Hannah of Fairfield

Finally she had escaped. Away from the spinning wheel that made her feel so clumsy. To the barn.

Hannah loved everything about the barn. Its smells, of sweet hay and old wood and animals all mixed together. Its sounds, the little creaks and rustles and stamping of feet. And, most of all, the animals. There was Ned, the big chestnut horse, and the two cows, Hattie and old Bessie, and, of course, the sheep.

It was late afternoon, the best time of day in the barn. The animals were snug and settled in their stalls. Jemmy sat on a stool milking Bessie, while little Jonathan stood on tiptoe to pat her nose.

The old cow stood still while the milk splish-splashed into the pail.

“Good old Bessie,” Hannah said, stroking her neck. “You are as patient as the day is long.” Her mother always said that. “And sweet as maple sugar.”

“More like bee’s honey,” said a deep voice. It seemed to be coming from inside Bessie’s chest.

“Ha! I caught you!” He was laughing so hard, he fell off the stool. “You thought old Bessie was answering, didn’t you?”

Hannah felt herself turning pink. “I never did. I knew it was you.”

Jemmy climbed back onto his stool. His straw-colored hair had bits of hay stuck all over it. “You really talk to cows?” he said, shaking his head.

Hannah didn’t answer. Jemmy always acted as if he knew everything, just because he was a year older, and a boy besides.

Why was it, Hannah wondered, as she often had before, that boys got all the good chores, like milking and herding sheep and chopping wood? Even little Jonathan gathered the warm eggs from the henhouse each morning. Girls had to be inside, knitting and sewing and spinning. Sitting still. Hannah hated sitting still.

“I talk to Ned,” he whispered. Jonathan loved horses. He was always climbing up on the rail of Ned’s stall to pet him. “And do you know what?” His wide brown eyes were serious.

Hannah smiled at him. “Come on,” she said, taking his small hand in hers. “Let’s go see the lambs.”

The three babies and their mothers were in a corner stall apart from the other sheep.

Sometimes the new lambs just dozed in the straw. But these babies were on their feet. Already they seemed stronger than they had this morning. They looked as if they wanted to play.

They took little jumps, forward, backward, and sideways. They fell down. Then they were up on their fuzzy, gray legs again. Their mothers lay in the straw, quietly chewing. Silly children, they seemed to be thinking.

Hannah had to smile. If she ever felt sad, all she had to do was watch the lambs, with their sweet faces and foolish-looking tails, playing.

Jonathan tugged at her sleeve. “Look at the biggest one,” he said.

One lamb had climbed on a pile of hay in the corner. For a moment it stood there, like the king of the mountain. “Baa,” it bleated in its baby voice.

“That one is my favorite,” said Jonathan. “Do you think I could name it?”

They watched until, all at once, the three lambs seemed to wear themselves out. They curled up next to their mothers in the straw.

“No food for you,” she told the geese, who crowded around her feet. They always thought everyone had corn for them. They scolded her, pecking at the ground, when they saw her hands were empty.

As she shooed them away, she noticed someone out in the field behind the house. No, two people. Father and Ben, she thought.

“Ben!” she called. “I’ve nearly finished your mitten.”

But he was too far away to hear. He had Father’s musket on his shoulder. Had he been hunting rabbits?

The other person had a gun too. That was not Father. It was Ben’s friend Daniel Wakefield, who lived on the next farm. And they were not hunting. They were marching.

Oh, Ben. Hannah let out a breath. After everything Father had said, Ben had not given up on being a soldier. Not only was he still thinking about it, he was drilling. Getting ready.

Hannah’s heart sank all the way down to her muddy shoes. This could only mean one thing.

Ben was going to run away and join General Washington’s army.