those morons. Sounds to me like a bunch of no-good bullies.”
“I wish you’d been there. Papa let them get away.”
Francois held me a moment longer. Then he gently set me down and knelt before me. His eyes looked worried. “Now listen, Helena. If I’d been there, I couldn’t have done anything more than what your father did.”
I glanced back to see Papa staring at the ground. I started to tremble. I never meant to dishonor him. I just wanted someone to protect me.
Francois’ large finger turned my chin back toward him. “I’m betting your father took you straight to the doctor, didn’t he? And you’re here in one piece. Aren’t you? I expect he was more concerned about treating your wounds than getting revenge.”
My face screwed up with tears again.
I fell against Francois and sobbed.
Ashamed of the way I had spoken about Papa.
Angry at Jacque Denue and his friends for nearly beating me to death. And terrified of facing them –
or anyone – again. Afraid of showing my horrid face.
“Helena. Your cloak,” Papa said.
I turned. He held the burlap cloak out to me. I took it with a faint smile, then draped it back in place, careful to keep it from scraping my shoulders too much.
Francois patted my back. “Dry your tears now. I’m glad you came today. Been wanting to 26
show you something, next time I saw you. Come on back.”
He wiped my eyes with the tail of his thick tunic. I smeared away the rest with the back of my fist. He led me like a lamb, his large hand around my shoulder, toward the rear of his stable. I smiled, eager to see Francois’ ebony horse, Lightning, named for the jagged stripe that covered her nose. I always felt better after petting her.
As we came around the corner, Lightning lifted her head lazily.
A colt jerked its head from beneath her. It rose to face us, stamping its hooves in protest. Its flanks were red like flame.
I gaped. “What’s that?”
“That,” he said, “is our new colt.”
Its blazing eyes locked on mine.
“She’s red!” I squealed. My cloak fell off my shoulders again as I hobbled forward.
“Whoa! Stop!” Francois shouted as Papa also yelled behind him.
I limped to the gate as fast as I could. The fiery colt reared back, then ran at me.
“Helena!” Papa cried.
Francois tugged me back as the colt stamped and kicked at the gate. “Easy now, that colt’s a wild one. Understand? Don’t move too quick around it, you’ll pay for it.”
I stared into the colt’s eyes. It did look dangerous, but that seemed all right somehow. It didn’t seem mean, just frightened and ready to fight. The same way I felt, except I didn’t have 27
hooves to kick against a gate. “Let me give her some oats.”
“Helena …” Papa started.
“I don’t know, Helena,” Francois said. “It’s still a little fired up.”
“I can do it. I’ll be careful.”
After a silent moment, Papa nodded to Francois. “All right, if you walk up with her.”
Francois led me to the feed bag hanging outside the stable. He dug out a handful of oats and emptied some into my hand. “Now you let me go first,” he said. We stepped toward the colt, slow and steady. It watched our every move, looking curious, as I hobbled forward with a smile.
Francois opened his hand and extended it beneath the colt’s mouth. The colt snorted and tossed its head. Then it bent, sniffed, and nibbled like one of Papa’s sheep.
“See, she’s sweet,” I said. I lifted my open palm with my oats, careful not to startle the colt. It stared at me for several seconds.
Then it nibbled from my hand. It tickled.
When all the oats were gone, it buried his nose in my hand and nuzzled. I took a step closer, moving slow and gentle. It gave a low snort from somewhere in its belly, as a warning. I smiled and took another small step. It let me edge
