White Feather 3-Book Bundle by Jennifer Dance

Author:Jennifer Dance
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn Press
Published: 2016-01-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Albert was finding the task of digging rectangles of sod much harder than he had imagined. The grass roots were deep. They were so tangled and thatched that, even though the new shovel was sharp, it took major effort to chop through the sod. Tommy was trying to help, but the boy’s efforts made no difference whatsoever. In fact, he was getting underfoot and Albert had to make sure that his son’s fingers or toes did not end up under the shovel. After several hours, Albert’s hands were blistered, yet he had fewer than twenty sod bricks to show for his work. He needed hundreds, possibly thousands! The size of the house he had planned diminished in his mind as each hour passed. It was now down to a single room of ten feet by twelve. His blisters broke. He wrapped his oozing palms in clean rags and pressed on.

Paint neighed, her nostrils flared, her bony ribcage trembling. With arched tail, she tried her best to prance forward, but the hobbles held her back. Albert looked up, too, his foot poised on the top of the shovel blade, his eyes following Paint’s intent gaze. He saw a man on a horse in the distance. Albert suddenly realized how terribly lonely Paint must be. Horses, he knew, were herd animals. Living alone was not natural for them. He had been so concerned with his own problems that he had not been considering Paint’s.

The rider waved his hand as he rode closer. With no introduction, and in a voice that was gruff, bordering on rude, he spoke three words.

“Need a hand?”

Albert chuckled. “Can you tell?”

Paint shuffled her hobbled legs close enough to introduce herself to the big honey-coloured Belgian horse. They sniffed noses amicably, then he rolled back his upper lip, inhaling the mare’s scent.

The man slid off of the Belgian’s bare back and surveyed Albert’s work.

“Your horse can’t pull a plow or what?”

“Yes, she can pull a plow … I think.”

“Well, what in heaven’s name is she doing standing over there with her legs tied together while you break your back?”

Albert smiled at the man’s sense of humour. “I didn’t think we’d be able to plow the sod out neat enough to build a house.”

“You can do it neat, and still be here in December, freezing your arse off with no shelter, or you can be a little less neat and get a roof on quick, before the snow flies. I can show you how.”

“I’d be very grateful,” Albert said, offering the visitor his rag-wrapped hand. “I’m Albert Cooper.”

“Hamish McDuff. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Hamish’s hand was more like rough hide than human skin, and his fingernails were split and caked with dirt.

“This is Margaret, and my boy, Tommy,” Albert said.

“And this here is Magnus,” Hamish added, pointing to his horse. “Magnus seems to like the perfume your little mare is wearing today!”

The Scotsman didn’t waste any more time on idle chitchat. He got straight to the point. “First things first.

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