Little Joe (7 page)

“You have to believe in unicorns before they’ll show.” Hannah turned to face Eli. “And the
whole
family’s got to believe.”

Eli wasn’t sure what he believed. He looked down at his glove and wondered if his sore hand would be ready by tomorrow. And if he really wanted it to be. He’d promised that nothing would happen to Little Joe. Now he’d gone and made the bull calf afraid and sent him fleeing clear across the pasture.

“Unicorns can’t be tamed, either.” Hannah scratched the knuckle on Tater’s head. “Not like Tater. Or Little Joe.”

Eli wasn’t really sure if Little Joe could be tamed.

“Unless—” Hannah stuck the word right out in the air.

“Unless what?” Eli asked.

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

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.”

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.”