The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(9)
“But, I know how! I seen a book on birthing calves.”
“Book or no book, you leave your papa alone!”
For a few minutes it seemed as if Abigail had settled down and forgotten the notion of birthing a calf but as soon as Livonia’s back was turned, the girl slipped out the screen door and made her way down to the barn. “I come to help you, Papa,” she said. William had both arms up inside the cow trying to turn the breech calf and didn’t so much as nod. “Papa,” Abigail repeated, “didn’t you hear? I come to help. I know about birthing.” She moved toward the stall.
“Get out of here, girl. Get back to the house.”
“No. I come to help. I’m not scared of the cow. See.” She stepped closer.
“You get your skinny little ass out of here, Abigail Anne; else you’ll get the switching of your life.”
Abigail didn’t back off, just stood her ground and stayed right where she was. “I can help as much as Will,” she said.
William didn’t even answer; he just kept pushing at the guts of that poor cow. A short time later he pulled a dead calf free of the bawling mother then he turned to Abigail Anne and whacked her across the face—full force with the back of his hand. “No snip of a girl’s gonna sass me!” he roared. “Now, get outta here and stay outta here!”
His hand had come down so hard that Abigail Anne went sprawling clean across the barn and already had three red welts rising up on her right cheek. “I hate you, Papa!” she screamed, then turned and ran from the barn fast as those little legs could carry her.
Much as it might be something she’d never admit, Abigail Anne could be every bit as willful as her father. Halfway back to the house she spotted Malvania in the pen and, defiant as a headstrong bull, she scooted under the gate and climbed up on the gelding’s back. For a few moments the horse pawed the dirt like he was going to buck but he didn’t, just huffed and snorted. Three times the animal circled the pen, balking at first for he had never been ridden bareback. “Go, Malvania, go!” Abigail urged; her legs clasped tight to his belly. The gelding suddenly took off at a run, jumped the fence and disappeared down the road with her still shouting “Giddyap, Malvania, giddyap, giddyap!”
By that time both Livonia and Will were out of the house and moving toward the pen. “Not Malvania!” Will screamed when the horse jumped the fence; then he took off running down the road behind the trail of rising dust. “Hang on, Abigail!” he called out, “hang on!” Of course there was no way he could keep pace with the gelding and before Livonia caught up to him, the boy had fallen in the road. “It’s Papa’s fault!” he screamed, “I know it’s Papa’s fault! He’s never happy ‘less he’s beating up on Abigail! I hate him! I wish he’d never been born!”
Livonia lifted the boy from the dirt and brushed back his hair. “Will, don’t say things like that about your Papa,” she told him. “He’s a hard man to understand at times, because he’s set in his ways, but he loves you—you and Abigail both. For a man like your Papa, a man who’s used to hard times and hard living, it’s not easy to show you the love that’s in his heart.”
“Papa don’t love nobody but this farm!” the boy answered angrily.
“Hush such talk. Why, there isn’t a thing in the world your papa loves more than you children.” Livonia took the hem of her dress and dabbed at a bloody scrape on Will’s chin. “Now stop this foolishness and let’s get on home. Abigail Anne will be back when she’s cooled down a bit.” As they walked along the road a festering seed settled into Livonia’s heart, it was the grain of truth planted there by the boy’s words—Papa don’t love nobody but this farm.
Will kept glancing back across his shoulder, looking down the road for Abigail. “Suppose she rides off and never comes back?” he said. “Suppose she gets hurt?”
“Abigail’s a bit high-spirited but she’ll be back.” Livonia put her arm around the boy’s shoulders and smiled, remembering Ruby’s gift which was still beneath Abigail’s pillow. “Don’t you worry,” she said, “your sister will be just fine.”
Livonia spent the afternoon trying to stay busy and keep her mind from thinking the unthinkable. Twice she walked into the bedroom and checked that the leather sack was still beneath Abigail Anne’s pillow. In the heat of the afternoon she baked bread and cooked a pot of soup for their supper. She boiled the carcass of a chicken until the bones fell apart, then added in onions, potatoes and cabbage. Cabbage was the one thing that had grown plentiful on the Lannigan farm that summer so they ate cabbage soup, cabbage stew, cold cabbage, hot cabbage and at times, even cabbage pancakes. When the children complained, Livonia told them stories of other families less fortunate—hungry families who had to leave their farms and try to eke out a living in the crowded cities such as Richmond or Alexandria.
“I’d be happy if we lived in the city,” Will often said; but Abigail would furrow her brow and get this far away look in her eyes—it was enough to make anyone think she could see what lay in store for those who left the Shenandoah Valley.
For hours Livonia watched and waited then when the blistering sun crossed the mountain she started to pray. Still there was no trace of Abigail. After the table had been set for supper, she went to the barn. “What happened between you and Abigail Anne?” she asked her husband.