The Legacy: Trouble Comes Disguised As Family (Unspoken Book 2) by T. Belshaw (the best books to read .txt) 📗

Donkey, spotting Bessie ambling towards us, began an ear-splitting volley of brays. I let go of the gate and put my hands over my ears.

‘Good God, no wonder her neighbours were complaining.’

Bessie plodded up and hung her head over the fence. The two animals sniffed at each other, then rubbed their heads gently together. Donkey stopped braying immediately.

‘I think we’ll skip the partition,’ I said. ‘Though it might be best to keep them in separate stalls for tonight at least.’

I led Donkey into the paddock and removed her tether. Bessie tossed her head and began to walk back the way she had come. Donkey trotted after her until she caught up, then they walked side by side, towards Bessie’s favourite part of the pasture.

‘Maybe the mare we brought in for her was too young,’ Barney said scratching his head. ‘These two old gals will have a lot more in common.’

At nine o’clock that night, I was sitting in the kitchen reading to Stephen and Harriet from The House at Pooh Corner, when we heard Donkey braying nonstop for over ten minutes. Thinking she might have picked up a fox’s scent, or was unable to settle into her new surroundings, I lit an oil lantern, grabbed my wellies, pulled my overcoat over my calf length nightie, rushed out of the back door and scurried down to the paddock with the children in hot pursuit.

I pushed open the gate, and with the lantern held in front of me, I hurried across to the stables.

Donkey redoubled her efforts as I opened the stable door and stepped inside. Holding up the lantern I took in the scene. Donkey was standing with her head over the stall gate while Bessie, usually so docile, lifted her head to join in with a series of neighs.

I got the message at once and opened Donkey’s stall. She stopped the racket immediately and waited patiently while I opened the gate to Bessie’s stall and moved aside so that she could enter. Donkey walked slowly up to our big old shire and once again, the pair rubbed heads. Bessie’s stall was huge and there was plenty enough room for the two of them, even if they were sleeping lying down, so I pulled the stall door shut and wished them both a good night.

Out in the paddock, I ushered the giggling children towards the gate. The night was clear and a frost was beginning to form on the tips of the grass stalks. I pulled my collar up and shivered. It wasn’t the sort of weather to be wearing a nightie outdoors, thick coat or not.

‘We should give donkey a new name,’ Harriet said. ‘Donkey just doesn’t seem right.’

‘What do you suggest?’ I asked, as I pulled the five barred gate shut and tied it off.

‘We should call her Bray,’ said Stephen. ‘It’s all she ever does.’

And so, it was decided. Donkey now had a proper name. On the way back to the house, I resolved to get her a leather harness, with her new name burned into it. Bessie had one, so it was only right that Bray should have one too.

Bray settled in well, and was rarely ever seen more than a couple of metres away from our big shire.

On Wednesday, the following week, Barney announced that the ground had dried out enough for us to plough up the bottom field. Being on a natural slope, all of our fallow fields drained well and that morning, he had walked the two remaining unploughed fields carrying a sharpened pole that he poked into the ground here and there to test how dry the top layer of soil was.

He harnessed Bessie and led her to the first pasture, which was in clear view of the paddock. Bray stood forlornly, her head hanging over the perimeter fence. Spotting Bessie in the neighbouring field waiting to have the plough attached, she lifted her head and roared her displeasure.

Barney tapped Bessie on the flank and took hold of her harness to begin the ploughing process. Bessie, usually so compliant, stood her ground and refused to move. Barney tried again, coaxing her with soothing words. Eventually he resorted to bribery and fed her one of the mint humbugs he kept in his pocket. Bessie happily ate it, but refused to budge. Meanwhile, our new lodger’s plaintive calls, echoed around the farm.

After ten minutes of the standoff, Barney gave in and marched back up to the paddock. As he pulled the gate open, he was forced to leap aside as Bray hurtled past him, galloped across the open ground, burst through a small gap in the hedge and trotted up to Bessie’s side. Barney hurried after her, worried that he might soon be involved in a game of chase around the farm. He needn’t have worried.

As he walked into the field, Bessie, without waiting for a command, began to pull the plough. Bray, taking a cue from her big, lumbering partner, began to trot alongside. Barney hurried around Bessie’s back and took hold of the harness on the left side of her head.

Bessie trod the fields all morning, up and down, up and down, the furrows so straight, the Romans could have built their roads along them. Bray trotted along happily at her side. At lunch, when Barney sat down on an old tree stump to eat a sandwich, the two new friends stood side by side, chewing grass until he got to his feet again, and the trio went back to their labours.

The farm now had a new celebrity, and word got around fast. On Saturday morning, half a dozen children walked the half mile down the lane and formed an orderly queue at the farm gate, their pockets stuffed with apples and carrots. After a few minutes, a cheer went up as the farm lads led Bessie, and a noisy Bray, up to the gate to be patted, fussed over and fed their