Under This Unbroken Sky by Shandi Mitchell

Author:Shandi Mitchell [Mitchell, Shandi]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780061960024
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

THE HORSE NEIGHS, TOSSING ITS HEAD UP AND DOWN, as Myron harnesses him to the cart. “Not yet,” Myron soothes.

He has jury-rigged a harness by knotting together braided binder twine to the remains of the leather hitches damaged in the fire. Despite having dried, rubbed, and oiled the tack, the leather has shrunk and hardened. All the hours that he spent caring for it have been lost. He consoles himself that soon they’ll buy a new harness.

“Next time we go to town, you’ll be the finest-dressed horse they’ve ever seen.” Myron rubs its forelock. The horse whinnies appreciatively.

“Myron!”

“Coming!” He grabs the halter and leads the horse out of the barn. The cart shimmies and groans as the wheels plow through the snow.

“Back him up.” Teodor guides them to within inches of the shack’s narrow door.

“Good.” He has already filled the six half-decent burlap bags he could find. He hoists them up on the cart.

“Pile them down the sides, keep three for the back. And spread the blanket out.” He grabs the shovel and digs into the loose seed. “Goddamned mice,” he says with every heave.

Myron wrestles the bags into place, keeping his back turned to the constant shower of seed. A few grains trickle down his collar. He props up the last bag and hops down to join his father. He waits at the door, timing the rhythm of the shovel’s swing like a skipping game; seeing the opening, he slips inside as the shovel blade whishes past his head.

The dust is thick. Teodor wipes the sweat from his brow and removes his leather jacket. He’s had this jacket since he was eighteen. It’s lined with sheepskin. It holds the heat and keeps out the wind. This jacket has kept him alive in many worlds. The supple leather has burnished into a deep brown. It has shaped itself to his skin. It is his skin now. He folds it neatly and sets it in the corner. He picks up the shovel again.

“Goddamned mice.”

He digs in and throws the seed toward the narrow doorway. His shovel clangs into Myron’s. Seed ricochets off the walls. Myron takes a step back and Teodor swings again. Myron watches, waits for the moment, digs as his father throws. Soon, they are alternating shovel loads. Myron, panting, struggles to keep pace. Once, he falters and the shovels slam together again. Sweat trickles into Myron’s eyes. He wishes he had taken off his coat too.

The grain flies through the air, sprays across the cart floor. It fills the grooves and cracks. The thick golden layer builds higher, mounding upward. Myron jumps onboard and spreads it level under a constant hail of seed, grateful for the break. They don’t stop for lunch. His stomach growls as he fights his way back through the torrent of seed and resumes shoveling. Goddamned mice.

Their shovels scrape the floor. Teodor glances up at the sun. It must be almost two o’clock. They have to get going if they’re going to get there before closing.

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