“Moo your ownself, Myrtle.” She poked her hand between the slats and stroked a ragged ear. Myrtle went back to her cud and musings.

The girl rolled onto her back and scooped handfuls of straw over her for warmth, piling it up until there was nothing of her showing but her face and straw-colored hair. The shed smelled of Myrtle and leather and apples. She ran her hands up her bodice until they rested over her small breasts. Then, with a shiver, she snatched them away and covered her face. She peeked at Myrtle, but the cow was chewing contentedly and hadn’t been watching. Digging in the pocket of her housedress, the girl drew out of stub of charcoal wrapped carefully in brown paper. With sure, light strokes she sketched the cow’s profile on the time-bleached wood of the stall. A few lines, and the soft curve of Myrtle’s jaw and liquid eye emerged.

The shed door slammed open and shut. The girl ducked and lay still, hidden in the straw.

“Damn him to hell! Goddamn him!”

An ox yoke smashed into the wall above her head and fell into the straw.

“David?” She sat up quickly before he could lay his hands on anything else. Startled, he yelped.

“Sarah, you could scare a body to death, creeping around the way you do!”

“I wasn’t creeping. I was hiding from you and Pa’s bellowing.”

David, scarcely twenty, stood six foot two, a wild red beard and a slightly receding hairline belying his age. “Damn!” he exploded again, slamming the flat of his hand against the beam that ran the length of the roof. The shed shook and Sarah shrank down into the hay. He spat then and wiped his mouth on his upraised arm. “I’m getting out.”

“David?”

He looked over at his sister, half-buried in the straw, watching him from round, frightened eyes. The muscles of his jaw relaxed and he dropped his hand from the beam. “What, Sare?” he asked gently.

“Pa whup you, Davie?”

David laughed shortly. “I’ve been bigger than Pa since I was sixteen.” He looked past her, his eyes darkening. “I’d like to see him try.”