go into the barn,” he said again. He seemed near tears. I searched for a response, when suddenly I realized the problem. “Is that what your Auntie told you, after your sister fell asleep?”
He gave a tight nod. “Don’t go into the barn. That’s what she said.”
“But this is a different barn, son. This is where my horse lives. There’s nothing scary in here. Won’t you come have a look? We’ll go in together.” I rose to my feet and extended my hand and the boy took it. Hesitantly, he followed me across the threshold.
On the left of the Globe’s stable, there was a row of open stalls, each with a shiny tying-up ring, for the working horses—stage and hire and post horses—enjoying a short respite between tasks. On the right, there was a loose room for the dozen or so horses who boarded there, including Hickory. In between, there was a feed table and a large round haystack, reaching well above my head, the lads used for changing the bedding.
I grabbed a fistful of carrots from the feed table and handed them to Jesse. Hickory came trotting over when she saw me, snorting and prancing, and I opened the gate to the loose room a crack to let Jesse in. I was about to admonish him to watch out for flying hooves, but from the lithe way he moved around the pen it was clear he had spent time in stables before. He reached up and stroked Hickory’s muzzle and let her nibble on the carrots. It was nice to see something holding the wretched boy’s attention.
“Joshua!?”
I swung around. There was a young woman standing behind me in the doorway to the entrance yard, her hands on her hips, her face burst in a wild grin.
“It is you, Joshua!” My sister Martha gave a high-pitched squeal as she ran forward and flung her arms around my neck. She giggled into my ear, and at once I was transported back to Farmington and the hours we had spent rolling down the lawns together in gay laughter.
Only, the woman who embraced me did not look anything like Martha. When I had left Farmington, Martha had been a fourteen-year-old girl, precocious in thought but painfully awkward in appearance. A beautiful young woman now stood before me, light brown hair resting on her shoulders, a full, womanly figure blossoming below. But for the familiar voice and the unquenchable enthusiasm, I surely would not have recognized her.
“Did our father actually send you here after I’d warned him not to?” I asked.
“Of course not, silly,” Martha said, breaking into a broad smile. “I wasn’t about to let him—or you—spoil my adventure.”
“But I wrote to him,” I persevered, “and told him—”
“—that you were too busy to take care of me. Which is no problem at all, Joshua. I am fully able to care for myself. I won’t bother you one bit.”
“But why did the Judge ever agree—”
Martha burst into giggles again. “I never gave him the chance,” she said. “Your letter arrived the very day I was packing for my journey. I recognized your handwriting on the envelope at once, of course. I was the first one to read it, and I made sure I was the only one to read it. I asked my Lettie to burn it, and that’s exactly what she did.”
Before I could respond, Martha looked over my shoulder and shouted, “Hickory!” She raced over to the fence surrounding the loose room and greeted the animal. She scratched the narrow, jagged white stripe running down Hickory’s face from her forehead to the top of her nostrils. The horse whinnied and nuzzled her like an old friend. Jesse watched her with wide eyes.
“Who’s this young man?” my sister asked.
“A friend of mine named Jesse,” I replied.
“It’s nice to meet you, Master Jesse,” Martha said with a proper curtsy. Then she turned back to me and said, “Let’s be off.” She linked her arm with mine and began steering me toward the carriage shed, where I saw two of the stable lads struggling to unload several wooden traveling trunks from the back of our father’s lacquered carriage.
“I have half a mind to send you back home at once,” I said. “More than half a mind, in fact.”
“That’s impossible—Molly Hutchason needs me,” Martha said. She folded her arms and thrust forward her chin. “This month especially, in her condition. She’s written to say her time is near.”
Against my will, I nodded. Sheriff Hutchason had not