by Jessie Haas
Chess seemed to admire Joni for that, too. Maybe that was why the slave thing, the captive animal thing, didn’t come up about Archie. “I can’t stop him with a bit!” Joni could have said. She could have explained how strong the hackamore was. Carleen had said it was only okay to use because Joni was a kid. In the hands of an adult, it would be too harsh. But that was too much to get into.
“It’s more dangerous if they shy when they’re driving,” she said. “And sometimes the cart scares them if they see it behind them.”
“Then they shouldn’t have to pull it!”
“They don’t see it, so it doesn’t scare them,” Joni said. But Chess wasn’t listening. The dogs were racing down from the farmyard to greet them. The border collies darted and circled. The Bears loomed and boomed, and waved their plumy tails.
“They’re friendly,” Joni said. But Chess seemed to know what to do, which was to stand still and let the dogs come to her. She didn’t bend and stare into their eyes. Instead, she held out her lightly closed fists for them to sniff, and only began patting them when all tails were wagging.
“Don’t pat the Bears,” Joni said. “They’re disgusting.”
“They’re beautiful!” Chess rested her hand reverently on Tasha’s rounded head. Joni could see the brown, ragged mop that was Tasha’s belly, but maybe Chess couldn’t. Tasha’s eyes went melty and she stood still, soaking up the attention.
After several minutes, Joni pried Chess away from the dogs and took Archie to his stall. They both fed him carrots. Chess laughed, and when Archie rolled in the dirt, she laughed again. “Why does he do that?”
Archie stood up and shook. The dust flew in a cloud. “It scratches his itches,” Joni said. “And dries up the sweat.” Chess suddenly looked sober, but she didn’t say anything, just followed Joni up to the hayloft.
The mother cat appeared, meowing. Joni climbed into the mow and headed toward the back wall. But the cat went off in a different direction, speaking sharply over her shoulder.
“She wants us to follow,” Joni said. “She must have moved them again.”
The kittens were now in a different hay bale cave, awake and crawling over one another. When Joni spoke, they turned their heads toward her. Joni picked up the gray-and-white one and handed him to Chess.
Chess’s eyes widened. So did her mouth. She cradled the kitten gently, staring at him. “He’s—Joni, he’s shaking!”
“Purring. Listen.”
Chess held the kitten closer to her face. She’d gone pale. “Oh, he’s so—he’s …” She went silent, taking the kitten in with all her being. Joni felt almost embarrassed. She scooped up the other three and bundled them into her lap. They were purring, too. They seemed to have learned overnight.
The cat gave one of the kittens a lick on the head. Then she raced to the edge of the mow and leaped down. Joni said, “Now we have to stay and babysit till she comes back.” Not that there was any chance of Chess leaving. She looked completely enthralled.
Joni said, “She always has her kittens during haying, when the tractors are going in and out of here. So we end up bringing them indoors.”
Chess looked up from the kitten she was holding. “You should spay her.”
NINE
Fields
Joni’s mouth fell open, but Chess didn’t notice. She was completely absorbed in the kitten. She stroked it from head to tail with one finger, over and over. Her face was soft and joyful, but also sad.
“If we spayed her, we wouldn’t have kittens,” Joni said.
“That’s the whole point!” Chess cupped the kitten against her belly, tenderly touching his pink toes. “Do you know how many unwanted cats there are?”
“We want ours,” Joni said. “We always find them homes.”
“Everybody says that—”
“But we do it!” Joni said. She felt completely free with Chess all of a sudden—free to disagree, free to interrupt. Because she and Chess were not that different. No matter what her opinions were, Chess was completely melted by this kitten. She couldn’t help it. She wasn’t even trying.
“Danae has one of our last-year kittens,” Joni said. “And Ray has one—you know, Ray, who touched the electric fence three times? You could have one, too, if you want.”
Chess wanted the gray-and-white kitten. She wanted it more than anything. Joni knew the signs. But she shook her head. “We don’t believe in owning animals. It’s like owning slaves—”
“Oh, it is not!” Joni said. “We’re their slaves! Do you know how early my dad gets up every day, just to feed the stupid sheep?”
“And take their milk! And make money from it!”
“Not a lot of money!” Joni said. “The cheese is famous and it’s really expensive, but Dad has to run this whole farm to get it. He and the sheep are like partners.”
“Except the sheep don’t get to choose,” Chess said.
Okay, Chess was right about that. But what kind of life would a sheep choose? “Sheep are demented,” Joni said. “All they care about is food. If they were in charge, they’d eat grass all summer, and in winter they’d starve, without a farmer to feed them hay. And then there wouldn’t be sheep anymore.”
“Maybe that would be okay.”
Joni had thought that more than once. Sheep ruled their lives on this farm. If the sheep got out, or got sick, or needed milking, or needed hay made for them, Dad was on it like a shot. Family had to fit in around the edges. But there was a big difference between her thinking that and Chess saying it.
She looked down at her lap. Her empty lap. While she’d focused on Chess, her three kittens had straggled across the bales in the direction their mother had gone. Their tiny, pointed tails stuck straight up. They’d only been alive for about four weeks, yet they were bravely striking off to see the world.
“Help!” Joni said. She and Chess blocked the wandering kittens with their arms and turned them toward each other. Like little windup toys, they just kept walking, lifting their tender paws high to avoid the prickly hay. One of the tigers bopped the gray-and-white kitten, and it tipped over in shock. So did the tiger.
Chess laughed, her deep, feeding-Archie-carrots chuckle. “They’re so great! How can you not be out here all day long? I would—and I’d set up a kitten cam at night!”
She sprawled on her stomach, propping her chin on her hands. Joni joined her, and they watched the stumbling travels, slow fights, sudden nap attacks. Out in the yard, Dad talked to Mom. Then she drove off and Kevin, who made cheese on Fridays, drove in.
Finally, Joni heard a muffled, gargling meow. The cat appeared at the edge of the haymow, a large mouse dangling from her jaws. Swallows dive-bombed her as she trod across the bales, talking with her mouth full. She put the mouse down near the kittens and they bumbled around it, puzzled and excited. The cat stretched out on her side and blinked smugly at Joni and Chess.
“Why is she doing that?” Chess asked. “Why doesn’t she eat it?”
“She wants them to see it,” Joni said. “It’s how they learn to hunt.” That was a long way in the future, though. The kittens circled the mouse, poking it with their paws, sniffing it. Their eyes were wide and amazed. After a few minutes, the cat pulled herself up and went to the mouse. She picked it up, tossing it high in the air. Once, twice. Then she crouched over it and began to eat. Joni sat up and stuffed her fingers in her ears. She hated that crunching sound. Chess leaned closer, as fascinated as the kittens.
When she finished the mouse, the cat stretched out to give her kittens what they really wanted, milk. Chess leaned back on her elbows, staring up into the high rafters. Sunlight streamed in the cracks between the boards, sending shafts of light into the darkness. A swallow hovered, then settled on the rim of a nest. “This is amazing. Nobody lives like this!”
“We do,” Joni said. “I do.”
“No, people live in cities. Most people. You’ve got to admit, this is—historical. Like being in Charlotte’s Web or something.”
Where’s
Papa going with that ax? Joni thought. The famous first line of that book. “So how come you guys moved here?” she asked. “How come you bought a farm, if nobody lives this way?”
“It’s my dad’s fantasy,” Chess said. “He’s always wanted to live in an old house on a dirt road, where he can let Noah and me run loose like you do. My mom thinks it’s crazy, but he’s the one who gets to decide. She decided the last time they moved.”
“I’ve never moved,” Joni said. She couldn’t imagine it. The farm was like family, like a third grandmother. “So what will you guys do with your fields?”
“Look at them!” Chess said. “They’re beautiful!”
“But somebody has to hay them, or graze animals on them.
Otherwise, they won’t be fields anymore. They’ll grow up to brush.”
“I guess my dad will just mow them with the lawnmower,” Chess said.
“That’ll take forever!” Joni said. “Besides, grass should feed something. It shouldn’t just get mowed with a lawnmower! Fields like that should have animals—”
It came to her all in a second, like the apple falling on Newton’s head, or a sheep spotting an open gate.
“I know!” she said. “You can start a horse rescue!”
TEN
Coal-Black Morgans
Chess’s eyes widened. ‘‘A rescue?”
“Like Kalysta’s!” Joni said. “You’ve got a barn and pastures. And they wouldn’t be captive animals if you rescued them. Right?”
Chess’s lips parted. She stared at Joni, and then past her, past the barn wall, as if she saw something huge and new and amazing. After a moment, she started to speak, then swallowed and pressed her lips together. Joni felt a shiver on the back of her neck. It was a genius idea, and she could tell that it had a powerful effect on Chess. But what effect? What was Chess seeing, out past the barn boards?
She turned to Joni at last, as if just waking up. “Who’s Kalysta?”
“I told you,” Joni said. “Didn’t I? She has a horse rescue. Our 4-H volunteers there.”
“So it’s near here?” Chess asked.
“Yes. Kalysta’s amazing. You could learn a lot—like, about feeding horses, and what can happen if you do it wrong. There’s this horse, Hooper—” Joni’s voice choked off. Hooper had foundered. His front feet were warped out of shape and he could barely walk, they hurt so much. If Chess could see Hooper, she’d understand how dangerous too much food could be for horses.
“We go on Sundays,” she said. “You could come with us.” Was Chess even listening? She was still staring through the wall. Joni waited. It would take time for Chess to think this through.
Dad appeared at the barn door. “There you are, kids! Listen—I’m taking the lambs to Mrs. Abernathy, and Kevin’s so busy making cheese he wouldn’t notice if you fell off the roof. Why don’t you ride along with me? I can drop you off at home,” he said, looking at Chess with raised eyebrows. Like Joni, he wasn’t good at remembering names.
“Chess left her bike down in the field,” Joni said, helping him out.
“Hop in the truck,” Dad said. “We’ll go get it.”
In a wooden crate in the back of the pickup, two large lambs bleated and crowded each other, hunting for a way through the slats. Baby lambs were smart little daredevils, but at this age they started to turn stupid, and only wanted to do what every other sheep was doing.
Chess reached in to pat them. They shied away from her hand. “They’re going to live on our road?”
“For the summer,” Dad said. “Then they’ll live in Mrs. Abernathy’s freezer!”
Dad, please! Joni thought.
Chess didn’t say anything, just climbed into the cab beside Joni. They bounced across the field—not in silence, because Dad was talking, but Joni didn’t listen and Chess just sat there, staring straight ahead. What was she thinking?
Dad put Chess’s bike in the back with the lambs. Then he drove out to the main road, around a couple of corners, and turned onto North Valley Road. He didn’t even slow down as they passed Chess’s house. “Dad!” Joni said.
“No, this is a chance for Chess to meet another neighbor. Ruth is an interesting woman. You’ll like her, Chess.” Like he was doing everybody a favor! Joni slumped back against the seat. How awful was this going to be?
At Mrs. Abernathy’s, Dad drove past the minis’ shed and around to the back side of the house. A car and a pickup were parked there. Mrs. Abernathy sat on the deck, and an old man in coveralls was coming down the steps.
“I’ll be back tomorrow to check on them,” he said.
“No need!” Mrs. Abernathy said. The man didn’t seem to hear. He nodded stiffly to Dad, and drove off in his truck.
Mrs. Abernathy met Dad’s eyes and they started to laugh. “Do I look like a femme fatale?” Mrs. Abernathy said. “I ask you!” Then she sobered. “With three husbands pushing up daisies, I suppose that’s just what I am! Old fools! They’re all looking for somebody to take care of them. But I’m too old to get a puppy and I’m much too old to take on another man!”
She stood up, leaning on a cane. “I won’t come out with you, if you don’t mind. Tweaked this stupid hip yesterday, getting out of the cart.”
Dad backed the pickup around to a small wooden pen with a lean-to roof, and a black rubber tub full of water. The field around it was divided into paddocks, fenced with electric netting. They radiated from the pen like slices of a pie.
“See, they’ll have fresh grass every few days,” Joni said. “As soon as they eat one pen down, they’ll get another.”
Chess nodded, her eyes wide and dark. Did she see that this was a good life for a sheep? Or did she only see that it was going to be a short one?
Dad backed the pickup into the pen, got out, and opened the crate. Each lamb made a spectacular leap off the tailgate and looked around with glazed, frantic eyes. Then one dropped its head and sampled the grass, almost by accident. The other shoved up against it, shoulder to shoulder, and started to eat, too.
“That was easy.” Dad drove back to the house where Mrs. Abernathy waited, leaning on her cane.
“Is everything in order? I had to ask Reginald to set things up for me.”
“Everything’s fine. Are you all right?” Dad asked.
“Phhh!” Mrs. Abernathy flapped her hand, as if brushing away flies. “I’ll be out in the garden again tomorrow! Do you have time to stop a minute? I have cookies. Bought, not made, but they’re good.”
“No, thanks!” Joni said quickly.
But Dad said, “I’d love a cookie!” and in a minute he was on the deck, raising the patio umbrella. Mrs. Abernathy sent Chess and Joni in for the tray. “You’ll see it there on the table,” she said. “There’s a pitcher of milk in the refrigerator. Bring that, too, if you would.”
It seemed dark inside the house, after the bright outdoors. Everything was neat and plain—an old person’s house. Mrs. Abernathy had an old person’s refrigerator, too, with hardly anything in it. Joni got the milk, turned, and gasped. From the back wall of the kitchen, a pair of black horses came splashing through shallow water, straight at her.
It was a photograph, poster-sized. The horses were harnessed to a four-wheeled metal carriage. The driver leaned forward from her seat, urging them on. On the back of the carriage, another woman leaned far out to the side. All four heads were at the exact same angle, all four faces fiercely focused on something just ahead of them. The driver was younger, plumper, with bright color in her cheeks, but …
“Chess, it’s her! Those must be her Morgans!”
Chess was reading the cookie package. She put it back on the tray and looked at the photograph, but she didn’t say anything.
Joni glanced around for pictures of the husbands. She spotted one photo near the phone, a young man in uniform. The picture was soft and dull, as if taken by a not-very-good camera a long time ago.
In the center of the table was a fresh, crisp photo of a man with a long jaw and n
o hair. He smiled as if someone had just cracked a joke, and the smile made Joni think she might like him. But she could tell he was sick when the picture was taken, and he looked faded, too. Not like the horses. She still wanted to dodge out of their way. That was a picture you could walk right into and live in. Maybe Mrs. Abernathy did sometimes, alone in this little house.
ELEVEN
Electric Fence
Joni picked up the tray and carried it out. Dad and Mrs. Abernathy sat at the table, talking. Dad’s eyes sparkled the way they did when he was really interested in somebody. Joni would say he was flirting, except that Mrs. Abernathy was old.
Everybody drank, except Chess. Everybody nibbled crisp chocolate-orange cookies, except Chess. “Please!” Mrs. Abernathy said. “Pour yourself some milk!”
“I’m a vegan,” Chess said.
“Vegan!” Mrs. Abernathy raised both eyebrows. “Vegetarian I understand. I was raised on a farm and I know what killing is. But why not milk, for instance? It doesn’t hurt a cow to be milked!”
“What about her calf?” Chess asked. Her voice trembled slightly, but it was sharp, too. Joni cringed inside. Answering back to Mrs. Abernathy? She could never do that!
Mrs. Abernathy said, “In my day, we taught the calves to drink from a pail, and we raised them.”
“And then what?” Chess looked her straight in the face. Joni wouldn’t have done that, either. Mrs. Abernathy seemed startled. She paused before she answered, choosing her words carefully.
“Some heifers came into our milk herd, and the rest were eaten, I suppose. I take your point. Milking doesn’t harm a cow, but her calf is another matter. You want to avoid causing any degree of harm, and I can respect that. I’m only sorry I don’t have anything vegan to offer you—other than white wine, and you’re a little young for that! How about a glass of water?”
“You’re going to eat those lambs, aren’t you?” Chess said.
Joni’s stomach lurched. She glanced at Dad, who was watching alertly.
Mrs. Abernathy’s clear blue eyes seemed to flare with light. “Yes! I’m going to feed them all summer and fall, and then they’re going to feed me. That’s the bargain we’ve made with domesticated animals! We feed them, they feed us, and in the end, we all feed the grass that grows over our worn-out bodies. We accept that.”