Heart of a Shepherd by Rosanne Parry Read Free Book Online

in great bloody gallons of cold water. I shouldn't watch. Blood makes me dizzy, even natural blood from lambing and calving. But there's Grandpa, up to his elbows in it and calm as a summer day. Grandpa sees me watching him and says, “Head wounds bleed a lot. Pete's going to be fine.”
    I nod.
    “Go.
Wash your hands twice. Do a good job.”
    “What?”
    “Brother, there are probably little shards of china in this cut, but I can't see them, and I won't be able to pull them out. You are the only man here with a clear eye and a steady hand.”
    “But I can't—”
    “You will.”
    “But I never—”
    “You must.”
    “Grandpa!”
    “I'll teach you.”
    I wipe my sweaty hands on my chocolate-covered shirt and nod slowly. Grandma has the towels ready by Grandpa's chair. I head down the hall to the bathroom, and a whole chorus of brain waves is chanting that I can't do this.
This is crazy. You can't pretend to be a doctor just because someone needs you—not when you are only a kid.
    I run the water and pump out a big handful of soap. I don't even want to look in the mirror, so I look down at the wet, sticky front of my pajamas. I tug the shirt off with one sudsy hand, dry my hands on the clean side, and kick it behind the bathroom door. The draft from the bathroom window raises a shiver all down my back. I peek down the hall, and no one is looking, so I slip into the dark of Dad's room. I stumble over his clean work boots on my way to the dresser and find his wool flannel work shirt by touch in the drawer. It's blue and brown plaid, and worn thin at the elbows. I wrap it tight around my chest and breathe in the dad smell that is still stuck in the collar.
    Dad lets me do stuff. It's just my brothers who think I'm too little.
    I let Dad's shirt hang down to my knees and start buttoning. “Piece of cake, Brother,” Dad would say to me. “Grandpa's done sutures a million times. It's about time you learned how.”
    Dad would hug me.
    I trail my hand over his pillow on the way out the door. I head back to the living room, and everyone is waiting like an audience. Pete's kneeling by Grandpa's recliner with his head right under the reading lamp. Grandma is sitting in the chair, holding Pete's hands. “Holler all you need to, Pete. There's none but the good Lord and them that love you to hear,” she says.
    This is not exactly encouraging, but Grandpa smiles at me like stitching up your brother's head is a perfectly normal thing to do.
    “Let's take a look,” he says.
    Before he can lift up the towel over the wound, Pete turns to me and says, “I'm sorry, Brother. You and Grandpa are doing fine, way more than your share.”
    “Dude, the barn looks perfect,” John adds.
    Frank nods, and Jim says, “What would we do without you?”
    I just open and close my mouth a bunch of times,so Grandpa says, “Thank you, boys,” for me, and hands me the long tweezers with the bent end. I brace myself to be grossed out by the wound. Grandma starts praying the rosary, with the brothers chiming in, but when Grandpa takes the cloth away it's not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. The main thing is, I can't see Pete's face, plus the cut is only about two inches long.
    “You want to pull out the shards just like a wood sliver,” Grandpa says. “Pull them out the same direction they went in. Can you see them?”
    I tilt Pete's head a bit more toward the light. I push his bristle-short black hair apart with my thumbs.
    “Yup, I see a big one and two little ones.”
    “Nice and steady now,” Grandpa says.
    I slowly, slowly lower the tweezers and get a grip on the shard. Pete sucks in a sharp gasp. Panic starts to creep up my arms and make my hands shake. Pete gasps again, and then groans. Frank sits down suddenly on the floor and puts his head between his knees.
    “Breathe,” Grandpa says softly. “Everybody breathe. Angels are all around us now. We can do this.”
    Grandma presses on with the rosary. I shake out my hand