Bone House_ A Novel - Betsy Tobin [73]
“I went there thrice weekly. With milk and butter we had churned ourselves. There was never enough to satisfy them; they always wanted more. We kept very little for ourselves. My father was anxious to build a small herd. We had three dairy cows but he wanted half a dozen. And so we scrimped and saved and did without. And then one morning early in spring I rose at dawn to do the milking and found them dead in the field. They must have died early in the night, because by the time I got to them, they were stone cold, and the birds had found them first. I was afraid to tell my father for his temper could be fearsome, and my mother was away. She had left the previous evening to birth a child and had not yet returned.
“I found him in the barn sharpening his scythe, and when I told him of the cows he dropped his tools and ran straight to the fields. I followed at a distance, and by the time I arrived his face was wrecked with bitterness. He turned and looked at me as if I was a complete stranger, and I knew then that he was lost. He left me in the fields with the corpses, and shut himself inside the house with all the drink that he could lay his hands on. I waited for my mother to return, but she did not. In the late afternoon I finally walked up to the Great House to tell them there would be no milk. I called around at the kitchen, as was my custom, but when I found it empty I made a tour of the barns, searching for a stable hand. Not a soul was about. I found out later they had all gone to the chapel for a christening. My mother had birthed the baby not two weeks earlier, to a serving girl on the estate.
“I thought I heard a noise from the stable, so I went within. It was dark inside and I could see a horse in the box at the far end, a large chestnut mare. Someone was behind it but I could not make out who, so I took a step inside and called out. I must have frightened the mare for she started and backed up within the stall, and then I heard a man swear, for the horse had trod upon his foot. I could tell at once that he was drunk, just as my father was at home. And then he came around and showed his face, and I recognized the master of the Great House, your master’s father.” She pauses then, looks at me briefly, then looks away, the memories crowding her.
“He was old and ugly with drink. There had been much talk of him that spring, for he’d nearly killed a serving man in his employ not three weeks earlier. He had thrashed him with a horsewhip for the tiniest offense. But the rich do not get punished for their sins, and the matter had never come to trial, though the man in question afterward went lame and lost an eye.” She shakes her head then, takes a deep breath.
“He was . . . an evil man. All those who worked under the Great House roof suffered as a consequence. I would not have let you near there had he remained alive. But he died a dog’s death two years later, and I thanked the Lord the day I heard.” She turns to me as if the tale is told, and then I see a shadow cross her eyes.
“What happened in the stable?” I ask gently. My mother pauses and I see her chest rise and fall, her breath coming sharply.
“He came around the horse toward me and his face was twisted with anger. I apologized for giving fright to the mount, but when I tried to leave he grabbed my arm and asked me what my business was. I told him why I’d come, and once again I tried to take my leave. But he refused and held me firm. He asked if I could saddle a horse. When I answered yes he forced me toward the mare. I did not know what had gone before, but her eyes were white and round with fear. I did not like the look of her and said that we should take her out into the yard. He shook his head and ordered me forward. The horse was two heads taller than myself and nearly filled the stall. As soon as I went near she began to thrash from side to side and bay. I truly thought that I might perish if I went into that stall, and I turned and told him so.
“When I did I saw that he was partially unclothed. He’d taken off his doublet and all that remained were