"Father, do you think this is a good ox?" Clara asked.
Old Walter nodded. "It's a fine ox—can't deny that."
But in his mind: What do we need it for?!
"Come on, come on. Lester and the others should be done shopping. Let's go home." Old Walter grabbed Ryder and the rest of the children, who were happily watching the commotion. "Home."
Ryder reluctantly took Rosie's hand. "Oh…"
But Clara didn't move. Her voice was firm. "Father, I'm buying it. I don't want to plow fields."
"You won't even plow ten acres?" Old Walter was baffled—and deeply shocked.
Clara nodded. She was buying.
Signaling for him to step aside, she strode to the seller, silver in hand.
Unexpectedly, the people who'd been haggling earlier saw her about to pay and suddenly stopped pressing for a lower price, each declaring they wanted it too.
The seller was caught between them, glancing from Clara to the others, unsure who to sell to.
Clara ignored them and shoved the silver into his hand. "First come, first served. I said I'd buy it first, so it should be mine."
The men blocked the seller, refusing to let him take her money. "Where'd this woman come from? No sense of rules? Everyone here saw it—we were here first, still negotiating!"
Seeing this, Old Walter couldn't keep quiet. "What do you think you're doing? Bullying people in broad daylight?"
He set the plow on the ground and took a protective stance.
The men's faces soured, but sizing up their opponents—just an old man half in the grave and a young wife—they didn't take them seriously, and kept pressuring the seller.
Adam and Ben noticed their younger siblings looking frightened and quickly led all the children to the far side of the street.
Chad and Deb sucked their fingers and whispered to Ryder and Rosie, "They're going to get beaten up."
Rosie's eyes widened. "What? Grandpa and Aunt Clara?"
Deb didn't bother explaining, keeping her eyes fixed on the scene.
The seller, held back by the men, was sweating despite the winter chill.
A crowd gathered, some muttering about how the men were picking on the weak, others urging the seller to make up his mind.
"Well? Who's it going to be?" someone in the crowd called.
Clara, unwilling to waste time, asked the seller directly, "Who are you selling to?"
With sixteen taels right in front of him, the seller naturally wanted to sell to Clara. But fearing to offend the others, he hesitated.
Clara saw him wavering, called to Old Walter, and turned to leave.
"Wait, young lady! I'll sell to you!" the seller blurted. If she left, the others would just keep trying to bargain him down.
If offending someone was the price, so be it—money came first.
Clara stopped and turned back. "You're selling to me?"
The man nodded rapidly.
Her lips curved in a faint smile. She told Old Walter to hold on and stepped forward with the silver.
But before she could hand it over, one of the men reached out to knock the money from her hand.
Clara's gaze turned icy. She whipped her silver back into her grip, and in a blur, her other hand lashed out—smack, smack, smack, smack!—sending four reaching hands flying.
The four yelped and landed hard on their backsides.
Furious and humiliated, they scrambled up and swung their fists at her.
The seller was so startled he could only shout for Clara to run.
"Run? My ox isn't going anywhere—why would I run?"
Even as she spoke, the punches were already flying toward her. Clara leaned back, letting the blows slice through empty air.
In that one or two seconds as they tried to pull back, she straightened, hooked their arms under her elbows, and twisted. Then she dropped her weight sharply—slamming all four to the ground in one move.
A loud crack echoed—something had popped out of place. The four clutched their arms and howled in pain.
The crowd collectively sucked in a breath. This little wife was fierce.
Clara's eyes swept over them, a cold smile on her lips. Then, with deliberate malice, she kicked one square in the back.
He doubled over, unable even to scream, struggling for breath.
"Whose ox is it?" she asked evenly, crouching in front of them.
The four shrank back, eyes wide with fear and pleading.
Finally one managed to gasp, "Y-yours… it's yours…"
Only then did Clara reach out and, under their flinching gazes, set their dislocated arms back in place—without warning. The sharp pain had them rolling and screaming again.
Clara dusted off her hands and walked to the seller.
Seeing her approach, he took an instinctive step back.
Her brows knit. She shook the silver at him. "Do you want this or not?"
"Yes, yes!" He leaned forward from a safe distance, stretching out his fingers to pinch each tael from her hand before turning and bolting.
"…," Clara muttered, shrugging. She went to untie the ox cart from the post.
Perhaps sensing her overwhelming presence, the stubborn old ox was meek as a lamb—east when she said east, west when she said west.
She led it to Old Walter. "Father, put the plow on the cart."
"Uh—yes, yes!" After a moment's daze, Old Walter snapped out of it and hurried to load the plow and hoes.
Clara waved Adam and Ben over and told them to walk beside the cart, with the three youngest riding inside.
It was only then that Rosie realized Chad and Deb hadn't meant Grandpa and Aunt Clara were going to get beaten up—they'd meant the four bullies now lying on the ground.
Those "bad guys," as she saw them, waited until Clara's group was gone before getting up and hurrying toward the magistrate's office.
So, just as Clara's party met up with Lester's vegetable-buying group and gathered their last purchases for the trip home, they were nearly at the city gate when a loud, commanding voice rang out from behind:
"You there, stop!"
Several quieter voices followed: "Yes, yes, Officer, that's her—the village woman with the ox cart."
At the shout, the gate guards stretched out their spears, blocking Clara's group.
Doreen jumped in fright. Caleb panicked too, not knowing what was going on.
Old Walter's brows furrowed deeply. Looking back, he saw the four troublemakers, now leading four constables, come to arrest Clara—charging her with defying the law and injuring men to the point of disability.
"What?" Lester pointed at the four, still very much alive and mobile. "How exactly are they disabled?"
(End of Chapter)
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