Free Skylark by Patricia MacLachlan Page B

Papa smiled, too. We all hated to go outside into the sun again.
    Maggie and Sarah walked to the wagons, shading their eyes against the sun.
    “Any news?” asked Maggie.
    “Seal is having babies,” said Caleb. “Lots of babies!”
    Maggie laughed.
    “That’s big news. Come to think of it, I’ve seen Seal at our house,” said Maggie. “With Sam. The orange cat.”
    Sarah smiled.
    “So it’s Sam, is it?”
    Sarah and Maggie laughed together. Then Sarah reached over and took Tom in her arms. She kissed the top of his head.
    “I am surrounded by motherhood,” she said softly.
    I looked up at the way her voice sounded, sad and thoughtful. “A calf due soon,” she added. “Then kittens.”
    Papa and Matthew came over, Papa’s face serious.
    “What is it?” asked Sarah. “What’s the matter?”
    “The church well is down. A whole foot,” said Matthew.
    “A foot!” exclaimed Maggie. “That’s even more than ours.”
    Papa looked up at the sky.
    “What if it doesn’t rain?” asked Caleb.
    I brushed his arm with my hand as if I were trying to brush away his words.
    “It will rain, Caleb,” I said.
    Tom held out his arms to Papa, and Papa lifted him up, smiling.
    “Are those clouds, Tom?” he said. “In the west? Maybe it will rain. Maybe.”
    “Yes,” said Maggie, trying to be cheerful. “It will rain.” Her face looked serious suddenly.
    “It will rain,” she repeated. “It’s just the time before it rains that is hard. It always is.”
    We rode home followed by clouds of dust tossed up by our wagon. The sky was blue. Heat waves rose off the land. As much as Papa wished for it, there were no clouds in the sky.
     
    “Anna. Anna!”
    I opened my eyes and morning sun poured across my quilt. Caleb was there, half dressed.
    “What?”
    “The calf is born. Hurry!”
    Caleb pulled back my covers and I jumped up. We ran downstairs.
    “Why didn’t you wake us up?” I asked, excited. “When was he born?”
    “She,” said Papa. He sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. “Eat your breakfast first.”
    Papa drank coffee and Sarah put bowls on the table. Caleb tried to run out the door, but Papa reached out and grabbed him.
    “Eat,” said Papa firmly.
    “Hurry, Caleb! Eat faster,” I said.
    “I’m eating as fast as I can,” said Caleb. “Is Mame excited? Does she like her baby?” he asked Papa.
    Papa grinned at Sarah.
    “An excited cow? I’m not sure I noticed. What do you think, Sarah?”
    “I think she likes her calf,” said Sarah, smiling back at Papa.
    “What does she look like?” I asked.
    “Small, brown,” said Papa. “She has some white on her face.”
    Sarah looked at me over her cup.
    “Your Papa says her face is as pale as the winter moon,” she said. “And to think that you said that sometimes he is not good with words.”
    I smiled at Sarah.
    “Moonbeam,” said Caleb. “We could call her Moonbeam.”
    Papa laughed at the name.
    “Finished,” Caleb said, his spoon clattering in the empty bowl.
    “Finished,” I said.
    And we ran out the door to the barn, where in the shadows Mame looked up at us, her eyes steady. After a moment Mame leaned over to lick the calf that lay in the hay.
    “Sarah’s right,” whispered Caleb. “Mame likes her calf.”
    Papa was right, too. Her face was as pale as the winter moon.

     
     
     
     
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    Sometimes Sarah dances, and she makes Papa dance, too, his face shy, his smile like Caleb’s smile.
    Sometimes, when Papa worries about the farm or the weather, Sarah takes his hand and pulls him outside.
    “Come, Jacob, come walk with me,” she says.
    And he does.
    They walk the fields and the country road, Lottie and Nick following them. Once they chased each other through the rows of corn and we could hear the sounds of their laughter.
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4
    P apa came back from town with letters from Maine. Letters for all of us from Sarah’s aunts: Harriet and Mattie and Lou. It was evening, the oil lamp bright in the kitchen.