Prodigal Summer - Barbara Kingsolver [179]
Rickie thought about it. “Ex-father-in-law. I don’t think that’s a real big thing on the family tree. I don’t think he’s said boo to Aunt Jewel since his outlaw son ran off. And he didn’t say much before, from what I hear.”
“No, I guess not,” Lusa said, looking over her newly medicated herd with some satisfaction. She was about to turn back to her work when a quick, pale movement up at the top of the field snagged her eye.
“My God,” she said. “Look at that.”
They both watched as the animal froze, then lowered its body close to the ground and walked slowly along the fence back into the woods.
“That wasn’t a fox, was it?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“What was it, then?”
“Coyote.”
“Are you sure? Have you ever seen one before?”
“Nope,” Rickie said.
“Me either. But I could swear I heard some a couple of nights ago. It was amazing, like singing. Dog singing.”
“That’s what that bastard was, then. Got to be. You want me to go home and get my rifle? I could get up there after it right now.”
“No.” She put her hand on his forearm. “Do me a favor. Don’t turn into your uncles.”
He looked at her. “Do you know what those things eat?”
“Not really. I imagine it could kill a goat, or a kid, at least. But it didn’t look that big. Don’t you think it’s more likely to kill a rabbit or something?”
“You’re going to wait around and find out?”
She nodded. “I think I am. Yeah.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe. We’ll see.” She stood for a while longer, staring into the edge of the woods where it had vanished. Then she turned back to the goats in her paddock. “OK, let’s get this over with. How many have we got to go?”
Rickie moved reluctantly to the gate, preparing to let in another goat. He counted heads. “A dozen, maybe. We’re near ’bout done.”
“Good, because I’m near ’bout dead,” she said, moving up quickly behind the doe to help shove down with all her weight on its haunches. Once they had it down, Lusa pushed the sweat and unruly hair out of her eyes with the back of one hand before filling the next syringe.
He watched. “Want to swap heads and tails? My part’s way easier than yours.”
Now he asks, she thought. “No, you’re working twice as hard as I am,” Lusa said, steeling her sore biceps for the next punch and poke. “I’m just a wimp.”
He waited respectfully while the needle went in, then spoke. “No way, you’re doing great. I’ve never seen a woman sit on so many animals in one day.”
At Lusa’s nod they got up and let the doe saunter off. “Know what I’m dying for?”
“A cold beer?” he asked.
“A bath. Pew!” She sniffed her forearms and made a face. “These girls don’t smell pretty.”
“They don’t,” Rickie agreed. “And they are the girls.”
By the time they’d finished all the does and the buck, which they saved for last, Lusa could hardly tolerate the smell of her own body. She turned on the hose bib by the barn for Rickie and walked around to get the big square bar of soap that was down below in the milking parlor. Her mind drifted back to the coyote. It had been so beautiful and strange, almost ghostly. Like a little golden dog, but much wilder in its bearing. If she could find just one other person in this county who didn’t feel the need to shoot a coyote on sight, that would be something. Then she’d have a friend.
When she came back around the corner of the barn she walked straight into a spray of cold water that caused her to shriek. A direct hit by Rickie.
“I’m going to kill you,” she said, laughing, wiping her eyes.
“It feels good,” he said, running the water over his head.
“OK, then, here. You go first.” She tossed him the soap and they took turns lathering themselves up and hosing each other down, enjoying a gleeful, chaste, slightly hysterical bath in their clothes. Some of the goats came over and put their noses through the fence to watch this peculiar human rite.
“I can’t get over their eyes,” Lusa said as Rickie turned off the hose. She bent over and shook her head like a wet dog, sending water drops flying into the golden light of late afternoon.
“Who, the goats?” He’d thought to strip off his