Caleb's Story by Patricia MacLachlan Page B

we like winter?” Cassie asked.
    I looked at her quickly. I could tell she wasn’t kidding.
    Cassie asked questions because she wanted to know the answers. Like Sarah. I looked at Cassie and she looked back at me, her eyes as sharp as Sarah’s. My mother died when I was born, so I didn’t know if I was like her.
    â€œWe like winter sometimes,” I said.
    She carried a bucket of grain in front of the sheep. They followed her as if she were their mother.
    â€œI don’t like this,” Cassie said.
    I opened the barn door and the sheep ran inside.
    â€œYou like to skate when the slough freezes over,” I said to her.
    Cassie smiled.
    â€œI like that part of winter.”
    We closed the sheep pen. The smell of fresh hay filled the barn. Cassie sneezed.
    â€œNow for the cows,” I said.
    Cassie frowned at me. I pulled her hand and we raced outside, out of the quiet of the barn into the wind, Cassie’s hair flying out behind her like corn silk.
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    Sarah cooked soup on the stove, stirring it with a long-handled spoon. Cassie drew a picture at the table. I looked over her shoulder.
    â€œWhat’s that?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s the man,” she said firmly.
    Sarah turned from the stove.
    â€œWhat man?” asked Sarah.
    â€œOne of Cassie’s imaginary friends,” I told her.
    Sarah looked at the drawing.
    â€œThat’s lovely, Cass. And original.”
    â€œLovely and original,” said Cassie, imitating Sarah.
    Sarah looked out the window.
    â€œCaleb, you left the barn door open,” she said.
    â€œI closed it. I know I did,” I said.
    I put on my coat and went out. I ran my hand along the rope that we’d tied, one end to the house, the other by the barn door. When the storms were bad, anyone could get lost. A neighbor of ours had lost his way during a night storm and was found the next morning, frozen to death.
    I looked in the barn, then stepped inside. Something was different. Something. May was there in her stall. The sheep bleated at me. Then . . . there was a horse in the next stall, Bess’s stall. It was a horse I’d never seen before.
    â€œWhat? Who are you?” I asked, reaching out to touch the horse. I heard a sound behind me and whirled around. There, slumped against the wall, was an older man, with gray hair. He was wrapped in a green blanket. He stared at me, but he said nothing.
    â€œWho are you?” I asked. Then, gathering courage, “Where did you come from?”
    The man didn’t answer. He began to cough. I backed up.
    â€œWait!” I told him. “Stay here.”
    And I ran from the barn, calling Sarah’s name over and over.
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    Sarah hurried after me to the barn, her coat flung around her shoulders.
    â€œWho is he?” she asked.
    I shook my head.
    â€œHe didn’t say.”
    We opened the barn door and the man looked up at Sarah. She stepped inside and closed the door.
    â€œAre you sick?” she asked. “There’s influ-enza here. I have to protect my children.”
    The man shook his head.
    â€œI’m not sick,” he said, his voice low. “I’m cold. Cold to the bone.”
    Sarah reached out to touch his forehead briefly.
    â€œYou don’t have a fever.”
    â€œNo. I’m just cold.”
    Sarah paused, then made up her mind.
    â€œHelp me get him inside, Caleb,” she said.
    â€œThere’s no need,” said the man. “I can rest here. In the barn.”
    â€œYou’ll do no such thing,” said Sarah.
    The man stared at Sarah for a moment. You could tell he thought about arguing with her. Then he reached out his hand to me. I helped him up, and Sarah and I walked him out of the barn and across the yard.
    When we opened the door and walked into the house, Cassie stared at the man with her sharp, birdlike look. Sarah helped the man to a chair and put a quilt around him.
    â€œThere. That’s warmer. Caleb? Get him