Weathered Too Young (7 page)

“I’m here to work for you, Mr. Evans,” Lark reminded
Slater, somehow
managing not to burst into more giggles.
“How am I to earn a proper wage if you don’t feel comfortable allowing me to work for it?
After all…it seems to me that I’m much younger than Mrs. Simpson was.
Laundry won’t exert me nearly as much as it must’ve her.”

“We’re talkin’ about my drawers
. T
hat’s all I’m worried about,” Slater said.

“It’s cause they’re ratty,” Tom chuckled.
“Mama used to say Slater’s drawers weren’t fit for rags…let alone drawers.”

Slater pointed his fork at Tom once more.
“Tom
,
I’m gonna kick yer…yer backside all the way to town if ya don’t stop talkin’ about my unmentionables that way.”

“Unmentionables?” Tom teased, smiling.

Lark noted the way Slater’s jaw cl
e
nched.
He was not as amused as his brother.

“I’ve laundered men’s underthings before, Mr. Evans,” she
offered, attempting
to soothe the situation.
“I’m not inexperienced or averse to it in
any
way.”

He
looked to her—still
uncertain, still
scowling.

“Please,”
she added, “if I’m to pull my weight for wages…if I’m to take over all the responsibilities that were your dear Mrs. Simpson’s…”

“Al
l
right,” Slater grumbled, shoveling a bite of cornbread and
gravy
into his mouth with his fork.
“I’ll let ya wash my drawers.”
He paused, looked to his brother, grinned
,
and said, “And you better be careful, boy
. Y
ou got yer own bad things about ya.
Sooner or later this girl will learn them too.”

“Maybe,” Tom said, shrugging with indifference.

Slater chuckled, and Lark smiled at the sound.
She’d never been privy to such delightful meal conversation.
Again
,
the long-lost sensation of joy filled her bosom.
She’d be warm when winter came—and entertained!

“I’ll take Coaly to move them logs the boys been workin’ on,” Tom said.
“We gotta get them poles sunk for that fence…and I don’t want a cold spell comin’ in to find us without the woodpile ready.”

“You best take Dolly too,” Slater said.
“She don’t like to be left out.”
Slater looked to Lark then.
“Coaly and Dolly are a team of Clydes
. T
hey were our pa’s pride and joy
,
and he spoiled
’
em somethin’ awful and never worked
’
em as anything but a team
. S
o they’re a little temperamental…especially Dolly.”

“I don’t need
’
em both
,
and I’d rather have Coaly along,” Tom said.
“She ain’t so cantankerous as Dolly.”

“Well, just don’t blame me if Dolly kicks ya in the head for it,” Slater warned.

“She’ll be fine,” Tom mumbled.

Lark said nothing.
After all, who was she to have an opinion on a team of horses she didn’t own
,
had never even seen?
Who was she to have an opinion on the subject at all?
Yet she loved horses
;
she always had.
To Lark, horses were magnificent creatures—full of spirit and power.
She thought there was nothing quite so wonderful in the world as a horse.
Furthermore, she owned a deep sense of their nature—their dispositions.
Therefore, Lark knew that a team of draft horses
that
had most likely been raised together, teamed together since they were young
,
no doubt would feel lost and afraid without the other.
Thus, silently she agreed with Slater—that Tom should not take Coaly and leave Dolly behind.
Still, she was the housekeeper—the cook—the hired girl.
She said nothing.



Lunch was over nearly as quickly as it had begun.
Lark felt an odd sense of abandon and loneliness when Slater and Tom left the house to resume their labors.
Still, she found herself glancing out a window in one of the back rooms of the house
,
hoping to catch a glimpse of one of them—hoping a glimpse would somehow restore her sense of confidence.
A large barn and two corrals were a ways off
but close enough that she could easily see Slater and Tom as they worked.
She’d watched Tom harness Coaly—watched Slater shaking his head as he spoke to his brother as he did so.
No doubt Slater was again trying to convince his brother that taking only one member of the team might prove unwise.
Dolly was indeed agitated.
Lark could see the small corral from where the enormous Clydesdale watched her counterpart being harnessed—watched Coaly be led away
,
alone.
Dolly reared and whinnied
,
stomping the ground in protest.
Slater went to the corral and stepped up onto one fence rung.
Lark could see he was speaking to her—guessed his voice was low and soothing—and the horse seemed to settle a bit.
Eventually, Dolly seemed soothed, and Slater disappeared into the barn.

Lark’s empathy for Dolly grew
,
even as she worked gathering laundry, dusting, and polishing furniture.
Somehow the situation—trivial as it seemed—weighed heavy on her.
She began to hope Tom would not keep Coaly away long. She found herself going to the window—peeking out toward the corral more often then was necessary.
The horse was restless
,
shaking her head
,
snorting as she pressed against the corral fence with haunches.

“Be patient, girl,” Lark whispered.
“It won’t be long.
You’ll be fine.”

She thought about going out to the corral herself to comfort the animal.
Still, it wasn’t her place, and therefore she paused—even knowing her own uncanny ability to soothe horses might assist Dolly in settling.

“Just clean the house and cook supper, Lark
,
” she told herself as she went about straightening.
“Remember your place.”

Lark busied herself
attending to
a few details in the parlor.
Soon, all that was left to do was to bring the rugs in and return them to their places on the floor.

She stepped out of the house
,
shading her eyes from the bright sunlight.
The day was warm and still.
Scents of pasture grasses, wildflowers
,
and hot soil soothed her, and she drew in a deep breath
,
determined to fill her lungs with the beauty of the late summer day.
When winter came—when things were not so green and welcoming—she would draw upon the memory of that moment
,
knowing that winter would end and summer would come again.

Lark stepped down off of the front porch, turning toward the hitching post where she’d hung the rugs to air.
However, she couldn’t help but glance back toward the corral.
Dolly was stomping there, stomping with agitation
,
even kicking at the corral gate with her front hooves.
Concern overwhelmed her
,
and Lark passed the hitching post
,
slowly starting toward the corral.
Dolly was indeed upset.
Dolly whinnied and kicked, and Lark began to panic as she saw the horse break the gate’s latch.
In an instant, the large draft horse pushed its way through the gate
,
breaking into a lumbering gallop—headlong in
the
direction Tom had taken Coaly.

Instinctively, Lark shouted, “Slater!
Stop her!
Slater!”

As Lark hitched up her skirt and began running toward the barn, she gasped as she glanced in the direction the horse was running—for a fence strung of barbed wire was directly in her path.

“Slater!” she cried out again.

Slater stepped out of the barn, frowning in Lark’s direction.

“She’ll run right into the wire!” she called, pointing to Dolly.

Slater’s gaze followed her gesture.
Without pause, he sprinted after the horse
,
shouting, “Dolly!
Whoa!
Dolly!”
But the horse did not heed its master’s voice.

Lark slid to a stop, crying out and covering her mouth with her hands and as she heard Dolly whinny in pain.
The beautiful horse crumpled to its front knees a moment.
Lark could only watch as it struggled to stand.

“Get me a rope!
There’s rope in the barn!” Slater hollered.

Without further pause, Lark raced into the barn.
She was momentarily confused
,
for it seemed there was rope hanging or lying everywhere!
Still, her gaze fell to a length of sturdy rope hanging on a hook near one stall—a lasso.
Quickly she took it down from the hook and hurried out of the barn.

Dolly was still near the fence
,
having stopped her attempt to escape for the pain of her wounds, no doubt.
The animal was obviously frightened and hurt.
Dolly slightly reared as Slater approached her.

“Dolly…whoa…whoa, Dolly,” Slater
said, his
voice a low, calming intonation.
“Just walk the rope over to me, girl,” Slater said over his shoulder.
“Slow…real slow.”

Lark nodded, inhaled a calming breath
,
and started toward Slater and the horse.
Dolly whinnied and took several steps backward.
Lark paused in walking toward her
,
nodding at the horse.

“It’s al
l
right, Dolly,” she said aloud.
“It’s all right now.”

The horse shook its head, pounding the dirt with one
hoof.
Lark
started toward Slater again
,
and this time the horse did not startle.
She felt tears welling in her eyes
,
for the lacerations on the horse’s chest and front legs were deep.
Blood poured from the wound at her chest—streamed in crimson rivulets down her legs and over long white hair below her knees.
The barbed wire had inflicted terrible damage.
Lark knew the damage could well be extreme enough to force Slater into putting the horse down.

“Shhhh,” Lark soothed as she approached.
The horse nervously
nodded but
did not back away.
“Shhh, Dolly,” Lark said as she handed the rope to Slater.

“Stay back,” Slater whispered.
“She’s fearful and hurt
. S
he might
—”

“She won’t hurt me,” Lark interrupted
,
however, taking several steps closer to the horse.

“Girl, you stay back!” Slater warned in a still lowered voice.

“I can help,” Lark told him, however.
“I’ll soothe her while you rope her and inspect her injuries.”

“No,” Slater growled.
At the sound of Slater’s warning to Lark, Dolly stomped the ground
,
shaking her head with agitation.

“Shhh,” Lark said to Slater.
“I can help
,
I promise.”

“You don’t want to fool with an injured draft horse, girl,” Slater told her.
“You’ll get us both killed.”

“No, I won’t,” she told him
,
stepping toward the horse.

She paused when she felt Slater take hold of her arm.
She looked over her shoulder to him as he said, “I’ll rope you up and carry you back to the house if you don’t stop right now.”

He was angry with her—she knew he was.
Yet she was certain he was only angry for the sake of worry—worry that she might be injured.

“Trust me,” she whispered.

“No,” he growled, glaring at her.

Lark smiled as she saw Slater’s eyes widen.
As he’d stood arguing with her, Lark had offered her hand to Dolly—and Dolly had accepted.
Lark allowed Dolly to smell her a moment longer before gently placing her palm on the horse’s velvet nose.
She looked away from Slater then—away from Slater and to Dolly.
For a moment
,
she was indeed frightened.
The horse was so enormous!
Its shoulder stood as tall as Lark
,
its neck and head giving it the appearance of a giant.
Still, as Dolly pressed her nose against Lark’s palm,
Lark
smiled.