Free Blue Willow by Deborah Smith

watched everything with merry distraction. Pale and thin, he was always suffering from an allergy or with his asthma. But he had an elfin smile and a vivid imagination that made them all laugh. Already he had a way with words. Grandmother Colebrook’s oft-repeated phrase, Noblesse oblige , became No less, oh, please when Michael said it. He might not know the meaning, Mother said with one of her elegant snorts, but he had the right idea.
    Julia kicked an unceasing tattoo on her chair legs and rocked from side to side as she ate. The nannies said they’d never seen a four-year-old with more nervous energy. Julia’s favorite pastime was running in small circlesuntil she careened into the nearest piece of furniture and fell down.
    “A deer,” Mrs. Schulhorn squealed, leaping up and going to the stone balustrade along the terrace. “Come look! It’s grazing on the far end of the lawn!”
    “We haven’t seen a deer in months,” Mr. Schulhorn added.
    “Bring me a gun,” Father yelled to the butler.
    Everyone hurried to the balustrade. Artemas led Michael and Elizabeth by the hands. His mouth tasted brassy with anxiety. He knew Father’s bloodlust. Father had taken him hunting and fishing many times. When he was younger, he’d wanted to please Father and had been in awe of his big, brawny, fearless attack on life—and on living things.
    Now, watching Father yell for the butler, Artemas recoiled. Father’s face looked fleshy and evil in the setting sun. Though his forearms, showing under the rolled-up sleeves of a safari shirt, were hard and sinewy, a fleshy paunch hung over his belt. He caught Artemas looking at him, and sarcasm flashed across his expression. “Come here, Art. See if you can kill it cleanly from this distance.”
    Julia began butting her head against the balustrade. Elizabeth whimpered and hugged her doll. Michael chirped worriedly, “I like the deer, Daddy. Don’t hurt it.” James stuck his fists in his shorts pockets and glowered at the floor. Cassandra headed for a plate of cookies on the buffet. “Don’t you dare, you fat little toad,” Mother ordered, rolling her eyes. Cassandra slunk back to Artemas’s side.
    The butler arrived with a powerful rifle cradled in his hands. “Give it to my boy,” Father told him.
    Artemas shook his head. “Why kill the deer? It’s not worth anything as a trophy, and we’re not going to eat it.”
    “Don’t question me. Get over here.”
    Artemas linked Michael’s and Elizabeth’s hands to Julia’s. “Stay together, you three. Go inside with James and Cass.”
    “No, no,” Mother countered, pulling the younger onesclose and ruffling their hair. “It won’t harm them to watch. The huntmaster gave me bloody foxtails to play with when I was no older than they.”
    Artemas took the rifle and stood beside his father. The deer, a small doe, grazed at the edge of the lawn, a hundred yards away. He aimed at a spot in the grass behind it and fired. “Goddamn!” Father yelled, as the doe sprang toward the woods. He snatched the rifle from Artemas and threw it against his shoulder, then pounded out several quick shots. Blood exploded from several places on the doe’s side, and she fell. But she struggled to her feet again and staggered into the woods before Father could finish her.
    “ Artie , how could you?” Mother snapped. “What poor sportsmanship.”
    Artemas shrugged, so angry he couldn’t speak without risking a fight. Father’s temper was nasty and could result in a hard slap with little provocation. Father was cursing now, as he shoved the rifle back at the butler. The Schulhorns were laughing. “It’s only a deer, Creighton,” Mrs. Schulhorn said. “Who cares if your kid’s got a soft streak?”
    “He’s going to be queer, if I’m not careful,” Father answered.
    “Oh, he won’t be a fag,” she assured everyone. “He’s his father’s son, no doubt about it.”
    Artemas clenched his fists. “We can’t just let the doe