Little Joe

by Sandra Neil Wallace

  “You wouldn’t even feel how heavy the hay bale was at the end of the day, would you?”

  Eli smiled and shook his head.

  “I expect they’ll go on even longer,” Grandpa said. “Maybe for a few more nights yet.”

  “Then what happens?” Eli watched a salamander slip into the water.

  “The big ones go back to their homes under the leaves, and the eggs hatch in a couple weeks without ’em.” Grandpa put the wax paper back in the bucket. “From now on the valley won’t be silent. Until we forget again and one morning in the fall, we wake up late thinking, What’s wrong? Why’s it so quiet? And remember the peepers have buried themselves in the ground and gone to sleep half froze.” Grandpa turned to Eli. “You must be cold.”

  Eli’s teeth were chattering, but he didn’t want to leave.

  “Time for us to go back, too, Eli.”

  When they reached the road, a set of headlights came toward them. It was Pa’s pickup.

  Eli stepped into the road and waved his hands to flag down Pa. “You can’t go no further, Pa. The salamanders need to cross.” Eli looked at the pavement. “You already squashed two.”

  “Oh, fer cryin’ out loud.” Pa stuck his head out of the truck.

  “I would’ve dropped him off, Chet.” Grandpa cupped his hands to cut out the glare from the high beams. “Is it time already?”

  “It’s nearly ten.” Pa’s jaw was tight as he stared down Grandpa. “When was the last time a boy his age stayed up this late?”

  “When you were nine, Chet.” Grandpa lifted up his bucket. “It’s salamander night. Don’t you remember?”

  “It’s a school night. Get in the truck, Eli.”

  Eli looked at Pa, then up at Grandpa.

  “Go on, son,” Grandpa said.

  Eli handed him the bucket.

  “Careful backing up, Chet.” Grandpa spoke louder than Eli’d been used to. “Those Silverados haven’t been the same since that recall.”

  Eli hopped in the truck and Pa backed up. The rain sounded tinny bouncing off the hood. Beyond it, Eli tried to focus on Grandpa, but Pa’d switched the wipers to high. Eli could only see him in flashes, dipping in and out of the windshield.

  Pa U-turned it home and Eli swung near him. Through the rearview mirror he saw Grandpa just standing there, holding both buckets and grinning.

  Chapter Eight

  Missing Mama

  All kinds of birds Eli’d forgotten about warbled and cooed outside the barn. They made nests in the river maples that were so thick with buds, it was as if winter never happened. A cluster of downy chicks snuck out of the barn chasing cottony strands of willow dander. Even drowsy flies buzzed to life, pesking around Little Joe’s ears. He stood tied up beside Fancy, filled out and high as her chin and past Eli’s shoulders.

  It was still early. The peepers made noise in the swollen creek nearby. Eli knew they must be the little eggs he’d seen with Grandpa all hatched and swimming in the water.

  “Their mamas lay eggs just like jelly beans,” Eli said, feeding Little Joe an apple slice. “And they don’t take long to hatch. Not nine months like you, Fancy. It only takes a couple weeks.” Eli gave her a slice, too.

  “Everything in nature’s being born around here!” Grandpa’s eyes lit up as he entered the barn. “Peepers, chicks, flies.” He swatted at one, then looked at Fancy and Little Joe. “But it don’t come without heartache.”

  Eli wondered whose heart Grandpa was talking about. Probably Little Joe’s and Fancy’s, since it was time for Little Joe to be weaned and put on pasture grass instead of milk.

  Shades of green had taken over the brown patches dotting the fields. Clumps of young clover grew green as snap peas above the hill between the alfalfa. And pale olive rods of timothy stood nearly a foot high below, their tips blushing pink like ripened peaches.

  “Out in Wyoming they let nature take care of the separation,” Grandpa explained. “The ma drops another calf and her other baby—a yearling, oh, about seven months older than Little Joe—gets nudged away. Not with your pa.”

  “Don’t have time to wait a year in this business,” Pa said. He came into the barn carrying a lead strap with chains bigger than Eli’d seen before. “Costs too much. Need to get him on pasture and feed so he’ll fatten out for the fair.”

  “Did you see, Pa?” Eli said. “I got them both haltered and tied up and they’re not making a peep.”

  “Sure looks like he’s ready to be weaned.” Pa smiled. “Good thing you got him used to them apples. He won’t miss the milk one bit.”

  “Need any help weaning, Chet?” Grandpa asked. “First-time mothers’ll do anything to get to their calf.”

  “We’ll be fine.” Pa put the lead strap on a bale of hay. “Me and Eli can take care of things.”

  “Are we weaning today, Pa?” Eli asked.

  “Right after I check the fence lines to see if they’ll hold.”

  Grandpa came into the pen and stroked Fancy. “Make sure she gets bred soon, Chet. She’s gonna need another baby to fuss over.”

  “Is Fancy gonna have another calf, Pa?” Eli asked.

  “Maybe.” Pa took out the pliers from his coat pocket. “Be ready to take ’em out when I get back, Eli.”

  Grandpa looked down at Little Joe. He eyed the bull calf in such a sad way, Eli got worried.

  “Little Joe’s gonna need all the attention he can get, Eli,” Grandpa said. “Once he gets taken from Fancy, he’ll bawl something awful. Probably the whole night through. And then some.”

  “Milkers don’t do that.” Eli rubbed at a patch where Little Joe’s winter coat was still shedding. He’d seen milkers get weaned before. Even a heifer taken from its mother a day after birth. She got the bottle right away. She didn’t seem to mind.

  “Beef calves are the longest of all cattle to stay with their mothers,” Grandpa said. “Still, it’s like leavin’ home when you’re barely a teenager.” Grandpa fiddled with the tuft of hair that stuck straight up on Little Joe’s poll. “It’s not the milk he needs; it’s the company. He doesn’t know he’s ready yet. To be on his own.”

  This time Grandpa rubbed the top of Eli’s head. “Let ’em sniff each other real good, Eli. I’ll be down by Fancy’s pasture to see she don’t get cut up. No telling how desperate a mother will be when she can’t find her calf. They’re bent on taking care of that first baby forever.”

  Eli took off Little Joe’s halter. He rubbed the sides of Little Joe’s face where the rope left its mark, expecting the bull calf to flinch. Instead, Little Joe just stood there.

  “Go on.” Eli shoved Little Joe’s rump closer to Fancy. But the calf thought Eli was playing and nibbled at his sleeve. “Get some milk!” Eli’d said it too loudly. Little Joe’s head jerked up from the sudden sound.

  “You don’t know what today is,” Eli whispered. “And I’m glad.” He nudged the bull calf, softly this time, toward Fancy’s black udder. Watching him nurse, Eli couldn’t imagine what it would be like knowing this was the last time with his own ma. He wondered if cow years were like dog years and Little Joe was really almost grown and wouldn’t mind being off on his own. But then Eli thought about Tater at four months. Tater was pretty tiny back then and still acted like a pup.

  Eli unleashed Fancy so she could nuzzle her calf one more time. “You’re a good mama,” Eli said sweetly, stroking the hair between her eyes. She sniffed Eli’s arm and snorted a warm breath of air into his elbow. “It’ll be okay, Fancy,” Eli said, not knowing if it was. “You’ll have another baby to take care of next year. Grandpa will make sure of it.”

  Pa came back and took the lead strap off the hay bale. “Better get that halter back on,” Pa told Eli. “After we take them down to the pastures, I’ll get the pens cleaned up. Got a new batch of cow-calf pairs coming in. And you can pick out your show stall for E-1.”

  Pa hooked up Fancy. “Let me take her down to the pasture by the river maple first, then you follow with the calf.” Fan
cy’s hooves swished through the straw as Pa turned her around and led her out of the pen. “Be sure to keep your distance behind me.”

  Little Joe let Eli lead him to the pasture. Eli’s hand was unsteady as the calf dipped down every other step to smell where Fancy had just been. But that’s how it was with Little Joe. Now that the bull calf trusted him, Eli could pretty much lead the calf anywhere if Fancy wasn’t too far away. And there were plenty of apples in Eli’s pocket.

  “Keep about five yards back,” Pa hollered over his shoulder. “I’ll take her through the first gate, then out the other. E-1 won’t even know what happened.”

  The pasture was crowded with steers. Eli could see them gliding in the field, chomping on new grass, and Old Gert in the middle, babysitting them all. They’d already cut into the clover on the top of the hill, mowing off the white tops, and were making their way down to fence level. Eli searched the heads and tails until he spotted the top of Fancy moving as she and Pa went through the first gate. Then more bodies and necks and hips. Eli wasn’t sure who was who anymore. The cattle were all messed together—a jumble of tails drifting and rumps sitting. The sound of heads snorting as they munched.

  “We’re goin’ out now!” Pa yelled. “To the pasture behind the fir trees, so don’t follow. Get E-1 in. He won’t even know she’s gone.”

  Eli brought Little Joe into the pasture and put him beside Old Gert. The bull calf paused, sniffed at the ground and looked up. Then he trotted over to the second gate and started to bawl. “Come on out, son,” Pa yelled. “Sooner or later he’ll accept her being gone.”

  Eli put the apple slices on the ground and climbed through the fence. He watched as Little Joe ducked in and out of the herd searching for Fancy. The bull calf paced up and down the fence line between the two gates, coming back to the spots where he’d last smelled Fancy. All around him cattle grazed, tearing up green shoots to chew. But Little Joe didn’t want a blade of grass. Or even the apple slices Eli’d left him. He wanted Fancy.

  Eli stood quiet beneath the river maple. He didn’t move when a cluster of maple keys spiraled down, nicking his cheek. He let the spinning wings scatter instead of picking them up like he’d done all the springs before, splitting them open and removing the seeds, then sticking the wings on his nose.

  “School bus comes in fifteen minutes, Eli!” Ma had come down and was holding Eli’s lunch. She dipped under the maple, pulled Eli close and kissed the top of his head. “You just keep growing, don’t you?” Ma whispered. “But not too fast.”

  When Ma left, Eli reached out and touched the maple’s peeling trunk. Brittle and gnarled, it still had strength. He leaned against it, closing his eyes until the sound of kids laughing came to him. Eli ran toward the laughter, following the orange hood of the school bus as it rounded the bend and stopped in front of Windswept Farms.

  Eli lay in bed that night, wondering if he could ever be like Pa, snoring so hard no amount of calf bawling could wake him. Didn’t Pa ever think about cows? He won’t even know she’s gone. That’s what Pa’d said when Eli guided Little Joe to the pasture—snuck him in—like he said he’d never do again, fooling Little Joe with the smell of Fancy. Grandpa was right—Little Joe was bawling something awful. Eli could hear the calf wailing in the fields. He thought about Grandpa stroking Little Joe’s head softly and then Eli’s. Would Grandpa run out in the middle of the night and soothe Little Joe if he were his bull calf? That’s what Eli wanted to do. He sat up and pulled off the covers but hesitated as he skimmed a toe across the floorboards. Grandpa didn’t own Windswept Farms anymore. Pa did. And Pa’d told Grandpa they’d take care of things. Just him and Pa.

  Eli blew out a gush of warm air, got back under the covers and tried lying still, not thinking about cows for once, but something else. Or nothing at all. For a few seconds the house was silent. Maybe Pa can hear my bull calf bawling, too. Eli lurched upright and grinned. But the snoring started up again. Pa had just turned over. He had no idea Little Joe was bawling into the night, aching for his ma.

  “Can you hear it?” Hannah stood in Eli’s doorway, tugging on a purple rabbit slipper.

  “Hear what? Pa snoring?”

  “Worse.” She shuffled across the room.

  “Shh. You’ll wake up Ma and Pa,” Eli warned.

  “Ma can’t sleep when Pa’s snoring,” Hannah said. “Help me up.” She stuck out her polka-dot pajama arms. “Your bed’s higher than mine and I’ve got slippers on.”

  “Ah, Hannah, there’s barely enough room for Tater and me.”

  “Not if you scooch over.”

  Eli yanked both of Hannah’s wrists and pulled her up.

  “Something’s crying,” she whispered, pointing to the window looking over the pasture. “Out there.”

  “It’s Little Joe.” Eli sat up and brought his knees in close. “He’s calling Fancy. They got split up today.”

  “What for?”

  “’Cause it’s time.”

  “But he’s just a baby.”

  They both stopped and eyed the window. Little Joe’s bawling had turned to a moaning so mournful it pierced the night with a new sadness.

  “What are you gonna do?” Hannah asked.

  “Pa says he’ll accept her being gone soon enough.”

  “You can’t listen to Pa. He doesn’t like animals. Not the way you and me do.”

  “You sell your newborn rabbits out from under Snow White all the time.”

  Hannah bit her lip. “They go to good homes. And she always has a whole bunch more.”

  Then the rains came. Gushes so heavy they splashed across the windowpanes, blurring anything Eli wanted to see outside.

  “He doesn’t have Spider out there, Eli. Or you.”

  “It’s pouring rain.”

  Hannah rested her head on Eli’s elbow. “You like rain.”

  It was true. In the summer Eli’d face the sky, open his mouth wide and taste the fat, warm raindrops caught on his tongue. When there was no school and wild blueberries to pick and nothing to worry about. Not like now, when it was ice-cold and damp and his bull calf was bawling.

  “The slicker under my bed would fit you,” Hannah said. “The one covered in rainbows.”

  “I’ll be all right.” Eli felt for his flashlight underneath the bed. Tater stood up and shook, then tiptoed around to where Eli’d been. He circled twice, slumped down into a ball and sighed, resting his chin on Hannah’s stomach.

  “Can I stay and snuggle with Tater?”

  “If you don’t go telling Pa I’m gone.”

  “I won’t. I can keep a secret.”

  “And don’t take my pillow.”

  A clap of thunder boomed so deep it crept into Eli’s stomach. One thousand. Two thousand. Three thousand, Eli counted. Four thousand. Five thousand. Then another boom. One mile away, he thought. The thunder was getting closer. The light on the front porch flickered a few times, then finally sputtered out. Little Joe continued to cry. Slowly, Eli walked down the stairs, his fingers covering the beam of the flashlight so Pa wouldn’t see. Then he put on his chore coat and headed for the fields.

  The whites of Little Joe’s eyes were showing when Eli reached the pasture. And he was wet. Sweaty coils of steam rose from his coat after all that mooing. On his own by the gate, the bull calf hung his head low as he bawled between muddy knees.

  “There, boy,” Eli murmured. He opened the gate and grabbed the halter. “Everything’s okay.”

  But Little Joe’s hair was so damp, Eli had a hard time gripping the halter. He decided to lead the bull calf with two hands and keep the flashlight in his pocket.

  They headed up to the barn through a dark, wet thickness, Little Joe’s bawl sounding more like a baa as they climbed. Eli was certain there wasn’t a moon, but it was pouring too hard to look up. Every time he tried, heavy drops of rain caught Eli by surprise, making him blink back the sting.

  When they got to the pen, there was no trace of Fancy. Or what had been. Pa’d bleach
ed everything. The floors were stone gray and bare, except for the trickle of rain moistening a corner.

  Eli put Little Joe in the pen anyway. The bull calf sniffed the bare walls and the manger where hay used to be. Eli hurried to the hay mow. He poked the hole in the ceiling hard with the butt of the hay fork to get some out. He ran with it to the pen and shook it over the floor.

  Little Joe kept bawling.

  Eli cut open a square of sawdust covered in plastic and shoveled that in, too.

  Little Joe kept bawling.

  Eli ran to the tack room to find something that smelled like Fancy. He grabbed a bunch of blankets and spotted the currycombs in a bucket.

  Spider climbed to the top of the stanchion wall. She wrinkled the M on her forehead and yowled in between Little Joe’s bawling as Eli spread the blankets over the pen.

  Then Spider climbed down the wall to be with her calf.

  “See this, boy?” Eli showed Little Joe the currycomb he’d brushed Fancy with.

  For the first time, Little Joe stopped bawling.

  Eli brushed Little Joe’s poll with the comb, then the side of his neck, where the bull calf was still breathing heavy. “You should’ve never let me halter you,” Eli said. “None of this would’ve happened.” But Eli knew full well it would have. The next day. Or the next.

  Exhausted, Little Joe closed his eyes and stopped fighting sleep. He let his front knees buckle, then his back legs, and got down on the ground and gave in to the night.

  “Milkers don’t spend half as long with their mothers.” Eli spread his chore coat over Little Joe. “Not more than a few weeks. Sometimes one day. Maybe not even.” Eli couldn’t quite remember.

  Spider licked Little Joe’s eyelids.

  “If you were a peeper, it’d be even worse. They don’t even get to see their mamas. They’re still jelly beans when they’re left alone to hatch.”

  Little Joe rolled onto his side along the blankets.

  “You’re too big to nurse, anyhow,” Eli said, resting his head on Little Joe’s belly. He stretched out his arms, but the bull calf had grown beyond them.