Ward Krancel
Star Traveler Barbie had her motor home all packed and ready, but now Fashion Barbie didn’t want to go. Her hair would get tangled if someone rolled down a window, and where would she put all her accessories? Honestly, these two could never agree on anything. Marie got up off the floor and went to find someone else to keep her company.
Her feet thumping the treads, she galumphed downstairs—galumph, galumph, galumph. She liked galumphing. Marie crept up behind her mother and grandmother to see what was on the kitchen counter. A five‑pound bag of potatoes rested next to some honey‑colored onions. Dumplings for dinner!
Double chins propping up her head, Grandmother peeled vegetables, hands never pausing in their work. A big pot of water rested in the sink with pieces of potato in it. Marie snitched one and popped it into her mouth—crunch, crunch, crunch. She preferred baking days, especially when there were cookies or freshly sliced bread with melting butter and jam on top.
“It’s sunny. Why don’t you go outside with the boys?” her mother said. Nobody in the kitchen wanted to play, either.
Marie went to the bench by the back door, plucked her snow suit from the line of pegs on the wall, and limb by limb, worked her way into it. She lifted the seat lid and got out her mittens and her white hat with the white pom‑pom on top. After finding her boots amongst the others on the old rug, she sat down on the bench and slid them on.
Her mother came over and adjusted Marie’s hat. Selecting a checkered scarf from the rack above the bench, she bound it around her daughter’s neck. “Out you go.” Patting her on the back, her mother swung open the inner door and then the storm door, and Marie stepped onto the porch. Bright light dazzled her eyes, but she saw Joe and Spencer out by the shed, and they had Mrs. Woolly with them. Marie trudged through the snow—trudge, trudge, trudge. She didn’t like trudging.
Spencer was the family clown; Joe collected critters. In summer the shed was full of snakes in cans and tadpoles in pond water, and spiders and snails and just about anything you could put in a jar with holes poked in the lid. Once Joe found a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest and raised it until it flew away.
Right now a big brown rabbit lived in a chicken wire pen. Marie called him Noseholes because he scrunched his face up and flared his nostrils when she fed him a piece of carrot or a stem of hay, but his real name was Bucky. And there was the old ewe, who was a little blind, named Mrs. Woolly.
The sheep was tied to a sled with rope, like a horse harnessed to a sleigh. Joe and Spencer were big boys, ten and twelve. They were dressed in heavy coats, Joe with a green stocking cap and Spencer with a red and black hat with a brim and flaps at the ears.
“Whatcha doin’?” she asked.
Joe looked down as though he’d just noticed her. “We’re going trapping.” The sled held an assortment of tools, wire, and metal traps.
“Can I come?”
“Trapping isn’t for little kids,” Spencer said authoritatively.
Tired of being left out, Marie pleaded, “Pleeease!”
Spencer elbowed Joe in the ribs. “Okay. Get in and we’ll go for a test run.” He took the traps and things out and helped her sit down in the red plastic sled. “Hold on.” Marie gripped the yellow handles at its sides.
Joe took the end of the rope around Mrs. Woolly’s neck, but when Spencer gave her a whack on the rump, it slipped from his hand. The old ewe was not used to being tied to sleds and would really have preferred to be back in her shed, dozing on fresh straw. She also didn’t think it was nice to surprise a person. So when she received the slap, she was startled and bolted across the snow‑covered yard at a full run with the sled in tow and Marie holding on.
Crashing through lilac bushes at the side of the house, the sled bouncing up and down over wind drifts, they reached the front yard. All Marie could see was a cloud of snow kicked up from the sheep’s hooves, only her black tail showing through the blizzard. The boys stood dumbfounded as Mrs. Woolly came back around and up the driveway, lowering her head like a ram. Spencer dived out of the way just in time, but Joe got knocked on his backside, sputtering for breath.
Not done, the sheep spun around and bounded toward the street. But Mother had seen the commotion from a window and dashed outside without a coat and only in her slippers. She stood in the icy driveway, feet spread wide and arms raised, a capital letter X.
The old ewe recognized an immovable obstacle and stopped dead in her tracks, the sled bumping into her hind legs. When the boys came running up, their mother shouted, “Are you nuts?!” They looked down at their feet sheepishly, Mrs. Woolly studying her hooves.
Mother grabbed the rope dangling from the ewe’s neck and thrust it into Joe’s hands. She went to the sled, and kneeling, pulled Marie to her feet. “Are you okay?” she asked, brushing snow off the girl’s face. It had happened so fast that all Marie could do was hold on and bounce along, but now tears spilled down her cold cheeks. Mother brushed those away too.
“Take that animal back to its pen, and no more sleds. Understand?”
“Yes, mam,” the boys said in muffled unison. They led Mrs. Woolly away, the red plastic sled trailing behind, obediently.
Mother and daughter walked to the house hand in hand. Once inside they got Marie out of her suit and cleaned the last snow from themselves. “Come to the kitchen and warm up,” her mother said, giving her a pat on the bottom. Grandmother, still peeling vegetables, only shook her head. Marie sat down at the table, and in a minute her mother set a mug of hot cocoa in front of her. She felt much better.
Endnote
Although most of the details are invented, this is based on a true family legend and dedicated to the Thompson’s and to Diane, who really took that wild ride.