A crack of a smile rose on his lips and then disappeared.
Looking ahead to the corral, Ginger spotted several farming implements. “We working on those?” she asked. “They look like great instruments of torture.”
They did for sure. There was a jumble of accoutrements that looked like metal disks and poles and rakes that would be pulled by a tractor. Beside these were two flatbed wagons that rested near a little red two-wheeled cart with a bench on top of it.
“Not today. We’re finishing the storage barn today and those—”
“A storage barn? Where?”
“Behind the big barn there.” Mr. Rogers pointed. A group was clearing and leveling a large square of ground fifty yards from the back of the barn.
“Is anyone in class today at VMI?” Ginger asked.
“If they all could have come, I believe they would have done.”
Ginger stopped before the corral gate. “Ed, this is way too mu—”
“Henry’s Child is worth a lot more, Ginger.”
“Hay and horses and mules and storage barns and equipment and—”
“It’s a fair trade,” he interrupted, gazing into her eyes. “I mean to make it fair.”
“And help,” Ginger finished.
“Henry had more than one child, Ginger. And he was as dear a friend to me as any. I am tied to VMI through the blood of generations and he is tied to me and so . . . we are come here to stand for Henry’s child.”
Tears threatened as she watched Ed Rogers swallow hard.
“We’ve got work,” he said and opened the gate.
As Ginger pulled Christian into the corral, she watched Bea, who was standing on a large wooden crate, settle the large collar on Agrippa’s neck with Jacob’s help.
“Jacob, did you lift that?” she asked, pointing to Agrippa’s collar.
Jacob gazed at her with the same round, wide-eyed look Christian had given Ed Rogers in the barn.
“You are not to lift anything. That must have been the doctor’s orders—am I right?” she added.
Jacob nodded.
“He didn’t lift it,” Bea replied. “Mr. Wheldon did before he had to go help Henry and Oliver with the cow. The goat won’t go away and it’s scaring Oliver. Mr. Wheldon also brushed Augustus for you, Mom. You need to brush Christian so his tethers and collar won’t rub the dirt against his skin and make scratches.”
Her daughter must have received that piece of information from Ed Rogers because her tone was exactly like his. Ginger chuckled as she obediently reached into the bucket and pulled out the rubber brush.
As she cleaned up Christian, Mr. Rogers, Bea, and Jacob completed collaring and tethering Agrippa, Penny, and Augustus. Then slowly and methodically, they all taught Ginger how to collar Christian and set him in team with Augustus. It was slow going, as there were so many lines of leather and chain, each with a different name and each with a specific way of sitting on the horse so as not to unduly rub the skin and cause injury. Ginger was more than happy that Bea seemed to be picking it all up so quickly, as she felt certain she wouldn’t remember ninety percent of what was being told to her by tomorrow morning.
Having the two teams now standing side by side, Bea held the four leads for Penny and Agrippa and Ginger held on to Christian and Augustus.
“Okay,” Ed Rogers said. “We’re simply going to practice starting and stopping.”
“Shouldn’t we be attached to a plow or something?” Ginger asked.
Jacob shook his head with great concern. “Mrs. Martin, first you need to figure out how to get the horses going. Then how to get them to pull. Then how to get them to plow. And you’ve never plowed. I’m not sure this is all going to work.”
“I know how to plow,” Bea said and shook her reins. She made no sound whatsoever, and with just that little shake Penny and Agrippa moved forward. Bea walked behind, pulling away from her mother, Ed Rogers, and Jacob. Christian whinnied loudly and pulled. Ginger lurched forward, losing Augustus’s left rein.
“Whoa!” Jacob said, but he didn’t have the reins and so the horse felt no obligation to listen. As Ginger bent to pick up the rogue rein, Christian leaned into his collar hard, pulling Ginger to the ground.
“Holy shi—” she yelled but the last word was cut short by a mouthful of dirt. She rolled over as she was dragged forward, twisting the reins and gazing up to the blue sky.
“You better get up, Mrs. Martin,” Jacob said. “I’d help but you told me not to lift anything.” He laughed and walked forward, following Bea.
“Christian!” Ginger spat as she rolled over on her stomach. Augustus, who had walked just one foot, now leaned back against Christian’s pull, allowing Ginger to get to her knees. The horse was still leaning into his collar and as Ginger peered up the reins, trying to figure out how to untwist them and rise to her feet at the same time, she watched the mule turn its head to the left and nip Christian on the shoulder. Startled, the horse backed up, rearing a little as it did so. The reins loosened and Ginger took the opportunity to scramble to her feet. She yanked on the knotted reins and yelled, “Whoa!”
Through the small dust cloud she had created by rolling around in the dirt, she could just make out Augustus’s right eye looking back at her. He seemed to have a look of pity and as he turned his head forward Ginger could swear he shook it just as Jacob had done moments before. Ginger spat again.
“That’s why you have Augustus always with Christian,” Ed said as he leaned against the snake-rail fence. “Look at Bea.”
Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Ginger gazed over and saw her daughter trotting behind the horse team. She looked so small compared to the beasts in the lead but a soft “Whoa” floated across the corral and there was no question who was in control when obediently they stopped. Jacob slowly caught up to the little girl and said something to her.
“I’m thinking that Bea takes Christian and Augustus,” Ed Rogers said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I didn’t think so, either, but she knows what she’s doing.”
Bea came around and headed straight and then turned and stopped right next to her mother. She squished her nose in disgust.
“Your mouth is muddy, Mom.”
“I think Bea should take Mrs. Martin’s team,” Jacob said as he hobbled up.
“Amish kids do a lot of the plowing,” Bea said, handing her reins to Jacob. Gently, she took the twisted mess from her mother’s hands, whirled the reins around, and having straightened everything out, shook the leads gently. Augustus pulled, with Christian following and clearly not in charge. As Jacob moved to follow, he handed over Penny’s and Agrippa’s reins to Ginger.
“I think maybe you’ll be able to do this, after all,” he said, pointing to Bea and smiling as he followed the little girl.
Bea made another loop around the corral, and when she finished, Ed Rogers combined all four beasts into one team, handed the reins to Bea, and off she went, circling the corral without one hiccup.
Taking Ginger by the elbow, Mr. Rogers led her to the little red two-wheel cart with a bench on it. Together, they pulled the cart into the corral, and when Bea stopped, they attached it to the horses.
Bea jumped on the cart and took the reins.
“Come on, Mom!” Bea called excitedly.
Ginger climbed up and sat down next to her daughter.
“Come up,” Bea said and the animals pulled forward.
“It’s not ‘giddyup’?”
“Mr. Rogers said not for these guys.”
“Ah.” They veered right as they circled the corral.
“It’s quiet, huh, Mom.”
“It is,” Ginger agreed.
“I like the clicking sound of the horse hooves. You can hear the dirt, too, as you ride around on it. Much better than the tractor.” She tu
rned and smiled at her mother. Bea actually looked happy.
“So, Bea. Umm . . . You are okay letting go of Henry’s Child?”
“I already did, Mom. That’s why everyone’s here.” Bea swallowed her last word.
“We could change our minds if you want to.”
“Nope. We’re going this way. It’s why Samuel’s here.”
Ginger nodded. “You seem to have this horse thing pretty much down.”
“Can’t wait to go to the field,” she said. “I plowed a lot with Daddy. I miss that.”
“Yeah. Uh, what da ya think about staying home and working and schooling here?”
“We all know that’s what we’re doing. Samuel kinda told us we needed to.”
“He did?” Ginger frowned. It wasn’t for Samuel to say anything.
“Need to stay home to make home if you’ve lost your home,” Bea said. She looked over at her mother.
“Have we lost our home?” Ginger stared into her daughter’s eyes.
“I thought we did. But it’s been here all the time. I couldn’t see it because we kept doing things like we did when Daddy was around—like nothing changed. It was like we kept waiting for him to come back.” Bea looked ahead and added, “But he isn’t coming back.”
Ginger sat still, the click of the horse’s hooves beating like the small, gentle heart of her daughter, distant and silent for so long. “No, he isn’t, Bea.”
“I’ll miss school. So will Henry. But Oliver won’t.” Bea gave her mother a half smile. “Maybe our friends can come over and help. It’s not like we’re moving to Seattle or anything.”
“That’s true.”
“Whoa.” The horse stopped and Bea grinned. “I like it when the sun’s about to come up and the birds have just finished their morning song and there’s nothing but the smell of dirt and the sound of wind in the grass and trees. That’s how it was starting the day with Daddy.”
“Was it?”
“Then the tractor started and ruined everything.” Bea burst out laughing.
Ginger brightened and said, “That’s what your daddy said, isn’t it?”
Bea nodded, still laughing, and managed to say, “He loved Henry’s Child but he hated Henry’s Child.”
“I didn’t know that,” Ginger replied.
“You never plowed with him.” Bea stood and stretched a little. “Here, Mama. You try.” Bea handed the reins to her mother and with quiet instruction from her daughter Ginger circled the corral again.
“Mrs. Martin?”
It was so difficult to answer whoever was calling her, for she had just had more with her daughter than she’d had in the last year and a half and she didn’t want to be anywhere else. Shaking her head, she looked over and found Mr. Schaaf leaning against the corral with Mr. Whitaker, James Creed, and John Mitchell.
“Ah,” she said, climbing off the bench. “Sorry for the traffic.”
“You really gonna farm with horses?” Mr. Schaaf asked.
“Yes, sir. We really are,” Ginger replied, nodding in her daughter’s direction.
“Oh,” the man replied. None of them said anything, but by their stance she could tell they thought this was a daft idea. She couldn’t blame them. What was she? An emergency room nurse. They had been farming all of their lives and this—this was a bit nuts.
“I know it sounds crazy but we have help here.” She motioned to Mr. Rogers and Jacob. “We’re starting on a new road.”
“Let’s hook Bea up to the drill and have her start,” Ed Rogers said.
“What’s a drill?” Ginger asked.
“A grain drill,” John Mitchell replied. “For planting.”
“Ginger, open the gate all the way. Bea, take yourself out to the northwestern end of the field. I put the drill out there.”
As Ginger pulled wide the gate, she found Samuel standing to its left. When Mr. Whitaker came to help, he nearly stepped on the ghost’s feet.
“Watch out!” Ginger declared, looking at Samuel.
“What?” John Whitaker asked, gazing around.
“I’ll go with Bea,” Jacob said, hopping onto the cart.
“No lifting,” Ginger replied.
Bea smiled at Samuel as she passed him on the cart, so small behind the horses and mules. He bowed as Bea passed.
“Let’s go to the garden. We need to talk about what plants now,” Mr. Rogers said.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” It was James Creed directing the question to Ed.
“Uh . . . no.”
“We’ll tell her what she needs to plant in them beds,” the old farmer announced.
“That’ll do. Well, then,” Mr. Rogers said with a shrug. “I guess I’ll see how the equipment barn is coming along.”
After shutting the gate, Ginger followed the four old farmers. Mr. Schaaf seemed smaller than the rest of them though he was two inches taller. He had a limp in his right leg and Ginger touched his arm and was about to mention she should take a look at him, but the old man shook his head, brushing her away.
When they rounded the corner of the barn, Ginger found two large squares of property to the far right of her gravel drive, each enclosed by a beautiful snake-rail fence.
“Oh.” She breathed.
“Better use for that wood than lining this here drive,” John Mitchell said.
“Wheldon said the goat would eat everything unless there was a fence,” Mr. Schaaf said. “The rail fence on the drive would have been pretty, though.”
Ginger silently agreed but the need to keep the goat away from the garden seemed the more pressing matter.
“Sometimes the best use for a thing is to add beauty. Like flowers,” he added.
“I agree,” Ginger replied out loud.
“Mama!” Oliver said. “Come look!”
With John Whitaker at her side and the other three farmers following behind, Ginger made her way past the gardens, across the front yard, and to the orchard.
“What is that?” she asked.
“It’s a chicken coop that can move,” Henry said proudly. “Me and Oliver made it with Emma and Sarah, here. They go to VMI.”
“Thanks for helping,” Ginger said to the two young women who were standing with Henry and Oliver. They nodded.
“Emma says the chickens can take care of the soil,” Oliver explained. “We just move it around the gardens.”
“I see. What is that?” Ginger asked again.
Henry and Oliver looked back at the coop, confused.
“That?” Ginger pointed.
“That is a turkey, Mrs. Martin,” Sarah answered.
“I know it’s a turkey. What’s it doing with the chickens?”
“It’s Rooster,” Oliver replied.
“No, it’s a turkey,” Ginger said.
The large black-and-white bird bobbed its head several times, turned, and wobbled its wrinkly chin. Its beard had a yellow tinge, as did its breast feathers. Two white streaks ran from its nostrils down its snood, looking for all the world like a long, thin mustache.
“No, Mama. His name is Rooster.”
“Gotta take the good with the bad,” Henry said.
Around its left eye was a circular patch of white skin, giving the turkey the singular presence of an old man wearing a monocle, reminding her of Colonel Mustard from the game Clue. The turkey not only looked like a cousin of the goat; it also looked like it was planning everyone’s demise.
“Rooster,” she said.
Upon hearing its name, the bird cocked its head and fixed her with its black beady eye.
“Colonel Mustard in the drawing room with the candlestick,” Ginger breathed.
Chapter 20
The Morning Chorus
Ginger lay in bed listening to the silence of the night, which was rolling over
in bed just as she did now—a last cozy snooze before dawn. But she wasn’t sure she had even slept. Her mind had been busy running over the day from beginning to end as a sequential set of events like a movie that perpetually restarted. Rooster and Bubba. Christian and Augustus. Little Bea planting the alfalfa with Jacob as Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Schaaf looked on in amazement. The evening coming far too soon for amateur horse farmers with Jacob Esch climbing into Mr. Wheldon’s truck. He hadn’t stayed as expected.
That was one of two points that had bothered her most of the night. She hadn’t realized how she had placed the boy in her farming plan in so short a time and now he wasn’t there. The other point that kept her from sleeping was Samuel—or more precisely, the absence thereof.
Samuel had been around the entire day. He had disappeared on her in Christian’s stall but reappeared here and there in the field with Bea. Yet even as the military academy left with Mr. and Mrs. Rogers late in the evening after dinner and Mr. Mitchell took a few cookies and headed home with his aging friends, Samuel hadn’t appeared. They lit up the house with kerosene lamps and beeswax candles rescued from the attic of the summer house as a warm welcome to him, and all were disappointed when he didn’t show.
Pulling her arms from her blankets, Ginger rolled over again, gazing up at the window, which was lit lavender-gray in the darkness of the room. Her left hand found its way to the curls upon her head and she smiled, remembering her reflection in the window of her truck. Closing her eyes, she heard a single bird sing. It whistled high and then cut off sharply. It was followed by another bird and another. A crow cawed in the distance and somewhere the gentle, soft gobble of a turkey answered the horizon.
“Better than a rooster,” she whispered.
“Why do you suppose they do that?” The question came from the corner above Ginger’s head. She opened her eyes and glanced toward the window again.
“The sun’s coming up,” she replied.
“I know. But what purpose does singing before dawn serve the birds? The cows don’t sing. The horses don’t. Neither does the dog at the foot of your bed or the cat in the crook of your knees. Why do the birds sing?”
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