Under This Unbroken Sky by Shandi Mitchell Read Free Book Online

trough and snorts softly. It’s thinner than Teodor remembers.
    Teodor dips his hand in the feedbag and comes up with a meager offering of poor-quality oats, husk, and dust. The horse nuzzles his hand, its soft nose brushes his palm as it hungrily chomps at the food. Teodor runs his other hand down its neck. The horse is old, but it’s strong. Its legs are straight, its chest wide. Teodor takes hold of its fetlock and squeezes softly. The horse lifts its leg. The hoof is neatly clipped and clean. The shoe is in good shape. Teodor pats the horse on the haunches. “Eat up, old boy, we have work to do.” The horse flicks its tail, reveling in the extra breakfast ration.
    The iron plow weighs almost a hundred pounds. Ordinarily, Teodor would grasp the plow under the handles and cradle the support beams that connected the blade, then hoist it up onto the cart. But today, when he tries to lift it in place, he can barely raise it from the ground. He heaves, leans backward, his legs and back straining, and staggers closer to the cart. He manages to hook the front end of the plow. Still supporting its weight on his chest, he inches back to the handles. His arms tremble as he struggles to push it upward and forward. It scrapes ahead a few inches, precariously hooked on the edge of the wagon. It shifts backward.
    Teodor struggles to keep his knees from buckling as his arms drop from the weight. He twists his body under the crossbeams and uses his back as a fulcrum. His new boots slide in the straw and dirt as he labors to push it up and in. Sweat beads on his forehead. Wet splotches appear on his clean shirt. His muscles scream. The wooden struts dig into his hands. Another foot to go. He gasps for air, unable to move forward, unable to retreat.
    Myron buttons up his coat on the way to the barn. His untied shoelaces trail after him in the mud. A few minutes ago, he got upto stoke the fire and saw that his father was already gone and that he had missed the dawn. A farmer always gets up at dawn. He refused Maria’s admonishments to eat as he rushed out the door. He is combing his hair with his fingers as he enters the barn. He stops short at the sight of his father.
    Teodor strains with his entire body; his face racked with pain, he heaves the plow the final few inches onto the cart. His hand pinned under the handle, it scrapes along the wooden slats. He yanks it back and the knuckles are already bleeding. His legs shake as he leans heavily on the side of the box.
    Myron steps away from the door and tucks in against the wall. He waits a few moments, uncertain what to do, then quietly retraces his steps back ten feet. He counts another ten and then coughs, loudly, before slowly walking to the barn door. Teodor stands tall and straight, his injured hand hidden in his pocket. Myron lowers his head and stares at his father’s boots, the toes now scuffed, bits of straw stick out from the heel caked in horse shit. “I slept in.”
    “You won’t again.” Teodor ignores his throbbing hand. “Harness up the horse, I’ll get the pickax and shovel.” Teodor walks to the tack room with slow, measured steps. When he is out of sight of his son, he leans against the wall and fights down the waves of nausea.
    Myron slips the wooden collar around the horse’s neck. He checks the fit, making sure there will be no chafing. He retrieves the harness from the wall, taking the sixty-pound weight easily onto his shoulder. The horse doesn’t shy as the harness slides over his rump onto his back and shoulders. Myron checks and rechecks every strap and buckle. Then he gently inserts the iron bit into the horse’s mouth and lifts the bridle over its ears. “Good boy,” he whispers as he fastens the last straps.
    “You can back him up.” Teodor enters as if he hasn’t beenwatching his son’s adeptness. “I’ll lift the shafts.” He heads for the cart, hoping his body won’t betray him. Myron intercepts him and easily hoists up the long wooden