.wire fence to slip between the strands, dropping her shawl to the ground. Holding one strand as high as she could pull it, she hunched her shoulders, careful to evade the sharp barbs.
With a resounding snap the wire gave, pulling from its fasteners on the next post, coiling in a movement so rapid she could only catch a breath as it wound around her body. Stinging, fiery darts of pain surrounded her, and she jerked, knowing as she did that it was foolish. Yards of wire encircled her, the spaced barbs digging through her clothing, gouging and scratching her flesh as she drew away from them in automatic movements.
"Pete, come help!"
Timmy's shriek echoing in her ears, Johanna teetered, falling to the ground. She screamed-a high-pitched, painful cry that ended on a mournful note as she hugged her arms tightly against her body, seeking only to evade the piercing thrust of the barbed wire.
"Pa! Pa!" The boys' voices echoed in the clear air as they ran the length of the pasture fencing, one within the wire, the other outside. At the far corner, Pete slipped between the wires and raced full tilt, Timmy sobbing as he watched his brother go. Frightened, he retraced his steps, panting as he ran, murmuring beneath his breath.
"Pete went to get Pa!" he cried, his voice breaking as he knelt beside Johanna's still form. Tears ran in rivulets down his cheeks, and he rubbed at his eyes with chubby fingers. "I don't know what to do!" His words were anguished, his small face drawn into a mask of helplessness.
"Don't touch me." It was a gasping plea. She'd found that if she held her breath, forcing only shallow, small pants between her lips, she could bear the pain inflicted by the dozens of small wounds. The thought of being moved, of the wire pressing new lacerations into her tender flesh, made her physically ill, and she swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
The sun was mercifully warm, and in the outer reaches of her mind she was thankful. Beneath her, the ground was cold, and she cursed herself silently for not wearing her heavy coat. The cuts would have been less severe, she would not be as chilled, and she wouldn't have totally ruined her good house dress. That such a mundane thought could occupy her mind in the midst of such pain brought a grunt of aggravation to her lips, and Timmy bent over her, brushing her cheek with his mouth.