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the livestock was easier. The dog ventured out from under the porch and lined up with the cats for a share of fresh milk. Anne chose to consider the fact that the dog had no wounds as a small victory.
    It took quite a bit of sweet talking and the lure of grain in a bucket, but in the end Anne talked the horse Meeks had threatened to shoot into letting her get a hold of the rope still dragging from his halter. She put him back in the corral with his fellows, made sure there was enough water in the trough, and filled the hay rack in the corral.
    The night before she had just turned away from the sick colt in the barn, unable to deal with more misery. The young horse looked close to death. This morning she managed to force half a dozen lumps of sugar down the unwilling rack of bones. Hugging, petting, and whispering to the little animal, she promised him life would be good again if he just got better. It crossed her mind to question that herself, but she pushed the thought aside.
    She found a metal tub large enough for a bath at the side of the house, and a few well worn woman’s garments folded away in a chest in the front bedroom. The clothes probably belonged to Cord’s sister, Marie, who had married and left Mason years ago. Anne laid out clean undergarments, a dark brown skirt, and a pale yellow waist. Pumping water until her arms ached and keeping herself awake while the water heated were wonderfully worthwhile. The bath and borrowed clothes left her feeling truly clean for the first time since her father had locked her up.
    That night Anne again wrapped herself in the quilt and settled for the night beside Cord, holding his hand. She idly speculated whether the changes inside herself were forever, for she felt different, stronger, than two days ago. Just as she began to feel drowsy, the hand in hers tightened. Her eyes flew open only to see Cord’s head straightened and eyes half open.
    Haste to get free turned the quilt into a clinging trap. Anne knelt over him at last, heart pounding, but could find no awareness in his eyes. When she lifted the back of his head and tipped a cup of water against his mouth, he managed three swallows, then relapsed into unconsciousness. She cursed her own ignorance - whether this brief interlude was a good sign or not she had no idea.
    Uncertain she might be, but she fell asleep with a slight smile on her mangled lips, and woke at dawn to find the light brown eyes so close to her own open and looking at her with life back in them. This time he swallowed almost a full cup of water before leaving her again.
    On this third morning Anne found she no longer felt frightened and burdened by the responsibility of caring for the animals. She enjoyed resting her forehead against the warm, furry side of a cow and watching the streams of milk begin to froth in the pail. She liked hearing the excited squeals of the pigs settle to contented grunts after she mixed a slop with the milk and finely ground grain she found near their pens.
    Her heart lifted when the sick colt nuzzled her hand and took the lump of sugar she offered without being forced, chewing and swallowing slowly and without much enthusiasm, but nevertheless willingly. The corralled horses dug into their hay in an appreciative way, and even the chickens came running for their breakfast so that the effort seemed worthwhile.
    Hardening her heart, she butchered the first chicken that pecked at her. After all these years Anne was finally grateful to her mother’s friend, Maudie, who had nagged her into learning this nasty skill over her protests and tears many years ago when marrying Elroy Turrell seemed likely.
    “Now, Anne, dear,” Maudie had said, “a farmer’s wife can’t be soft-hearted about these things. It’s a fact of life, and you’d better accept it.”
    The next time Cord came to, Anne was going to have chicken broth ready for him, not just water. She was also going to have bread, and there was no reason the pigs had to