Farmerettes by Gisela Sherman Read Free Book Online Page A

left. “Who lives in that cute little house?” Her hundredth question.
    â€œThe chickens.” Where do they find these girls? wondered Jean. She wished she could fall into her bed, read a chapter, and sleep. But she still needed to feed the hens and tell Dad about the horse’s leg. London had favored his front left one this afternoon.
    Several hens and their young strutted around the yard, pecking at the ground. The girls gushed over the fuzzy chicks.
    â€œWe keep enough chickens for you to have fresh eggs most mornings,” said Jean. “And when they stop laying eggs,” she couldn’t resist adding, “they make a tasty stew. Everyone on a farm has to be useful somehow.”
    Jean pointed far ahead to a field lined with rows of low green plants. “Tomorrow some of you will—”
    â€œ Eeeeee ! ” A terrified screech interrupted her.
    She turned to see the blonde girl screaming as she backed away from the rooster. The bird had stretched his wings and puffed his feathers to double his size. With beady eyes glaring, sharp beak stabbing the air aggressively, he charged after her like a bull.
    Jean shook her head. Cracker loved to terrify people.
    Other girls scattered in all directions. The rooster hissed and pecked menacingly closer. The blonde girl ran, slipped, and landed in a moist lump of manure. Her fancy hat flew off. Cracker pounced and tore it apart.
    The farmerettes stood, shocked. Jean grabbed a pitchfork and chased him away. The blonde girl sat in the mess, flushed with mortification. Someone in a white blouse reached to help her up.
    The blonde girl pushed away the outstretched arm. “I can get up myself.” Awkwardly, she tried to rise without putting her hand on the ground—and slipped again. No one said a word. Finally she stood up. She held her head high, daring anyone to pity her. A clump of cow dung fell off her dress. Its brown stain remained.
    Jean turned and walked along a path to the fields. “Our strawberries are ripening early this year—you’ll see lots of them soon. You’ll pick them here and at neighboring farms. The farmers arrive tomorrow at seven-thirty sharp.”
    Some girls groaned, though most smiled eagerly, but Jean had focused their attention away from the girl with the ruined dress.
    â€œOur orchards stretch beyond the strawberry fields, right out to the road. We grow strawberries, market vegetables, cherries, and peaches, as well as the food for our own family.” Jean waved her arm to take it all in. “And that’s Highberry Farm. I hope you all sleep well. Goodnight.” She turned back toward the barn, and the girls headed for their dormitory.
    Jean yawned. She’d worked since dawn, helping her mother with the new chicks, doing the regular livestock chores, hoeing, and weeding. The questions the farmerettes asked while exploring the farm were almost as exhausting. At least her father had offered to do the five-o’clock milking. She worried about London’s leg. Maybe the last field was too hard on him, but the gasket on the tractor had blown again, and they were trying to find a new one. She also wanted to check on Tessie, a nervous young cow, expecting her first calf and overdue.
    Jean turned at the sound of a horse trotting up the laneway. A sandy-haired, muscular young man rode into the barnyard and slid off his horse. He led his animal past the girls who were still outside.
    As one, the girls sighed. He was very handsome and a bit older than they were—perfect.
    Jean smiled at him with welcome relief. Johnny Clifford could soothe an animal better than anyone, even his dad, who had been the local veterinarian forever.
    Johnny smiled back at her, an expression that made many girls in Winona dream of a future with him. “How’s Tessie?”
    â€œShe seemed jittery at noon.”
    Johnny followed Jean into the barn. He leaned toward the cow, patting her, speaking