Excerpt:

Maggie plodded along behind the mules, one muddy boot step after the other.  I’m no different than these dumb, stupid animals, she thought, as she stepped into their hoof prints to avoid the deepest mud. 

She used the sleeve of her canvas jacket to wipe rainwater from her face, then flicked the whip angrily to sting the trailing mule’s rump.  Issachar shivered at the whip’s bite, and immediately lengthened his stride, snapping the line to the boat taut.  With no time to adjust her pace, Maggie’s next step sank into a good six inches of slippery, fresh mud. 

“What’s going on there?” her papa barked from the darkness behind her.  His voice was a mixture of annoyance and concern at the sudden jolt to his boat.  Papa’s temper teetered on the edge since his fight with the Canadian in November.

“Slow , boys, slow,” Maggie whispered. 

Issachar’s head turned so that one gleaming black eye fixed on her, as if to tell her to make up her silly mind. 

“Sorry, Issachar,” Maggie murmured as the mule readjusted his pace. 

“Better,” Papa grumbled, followed by a now familiar mournful sigh.

“I’d never do that,” Eamon announced loudly.  Her brother had hurried on deck the moment he’d felt the boat shudder. 

“It was a mistake,” Maggie called back.  “Hardly even a wiggle—”

“Wasn’t talkin’ to you.  But I’d still drive steady and not shake the boat at every turn.”

“Okay, you two,” Papa said impatiently.  “Not now.”

It had been an ongoing contest between them since Eamon turned nine.  He wanted to drive the mules more and had pounced on any sign of weakness from Maggie.  And while she hated the sameness of the job, she would rather fall down dead on the towpath than let him win.

Just then a gust of wind whipped the rain around, and a freezing cold snake of liquid slithered down Maggie’s back.  “Golly jeez lickspigot!” she yelped loudly.

“See , told ya,” Eamon blurted out.   “A girl can’t drive mules proper without making a silly fuss.  But I could.  I’d drive’m all day and all nght and not say peep or nothin’.” 

“Some cold water went down my back!”

“So what?” he demanded.  He paused to think of something more hurtful to say.  “A real driver wouldn’t be scared by a little water!”

“I wasn’t scared—”

“That’s what you said when you stepped on that snake.

And it was dead!”

“Maggie,” their momma said, coming on deck from the cabin.  “What’s going on out here?”  Her voice sounded exhausted.

“She can’t even fight for herself,” Eamon exclaimed. 

“A real driver would, but she needs her momma –”

“Do not –”

“Can’t a man read in peace?” Uncle Hen asked, poking his head from the stable door. 

“Eamon’s being a pain.  Like usual.”