watched them whacking the horse and saw him rear up against them, as terrified as they were. It didn't seem right and Logan was worried about that chest wound bursting open, but he couldn't come up with a better idea and at last the horse backed off down into the stall and they slammed the door on him.
As he was driving home that night to his wife and children, Harry Logan felt depressed. He remembered the hunter, that little guy in the fur hat, grinning down at him from the railroad bridge. The little creep was right, he thought. The horse should have been put down.
Christmas at the Macleans' started badly and got worse. They drove home from the hospital with Grace carefully bolstered across the back seat of Robert's car. They hadn't got halfway when she asked about the tree.
'Can we decorate it soon as we get back?' Annie looked straight ahead and left it to Robert to say they'd already done it, though not how it was done, in a joyless silence late the night before with the air between them bristling.
'Baby, I thought you wouldn't feel up to it,' he said. Annie knew she should feel touched or grateful for this selfless shouldering of blame and it bothered her that she didn't. She waited, almost irritated, for Robert to leaven things with the inevitable joke.
'And hey young lady,' he went on, 'you're going to have enough work to do when we get home. There's firewood to cut, all the cleaning, food to prepare…'
Grace dutifully laughed and Annie ignored Robert's sidelong look in the silence that followed.
Once home, they managed to summon some little cheer. Grace said the tree in the hall looked lovely. She spent some time alone in her room, playing Nirvana loudly to reassure them she was alright. She was good on the crutches and could even handle the stairs, falling only once when she tried to bring down a bag of little presents she'd had the nurses go out and buy for her to give her parents.
'I'm okay,' she said when Robert ran to her. She had banged her head sharply on the wall and Annie, emerging from the kitchen, could see she was in pain.
'Are you sure?' Robert tried to offer help but she accepted as little as she could. 'Yes. Dad, really I'm fine.' Annie saw Robert's eyes fill as Grace went over and put the presents under the tree and the sight made her so angry she had to turn and go quickly back into the kitchen.
They always gave each other Christmas stockings. Annie and Robert did Grace's together and then one for each other. In the morning, Grace would bring hers into their room and sit on the bed and they would take turns unwrapping presents, making jokes about how clever Santa Glaus had been or how he'd forgotten to remove a price tag. Now, as with the tree, the ritual seemed to Annie almost unbearable.
Grace went to bed early and when they were sure she was asleep, Robert tiptoed to her room with the stocking. Annie undressed and listened to the hall clock ticking away the silence. She was in the bathroom when Robert came back and she heard a rustling and knew he was pushing her stocking under her side of the bed. She had just done the same with his. What a farce it was.
He came in as she was brushing her teeth. He was wearing his striped English pajamas and smiled at her in the mirror. Annie spat out and rinsed her mouth.
'You've got to stop this crying,' she said without looking at him.
'What?'
'I saw you, when she fell. You've got to stop feeling sorry for her. Pity won't help her at all.'
He stood looking at her and as she turned to go back into the bedroom their eyes met. He was frowning at her, shaking his head.
'You're unbelievable, Annie.'
'Thanks.'
'What's happening to you?'
She didn't reply, just walked past him back into the bedroom. She got into bed and switched off her light and after he'd finished in the bathroom he did the same. They lay with their backs to each other and Annie stared at the sharp quadrant of yellow light that jutted in from the landing onto the bedroom floor.
As he was driving home that night to his wife and children, Harry Logan felt depressed. He remembered the hunter, that little guy in the fur hat, grinning down at him from the railroad bridge. The little creep was right, he thought. The horse should have been put down.
Christmas at the Macleans' started badly and got worse. They drove home from the hospital with Grace carefully bolstered across the back seat of Robert's car. They hadn't got halfway when she asked about the tree.
'Can we decorate it soon as we get back?' Annie looked straight ahead and left it to Robert to say they'd already done it, though not how it was done, in a joyless silence late the night before with the air between them bristling.
'Baby, I thought you wouldn't feel up to it,' he said. Annie knew she should feel touched or grateful for this selfless shouldering of blame and it bothered her that she didn't. She waited, almost irritated, for Robert to leaven things with the inevitable joke.
'And hey young lady,' he went on, 'you're going to have enough work to do when we get home. There's firewood to cut, all the cleaning, food to prepare…'
Grace dutifully laughed and Annie ignored Robert's sidelong look in the silence that followed.
Once home, they managed to summon some little cheer. Grace said the tree in the hall looked lovely. She spent some time alone in her room, playing Nirvana loudly to reassure them she was alright. She was good on the crutches and could even handle the stairs, falling only once when she tried to bring down a bag of little presents she'd had the nurses go out and buy for her to give her parents.
'I'm okay,' she said when Robert ran to her. She had banged her head sharply on the wall and Annie, emerging from the kitchen, could see she was in pain.
'Are you sure?' Robert tried to offer help but she accepted as little as she could. 'Yes. Dad, really I'm fine.' Annie saw Robert's eyes fill as Grace went over and put the presents under the tree and the sight made her so angry she had to turn and go quickly back into the kitchen.
They always gave each other Christmas stockings. Annie and Robert did Grace's together and then one for each other. In the morning, Grace would bring hers into their room and sit on the bed and they would take turns unwrapping presents, making jokes about how clever Santa Glaus had been or how he'd forgotten to remove a price tag. Now, as with the tree, the ritual seemed to Annie almost unbearable.
Grace went to bed early and when they were sure she was asleep, Robert tiptoed to her room with the stocking. Annie undressed and listened to the hall clock ticking away the silence. She was in the bathroom when Robert came back and she heard a rustling and knew he was pushing her stocking under her side of the bed. She had just done the same with his. What a farce it was.
He came in as she was brushing her teeth. He was wearing his striped English pajamas and smiled at her in the mirror. Annie spat out and rinsed her mouth.
'You've got to stop this crying,' she said without looking at him.
'What?'
'I saw you, when she fell. You've got to stop feeling sorry for her. Pity won't help her at all.'
He stood looking at her and as she turned to go back into the bedroom their eyes met. He was frowning at her, shaking his head.
'You're unbelievable, Annie.'
'Thanks.'
'What's happening to you?'
She didn't reply, just walked past him back into the bedroom. She got into bed and switched off her light and after he'd finished in the bathroom he did the same. They lay with their backs to each other and Annie stared at the sharp quadrant of yellow light that jutted in from the landing onto the bedroom floor.