Little Joe

by Sandra Neil Wallace

  “Unless what?” Eli asked.

  “Unless they’re absolutely certain nobody’ll hurt them.”

  Chapter Six

  Sorry

  Eli brought two halters into the barn, some apples and a brush. He didn’t know what to expect. He’d gone back this morning like Pa’d told him to, but Little Joe seemed tinier than Eli’d remembered. He still fit under Fancy and was bunched up like a blanket between her legs. So mostly, Eli just stared at the two standing close together and let them be.

  When Eli got home from school, Little Joe was curled up in the straw, his legs all folded together as he slept. When he heard Eli, Little Joe shook his ears and yawned. He lunged forward to get to his knees, uncurling his back legs first, then the front, till he was standing.

  “It’s gonna be different today, boy,” Eli whispered. Little Joe eyed the two rope halters laced through Eli’s arms. Eli brought them over to let him sniff, but the calf skittered behind Fancy.

  “Sorry ’bout the last time.” Eli slid one halter carefully across his bandaged hand. “It was all my fault. I tried to hurry you.” Eli walked with the halter over to Fancy. She closed her eyes and stuck out her neck as Eli put it around her head. Then he tied the end to the rail under the window. “See?” Eli peeked around Fancy to get a look at Little Joe. “It’s nothing to get bothered about. Really.”

  Eli pulled out a currycomb from his back pocket, reached up and started brushing Fancy all over. She stood still, taking in the feeling, her switch raising a bit as Eli got near the back. Then Eli started to hum. “Every cow likes to be brushed,” he said. “But they got to be tied up first.”

  Eli felt a warm breath on his brushing hand. Then a wet mouth. “Wanna sniff?” he asked. Little Joe had come over. Eli showed him the brush. Little Joe breathed in the bristles, then play-nibbled at the handle.

  “From now on, no more secrets,” Eli promised. “Or being sneaky. You’ll see what you’re getting into.”

  Little Joe took a step closer, eyed the halter on Eli’s arm and sniffed it. Then he went over and sniffed Fancy’s.

  “It’s the same thing, boy.” Eli showed Little Joe his halter. “Should we give it another try?” Eli slid the halter slowly over Little Joe’s head. This time, Little Joe didn’t fight when Eli tied him to the rail next to Fancy.

  Spider leapt onto the windowsill, her paws stained flaxen from months of barn prowling. She shook the furry necklace of stripes on her chest and looked down at Little Joe.

  “Keeping an eye on your calf, huh, Spider?” Eli pulled out another comb from his pocket, then started brushing Little Joe, too. His bandaged hand stung at first as he stood between the two cows, brushing. He’d stroke one, then the other, like he was swimming the front crawl lopsided; Little Joe chest-high to him, Fancy taller than Eli. “Wanna know something?” Eli asked them.

  Little Joe’s ears pricked up. He let himself be swayed by the movement as Eli brushed his neck. “You get brushed a lot at the fair,” Eli said. “I’ll brush you at least ten times a day. And you’ll get the blower on you, too.”

  Fancy turned around and glanced at Eli.

  “I can try it on you, too, Fancy. First time you get a bath this spring.” Eli was down near both rumps now, about ready to brush their tails. “Pa says Ned Kinderhoff grows pumpkins two rumps wide. He don’t know how, but he’d like to find out. They’re so heavy the judge at the fair’s got to use a forklift to weigh them.”

  Spider’s back arched and she extended her black claws as a draft came through the window, blowing in the last bits of winter. Little Joe peered under Spider’s legs and out the window. “Keller says there’s a Ferris wheel right near the show barn. If we get a row on that side, you can see it. Or if you want a quiet one, Pa says we just get there early and park a chair where we want to be.”

  Little Joe’s eyes began to close as Eli got to the switch.

  “And when you win the blue ribbon, they announce it over the loudspeaker.” Eli came up to Little Joe’s head. “They got bleachers high as corn silos and they’re loaded with people looking down at you.”

  Little Joe brought his muzzle close to Eli’s chore coat and smelled the apple in Eli’s pocket. “You wanna try an apple?” Eli took out a slice and reached over to give one to Fancy first, but Little Joe snatched it instead. “There’ll be plenty of good stuff to chew when you go on pasture next month.” Little Joe nudged at Eli’s pocket for more slices. “After weaning. First clover. Then apples, come summer. Sure seems like you’re ready. And you won’t have to drag me down the field to get to it.” Eli laughed and looked out the window. It had started to rain.

  There were still patches of snow, lumped on the lawn like dirty snow cones. But it wasn’t snowing; it was raining.

  Eli got closer to Fancy and gave the last apple slice to her. “Pretty soon it’s gonna be Big Night,” Eli whispered, his pulse quickening. He’d never seen one before but knew what it meant. “That’s when little, tiny creatures no longer than your ears come out of hiding.” Eli scratched one of Fancy’s ears. “In the middle of the night. It’ll get warmer after that,” Eli assured them. “Then you’ll be in the pastures in no time chewing on apples.”

  Chapter Seven

  Big Night

  Grandpa was peering out from his kitchen window when Pa dropped Eli off for dinner like he did every Wednesday night. And there was one more tractor seat in Grandpa’s collection, mounted on the red barn.

  “Pick what you want for dessert, Eli.” Grandpa smiled. He was peeling a potato and came into the sun porch wearing one of Grandma’s aprons up high around his chest.

  Eli could smell something good cooking as he passed rows of lumpy old hats and Pa’s blue ribbons pinned on the beams.

  “Go on now.” Grandpa tapped his peeling knife against the freezer lid. “I’ll lift it open and you reach. Everything’s labeled.”

  It was the kind of freezer you stuck your head in, then leaned over, careful not to tip onto the bags of frozen peaches. There were jars of gooseberry jam underneath and those thumbprint cookies Hannah liked.

  Eli dug deeper and spotted licorice stripes. They came from an orange tub of homemade Tiger Tiger ice cream. Below it was a layer of square pizza Grandpa learned to make when he was in the army and lived in Italy.

  “Don’t matter what you pick or how you mix it,” Grandpa said, poking his head through cloudy pockets of freezer air. “Tiger Tiger with pizza can be nice. So can gooseberry jam over peaches.”

  Eli chose Tiger Tiger ice cream, then square pizza for later.

  “Salisbury steak’s for supper, Eli. Know what’s in the secret sauce?”

  Eli smiled. “Something with tomatoes.”

  Grandpa loved growing tomatoes. Said it gave him something to fuss over, with Grandma gone and no milkers to take care of anymore.

  “We’ll make ’em into sandwiches tonight,” Grandpa said. He pointed to a loaf of bread puffed out beyond the pan. “Turn it over. It should come out if you tap the bottom.”

  Eli tapped twice and the loaf came out.

  “You can cut ’er up, then get out the wax paper.” Grandpa lowered the stove burner and the pan stopped sizzling. “We’ll be having those Salisbury steak sandwiches—to go.”

  Eli’s heart skipped a beat. He knew it was raining out and that it was April, but it seemed kind of early. Winter had just ended.

  “Tonight could be Big Night, Eli. I can feel it.”

  Eli stopped cutting.

  “Ever have Salisbury steak by a pond with thousands of spotted salamanders and spring peepers to keep you company? How ’bout it?”

  Eli cut the bread slices as thick as his wrist to get to the end of the loaf. “Do you think they’re out right now?” He couldn’t wait to see salamanders and peeper frogs.

  “Let’s see.” Grandpa spooned his special sauce onto the steaks and looked at Eli. “Suppose we’ll have to check the thermometer outside to make sure.”

  Eli ran to the thermometer
hanging on the back porch and stuck his head out. He followed the red line with his finger. “It says forty-three degrees, Grandpa.”

  “That’s about right,” Grandpa said, making the wax paper crackle as he folded it around the sandwiches. “Can you just imagine, Eli, living underground most of your life? Then one day, something inside you tells you to get out from that hole and crawl a quarter mile to a pond?” Grandpa stuffed the sandwiches into a bucket. “You don’t mind Salisbury steak sandwiches with triple sauce on ’em, do you? It’s got green pepper in it, you know. Not just tomatoes.”

  “What’s wrong with green peppers?” Eli pulled on his boots before straightening his socks and got out the hat from his slicker.

  “Your pa always hated Salisbury steak,” Grandpa said. “Don’t know why. Specially if it had green peppers in it.” He reached for the straw hat on the hook next to Grandma’s apron and stuck it on his head before heading out the door.

  “That’s just about the silliest hat I’ve ever seen, Grandpa.” Eli laughed.

  “Scare the trucks away.” Grandpa winked. “Or at least, get ’em to slow down some. Not too many folks around here wearing bright yellow straw hats on a rainy night. Now which bucket you want?” He lifted the handle in his left hand, then the right. “One’s for eatin’ and one’s for leadin’ critters.”

  Eli eyeballed them both. “I’ll take the leading one,” he said, peering into the empty bucket he just took.

  “That’s good, Eli. Always look down.” Grandpa nodded. “Remember, animals come first tonight. It’s their night. And you never know what’s at your feet.” Grandpa took out the gleaming silver flashlight from his slicker and aimed it into the night. “Could be the biggest spotted salamander of ’em all.”

  Eli tiptoed over the lawn past the apple orchard like he was walking on eggshells. He lifted the heels of his Billy boots every so often to see if he’d squashed anything.

  A thick veil of fog covered the valley in a tarp of chalky white, weaving threads of mist around Grandpa and Eli. It carried with it the smell of green—the newness coming to life in the brush nearby.

  Lemony green ferns splayed out below, their leaves in tight fists, refusing to break through the hairy skin until it warmed up.

  Eli was surprised how cold forty-something degrees was. The cool mist uncurled in swirling bits, dipping in and out of the sky ahead of them. He strained to hear a spring peeper or even a bullfrog, but the night was quiet. Just the rhythm of the rain tapping lightly on their shoulders, following them as they reached pavement.

  It was a steady rain, the kind of wetness that comes from all over, like the sprayers you walked through to keep cool at the fair. It got into places regular rain didn’t. Eli could already feel it seeping down the back of his neck in the gap between his hat and the slicker. His face was moist and clammy, too, but it didn’t bother him. He knew something was about to happen. Something hardly anyone got to see.

  “They’ll be crossing the road over the top of the hill if they cross at all,” Grandpa called out.

  Eli’d gotten ahead of Grandpa, stretching his footsteps farther and farther as he aimed for the crossing. He’d seen the spot during the day—Grandpa pointed it out plenty of times—but he’d never been to a crossing. Too young to stay up half the night, Pa used to say. And get soaked right through, Ma would add.

  Not tonight.

  Eli hesitated when he heard the sound of wet tires skimming over the slick pavement behind them. Was it coming toward them? He turned to look at Grandpa.

  “Uh-oh.” Grandpa shook his head. “Stay on the side of the road, Eli. He might be turning.”

  But the car whooshed straight instead.

  “I see something!” Eli ran up to the yellow lines on the pavement covering the hill.

  “Careful, Eli.” Grandpa beamed the flashlight on it.

  “It’s a big one, Grandpa!”

  “That’s a spotted salamander, Eli.”

  Eli watched its slimy orange body creep over the yellow lines. The salamander’s long, spotted tail swished behind four tiny legs. Eli wondered how those legs got it this far. He knelt on the other side in the gravel to catch it.

  “Just like in a dinosaur movie, ain’t it?” Grandpa smiled.

  Eli watched its slimy orange body creep over the yellow lines.

  “He’s longer than my hand, Grandpa. And there’s another one right behind it.”

  “Those’d be the males. They come first. The females follow.”

  “There’s another one, wiggling through the grass. They keep coming, Grandpa!”

  “Let’s help them along, Eli. Fill the bucket.”

  Eli loaded his bucket with salamanders, trying not to squeeze too hard but holding them long enough to feel their rubbery bodies. Just like Tater’s chew toys, Eli thought as they squirmed along the pink ridges where his stitches had been. But slipperier and wet. Eli dumped the bucket of salamanders on the other side of the road. He listened to the rustling of grass as they slithered through, scurrying to get to the pond.

  A brightness far stronger than Grandpa’s flashlight struck the side of Eli’s face as he knelt, blinding him for a moment. A motor rose higher than the hum of the rain as the swish of tires came closer.

  “Can’t we make ’em stop?” Eli asked.

  “And get us all killed? Get up, Eli.” Grandpa clutched Eli’s chest against his. “We can only hurry so many of them along.”

  Grandpa and Eli stood on the side of the road, holding their buckets while the high beams came toward them, then past. As soon as they’d gone, Eli rushed onto the road again to scoop up more salamanders. He went to lift one up and noticed another splayed on the pavement, its tail flattened and lifeless. Eli put it in the bucket anyway, just in case he was wrong and it had a chance.

  “How come they cross the road, Grandpa? Can’t they go another way?”

  “You mean a safer way?” Grandpa clutched two salamanders. “Been crossing this way for hundreds of years, Eli. Maybe thousands. It’s what they were born to do.”

  The salamanders squirted out of Grandpa’s hands and onto safety in the grass. “They follow the path their ancestors took,” Grandpa said. “And no road’s gonna stop ’em. They cross it. If they go, they go. And that’s the end of it. Good night. You can’t beat a truck. But you know what, son? Enough of them do. Then they head to the pond and find themselves a mate.”

  Before Eli and Grandpa got to the pond, Eli could already hear the high-pitched shrill of peeper frogs.

  “They’re calling for a mate, Eli. That’s what brings ’em to the pond.”

  Once they’d made it to the clearing, Grandpa shone his flashlight over the water. “Go on now, get closer, Eli.”

  Eli gazed into the pond and caught his breath. Salamanders covered the water, swimming forward and backward and in circles. Some looked like they were hugging, others chasing each other in a game of hide-and-seek. Two salamanders looped around. Eli caught a glimpse of their wrinkly white bellies before they broke the surface with their spotted faces, then swam away.

  “Look at the branches, Eli.” Grandpa pointed to some sticks jutting out of the pool.

  Eli stared at the see-through blobs slick as marbles building on the branches. Right before his eyes they grew thicker—like cotton candy—as if spun by invisible hands. Swirling thicker and thicker, the egg clusters sparkled until the brown of the branches could barely be seen.

  “Those’ll be tadpoles in a few months. Or sallies. I can’t tell from here,” Grandpa said, squinting. “There’s hundreds of ’em.”

  Plop plop, just like kernels popping, Eli heard frogs leap into the water, while others called for a mate. The screeching sound pierced right through him. On any other day, Eli would’ve pressed his palms against his ears to drown out the noise. But tonight it sounded perfect. It didn’t seem too loud at all.

  “Funny, ain’t it?” Grandpa sat on a moss-lined stump and smiled. “How you don’t hear a lick of a frog for five mo
nths. Then all of a sudden, one night, there they are, peeping like they’ve always been there.” Grandpa pointed at a peeper clinging to a log. “Tryin’ to impress the females.” He rolled his eyes as the peeper’s throat puffed out to bursting. “From now on, Eli, you can keep your bedroom window open. You’ll hear them calling.”

  “How do you know, Grandpa?”

  “’Cause it used to be my window. I remember the house was so still at night, you couldn’t hear one breath. So I listened for their peeps. That’s how I knew the rest of the world was still out there.” Grandpa reached for the eating bucket. “How ’bout toasting the night with a sandwich?” He handed Eli the biggest one. “Grandma liked coming here, too,” Grandpa said. “She called it one of nature’s little miracles.”

  They both watched a salamander crawl over Eli’s boot to get to the water.

  “Put them in the bucket and keep the rhythm of life going, she’d say. They got the same right to be here as we do. We just happen to be in charge most days.” Grandpa wiped off the Salisbury steak sauce on Eli’s cheek with a finger. “At least we think we are. Times like this, when they remind us Mother Nature’s in charge.”

  Eli smiled and watched a salamander swirl up to circle another, then back down again to the murky bottom of the pond. “It’s like they’re spinning eggs,” Eli said. “Magical eggs clear as glass.” Everywhere he looked, there were branches coated with eggs. “And there’s so many of them, it just don’t seem real.”

  “Sometimes we ain’t used to real,” Grandpa said. “So when we see it, we don’t even recognize it.”

  “They don’t notice we’re here, do they?” Eli smiled as a peeper hopped onto his coat and dove into the pond.

  “Naw. They’re so bent on finding a mate, for one night, we don’t even exist.”

  “Don’t they get tired?” Eli asked.

  “Will you be tired when you win the blue ribbon?”

  Eli knew he wouldn’t be.