The Bride's Farewell by Meg Rosoff Read Free Book Online Page B

whether she could trust him or not.

Thirteen

    D ay three saw walleyed horses stood up against walls, and lame ones brushed and polished and posing stock-still. Bootblack found new uses on lopsided or unlucky markings, and if someone had a horse with two short legs on one side you’d sure as sure find him standing square on the side of a hill. The obvious beasts had been sold; what remained was the dust thrown up by a thousand men and horses, enough to obscure any truth that lingered in the place. Day three was for sharp-witted sellers and sharp-eyed buyers, and there wasn’t a man in the place didn’t fancy himself one or the other.
    Esther had done whatever business she had come to do, taken the money, and disappeared. The children scattered through the fair, seeking food and entertainment. Pell’s father had long gone, encouraged on his way by an unpaid hostler. Meanwhile, Pell searched the crowd for Harris, and just when she began to think he must have changed his mind, he appeared.
    “Let’s go” was all he said by way of a greeting, and off they set—Harris, followed by Pell with Bean last, trotting to keep up. Harris led them first to a handsome bay with a look in its eye that made Pell shrink. When she shook her head, Harris muttered to himself in a low voice, “But does she know what she’s about, eh?”
    After looking at another two or three he favored, Pell said simply, “I’ll do the choosing from now on.”
    It was an impossible arena in which to make decisions, and though she had no trouble picking a clean sane horse out of a herd scattered through a forest, she felt the strain of doing the same here. The place held so many people playing at smoke and mirrors and so many sizes and types of misfit men and animals, that she could easily begin to doubt the evidence of her own eyes. But thinking of the money, she squinted and watched, and eventually found a pretty little blue roan mare, delicately built and well put-together, and she knew immediately from the look of her that to ride her would be a pleasure and besides she was clean and healthy and had only not been bought because of her color.
    “That one,” she said, and the man who owned her said, “The lady’s got taste, sir.” Which is what they all said when you wanted to see one of their horses. He trotted her up and down and, sure enough, she was a pretty mover with a temper to match. Harris bargained hard with the owner and got her for a good price. They led her away and she walked at Pell’s side sweet and light as a doe.
    It was nearly an hour before she saw another animal worth taking seriously, a piebald Gypsy half-shire this time, broad and well-muscled with a nice willing manner and a kind eye. Except for people like Mr. Bewes, who bought horses solely on the basis of work worth, the fashion wasn’t much for a colored pony, especially one that looked to have been painted by a drunk. But a well-shaped head, sound legs, and a certain honesty attracted her. When Harris shook his head no, she ran her hand briefly down the horse’s neck and left a little sadly.
    The next one she chose was a bony five-year-old gelding with a good deal of thoroughbred in him and a jagged blaze down his nose. He tossed his head and kicked out, and the man who owned him seemed relieved to see him off for little more than he’d have got at the slaughterhouse. But bad treatment and not enough food can make any animal look ruined, and this one, Pell knew, had the makings of something better. When she felt his legs and stroked his face he quietened right down, and she could tell from the length of his neck and the depth of his chest that once he was fed and treated well he’d be worth five times what they’d paid.
    Two horses.
    They made an offer on a black mare, but the owner turned them down, wanting a higher price. A rangy gray paced nervously on a short tether; he was bony and high at the withers, too big around the barrel, and stained green from living