Brown Sunshine of Sawdust Valley, Page 3

  “And what will you be doing, Mrs. Moore?” the vet asked, laughing.

  “I’ll be fixing a fine dinner for Molly and her father—the proud owners of a newborn with long elegant ears!”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE LONER DOWN THE HILL

  Dear Diary,

  I’m glad I wasn’t home until the good news! I would have been terrified seeing Lady rolling from side to side on the ground. Poor Mom! But she really handled it well, burning up the road all the way to Doc’s place, then to the Jensens’, then back. And what a surprise! What they thought was colic was Brown Sunshine ready to be born.

  The first two nights I slept in the stable with Brown Sunshine and Lady Sue. I couldn’t believe Mom and Pops let me! They actually suggested it—if I had Freddy’s weimaraner Smokestack on guard.

  Even though Smokestack belongs to Freddy, he used to come over on his own if ever Lady Sue or I needed him. Now Smoke is feeling more important than ever with a brand-new creature to watch over. It’s unbelievable how gentle an eighty-pound weimaraner can be! He sniffed and snuffed his way slowly toward the stable as if he knew there was guard work to do. And then he sniffed and snuffed Brown Sunshine from head to tail. And Lady Sue let him do it! Now, that alone is proof that Smokestack is special.

  He has practically taken up residence in Sunshine’s barn. They’ve become great buddies, playing chase and making up their own games. And every once in a while Freddy comes over to see what’s going on. Of course, he never joins in the fun. He stands there, making rude comments about how ugly or dumb mules are. Just because he has show horses, he thinks he’s better!

  Something else unusual is happening. Our neighbor, the man who lives down the hill, keeps peering over his fence at Brown Sunshine. He only has one arm. He lost the other a few years ago in a traffic accident. His wife was killed in that same accident.

  His name is Joe Henry Covington, at least that’s the name tacked onto one of his fence posts. But we’ve called him “the loner” ever since Christmas, when Mom brought him a loaf of homemade bread and a jar of Fabulous Five Fruit Medley. He accepted them gratefully enough, but hurried back into his house, as if he preferred to be alone. Rarely does he speak to anyone. He never paid any attention to us until Brown Sunshine was born. Now he’s at the fence every day . . . watching.

  I wish that Freddy had never said anything about Brown Sunshine being a freebie mule. I can’t help worrying that the owners of the jack are going to turn up and ask us for money . . . or take Brown Sunshine away.

  There’s Mr. Covington again. I keep wondering: What is he thinking? Why is he so interested? Does he know something we don’t?

  CHAPTER 11

  KEEP YOUR TRACES TIGHT!

  Brown Sunshine with the sensitive ears and the bouncy tail grew to enjoy the sameness of his days. Early each morning the sun woke him, warming his coat first and then his bones underneath.

  Along with the rising sun, Molly sang herself out of the house and gave Brown Sunshine an affectionate swat on the rump.

  “Mornin’, Sunshine,” she said. “Time to be up and at ’em.” Brown Sunshine had no idea what the words meant, but they had a friendly encouraging sound, and he answered with a bawl that turned into a squeal and ended in a long whicker.

  This let Smokestack know that it was time to run over to the feeder for a quick game of tug-of-war with the oat hay that Molly would give Sunshine for breakfast. Molly loved this game. It had quickly become a celebration of each morning. What a sight—a mule and a dog tugging fiercely at a mouthful of hay. Once Brown Sunshine had tugged so hard that Smoke went flying through the air and did a complete somersault before landing again!

  Molly laughed. “You two should be in a circus!”

  All of a sudden one morning, Mr. Covington, who had been watching Brown Sunshine keenly, came striding up the hill.

  Molly stood frozen, shocked by his presence, feeling that he must have come for her mule. He must be here to take Brown Sunshine away! she thought wildly.

  “Is your father here?” he said on his arrival. “I’d like to talk to him before he leaves this morning.”

  Molly was so nervous that she couldn’t answer. But it didn’t matter. Mr. Covington had no sooner finished his question, when Pops came out of the house. The two men shook hands, each curious about the other.

  Mr. Covington pulled a picture from his pocket showing a handsome buggy pulled by a MULE!

  “The mule is yours?” Mr. Moore asked, studying the photograph.

  Covington nodded. “Yes, but she passed on.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Pops said. “I had no idea.”

  Molly’s mind was racing. His mule’s dead, and now he wants mine!

  “She died years ago of old age. I raised her from a baby. I’ll never have a friend like her again.”

  Pops nodded. “I understand.”

  Enough! Molly thought. What more does he want? I wish he’d go home now to his own side of the fence!

  “I want to offer my buggy for your wife to use in delivering jams and jellies to her customers,” Mr. Covington said.

  Molly sighed with relief, then quickly covered her mouth as her face turned a bright red. How could I have been so wrong! Fortunately, no one was paying any attention to her.

  “I sure appreciated getting that fine jam for Christmas,” Mr. Covington went on to say.

  Molly could hardly believe what was happening. What an adventure for the animals and for Mom! She might sell twice as much from a snappy buggy surrounded by three proud animals—an elegant mare, her darling baby mule, and a proud guard dog.

  Molly was caught up in the excitement. “What could I do? I’d sure like to go along,” she said.

  “We’d make our trip once a week . . . say, on Saturdays,” Mr. Covington suggested. “It would be a great help if you’d carry the trays of jams and jellies into the people’s houses.”

  Mr. Moore was still studying the picture. “That’s a fine buggy,” he said. “My wife will be delighted. The old cart was much too small.”

  Mr. Covington nodded in agreement. “Right now, the buggy is up on blocks in my barn. But with a little elbow grease, I’ll have it ready to roll in no time.”

  Mrs. Moore came out of the house and joined the excitement. She, too, studied the picture of the buggy and the long-ago couple riding in it. She listened to Mr. Covington’s offer. She hugged Molly and actually shook hands with Brown Sunshine, who happened to be lifting his right foreleg and lowering his head to observe a butterfly landing on his leg. Everybody laughed. Even Brown Sunshine snorted, as if he enjoyed shaking hands and having an audience.

  “One other thing,” Mr. Covington now turned his attention to Molly. “I’ve been watching your little mule. He’s a fine specimen. I worked mules on my farm for almost twenty years, and I sorely miss turning a bit of dirt. If you and your mom have any questions about how to handle Brown Sunshine, I’d like to help out. Truth is, I’m itching to get my good hand on a good mule again.”

  Molly and her mother smiled and thanked Mr. Covington. As for Mr. Moore, he invited his neighbor to hurry repairs on the buggy. And Mr. Covington did hurry. In two weeks, the buggy was back in shape and the entourage was on its way to sell jams and jellies. At every house where they pulled up, delighted customers ran out with cameras and carrots.

  CHAPTER 12

  IT’S NOT HOW LONG THE EARS ARE . . .

  A great peace settled over Molly’s life. The worry over the identity of Brown Sunshine’s sire seemed unimportant. Would the people who planned the breeding come to claim Brown Sunshine? Or was it an act of God without any help from man?

  The days settled into a joyous routine. Lady Sue blossomed with her Saturday morning trips delivering Mrs. Moore’s jams and jellies. Never before had she enjoyed such lively company. Not only her baby mule following or leading the way from house to house, but Smokestack monitoring the procession and barking in approval. Their excitement was contagious! Mrs. Moore grew ha
ppy in the everyday security, and Mr. Covington enthusiastically answered Molly’s endless questions on the raising and training of mules.

  To spend more time with Brown Sunshine, Molly’s classroom work improved sharply. Summer vacation was just around the corner and Molly had convinced Mr. Covington to help teach Brown Sunshine to pull a plow, or a fine cart, and the challenge of cross-country riding.

  Freddy’s was the only negative voice to be heard. Between horse shows he came over to the Moores to compare mules to horses: “Mules are stupid. Mules are slow. Mules are mean and low class.” Whatever Freddy could say to make Molly feel bad made Freddy feel good. He had all the answers. In her diary, Molly gave Freddy a piece of her mind.

  June sixth, the very first day of summer vacation, Molly woke up early filled with excitement, as Mr. Covington promised to begin training Brown Sunshine that very day. Molly helped her mother make jelly and finished her daily chores of cleaning her room and doing the breakfast dishes, so the rest of the day was hers. She would learn how to train Brown Sunshine!

  Mr. Covington arrived with halter and lead rope in hand. Molly opened the pasture gate for him. He walked quietly over to Brown Sunshine and gently placed the rope around Sunshine’s neck. Then he slid the halter onto his head. Molly helped to fasten the buckle. All the while Mr. Covington spoke in a very calm, low voice. “Easy, boy, it’s okay, boy. Whoa there, boy.”

  Molly watched in awe. Brown Sunshine seemed to understand exactly what Mr. Covington was telling him. All was fine while Mr. Covington held on to the rope and stroked Sunshine’s shoulder. Then Mr. Covington gave a tug on the rope for Brown Sunshine to follow him to the gate. Sunshine suddenly pulled away in the opposite direction!

  “Whoa, boy! Easy there. Come now,” Mr. Covington coaxed. But Brown Sunshine had other plans. Mr. Covington gave a quick, hard jerk on the lead rope, which got Brown Sunshine’s full attention. His forelegs spread wide apart as he stopped in his tracks and trembled.

  Mr. Covington approached him again with that same calming voice. “Easy, boy, it’s okay, come on, boy,” he said, and stroked Sunshine’s shoulder once more. Then he gave another tug.

  Brown Sunshine followed courageously. It could and did work!

  Molly was delighted to see how smart her mule was. She was even more delighted when she noticed Freddy had been standing behind her and had seen the whole performance. He looked impressed.

  Freddy said, “Mister, how did you get him to follow, when mules are known for their stubbornness?”

  “Well, son,” Mr. Covington replied. “It’s not how long the ears are—it’s what’s between them.”

  CHAPTER 13

  ROYAL GIFT

  Dear Diary,

  Twenty whole months have passed! Brown Sunshine sure has grown and no longer looks like a fuzzy baby. But he is still just as beautiful!

  He’s beginning to learn the lifestyle of a growing mule. He’s listening to Mr. Covington’s lessons on “ground driving.” Because of his one arm, Mr. Covington is teaching Brown Sunshine to work with only one line, the jerk-line. Mr. Covington is also teaching him to carry a small saddle, sometimes an old Army or McClellan saddle, or two potato sacks to get him used to weight on his back.

  Even Freddy Westover is “coming around.” He won’t admit it to me, but I can tell from the way he talks about Mr. Covington and Brown Sunshine. Watching a true muleteer at work is changing his opinion of mules. He and Smokestack are spending a lot of time at our house.

  I’m in seventh grade now. Today my teacher, Miss Spinks, asked me to stand in front of the class and read my composition entitled MULE DAY IN COLUMBIA, TENNESSEE.

  “The class will please close all books,” she said, with an eye on Freddy, “and give close attention to Molly’s speech.”

  My knees started to quake till I got a good look at Freddy in the back row. At first Freddy showed his usual smirk. But then he was listening without a sneer, as if he was interested.

  Miss Spinks peered over her half-glasses. “I want the entire class to see how Molly takes a subject she has researched at the library and makes a fine story of it, with a beginning, a middle, and an ending.”

  I owe a lot of thanks to our librarian, Miss Potts, who helped me with my essay. I can still see her stacking a pile of books on how General George Washington brought mules to America, and how certain cities held King Mule celebrations that attracted thousands of admirers from all over the United States and Canada. She even brought a roll of newspapers flashing pictures of past Mule Day parades. As the stack of material grew higher and higher, the researchers sitting beside me wrinkled their noses in envy. But as I studied the Crowning, I could easily imagine Brown Sunshine being crowned King Mule.

  Gulping, I began, “For 364 days a year, the mule works for man.” My voice strengthened. “On the 365th day, man works for the mule. He puts on a celebration for all mules. It’s almost as big as the Rose Bowl Parade in California and more important to me because it honors live animals and their work.”

  The class settled down.

  “The reason it’s more important,” I went on, without even looking at my notes, “is that this festival crowns an animal that has earned his reward, and not just by being beautiful!

  “In Columbia, Tennessee,” I said with pride, and thinking of Brown Sunshine all the while, “the most typical and beautiful mule is crowned KING before thousands of visitors from all across America.”

  “Molly,” Miss Spinks got up from behind her desk to stand beside me. “I would like to hold up before the class this splendid illustration of your essay.”

  I wished she hadn’t done that, because all the kids were going to figure that I was her pet. I took a deep breath and continued.

  “Our first President, General George Washington, made the mule popular in America. When the Revolutionary War ended, and the general returned home, he was shocked by the drabness of his land at Mount Vernon. So he turned his mind to scientific farming. He had heard that ‘Spain’s enormous Catalonian donkeys sired fine work mules who were greater in size and strength than horses.’ Besides, as he put it, ‘their cheap keeping was much in their favor.’ General Washington tried several times to buy the Spanish donkeys, but with no luck. It was against Spanish law to export jacks.

  “The news that the general himself was interested finally reached the King of Spain, who was so honored that he ordered two of the finest jacks in his kingdom to be sent as a gift. Although one died on board ship, the other jack arrived at Mount Vernon in fine fettle.

  “Examining the handsome jack standing on the piazza of his mansion one summer morning, General Washington said, ‘From him, I hope to secure a race of extraordinary goodness which will stock the country. He is indeed a Royal Gift, and henceforward that will be his name.’

  “Within a few years, the general had mated several horse-mares to Royal Gift and gotten some strapping mules. They were so tough that he put them to work at an early age. Friends and neighbors shook their heads in amazement. How fat and sleek the mule kept in spite of his work! How he pulled and plowed and cultivated on the hottest days! They wanted mules, too. And so, before very long, the Virginia countryside was dotted with the long-eared sons and daughters of Royal Gift.”

  CHAPTER 14

  BROWN SUNSHINE GROWS

  Molly’s essay was entered in the Tennessee state contest. By the next spring it had won the regional competition and was entered in the statewide finals. Winners wouldn’t be announced until school opened in the fall. Molly dared to be hopeful.

  Meantime, Brown Sunshine had turned two years old. His training was now more serious. By summer’s end, he was doing light work—hauling firewood to clear the Moores’ land.

  Also, Joe Henry Covington yearned to turn a little dirt himself. He figured that Brown Sunshine was strong enough and ready to plow a garden. Joe Henry even offered his walking plow to give Mrs. Moore a proper garden tool. But he knew he couldn’t drive a green mule and handle the plow at th
e same time. He needed help, and was delighted when a changed Freddy volunteered.

  “It won’t be easy,” Mr. Covington explained, but Freddy was not convinced. Together they went to work.

  Molly was furious. Freddy had taken over her mule and her job! Mr. Covington hooked Brown Sunshine to the plow. He drove with a single jerk-line while Freddy grabbed the plow handles. This made Brown Sunshine uneasy. After only a few rows, they snagged a root with the blade. A handle flew up in Freddy’s face and smacked him under the chin, making him bite his tongue. His world spun—both his chin and tongue were bleeding.

  Molly ran to the house and made up her first ice pack. She hurried outdoors to find Mr. Covington holding his red bandanna under Freddy’s chin. Mr. Covington took the ice pack, gave it to Freddy, and pointed to a shade tree. “Take this, son, and sit in the shade, over yonder, till the bleeding stops.”

  Molly eagerly stepped in and took the plow in hand. Mr. Covington picked up the jerk-line and Brown Sunshine trusted Molly so completely that he moved off as if he’d been a plower for years.

  The system worked so well that Mr. Covington and Molly formed a business going about the neighborhood, plowing and planting. Even Freddy joined in. He loaded all the equipment—the plow, cultivators, disc, and shovels—onto a big wooden “groundslide” to transport from place to place. Brown Sunshine pulled the slide with great enthusiasm, and the daily work gave an obvious satisfaction to Molly and her mule!

  CHAPTER 15

  THE TALE OF BROWN SUNSHINE’S TAIL

  When school began that fall, it was announced that Molly Moore’s essay had won the state competition. Her achievement was published in newspapers across Tennessee. Molly was asked to go to Nashville to read her essay on TV, and to talk to the General Assembly on Youth Day.