A Kind of Courage by Colleen Heffernan

Author:Colleen Heffernan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV000000, book
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2005-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

August 1918

DAVID

DAVID POURED COLD WATER into the basin and splashed it onto his face. He paused, then scooped another handful and splashed again. It was early yet; Mr. Tamblyn hadn’t come out to the barn.

David was tired. He’d worked quite late on the Moon–light Sonata, struggling with the difficult third movement. Afterwards, his sleep had been fitful, like the music.

Or perhaps it was because of what they were going to do today. Going downstairs, he checked in on the hog alone in the pen, the one they were going to butcher.

It was restless too, getting up and pacing around as David approached. As it looked at him with its beady little eyes, David wondered if it was possible for a pig to have a sense of foreboding. Probably not. It was more likely hungry.

Mr. Tamblyn had said they weren’t to feed it after yes–terday morning; the meat would be tastier if the animal had an empty stomach. Johnny had said the intestines would be easier to clean, then glanced at David to gauge his reaction.

The pig snuffled his near-empty water dish.

“Well, old fella,” David said, “slop’s out, but I can get you some water at least.”

Mr. Tamblyn had said the more water the pig drank, the easier their job would be. David couldn’t imagine why this was so but he didn’t want to ask. The less he knew about what they were going to do, the less he’d stew about it.

The hog lapped at the fresh water as soon as David filled the dish. David watched and dreaded the day ahead. But Mr. Tamblyn was a kind man. Surely he would find a com–passionate way—if there was one—to dispatch the hog. He grabbed a clean bucket and headed down the stalls to start the milking.

He was on cow number four when Hattie and Mr. Tam–blyn came into the barn.

“Hattie’s going to help us milk so we can get an early start on Bacon and Eggs over there.” The large man chuckled, handed a pail to Hattie and left the barn.

“Where should I start?” Hattie asked him.

“I’ve done The Somme, Lens and Ypres. You could start with Picardy.”

Hattie gave him a blank stare. “Which one did you say?”

Her soft brown hair fell in curls to the top of her crisp pinafore. David winced as he felt something twinge beneath his rib cage. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you knew their names.”

“So did I,” she muttered.

Pulling the stool and bucket clear of the cow he was milking, David crossed the barn and stroked a soft brown Jersey. “This is Picardy, my favorite, I think.”

He smiled at Hattie, who continued to look at him blankly. “Picardy,” she murmured.

“Memorizing cows is more difficult than memorizing music. I completely understand your difficulty. In the stalls, it was easy.” He pointed to each animal in turn. “The Somme, Lens, Ypres, Mons, Picardy, Flanders, Gallipoli, Kitchener, Anzac, Princess Patricia, Arras, Haig, Currie and Vimy. But I found once they were out in the pasture, I had no idea which one was which.

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