• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

It was a hard job. The horses were at Al’s, and strong as Isaac was, he couldn’t haul Jerseybell out of the barn without them. After breakfast, he sharpened his saw. I knew how it would go; I had helped once before when years back a cow had died all tangled up in barbwire. Isaac would likely start with Jerseybell’s legs, then her head. She was big; likely he’d saw her trunk in half, maybe into thirds.

“They’re coming,” Mary said finally from the parlor window.

Isaac and John were pushing the wheelbarrow out of the barn. It was covered with a tarp. “All right,” I said to the girls. “Go on. Emma, you’re staying here.”

At the corral, the girls sat on the fence watching Isaac and John push the tarp-covered wheelbarrow back and forth to a canyon about a quarter mile off. The wheelbarrow made a deep track in the soft damp soil as clouds of flies hovered. I saw how in a few days’ time the ground would dry and the track harden into place, reminding us always of this bad time.

Two-year-old Emma, with me on the porch, watched the wheelbarrow. I tried not to as I scrubbed clothes on the washboard. All I could think of was how time was passing.

“Last trip,” I heard Isaac tell the girls. “Come on.”

I knew what Isaac had in mind. He’d have the children stand near the rim of the canyon and say a prayer of thanks for all the good things Jerseybell had done for our family. He’d done this before when our first dog, Tracker, died after a fight with a coyote.

I scrubbed all the harder at the washboard. Overhead, turkey vultures glided, dipping into the canyon where Jerseybell was, some of them shrieking when driven off by the bolder ones. Emma pulled on my skirt. “Me too,” she said, poking out her lower lip and pointing at Isaac and the others. The children and Rounder were walking with Isaac as he pushed the wheelbarrow. It made me think of Louisiana and how we used to follow the dead to the cemetery as someone beat a drum, one step at a time. It made me hope that someone had followed my brother Johnny when he was taken to the potter’s field. I hoped someone had said a prayer over him.

Emma pulled at my skirt, her face tight. “Me,” she said. “Me too.”

I told her no. I couldn’t carry her the quarter mile to the canyon and Mary shouldn’t have to. Not today.

“Want to.”

“No.”

She stomped her foot.

“You’re trying me,” I said.

She stomped her foot again, harder.

“Get inside,” I said.

“No.”

I wiped my hands on my apron and reached for her hand that wasn’t burned. She jerked her arm away and frowned at me. I narrowed my eyes at her. Emma screwed up her face and screamed. The shrillness of it ran down my spine. Isaac and the children stopped and looked up at us. Gritting my teeth, I waved them on.

Emma screamed louder. I picked her up, her legs kicking at my belly. “Stop it,” I said, tightening my hold. I got her inside and to her bedroom and put her down. She shrieked. “Stop that,” I said.

She screamed even more, stretching my nerves tight.

She threw herself down. Flat on her back, Emma kicked the floor with her heels, screaming. My nerves on fire, I itched to throw something—anything—against the wall.

My jaw set, I hurried to the kitchen, got the soothing syrup, and went back to the bedroom. “Lookie, Emma,” I said, forcing my voice to be calm. I swung the brown bottle back and forth before her twisted face. “You like this; it’s good.” She gulped back a scream and lifted her head. Her eyes followed the bottle, trying to focus on the picture of the smiling white woman and her little boy. Frowning but curious, Emma sat up, sniffling, snot clotting her nose.

I said, “Get up, honey, and I’ll give you some.”

She bunched her eyebrows together, her face wet with tears. She got to her feet.

A few drops of syrup spilled on the wood floor as I poured out a tablespoon. I put the bottle on the dresser. I leaned down and carried the spoon to Emma’s open mouth. She shot me a sly look. Her hand flipped up. The spoon flew in the air, spattering syrup on my face and on her dress.

She laughed.

I raised my hand and slapped