Little Joe

by Sandra Neil Wallace

  Eli didn’t believe it, either.

  “Has your brother fixed that halter yet?” Keller asked, tapping the back of Tess’s shoulder.

  “Oh yeah,” Tess said, climbing down from the rail. “I’ll go and get it.”

  They both watched Tess as she headed to the barn.

  “You got a halter that needs fixin’?” Keller asked Eli.

  Eli shook his head.

  “Then what are you here for?”

  “To see the horses,” he mumbled.

  “Yeah, and who else?”

  Eli turned red and set his gaze across the pasture.

  Tess came back and handed Keller the halter. All three of them just stood there, not knowing what to say.

  Keller stared down at Eli. “Finished seeing the horses yet?”

  Eli pulled the brim of his cap lower and followed Keller to the road.

  “Good luck at the fair, Eli!” Tess called out.

  “Good luck at the fair, Ee-lie!” Keller mimicked, making his voice sound dumb and squeaky.

  “Your calf ready?” Keller asked, breaking the silence that had come between them as they walked along the road from Tess’s.

  “Guess so.” Eli wasn’t about to tell Keller that he might not be going to the fair. “How’s your pigs?”

  “Same as ever. Watermelon’s so fat he can hardly move, but he still bites.” Keller showed Eli a sickle-shaped scar in the fleshy part of his thumb. “Strawberry looks like she might be a winner, though.”

  “If they’re too fat, then what happens?” Eli asked. Seemed beef cattle couldn’t get big enough.

  “They can’t show.”

  “You mean you lose your shot at a blue ribbon?”

  Keller grabbed at a dried-out cornstalk and broke off a hollow bit. “Who cares about a ribbon, anyway? If I get one, I’ll probably just end up wiping my arse with it.” Keller squatted as if he had to go.

  “But you never got one,” Eli said.

  “And neither have you,” Keller fired back. “What are they good for, anyhow? My mom’s got a bunch and she just stuffs them in the attic. They never see daylight.”

  Still, Eli wanted a shot at winning one. And he wouldn’t do that with his ribbon—stuff it up in the attic and forget about it. He’d keep it in his room, pinned to his bedpost, and look at it every day.

  “The good thing is,” Keller said, “you can still sell a pig once he’s super-fat, even if they get disqualified at the fair. DQ’d pigs make for some good bacon.” Keller licked his lips, then put a few fingers in his mouth, plucking them out one by one and making a smacking sound. As if he’d just had a good fill of bacon. “I like mine with plenty of mustard and ketchup. How ’bout you?”

  Eli was still thinking about Watermelon as a pig, not bacon. He wondered how Keller could joke about his show animal becoming breakfast.

  “Don’t the trees look like somebody spilled mustard and ketchup all over them?” It sounded awkward and Eli knew it, but he pointed to the trees anyway, hoping Keller would notice that they did look like fixings.

  “You sure see things funny,” Keller said. “Like you’re not even really a farmer.”

  They’d reached the old Rupert homestead. A NO TRESPASSING sign hung on the fence outside the vacant property. The pole it was suspended from had been bent to a sharp angle from years of tugging and was overtaken by poison ivy. It jutted out so far, Eli and Keller had to walk into the road to avoid it.

  Keller eyed the broken-down barn. Part of the roof had caved in and the lightning rod clamped to its peak was piercing the sky sideways.

  “They got a manure machine in there,” Keller said. He went up to the barn and peeked through a hole between two boards. “On wheels. It’s fun to ride sometimes, when you don’t care how you smell.”

  “You’ve been inside?”

  “All the time. How come you haven’t?”

  “Well …” Eli bent down to make sure his shoelaces were tied. “It doesn’t look safe. The roof’s caved in.”

  “Just on one side,” Keller was quick to mention. “I’ll show you around.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What? Too scared you might get a boo-boo before the fair?”

  “No.” How could Eli tell Keller that he’d been in enough trouble with Pa already? He didn’t want to be going into a no-trespassing barn when he wasn’t supposed to, especially one that looked like that.

  “The door’s around back if you’re coming.” Keller marched down the path tangled with overgrowth. He cut through bushes of bittersweet with his bare hands and snuck into the entrance.

  From outside, Eli could see Keller through a slit in the barn wood. There weren’t any stairs, so Keller had stepped on a cinder block to get inside. It had been a milking barn, Eli knew that much. The stanchions hung in the middle, and they looked older than the ones in the Stegners’ barn. On either side were empty pens. A trail of broken glass led to the biggest one. Eli was sure it had been the maternity pen. A tin of baby powder rested on its side along the cement floor. But there must’ve been a fire. The beams were singed. Brittle bits of wood curled up around the edges, waiting to drop.

  “Here’s the crapper.” Keller swung at a rusted-out tub. It hung from the ceiling looking like an oil tank split in two. Keller gave it a shove to send it flying. It teetered a bit but didn’t move much. “The pulley’s too rusted,” he grumbled. He pointed to a whitewashed ladder leading to the hay mow. “Never been up here before.”

  Keller rattled on the ladder with both fists before starting to climb. A family of turkeys feeding on old corn got scared off. Some of the gobblers were forced to fly through the roof. The rest lurched forward with their fleshy red jowls to get to the other side.

  “That’s where the roof’s caved in,” Eli warned from outside the barn.

  Keller kept climbing. The next time Eli saw him, Keller had poked his head from the opening and waved.

  “Hey, I can see my hogs from up here!” Keller yelled. He turned around and laughed. “You should try. Maybe we’ll see—”

  There was a rumble and Keller’s face disappeared. When Eli finally spotted him, Keller was lying on the cement in the bull pen.

  Keller let out a moan. Eli ran as fast as he could to get help.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Broken Bones

  Eli walked to Pa’s fields across from the barn, wondering how Keller was doing. Pa’d driven him to the emergency room hours ago and they hadn’t come back yet.

  The cattle corn was all dried up. It wouldn’t be long before it got turned into silage to keep the animals fed all winter. What was taking Pa and Keller so long?

  Eli spotted Pa’s pumpkin through the gaps in the cornstalks. She sure looked big enough to win the blue ribbon. Wider than a wheelbarrow, her wrinkled bottom rested flat on a pallet waiting to be hauled onto Pa’s pickup by the end of the week. That’s when they judged the largest vegetables. Tomorrow it was beef cattle and hogs.

  Eli did what Keller had done earlier and tore a hollow bit off a cornstalk. Opening his palm, he expected to find a row of tiny cuts. But there weren’t any. Before Little Joe, Eli’s hands had been too tender to fend off the prickly stalks; now they were callused up.

  Eli took the stalk with him into the barn and got out his show stick. He knew it was silly to think he might still be going to the fair tomorrow. He’d gotten himself into enough trouble already, with Pa finding the lobelia and now Keller falling through the Ruperts’ barn. But somehow he had to hold the show stick and poke at something.

  He’d been poking at the stalk for a while, taunting it with the tip of his stick, when Pa came in.

  “Keller’s arm’s broke in two places,” Pa said. “But he’ll be all right.”

  Eli kept jabbing at the cornstalk, not knowing what to say. How could he ask Pa to go to the fair now? He’d been with Keller when his arm broke. Everyone knew the Ruperts’ property was off-limits, but he’d gone on it anyhow.

  “Kel
ler told me you didn’t go into the barn with him,” Pa said. “That’s a good thing.”

  “If you don’t want me to go to the fair, Pa, I won’t,” Eli replied in a hushed tone.

  “I want you to.”

  Eli concentrated on the faded jean creases covering Pa’s knees. Had he heard right? He was going to the fair? And Pa wanted him to?

  “You worked too hard not to shoot for the blue ribbon.” Pa took the show stick that had once been his. “I think you just might get it.” Pa twirled the stick around with his fingers before handing it back to Eli.

  Eli felt the warmth return to his cheeks as he and Pa walked into the kitchen for supper.

  “We’re painting piggies on Keller’s cast. Wanna help?” asked Hannah.

  Keller gave Eli a goofy grin from across the kitchen table. “Your ma already put a row of blue ribbons on the front.” Keller smiled. He lifted his baby-blue cast in the air.

  “And we spelled Watermelon and Strawberry on top of them,” Hannah added.

  “You’re still showing at the fair?” Eli couldn’t imagine how.

  “Why not? It’s just a broken arm,” Keller said. “I can still carry my show cane. The pigs know what to do anyway. They scoot in the direction I tap their butts with.”

  “Eli, can you help me drain the spaghetti?” Ma was over the kitchen sink with a steaming pot of pasta. “It’s what Keller asked for. Oh, and could you get out the straws, too?”

  “What do we need the straws for?” Eli asked. They only used straws for root beer floats or when somebody had a birthday. Somebody who was part of the family. Eli didn’t see any root beer on the table. And Keller wasn’t family.

  “They’re to help Keller feed the spaghetti through,” Ma explained.

  “I can’t wait.” Hannah giggled. “I’ve never had spaghetti through a straw before.” She’d picked the last crop of daisies from Ma’s garden and stuck a pickle jar full of them on the table. “You didn’t sign Keller’s cast yet,” Hannah said, thrusting a tub full of stubby markers at Eli’s stomach.

  “That’s right. You didn’t sign my cast yet,” Keller teased.

  Eli picked out the closest marker in Hannah’s container and wrote Feel Better near Keller’s thumb. But he didn’t really mean it. How could they all be fussing over Keller and forgetting about him and Little Joe the night before the fair?

  “Should we still put butter on the noodles?” Ma asked. “It might get messy sucking them up with a straw.”

  “I don’t mind.” Keller smirked. “I like butter in my face.”

  Everybody laughed. Except Eli.

  “Are you making meatballs, too, Mrs. Stegner?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll feed him the meatballs,” Hannah offered. “I’ll cut them up into tiny pieces and make certain they don’t touch anything else on the plate.”

  What was Keller doing here, anyway? Eli was annoyed. And on the night before the fair? There was so much to think about. And to practice in your head. Now Keller was here with his broken arm, about to slurp spaghetti through a straw and messing things up. “Don’t your hogs need tending to?” Eli asked.

  “They’re asleep.” Keller snorted, imitating one of his Sour Patch pigs. “Fed them a long time ago. Probably snoring by now.”

  “Keller’s mother’s away at a horse show, Eli. He’s our guest.” Ma placed the steaming mound of spaghetti and a platter of meatballs right in front of Keller. Like he was somebody important or the head of the family. “We’re happy to have him as company.” Ma rested her palms on Keller’s shoulders, just like she did with Eli. “Now he needs a little help eating, Eli, so hand him a straw, please.”

  Eli tossed a pink straw onto Keller’s empty plate.

  Keller dangled his good arm next to the chair as if it had gone numb. “Can’t do much with this left hand,” he said. “Broke the one arm I always use.” He took the arm with the cast and angled it closer to the straw, pinching his thumb and pointing finger together like a crab claw.

  Eli twirled a few strands of spaghetti around on his fork, not wanting to eat much. He wasn’t hungry. He was nervous. What if he forgot how to lead his bull calf around in the ring? What if Little Joe acted up?

  “Aren’t you the quiet one, Eli,” Ma said.

  “You’re even quieter than Pa,” Hannah joked.

  “That’s because he’s thinking about other things,” Keller said. He pointed his straw at a noodle and sucked.

  “It’s a big day for you tomorrow, son.” It was the first time Pa had spoken all through dinner.

  “And his girlfriend don’t like fairs,” Keller mumbled through a mouth full of noodles.

  “What girlfriend?” Ma asked.

  “Tess.” Keller grinned. “That’s where Eli was before I fell through the barn.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Eli muttered, turning beet red.

  Hannah pulled a daisy from the pickle jar and started plucking at it. “She loves him. She loves him not. She loves him.” A stream of petals collected on the floor. “She loves him not….”

  “Stop that!” Eli reached for the daisy stem in Hannah’s hand, but she was already on the last petal.

  “She loves him. Tess loves Eli! She loves you, Eli! You should be happy.”

  “That’s enough, Hannah,” Ma scolded.

  Eli wished Keller would leave right now. “Shouldn’t you be getting home so your pa won’t worry?” Eli stuck his fork into the last meatball on the platter, even though he wasn’t hungry.

  Keller lowered his chin and lost his silly grin.

  “Keller told us if it weren’t for you staying outside the Ruperts’ barn, you’d both be waiting for a rescue.” Ma sure was treating Keller nice. And now she was cutting up his spaghetti so he could suck up more pieces with his straw.

  Didn’t anyone care what tomorrow was?

  Pa went to sit by the woodstove when supper finally ended and Keller walked home to his pigs. Before Ma finished scrubbing the pots, Pa was snoring louder than Tater. You’d think it was a regular evening, Eli thought. Only it wasn’t.

  Eli put on his chore coat and went to check on Little Joe one more time. He found him by the apple orchard. The cooling night made the calf frisky. He trotted up and down the length of the fence, tail pointing straight out. He stopped and hung over the rail when Eli came near, lifting his head for a pat. Eli climbed through the fence and ran his fingers across Little Joe’s back. He felt the silky black coat he’d combed a hundred times, training it to stand up like a carpet.

  “You’ll behave in that show ring tomorrow, won’t you?” Eli whispered into the calf’s ear.

  But Little Joe was more interested in apples. The Cortlands had turned red, and he swung his neck down to feed. With one forceful sweep of his tongue, Little Joe plopped a lumpy one into his mouth.

  Ain’t this something, Eli thought. Little Joe feasting on apples, Keller’s hogs sound asleep, Pa snoring in his chair by the woodstove in the kitchen. Eli was pretty sure he might not eat or snore again for days.

  The moon was full, forming a halo around itself, making the fences whiter and the trees stand out. Eli crawled under the willow tree in front of the house. Its leaves still hung, pale as a honeydew, while the others had been stripped bare. Nature is funny like that, Eli thought. That’s what Grandpa said. Eli remembered the salamanders’ rush to lay eggs, crossing the road for it, then leaving their young to hatch alone. He thought about Fancy and how cow mothers would get themselves all cut up to keep their babies near. Pa’d seen the cycles of nature all his life and he didn’t seem to care. Grandpa was a lot older than Pa, but he still saw the wonder of it.

  Eli stayed under the willow tree for a long time. When he came inside, the night-light was on in the hall and Ma had hung his show clothes on the dresser mirror. He climbed into bed expecting the katydids to keep him awake, but they were silent. Eli felt certain he was the only living thing in the valley still awake.

  Chapter Sixteen />
  All Jittery

  It had been a cold evening. As the dawn broke, a crow cawed. Crows were the only birds who bothered to make noise this late in the season. Fog hovered above the ground while the earth warmed, lifting a little by the time Pa backed up the trailer.

  Eli was in the barn with Little Joe, putting a rope halter around the calf’s neck. He’d never had the rope halter on this early and gave Eli a dazed look.

  “Don’t feed him, son,” Pa called out from the cab window.

  Little Joe tugged at Eli’s sleeve, wanting to be fed. “Can’t feed you, boy, till we get to the fair.” Little Joe sniffed at Eli’s pockets. “Didn’t have breakfast neither, so we’re even.”

  “Got the ramps in place,” Grandpa said, swinging the pen gate open. “I’d say we’re about ready. You?”

  Eli wasn’t sure if he was, but he nodded anyhow.

  “Take ’im about six feet back from the taillights.” Grandpa uncurled his fingers and fed Little Joe an apple slice. “That’s about a cow’s length,” he whispered to Eli.

  Eli guided Little Joe out of the barn and stopped when he was the right distance away. The moon was still up, full and silky like a spotted pig. A few fawns gawked at them from the cornfields, their white spots faded and winter coats already grown.

  “Get in the cab, son,” Pa told Eli, taking the rope from him.

  “What for? I can help.”

  “Just get in the cab, son. Me and Grandpa will take care of loading.”

  Eli couldn’t see much from the cab’s rear window except the silver cone off the trailer’s front end. He watched it shift lower and knew Little Joe had gone in. Then Eli heard thrashing. The walls fanning out beyond the metal cone shook from side to side. Eli couldn’t figure out if what was happening was good or bad, but it didn’t sound very good. He strained to hear Pa or Grandpa, but there were no voices telling him which one it was.

  “If he won’t go in, he won’t go. Don’t force him!” Ma shouted from the front porch.