“Bethanie! Bethanie!”

I, Bethanie Snow, turned in annoyance at the small hand tugging at the skirt of my muslin dress.

“Lizbeth! Did not Pa tell you not to raise your voice? It’s unladylike!”

Oh, my. Now mind you, I do not often practice what I preach, and my sister knows full well. But nonetheless, she lowered her voice.

“Papa bought the horses, and he needs you!”

Horses? Oh thank the Lord, it was about time. I lifted the skirts of my dress, so as not to trip, and took off running.

‘What kind of horses will they be?’ I thought as I ran. ‘White stallion? Brown mare?’ My family’s wagon, a Conestoga, came into view, and I heard my father’s merry whistling from the other side. I bit my lip to hold back a shriek of excitement from issuing forth, and peered around the wagon.

My expression turned from one of utmost anticipation to one of utmost dismay. The sleek Thoroughbred and Indian pony I was expecting was gone! In their place was a tall, scruffy, and black-brown stallion, and a shaggy, fat, brown mare.

I must have stood there, with my mouth hanging open, for minutes, because when I came back to the present, my father, Jedadiah Snow, was in front of me, holding out a curry comb. “Bethanie?”

“Yes, Pa?” I replied automatically.

“I was saying, would you like to groom Ice?”

”Who?”

“The stallion, sweetheart.”

Oh my. ‘Sweetheart’—at 17! I decided ignore the remark, however, and accepted the comb. “Yes, Pa.”

I approached ‘Ice’ with distaste, and he stared at me reproachfully. I brought the comb over his withers, where I always started, and was surprised to see the brown come away with the comb, exposing a jet black coat.

“Pa!”

Pa looked up from trimming the mare. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Look!” I swept the comb over Ice’s back several times, and pointed to the blackness.

Pa nodded knowingly. ”Yep, he’s a beauty, inne?”

Ice nipped my brown hair, and I continued grooming, only this time with a smile.

‘Ice really isn’t a bad horse,’ I thought as he bunted my shoulder.

I gave him a quick hug.