Beginning Again by Mary Beacock Fryer Read Free Book Online Page A

thread the length of the loom and was working a shuttle wound with wool.
    â€œI don't know how you stand the confusion,” I complained.
    She raised her head in wonderment. “I don't even hear it,” she said and resumed passing the shuttle back and forth.
    â€œIsn't Mama a bit short-tempered?” I asked Elizabeth then. “She's usually more patient with Sarah.”
    â€œTrue,” my sister replied. “There's a reason. It's the way she's feeling. Can't you guess why?”
    â€œShe did want to talk with Dr. Jones,” I recalled, a light dawning. “Another baby?”
    â€œYes,” she said. “In July, Dr. Jones thinks.”
    â€œFor your sake I hope it's a girl,” said I.
    â€œI don't know,” she murmured. “She might turn out like Sarah.”
    How glad I was when I felt able to escape to the shop. We had orders for nails, a very popular item with the customers. My shoulders were growing broad, and I liked flexing my muscles, bashing the hot iron with a hammer. For a while each day the foot did not feel too bad as I worked. When it began to throb I would give up and return to my mattress. One night Mama examined the wound and pronounced it much better. Again she called for her sewing basket and I began to quail.
    â€œThis won't hurt nearly as much as putting them in,” she said.
    Actually it did not, though feeling the linen threads being pulled out was wierd. Now I was counting the days before I could leave for our land. Mama did not want me to go alone, and I must wait until Papa, Cade or Sam came to travel back with me.
    In the end I stayed until well into the summer for so many other things had to be done before we could resume work for the raft. We would be planting crops amongst the stumps on our land, but again we enlarged the garden at Coleman's Corners. We needed every bit of ground we could clear if we hoped to feed all our animals through the next winter.
    We had had barely enough for them through the past one. Our filly was very thin for we had given more grain to the mare because she was carring a foal. Our chickens and ducks were both pairs, and would soon nest. We added two kittens to our livestock, to deal with mice in the stable and to make sure none took up residence in the cabin. Smith made valiant efforts to help me, but he was still only seven and a light weight. We also had an order for some andirons, which kept me busy for days. I had never made any on my own before, and I was pleased at how well they turned out.
    By mid-April our mare's time was drawing close, and I looked in on her the last thing before I turned in each night. I prayed that Papa, or even Sam who knew more about horses than I, would come home. I was out of luck. One night I could tell that things were happening, and I began my vigil by the mare, who had lain down, her sides heaving. Elizabeth came bringing blankets and hot tea, and settled herself to wait with me.
    â€œShe had an easy time last spring with the filly,” Elizabeth said. “Let's pray she does as well this year.”
    Later, when the mare seemed in distress, I sent Elizabeth for Mr. Coleman in the hope that he would know what to do. Then, to my great relief the mare seemed to be managing on her own. She groaned and I saw two tiny hooves, then a nose, and without much more ado the entire foal slipped out, its head encased in a slimy film. The mare staggered to her feet and at once began licking the film to remove it. I found I had only to watch, for she was doing everything she should. By the time Elizabeth and Mr. Coleman came into the stable, the foal was standing on waving legs like long sticks, the mare still licking its coat to clean it.
    â€œA colt,” Mr. Coleman said. “This is good news. A future breeding stallion. And standing so soon! He's a strong one.”
    â€œIt is a colt!” I exclaimed. I had been so absorbed watching the mare care for him that I had not thought