The Forever Man(23)

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.