Heart of a Shepherd by Rosanne Parry Read Free Book Online Page A

and try again. This time I steady my wrist on the top of Pete's head, and it goes much better. Grandpa holds out a saucer for me to put the piece ofchina on and a teacup full of rubbing alcohol to rinse the tweezers in. The next two shards are easier because they are small and don't make Pete twitchy when I pull them out. I take one last look.
    “Let me do this next part,” Grandpa says, and he takes gauze dipped in disinfectant and wipes out the wound. Pete takes in a big gasp. Every muscle in his arms and shoulders bunches up.
    “Okay, now for the stitching,” Grandpa says. He hands me the medium-sized curved needle. I thread a length of black thread on it.
    “Remember that stitch I taught you when you were mending your leather gloves? We're going to use the same stitch here, and it will feel a lot the same as working on your glove. Pete's scalp is a bit thinner, but skin is skin.”
    I am never going to wear leather anything for the rest of my life.
    “Okay, start with the end nearest you and take a bite with your needle about a millimeter back from the edge.”
    I breathe in a big gulp, grit my teeth, and then stick the needle in Pete's head. He squeezes his praying hands together tighter but doesn't make a peep.“Excellent, now do the same on the opposite side…. Perfect, now draw them together…. Now the knot.” Grandpa walks me through each step.
    “Hey! The edges on either side of the thread just joined up and stuck together! Wow, Grandpa, that was the weirdest thing!”
    “That's the miracle of healing right there, Brother. We were meant to be whole and healthy.”
    I snug the knot down tight and move to the next stitch. As I do, I see clear yellowish fluid seep into the margins of the cut and form the shiny shell of a new scar. Amazing.
    I chew that idea about healing over good, because ten minutes ago I was trying to kill Pete, and now that he really, really needs me, I've never loved him so much.
    I tie off the last knot and blow out a huge breath of relief.
    “Beautiful!” Grandpa says, and his warm hand squeezes my shoulder. “Just a dab of this and you'll be done.” He hands me a tube of ointment.
    “Is it over?” Frank says, still hiding his head.
    “He was awesome,” Jim says, pulling Frank to his feet.
    “Don't worry, we'll make a cowboy of you yet,” John says. “You don't even have to put the stitches that close together when it's a cow.”
    The brothers gather around to inspect my work. I squat down and take a look at Pete. He looks a little gray and his hands are shaky, but he gives me a smile anyway
    “Sleep,” Grandma announces briskly. “Growing boys need sleep.”
    The brothers grumble a little just for effect, and Grandpa puts another log in the woodstove while we settle our blankets under the tree.
    Hours later, when the brothers are long past snoring, I've got my head propped on Pete's belly and my feet up on Frank. I keep drifting in and out of sleep, watching the red glow of the fire wave like a flag on the living room wall. When I dream, there are rivers of blood and singing, and when I wake up again I can see how Pete's wound sealed up just like magic. But then I fall asleep and dream of fires and bells, and wake up freezing. The fire is out, but the phone is ringing. Pete sits up and reaches for it on the coffee table.
    “Dad?” Pete mumbles. “Dad! Hey, Merry Christmas!”
    It's Dad. I'm warm clear to the ends of my fingers.
    I start to nudge the brothers awake. Pete is saying, “Yeah, Dad, of course … all of us under the Christmas tree. We remembered…. Listen, Dad, I think you'd better speak to the man of the house.”
    And Pete hands the phone straight to me.

F EBRUARY
    It's the first Sunday of Lent, the first almost warm day of the year. The last patches of frozen ground have gone mushy and there are pale green buds on the cottonwood tree on the sunny side of the barn. Grandma lets me drive the truck the first mile to church, but once we are off our own