Educated

about the colts he expected in the spring, and I remembered that he was
always at his best when he was with his horses.
I had been home about a week when the mountain was gripped by an
intense cold spell. The temperature plunged, dropping to zero, then dropping
further still. We put the horses away, knowing that if they worked up a sweat,
it would turn to ice on their backs. The trough froze solid. We broke the ice
but it refroze quickly, so we carried buckets of water to each horse.
That night everyone stayed indoors. Mother was blending oils in the
kitchen. Dad was in the extension, which I had begun to jokingly call the
Chapel. He was lying on the crimson sofa, a Bible resting on his stomach,
while Kami and Richard played hymns on the piano. I sat with my laptop on
the love seat, near Dad, and listened to the music. I had just begun a message
to Drew when something struck the back door. The door burst open, and
Emily flew into the room.
Her thin arms were wrapped around her body and she was shaking,
gasping for breath. She wore no coat, no shoes, nothing but jeans, an old pair
I’d left behind, and one of my worn T-shirts. Mother helped her to the sofa,
wrapping her in the nearest blanket. Emily bawled, and for several minutes
not even Mother could get her to say what had happened. Was everyone all
right? Where was Peter? He was fragile, half the size he should have been,
and he wore oxygen tubes because his lungs had never fully developed. Had
his tiny lungs collapsed, his breathing stopped?
The story came out haltingly, between erratic sobs and the clattering of
teeth. From what I could tell, when Emily had gone to Stokes that afternoon
to buy groceries, she had returned home with the wrong crackers for Peter.
Shawn had exploded. “How can he grow if you can’t buy the right food!” he
had screamed, then he’d gathered her up and flung her from their trailer, into
a snowbank. She’d pounded on the door, begging to be let in, then she’d run
up the hillside to the house. I stared at her bare feet as she said this. They
were so red, they looked as if they’d been burned.
My parents sat with Emily on the sofa, one on each side of her, patting her
shoulders and squeezing her hands. Richard paced a few feet behind them.
He seemed frustrated, anxious, as if he wanted to explode into action and was
only just being held in check.
Kami was still seated at the piano. She was staring at the group huddled on
the couch, confused. She had not understood Emily. She did not understand