| NIGHT WAS OVER and daylight had begun to fill the dark corners of the room. Mari Sandoz was seven years old, too old to be afraid of the dark, Mama said. A twentieth-century child in the year 1905 should have better sense, but Mama didn't know that terrifying things lurked beyond the edges of light. Every night Mari prayed monsters would not harm her and that morning would come soon. This day, even with the sun back again, something was wrong. |
| "You want that bull cut," Papa snapped. "You cut him yourself." |
| Papa's voice scared Mari. Years later, long after Papa was dead, his words and the events of this day would still haunt her. Huddled in a tight ball, she peeked over her quilt at her parents' bed across the small room. Gray light from the room's only window outlined the dresser in front of the board wall, the straight-backed chair where Mama's clothes lay. |
| "You know I can't handle him alone." Mama's voice was low, edgy. |
| "Then, damnit, woman, let the bull be." Papa turned over in bed and yanked the covers, leaving Mama bare except for her thin, cotton nightdress. |
| Slowly, Mama pushed herself up from the bed, stood for a minute and rubbed her lower back. "We've got two bulls alreadythat's enough." She picked up Papa's pants from the floor where he'd left them and put them on the bed. "It's got to be done today. " Her voice, still low, was firm now. "He's almost too big for fixing as it is.'' |
| "Oh, hell! You damned women are all alike, always trying to change what's natural." |
| A knot started in the pit of Mari's stomach. Frightened, she tugged the quilt up to cover her ears, jostling her three-year-old brother James, who shared the bed with her. He whimpered. Mari shushed him, fearful his fussing would make Papa angrier. |
| "You can't keep putting this off," Mama said, louder now. "I'm the one who takes care of the stock, and I can't manage with another bull in the pasture." |
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