Gingham Mountain by Mary Connealy

thing. Then he adjusted his suspenders onto his shoulders and pulled on his boots over the thick socks he’d worn to bed. With a couple of quick scrapes of his fingers, he gathered his hair at his nape then tied it back with a leather thong to keep it out of his eyes, wondering if one of the older girls would mind whacking some of his mane off for him. Pulling on his buckskin coat, he grabbed the bucket to go for water.
    Benny beat him to the door, shouting with glee and running for the barn and the ragtag sleds Grant had collected over the years.
    By the time Grant hauled back the first bucket of water, all six kids were long gone sledding. He poured water into a pot for coffee and a basin for washing. He hustled to milk both cows, gather eggs, and make sure the livestock in his barnyard had gotten through the blizzard in one piece. Hefting an armload of firewood inside, he stoked the stove then reached for the boiling coffeepot to pour himself a cup before he went to wrangle with the children about coming back in to get ready for church.
    Then something snapped. He poured his untouched coffee back in, shoved the pot to a cooler spot so it wouldn’t burn. . .and ran.
    He got to the bottom of the sledding hill just as Marilyn and Libby sailed down the slope on the little toboggan. They upended the sled in a snowdrift and came rolling out of the snow, giggling hysterically.
    Grant shouted, “ My turn! ”
    The kids started shrieking and jumping up and down, yelling encouragement to him.
    Grant grabbed the rope of Marilyn’s sleek wooden toboggan, one that Grant had built himself last winter, and plunked Libby down on it. He trudged up the hill, giving his newest daughter a ride.
    Joshua passed him on a runner sled going down. Benny, Charlie,and Sadie were next on the big toboggan.
    He got to the top only a few paces ahead of Joshua.
    “I’m faster’n you, Pa,” Joshua taunted in his deep, adult voice. His black skin shone with melting snow, and icicles hung off his woolen cap. “I was way behind you when I went down.”
    Grant laughed at his seventeen-year-old son. “I gave Libby a ride. You made Benny walk. All the difference.”
    Joshua shoved Benny sideways, and the little boy plopped over into the snow. Benny came up hurling snowballs, and Joshua whooped and ran.
    Grant turned Libby around to face downhill. “Let’s get out of here, Lib, before we get attacked!”
    Libby laughed out loud, and Grant’s joy was so great to hear this solemn little girl laughing he wanted to dance. He jumped onto the back of the sled, tucking his long legs around her, and pushed off. Just as he started moving, he felt something heavy hit his back, and he glanced behind to see Benny tackling him. Grant pulled Benny over his shoulder while the boy laughed and wrestled. Libby started giggling again.
    Grant glanced sideways to see Charlie riding in front of Sadie and Marilyn, laughing. Charlie’s laughter meant the world to Grant. He knew the boy would be a tough nut to crack. Hostile and suspicious, Grant understood that the boy expected every moment in this house to be his last. He didn’t trust anyone. All of the new brothers and sisters hadn’t gone down well. He had especially hated sharing his tiny loft room with Benny.
    And now Charlie laughed and played. Grant’s heart danced even if he was too buried under kids to do it for real.
    The sled soared down the hill, completely out of control because Benny had a boot in Grant’s face. The wreck came as it always did against the drifts that had formed at the base of the slope.
    By the time Grant got the snow wiped out of his eyes, all six of his children were scattered around beside him, buried at all differentdepths. All of them laughing like loons.
    Grant knew he was pushing his luck, but he couldn’t make them quit yet. “Once more down the hill.”
    All the laughing stopped and the complaining began.
    “Pa,” Benny wailed, “it’s already warming up.”
    Charlie