A Difficult Boy Page 8

  “All right, then, I’ll be off,” Mr. Smead said. “Silas, don’t you forget, now, about Saturday. Mrs. Smead won’t be the only one disappointed if you don’t come to tea.” He winked and clapped Silas on the back.

  Ethan was surprised to see both Silas and Joshua turn slightly pink. Silas glanced over at Joshua, pressing his mouth into something Ethan could only describe as a smirk. “Oh, I’ll be there, sir,” Silas said. “You can be sure of that.”

  After unloading the logs, Silas helped Mr. Ward secure one onto the log carriage, ready to be sawn into boards. Meanwhile, Ethan and Daniel brought the oxcart around to the lumberyard below the mill, where they would pick up the boards after the cutting was done. It was a good spot to watch all the workings of the mill, from the flume that rushed the water down to the turbines, to the network of shafts and gears and belts that moved the giant blade up and down. It was also far enough away from the pounding and clatter that he could talk to Daniel without Silas and Mr. Ward hearing. He nudged Daniel. “Silas and Joshua don’t like each other very much, do they?” he said.

  “Not when they’re both always making calf eyes at Clarissa Smead,” Daniel said. He watched the first boards come skidding down the long poles that acted as a slide, sending the lumber from the mill to the yard below.

  “She likes Silas better, though, doesn’t she?” Ethan asked.

  “Oh, she does, does she?” While Silas and Mr. Ward readied the next log up above, Daniel grabbed the first board and dragged it toward the cart. “And why is that?”

  Ethan fumbled with his answer. He liked Silas better. Why shouldn’t everybody else? “He’s older and bigger. And he’s not mean. And anyway, Mr. Smead asked Silas to tea, not Joshua.”

  Daniel coughed. “It ain’t Mr. Smead that Silas is mad for, is it, now? As for Clarissa, she’ll be liking whoever suits her mood today. And next week she’ll be liking the other one, or someone else entirely. Silas’d be smart to look closer to home and leave Clarissa Smead to Joshua Ward. If ever anybody was deserving each other, it’s them two.”

  “Oh,” Ethan said, although he didn’t understand what Daniel meant. He never understood anything to do with girls, or why the young men went all foolish over them. He was a little disappointed that Silas’s hostility toward Joshua was over something so trivial. “I thought maybe Silas didn’t like Joshua because he’s your friend.” He helped Daniel stack the boards together.

  Daniel laughed harshly. “Why ever would you be thinking Joshua was me friend?”

  “No, no,” Ethan said hastily. “I meant Silas. I mean . . . I mean I thought maybe Silas doesn’t like Joshua because Silas is your friend. He is, isn’t he?” Ethan had noticed that Silas never laughed at Mr. Pease’s Irish jokes. Daniel never drooped his head and hid his eyes in front of Silas, the way he did around Mr. and Mrs. Lyman. There was something about the way Daniel and Silas spoke—not exactly easy, but like they were equals, and that they knew things about each other that nobody else did.

  Daniel spat out another laugh. “Silas is Mr. Lyman’s son.”

  “But Silas likes you, doesn’t he?”

  “He’s a fair man. Can’t say he favors his da much. ’Cept for his face. Maybe it’s his ma he takes after.”

  Ethan laughed at the thought of blond, blue-eyed Silas taking after Mrs. Lyman with her dark hair, black eyes, and sharp, narrow face. “Even I can tell he doesn’t look anything like his mother.”

  Daniel thumbed his cap back and tilted his head. “And how would you know that? His ma died before you was ever born.”

  Ethan wondered how many more surprises Daniel and the Lymans had in store for him. “She died before—? But—Florella and Zeloda and Ruth and Aaron—” He felt as though he were babbling while he tried to figure out which child belonged to which Mrs. Lyman.

  “Herself’s ma to the girls and the baby, all right. But not to Silas.”

  The stack of boards had grown to half a dozen now. Daniel nodded for Ethan to grab one end and help him carry them to the oxcart.

  “I wonder what she was like. Silas’s mother, I mean.”

  “Don’t know. I never asked. I fancy she had yellow hair. Where else would Silas’a got it?”

  “D’you s’pose he ever misses her?”

  “Who?” Daniel asked, shoving the boards into place. “Silas or himself?”

  Ethan couldn’t imagine Mr. Lyman missing anybody. That would have been a weakness, a lack of discipline. But Silas . . . Ethan was about to say how sad it must have been for Silas to lose his mother, but he bit his tongue. Silas, at least, still had his pa and his home, his stepmother, a baby brother, and three little sisters. What did Daniel have?

  “There. That’s the last of it,” Silas said as Daniel shoved the final board into the oxcart. “Why don’t you boys head back while I settle up with Mr. Ward? I want to stop by Mr. Harris’s on the way home and see when he wants to hire the team for his plowing. The two of you can make a start unloading the wagon and getting to work. Paddy, you can show Ethan what to do.”

  Paddy. Silas always called Daniel Paddy. Ethan hadn’t thought about that when he’d wondered if the two might be friends.

  They’d barely gotten out of sight of the mill when the sound of laughter made Ethan’s shoulders stiffen.

  Peter and Solomon Ward played in the orchard next to the road, wrestling and tumbling among the apple trees. Peter glanced up and shouted, “Look, Sol, Mr. Lyman’s let his idiots loose!”

  Ethan’s fists tightened until his nails dug into his palms. Daniel nudged Ethan’s elbow. “You don’t hear nothing. You don’t see nothing.”

  Peter and Sol scrambled to the tree nearest the road and swung from its lower branches. “Sim-ple! Sim-ple!” the boys sang in chorus. “Ethan’s pa is sim-ple!”

  Ethan gathered himself to lunge after them.

  Daniel gripped Ethan’s elbow harder. “Mr. Ward oughtn’t to’a let his pigs to run loose,” he said without missing a step. “He oughtn’t to fatten ’em on cabbages, neither. Shameful, the way they’re squalling and breaking wind over there loud enough to scare away the customers, ain’t it?”

  “You’re the pig, Paddy Linnehan!” Peter shouted. “Wait ’til I get Joshua. He’ll thrash you for a coward and a liar and a thief and a—”

  “Aye,” Daniel called back. “He might, if he wasn’t too busy swooning over Clarissa Smead.”

  Ethan struggled to follow Daniel’s example and not turn his head to see whether the Ward boys followed. But the jeers faded until Ethan could hear nothing but the squeak of the cart’s wheels and the oxen’s plodding steps.

  Daniel cleared his throat and spat into the dirt. “Them two. If I had a tongue as sharp as theirs, I could mow an acre an hour, just by standing there talking at it.”

  Ethan grinned at the idea of acres of hay collapsing to the ground as the Ward boys shouted and teased and talked. “Why doesn’t Joshua like you?” he asked.

  Daniel lifted one shoulder. “It couldn’t be because the first time I met him, I punched him in the stomach, could it, now?” His mouth twisted.

  “You did?” Ethan grinned in surprise and admiration. “Why?”

  “He said if I was Irish, then me da must be a thief and me ma must be a—” Daniel shook his head, as if suddenly remembering Ethan’s age. “Anyways, I hit him where he was softest. And didn’t his face turn a lovely shade of green, too!” The twist in Daniel’s mouth curved upward.

  “What did he do then?”

  “He couldn’t do naught, when all the carrying on brung out the schoolmaster.” The twist reversed itself. “The master must’a switched me half the afternoon, trying to make me apologize.”

  “Did you?”

  Daniel shook his head. “No one made Joshua apologize to me, now, did they? Me da nearly strapped me, too, when I come home, ’til I told him why I done it. Then he said ’twas a sorry thing I didn’t hit the bas—” Daniel caught the word halfway out—“— the devil twice whilst I had the chance.�
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  Ethan nearly stumbled. It was the first time he’d heard Daniel mention that he’d ever had a home other than the Lymans’, that he ever had a father. “What’s he like? Your pa, I mean?”

  Daniel’s eyes started to fade into that blank look. “He was me da,” he said.

  Was, Daniel had said. Not is. Ethan’s curiosity about the fate of Daniel’s parents was so strong he could taste it. But Daniel’s face closed up like a shuttered window, and Ethan knew that the time for questions was over.

  “Well, that’s done with,” Daniel said, tossing his pitchfork into the cart. He squinted at the sun.

  “Do we have time for another load?” Ethan stared out at the mounds of manure they’d scattered across the field. Tomorrow they’d plow it, then the next day they’d plant it to mangel-wurzels, the big beets that Silas used to feed the cattle over the winter.

  Daniel shook his head. “Enough time to fetch it, but not enough time to spread it about before we got to get the cows in for the milking.” He stretched until his joints popped. He jerked his chin toward the road that led to the far pasture where the cattle had been grazing all day. “And since they’re already out here, I s’pose we got no choice but to stay with ’em until it’s time to be bringing ’em in, eh, lad?”

  Ethan studied Daniel carefully. Where normally he approached his chores with dour concentration, he’d seemed almost cheerful when Silas had sent them to the farthest corner of the farm to work, as if he liked nothing better than to spend the afternoon flinging manure about. At first Ethan had supposed that it was just being out of range of Mr. Pease’s teasing that pleased Daniel. But there was something else, something vaguely expectant about his posture and face.

  “So—um—what do we do until then?” Ethan asked, sure that there was some chore or other that needed doing. There always was.

  But Daniel wiped his hands on the seat of his trousers as if he were finished for the day. “Can you keep a secret, lad?” he asked.

  Ethan’s heart jumped. “A secret?” he repeated. “Of course I can. Better’n anyone.”

  Daniel glanced over one shoulder, then the other, although there was nobody but the oxen to see or hear them. He stooped so that he and Ethan were nose to nose, then he grabbed Ethan’s arm so hard that it hurt. “Come along, then. But if you tell anyone, I’ll thump you worse than Lyman, understand?”

  Ethan was disappointed to find that Daniel’s secret place was only the pasture where they’d turned out the livestock after the morning’s feeding and milking. Just a little bit south of the field where the boys had been working, the pasture was sheltered in a little hollow scooped out of the land so that it seemed like the world began and ended at its edges.

  As they neared the stone wall that bordered the field, Daniel’s legs stretched into long, eager strides. The lash twitched in his hand, as if he were impatient with the oxen’s slow pace. When they reached the wall, he flung off his frock and cap and tossed them to Ethan along with the lash. “Here. Mind these. And mind the team.”

  Ethan glanced at Mark and Luke. The oxen drooped their heads sleepily. “Where’re you going?”

  But Daniel had already vaulted over the wall and broken into a run. Ethan clambered up onto the wall to watch.

  He heard a wild shriek, like a scream and a whistle and a laugh all mixed up together. Then the sod thudded with clustered hoofbeats that vibrated through his perch on the wall.

  “Daniel, look out!” Ethan shouted in panic.

  Chapter Nine

  Ivy galloped wildly across the field, a fierce tilt to her head. She headed straight for Daniel. Ethan was sure she’d trample him. She’d gone mad, and she was going to kill Daniel sure as anything—Daniel, who brushed her and crooned secret love-words to her every morning.

  Daniel stood as still as a headstone, as trusting as a calf going to slaughter. It was all Ethan could do not to close his eyes.

  But the mare did stop, tearing up a shower of clods as she skidded to a halt. She threw herself up on her haunches and shrieked again. The placid mare Ethan knew was now a wild thing, pawing the air and snorting, shaking her mane and swishing her tail as if she were tossing off some outer skin. She dropped back to the ground, bouncing on her front hooves and kicking her back legs out behind her.

  Then, incredibly, Daniel and Ivy began to dance. The mare circled and swayed and capered around the boy while he feinted left, then right. She whirled to meet him, arching her body around him, then wheeling on her haunches. The pale, frowning mask Daniel usually wore turned soft and bright as a grin parted his lips and his cheeks reddened with exertion. His unruly hair flopped on his forehead, the sun making the dull orange strands glow like pale copper.

  It was a dangerous dance; one slip or stumble, and Daniel would be crushed beneath those sharp flashing hooves. But Daniel reveled in it, taking wild chances that made Ethan hold his breath.

  Ethan realized that the dance had a purpose. Ivy’s circles and arches herded Daniel in a meandering line toward the wall. Every now and again, the mare drew close enough to nudge Daniel’s chest with her nose or to prod at his pockets. Then Daniel would laugh and spring away, each time a little closer to the wall.

  At last Daniel’s back was against the wall. The mare swiveled before him, bobbing her head from side to side to keep the grinning boy cornered. He raised his hands in surrender and praised her in their secret language. Ivy arched her neck and pressed her forehead against Daniel’s chest, pinning him against the stones. Her nostrils quivered, and a happy rumble sounded in her throat.

  Daniel pulled a handful of carrots from his pocket. He laid a piece of one across his palm. With comical delicacy, the mare brushed her lips across his hand. The carrot disappeared. When three more pieces vanished in similar fashion, Ethan began to laugh.

  Daniel and the mare turned toward Ethan. “She’s grand, ain’t she?” he said as he rubbed Ivy’s cheek.

  Ethan nodded. “Aren’t you afraid she’ll step on you?”

  “Nah. She’d never do naught to me. Just a big baby, she is, ain’t you, lass?”

  The mare’s ears twitched. She prodded Daniel for another carrot.

  Ethan wondered how often Daniel stole carrots from the root cellar for Ivy, and whether Mrs. Lyman would notice her supply steadily dwindling. “What if Mr. Lyman catches you stealing?”

  Daniel tilted his head and pursed his lips. “We-l-l-l-l, whose horse is she?”

  “Mr. Lyman’s,” Ethan said, although he wasn’t sure Ivy would agree.

  “And whose carrots are these?” Another one disappeared between Ivy’s lips.

  “Mr. Lyman’s.”

  “So how can it be stealing when I’m feeding Lyman’s carrots to Lyman’s horse?” Daniel scratched the mare’s chin. She bobbed her head as if in agreement.

  Before Ethan could respond, Daniel grabbed the mare’s mane and leaped onto her back, the motion so swift and graceful that it looked as if the mare herself had swept him up. She spun on her hind legs and bolted across the field.

  Ethan had never seen anyone ride the way Daniel rode Ivy. She galloped recklessly, every now and again dipping her head and flinging up her heels. Daniel clung fast, sometimes bent low over her neck, sometimes riding straight and tall, his hands buried in her mane, his legs wrapped tightly around her body. He laughed as they ran: a harsh, joyful noise like the crows made when they feasted in the corn. As they leaped imaginary obstacles and ran circles around the cows, it seemed to Ethan that they were no longer Daniel and Ivy, but some new fantastic creature that was neither horse nor boy but both at once. Ethan half expected this new creature to sprout wings and fly.

  At first, it felt wonderful to watch, but after a while sitting on the wagon and watching weren’t enough. He wanted Ivy to dance for him, too.

  Daniel finally steered the mare back to the wall. Her flanks and withers shone with sweat. He slid from her back and thumped her shoulder fondly. Finger-combing his sweaty hair away from his eyes, he settled his ca
p in place. “We have to walk for a bit now,” he said. “To cool her off. She won’t mind if you come. The boys’ll stay put, I fancy.”

  Indeed, except for occasionally rolling their cud around on their tongues, Mark and Luke seemed to be napping. Ethan jumped down and joined Daniel. The mare plodded behind, the old Ivy again, with no trace of the wild mare who’d danced around the field a few moments ago. Ethan rubbed his eyes, wondering if he’d dozed in the sun and dreamed it all. But Daniel’s shirt had wet patches under the arms and along the back where his braces crossed, and the mare’s long winter hair curled with sweat. She huffed and shook the damp mane from her neck.

  “Who taught you to ride like that?” Ethan asked.

  “She did.” Daniel cocked his head toward the mare.

  “But how?”

  Daniel shrugged, as if it had been so long ago that he could hardly remember. “I just kept getting on until I stopped falling off, that’s all.”

  Ethan looked up. The mare’s back seemed impossibly high. He imagined falling onto the hard ground from that height over and over. Then he imagined flying across the fields, the wind tearing at his hair and his face, and the falling didn’t seem such a high price to pay. “Can you teach me?”

  In a moment, the Irish boy became the old Daniel again, who looked at the world with a sullen frown. His hand went up to the mare’s neck, and he placed himself solidly between Ivy and Ethan. “I can’t. You’ll fall and you’ll run to Lyman, crying about what I done to you.”

  “I wouldn’t. Didn’t I say I wouldn’t tell?”

  Daniel’s face struggled for a long time. For a moment, Ethan thought he would relent. Then his mouth hardened. “Aye,” he said. “And you said you wouldn’t call me Paddy, neither.”

  The late-afternoon chores passed in awkward silences as Ethan wondered how to recapture Daniel’s trust. Now and again, Daniel would seem ready to say something, but instead he would tighten his mouth into a firm line and turn away.