The Testament of Yves Gundron

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Book: The Testament of Yves Gundron Read Free
Author: Emily Barton
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pasture. The shyness of her usually forthright gaze told me that she knew her life was about to change irrevocably. When I slipped the strap around her breastbone she hung her head, anticipating the drudgery of all the many workdays that had come before. She kicked when I fastened the belt about her midsection, and again when I tightened it and adjusted the breast strap. The fit, even on that first attempt, was nearly perfect—evidence, it seemed, of God’s desire for man to have this invention. Sophronia, the cow, kept chewing nonchalantly on her cud, but I knew she was watching with something more than her ordinary interest. I fitted the horse’s lead about her head, and she burred in annoyance.
    â€œAdelaïda!” I called. She appeared in the doorway, now in shadow, with the child on one hip and her distaff in the other hand. “Look at the horse!”
    â€œWhat in Heaven’s name have you done to her?”
    â€œI’ve made an invention.”
    â€œIt doesn’t look kindly.”
    â€œNever mind its outward form—will you help me bring the cart?” It was not so heavy that I could not have moved it alone, but I wanted her nigh when the great event took place. She tied the child back up to the bench and rested her spindle against the door frame. Together we maneuvered the awkward cart out of the barn, and pulled it up behind the bewildered horse. I fastened the ends of the contraption to the cart, and tested their hold. The horse hung her head and looked at me askance, but when I clicked my tongue and urged her to follow me by tugging gently upon her lead, she knew the moment of reckoning had arrived, and began, hesitantly, to walk. For what seemed an eternity the traces pulled taut, and then the cart began to roll at a stately pace behind her. The horse, who still believed disaster was imminent, continued to regard me. But nothing went amiss. The cart’s solid iron-clad wheel whined, bumped, and turned as it always had, but nothing pulled at the horse’s throat. I put my hand upon the horse’s neck to stop her.
    â€œAdelaïda,” I said. “Climb up on the cart.”
    She pursed her lips. “This much seems miracle enough.”
    â€œBut another is about to unfold,” I said, uncertain though I was. “Climb on.” I prayed silently as Adelaïda hitched her skirt up, revealing her pale underskirt, and climbed up to the bed. I saw her lips moving, if not in prayer, then in a song of private devotion. Once more I clicked my tongue at the horse, and though she strained to set the cart in motion, she soon lifted her white feet high, and carried Adelaïda without apparent effort toward the southern fields. Adelaïda whooped with glee, for she had never before moved so quickly. No one had ever moved with such speed, and had I not known the cause of her rapid motion, I would surely have thought her an Arab upon a magic carpet or a witch in the Devil’s thrall.
    Adelaïda is by no means as heavy as a load of turnips, but she has weight enough, if not to strangle a horse, then to make her struggle in her labors. The horse, however, pulled my fair wife with ease. When at last she tired of her sport, I returned to the barn and brought forth a bale of last year’s hay, Yoshu nipping at my heels. As I hoisted the hay and the dog onto the cart, both the horse and Adelaïda winced, but the added weight, nearly equal to my wife’s, did not cause the horse more than a moment’s pause. Finally I stopped the cart again and climbed aboard.
    â€œYves!” my wife cried. “You’ll surely kill her.” Yoshu, ready for adventure, voiced her approval of my scheme.
    But I persevered. The horse looked round, wondering where her master had gone. I stood at the forward end of the cart and yelled at her to go, but she did not understand, as I was behind her. I had left her lead dangling before her, as it always had before, so I

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