A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly Read Free Book Online

them.
    "Move your fat ass, you jackass," Lou swore, tugging on his bridle.
    But Pleasant would not be budged. He stood firm, dipping his head occasionally to try and bite Lou.
    "Go, Pleasant. Please, Pleasant," I begged.
    It was dry and remarkably warm for the start of April, and I was tired and dirty and dripping with sweat. The muscles in my arms ached and my hands were raw from guiding the plow and I was just as mad as a hornet. Pa had kept me home from school again, and I'd wanted to go so badly. I was waiting on a letter, one that was going to come care of Miss Wilcox if it came at all, and it was all I could think about. I told him I had to go. I said my exams were coming up. I said I needed to study my algebra. I told him Miss Wilcox was making us read
Paradise Lost and
that it was hard going and that I would fall behind if I missed a day. Didn't make a bit of difference. He'd been reading the signs—no fog in February, no thunder in March, a south wind on Good Friday—and was convinced the mild weather would hold.
    Most people planted corn around Decoration Day, at the end of May, but Pa wanted to plant midmonth, at the latest, and he wanted to start working the soil early, too. There are only about a hundred frost-free days in the North Woods, and corn takes time to ripen. Pa was trying to build our dairy herd. He wanted to keep the calves if he could, rather than sell them, but we couldn't keep them if we couldn't feed them and we couldn't feed them unless we grew enough corn. I was to have two acres turned over that day, and I'd only gotten a third of the way through before Pleasant decided it was quitting time. If I didn't finish, Pa would want to know why. Plowing was Lawton's job, but Lawton wasn't around to do it. Pa would've done it if he could, but he was with Daisy, who was calving. So it fell to me.
    I bent down and picked up a stone. I was just winding up to throw it at Pleasant's behind when I heard a voice behind me say, "Peg him with that and you'll scare him. He's like to run. Take himself, that plow, and you across the field and through the fence."
    I turned around. A tall blond boy was standing at the edge of the field, watching me. He was taller than I remembered. Broad-shouldered. And handsome. Handsomest one out of all the Loomis boys. He had the rim of a wagon wheel resting on his shoulder. His arm poked through the spokes.
    "Hey, Royal," I said, trying to keep my eyes from roosting on any one part of him for too long. Not his wheat-colored hair, or his eyes that Minnie said were hazel but that I thought were the exact color of buckwheat honey, or the small freckle just above his lip.
    "Hey."
    The Loomis farm bordered ours. It was much bigger. Ninety acres. They had more bog than we did, but Mr. Loomis and his boys had managed to clear forty acres. Wed only got about twenty-five cleared. The best land, where we pulled stumps and rocks, we used for crops. Hay and corn for our animals, plus potatoes—some to keep and some to sell. Places where the stumps were still charred and rotting, or where it was rocky or boggy, Pa used to pasture the cows. The worst patches were planted with buckwheat, as it is not particular and will grow most anywhere. Pa had hoped to clear another five acres over the summer. But he couldn't without Lawton.
    Royal looked from me to Pleasant and back again. He let the wagon wheel slide to the ground. "Let me have him," he said, taking the reins. "Giddyap, you!" he shouted, snapping them smartly against Pleasant's rump. Much harder than I had. Pleasant budged. Boy, did he. Tommy, Beth, and Lou cheered, and I felt as dumb as a bag of hammers.
    Royal was the second-eldest boy in his family. There were two younger ones. Daniel, the eldest, had just gotten engaged to Belinda Becker from the Farm and Feed Beckers in Old Forge.
Belinda
is a pretty name. It feels like meringue in your mouth or a curl of sugar on snow. Not like Matt.
Matt
is the sound of knots in a dog's coat or