Part 7
The mule stopped at the trailer ramp and planted all four feet. Noah started toward him, but Wade caught the back of the boy’s jacket.
“Give him room.”
Lark had come to the near rail. She stood quietly while the new animals looked around, then lowered her head to the hay Wade had put out. One of the horses followed her example. After a long moment, the mule took another step.
There was more work than Wade had expected and exactly as much as he needed.
He and Noah hauled water, cleaned stalls, and sorted worn equipment into piles of what could be repaired and what needed throwing out. Noah learned which buckles pinched and how to put a halter down without dropping it beside a nervous horse’s feet.
Lark stayed close to the newcomers. When one trembled at Wade’s approach, she stood at the next rail, chewing. A frightened gelding that wouldn’t cross the yard finally followed her to the trough.
Birds built under the eaves. Mud replaced the packed snow around the gate. Wade left his coat hanging on the porch for an entire afternoon before he realized he hadn’t needed it.
Noah caught him humming over a broken harness.
“What’s that song?”
Wade paused with the leather across his knee.
“One Mara used to sing.”
“Did she sing it for you?”
“Sometimes. Usually when she wanted me out of the kitchen.”
Noah laughed and asked him to start it again.
They planted wildflowers along the fence. Noah said the horses would like the colors. Wade didn’t know about that, but the boy had chosen the spot carefully, and there was seed to spare. They knelt in the damp ground together, pressing the soil with their palms.
On warmer evenings, Wade sat on the porch after chores. He could hear the animals moving in their stalls, Noah reading aloud in the barn, and the first insects starting up beyond the paddock.
A soft rain came one night. Noah ran onto the porch without shoes and held his arms out beyond the roof. Water soaked his sleeves, and he laughed when a cold runnel slipped down his back.
Lark stood just beyond the fence with rain darkening her mane.
“Come in before you freeze,” Wade called.
“In a minute.”
Wade gave him the minute.
After the shower passed, Wade took the painted board from the sawhorses. He used his pocketknife to deepen the smaller letters where the paint alone hadn’t satisfied him. Noah watched from the doorway, wrapped in a towel.
The next morning, the boy held one end while Wade fixed the sign beside the gate.
“Straight?” Wade asked.
Noah squinted. “Almost.”
Wade shifted it.
“Now.”
He drove the final nail, and Noah stepped back to read the words aloud.
The grass was high enough to brush Wade’s boots when Lark foaled. It happened before dawn, after a night in which she had paced her stall and refused her feed. Wade had been expecting it for weeks, though seeing the little gray filly lift her head still made him sit back on his heels.
Noah arrived carrying a towel nearly as large as himself.
“Is she all right?”
“Watch.”
The filly gathered her long legs, lurched upward, and sat down again. Lark turned at once, nosing her with firm, impatient care.
Noah covered his mouth to keep from laughing too loudly.
When the filly finally stood, he whispered, “Hope.”
Wade glanced at him.
“That’s her name.” Noah kept his eyes on the foal. “I’ve got some now.”
Wade took the towel from him and folded it over the stall rail.
Visitors began coming up the drive. A stockman from Delsin brought feed. A teacher from Orell stopped after school. A woman who had lost her farm arrived with a blind pony and stood beside the trailer for several minutes before she could speak.
Wade gave her water and let her take her time.
Some visitors worked. Some leaned on a rail and watched the horses. Noah showed them where the flowers were coming up and explained that Hope needed room to run, even if she looked small.
One evening, Denise arrived with two cups of coffee. Wade was at the fence watching Noah hold out an empty hand for the filly to investigate. Hope mouthed his fingers, and the boy bent double with laughter.
Denise passed Wade a cup.
“I’d forgotten how many sounds this place could make,” she said.
“Me too.”
Lark grazed nearby, lifting her head whenever Hope strayed too far. Wade watched her limp ease into an almost even walk.
Denise studied him over the rim of her cup.
“You look better.”
“Been sleeping.”
“That’ll do it.”
He smiled, and she looked back toward the boy without making anything more of it.
Lantern light filled the cabin windows after dark. The new sign moved a little on its fastenings whenever the breeze came up. Noah had left muddy bootprints across the porch, and Wade stepped around them on his way to make the last barn check.
By early summer, people were coming on weekends to help. Retired ranchers arrived with fencing pliers in their pockets. High school kids learned to clean water troughs. Women who had once trained show horses came in work boots and stayed after the chores were finished.
Wade stopped waking with his hand reaching for the rifle. Most mornings, the first thing he heard was Noah at the table sounding out a difficult word before taking his book outside to read to Lark.
Hope grew fast. She ran whenever she could, lifting her little tail and making sudden turns that left Noah behind. He chased until he was breathless, then stood with his hands on his knees while she circled back to nose his jacket.
Lark watched from a few yards away.
One evening, Denise drove up with a box of tools on the passenger seat. Wade met her at the porch, wiping his hands on a rag.
“You fixing something or breaking it?” he asked.
“That depends how much advice you give me.”
She set the box down but didn’t open it.
“What is it?” Wade asked.
“Voss.”
His hands stopped moving.
Denise leaned against the porch rail. “He died in a car wreck outside Vintall. There won’t be charges or a trial…”
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