Anna on the Farm (8 page)

The four of them set out for the barn. When they are out of sight of the house, Homer turns to Theodore. "Has Anna played with your pet goat yet?"

Theodore grins. "Anna hasn't been near the barnyard since she tangled with the rooster."

"You never told me you had a pet goat," Anna says to Theodore.

"I figured you'd be scared of him," Theodore says.

"Why would I be scared of a goat?" Anna asks. Ever since she read
Heidi,
she's wanted to be a goat herder like Peter and live in the Alps. She imagines herself leading her little flock across a peaceful meadow. She can practically hear the bells on their collars jingling. "I love goats," she adds.

"Come on, then," Theodore says. "Billy's pen is behind the barn."

"Billy is a boring name for a goat," Anna says. "If I had a pet goat, I'd call it Buttercup or Ivy or Morning Glory. Something pretty."

The boys nudge each other and giggle. Anna supposes they think her names for the goat are dumb. Let them think what they like. Why should she care?

As they walk around to the back of the barn, Anna smells a bad smell. She wrinkles her nose. "What's making that stink?"

The boys giggle again. Theodore points to a dilapidated pen. The ground is muddy inside. In one corner stands the most wretched goat Anna has ever seen. It doesn't look like the illustrations of "The Three Billy Goats Gruff" or "The Seven Kids" in Anna's favorite fairy-tale book. It doesn't look like Peter's goats in
Heidi,
either. This goat is skinny. Its hair is dirty, and its beard, so snowy white in Anna's pictures, is stained yellow, rather like an old man's tobacco-stained whiskers. Worst of all are its eyes. They're yellow and small and mean. It has sharp horns, too.

Anna holds her nose to block the scruffy old goat's smell. "That's not Billy, is it?" she asks Theodore.

Theodore looks offended. "Billy's no beauty," he says, "but he's a swell goat. You'll hurt his feelings talking like that."

"He's got the sweetest disposition of any goat in Beltsville," Homer adds.

"Why, he'll let you ride on his back just like a pony," Henry puts in.

Anna remembers how grand the world looked from the back of Nell's horse. But Billy isn't as handsome or as noble as Silver Heels, and she most definitely does not want to ride him. She doesn't even want to pet him. In fact, she wishes she'd stayed on the porch with her book.

Theodore grins. "Go on in there and let him sniff your hand," he says. "Pet him on the head. Once he gets to know you, he's just as nice as nice can be."

Henry is laughing too hard to say anything. Anna is sure the boys are up to something, but she doesn't want to look bad in front of Theodore. She goes a little closer to the goat's pen. Once Father took her to see the elephants at the circus. She wrinkles her nose. Even Billy doesn't smell as bad as they did.

"Just climb over the fence," Theodore says.

"Why can't I go through the gate?"

"It's busted," Homer says.

Anna climbs over the sagging fence, taking care not to scratch herself on the barbed wire. The goat watches her, but he doesn't move. He stays where he is, chewing something.

The closer Anna gets, the worse Billy looks and the worse he smells. More than ever she wishes she'd had the sense to stay on the porch.

"Go on," Theodore calls. "Or are you just an old scaredy-cat girl from Baltimore?"

Anna turns and glares at him. She's trying to think of a good insult, but her thoughts are interrupted by a loud bleat from Billy. She turns and sees him running toward her, his head lowered.

Nervously, Anna stretches out her hand to pet him. "Nice Billy," she croons, "nice Billy."

But Billy crashes into her and knocks her in the mud. Anna scrambles to her feet. The boys are howling with laughter. Billy retreats and then lowers his head to charge again. Anna runs. Billy runs after her. She screams. The boys laugh louder.

Round and round the pen Anna goes, with Billy close behind. Theodore has tricked her. Billy isn't his pet. He isn't nice, he isn't sweet, and he isn't tame. In fact, Billy's a lot like Theodore.

"Open the gate!" Anna yells at the boys as she runs past.

But they just stand there laughing.

Billy catches up with Anna and butts her again. Down she goes, flat on her face in the mud. Billy retreats the way he did before. He stares at Anna. Anna sits up and stares at him. As long as she doesn't move, the goat doesn't move. Keeping her eyes on Billy, Anna scoots slowly backward toward the fence.

After a while, Billy loses interest. Turning away, he starts nibbling at a patch of weeds.

Anna reaches the fence and crawls under. Theodore, Homer, and Henry are still laughing. Anna doesn't even look at them. She walks toward the house, head high despite her muddy overalls and dirty face.

Theodore runs after her and grabs her arm. "Are you going to tell Aunt Aggie?"

"You lied to me," Anna shouts.

"It was just a joke," Theodore says. "Please don't tell. You heard what Aunt Aggie said. I'll get a terrible bad whipping from Uncle George."

"I hope you do!" Anna scowls at Theodore. "It will serve you right!"

"Oh, Anna," Theodore begs, "don't be mad. Billy didn't hurt you."

"Come to the barn and watch us swing on the rope," Homer says.

Anna hesitates. Part of her would truly love to see Theodore get another whipping. Before he tricked her, she'd thought they were becoming friends. Now what is she to believe?

But swinging on a rope sounds like great fun. If she tattles on him, Theodore will probably never play with her again.

Theodore tugs at her hand. "Don't you want to see the swing?"

Anna scowls, but she lets Theodore lead her toward the barn. She's been there before in other summers. The sun shines in long rays through the small windows high overhead. The shafts of light dance with dust. The warm air smells of hay and cows. Anna breathes it in, thinking how sweet it is, nothing like Billy's pen.

"See that?" Theodore points to a thick rope hanging from a rafter. The knotted end dangles above the barn's hard-packed dirt floor, much too high for Anna to reach.

"How do you swing on it?" Anna asks, truly puzzled.

"It's not for girls." Theodore begins climbing up a steep ladder that leads to the hayloft. Homer climbs up after him and Henry follows his brother.

Anna walks to the foot of the ladder and stares up. Although she would never admit it, she's always been afraid of high places. It's a long way to the hayloft, but if the boys can do it, so can she. She wipes her dirty hands on her overalls and grabs a rung of the ladder. Up she goes, hand over hand, foot over foot. Father once told her never to look down from a high place, so she keeps her eyes on the ladder rungs, but her back prickles as if gravity was pulling at her skin. Her legs feel shaky, too.

When Anna reaches the top of the ladder, she holds her breath and hoists herself to the floor of the hayloft. She lies still a second, hoping the boys won't see how scared she is. How will she ever be brave enough to climb back down?

As Anna gets to her feet, she sees Theodore reach for the rope. Homer grabs for it, too. "Let me go first," he yells. "I'm company!"

Anna shuts her eyes, sure both Theodore and Homer will fall to their deaths on the barn floor. Since Homer is at least an inch taller than Theodore, he gets the rope away from him.

"Watch me, Anna!" he yells. Gripping the rope, Homer walks to the back of the loft and then runs forward. Without slowing down, he leaps into the air and soars outward.

"'He flies through the air with the greatest of ease,'" Theodore sings, "'the daring young man on the flying trapeze.'"

Homer swings back and forth twice, but on the third swing he shouts a wild war whoop and drops into the hay piled on the other side of the barn. Anna watches Homer get to his feet and brush himself off. As far as she can see, he's still in one piece. No broken bones, no missing teeth, no cuts or bruises. He laughs up at Anna. "You want to go next?"

Anna glances at Theodore and is relieved to see him backing away from the edge of the loft, gripping the rope as if he means to keep it this time. He runs forward like Homer and flings himself into the air, singing the same song about the daring young man. Back and forth, back and forth he goes, and then, like Homer, he plunges down into the pile of hay.

"Four times," Theodore yells. "Beat that, Homer!"

Homer scrambles up the ladder with Theodore behind him. But it's Henry's turn now. He waves the rope in Anna's face. "You got to time it just right," he tells her. "If you swing back and forth too long, you'll miss the hay."

"What happens then?" Anna asks, feeling her knees go weak.

"You'll fall on the floor and bust your head and all your bones. Your innards will splatter like a tomato somebody threw against the wall."

With that, Henry goes to the back of the loft and runs forward. He sails out like the others, but after just two swings he lets go and lands in the straw.

"Cluck, cluck, cluck," cries Homer. "You big chicken!"

The rope swings back and Theodore hands it to Anna. "Your turn."

Homer snatches at the rope. "Give it here," he says. "Girls ain't got the nerve for stuff like this."

But Anna holds on to the rope. Isn't she the only girl in Baltimore who has skated down Bentalou Street, the steepest hill in the city? If she could do that, she can do this.

"Maybe you should give Homer the rope," Theodore says, suddenly worried.

Anna shakes her head and goes to the back of the loft. Holding the rope as tightly as she can, she wills herself to run forward and jump, just like the boys. But

at the very edge of the loft, she falters. Unfortunately, it's too late to stop herself. Anna sails out into the air.

"Let go," Theodore yells, "you're going too slow for another swing!"

But Anna's hands might as well be glued to the rope. While the boys yell, Anna swings back and forth in shorter and shorter arcs. Then she stops swinging and hangs at the end of the rope, looking straight down at the hard dirt floor. It's very far away. As Henry said, she's sure to break her head and all her bones, and her innards will splatter everywhere. She'll never see Father and Mother again, she'll never grow up, she'll never go to Paris. Tears fill Anna's eyes. Surely she's too young to die.

Just then Anna hears Uncle George shouting, "Hold on, Anna, hold tight!"

Anna turns her head and sees her uncle way down below. His two field hands are with him. They stare up at Anna as if they cannot imagine how a girl got in such a dilemma.

"My arms hurt," Anna cries. "My hands hurt, too. I can't hold on much longer."

Uncle George grabs a horse blanket and tells the men to hold one end. He holds the other. The boys run to help. The blanket unfurls beneath Anna like a net.

"You can let go now," Uncle George tells Anna. "We'll catch you."

But it's not easy for Anna to let go. Surely the blanket is too small to catch her. She stays where she is.

"Please, Anna," Uncle George coaxes. "It won't hurt, I promise."

Dr. Thompson told Anna the very same thing when he gave her a smallpox vaccination. But it was a lie. Her arm hurt for days afterward.

Although she tries hard not to let go, Anna feels her hands slip a little bit.

"Jump, Anna," Theodore calls, "and you can have my share of cherry pie tonight."

Anna's hands again slip a little and then a little more. Before she knows what's happening, she's dropping through the air. In a second, she lands in the blanket and bounces once or twice. Uncle George is right. It doesn't hurt. No broken head. No broken bones. No splattered innards. Maybe Anna will see Paris, after all.

Now that Anna is safe, Uncle George hugs her tight. She hears one field hand say, "It's a good thing she's such a skinny little child. If she'd been any fatter, she'd have busted right through that old blanket."

By the time Uncle George lets Anna go, Theodore, Homer, and Henry are nowhere to be seen. They must have thought Uncle George would spank them all, Anna thinks.

The field hands go back to work, but Uncle George walks Anna to the house. Her legs are still a little shaky, so she's glad for the company.

"Did the boys make you swing on that rope?" Uncle George asks.

Anna shakes her head. "They said girls couldn't do things like that," she tells her uncle. "They said I didn't dare."

"So you just had to prove them wrong," Uncle George says.

Anna nods. "Don't tell Father and Mother about the rope swing," she says. "They'll never let me out of their sight again."

Uncle George laughs. "Your mother would have my scalp if she knew what you were up to."

Aunt Aggie is waiting on the porch. She's already poured three glasses of lemonade, one for herself, one for Anna, and one for Uncle George. "What was all that commotion in the barn?" she asks Uncle George. "I saw you and Elmer and Joe running like a house on fire."

Anna clasps her glass of lemonade and closes her eyes. She's afraid Uncle George will tell Aunt Aggie about the swing. Then Aunt Aggie will tell Father, and Anna will spend the rest of her life locked in her bedroom.