Sound Of Gravel, The by Ruth Wariner Read Free Book Online Page B

was sitting inside on an empty paint bucket, his shoulders hunched forward over a wooden workbench. He was welding, something he did all the time now that the shop finally had electricity.
    The leather gloves he wore had grease-stained fingertips, and the sleeves of his checkered shirt were tucked inside the gloves. A large, gray welding mask obscured his face, protecting it from blue, orange, and yellow sparks. Matt gave the whole scene a quick glance as he trudged onward with his milk bucket, but I couldn’t resist stopping to watch.
    I didn’t say a word, but Lane somehow sensed my presence anyway. He pulled his torch away from the metal and peered at me through the helmet’s rectangular glass, his eyes smiling. He extinguished the torch’s blue flame and lifted up his mask to rest it on his head. He smiled again, his eyes tired and puffy under the mask’s gray rubber strap wrapped around his forehead.
    I never knew my father, and Lane was only an occasional presence in our house, so having grown men around was strange and vaguely frightening, but Lane’s smile was friendly, so I walked inside. The shop was dark and reeked of grease and gasoline, which smelled sweet and appealing compared to the corral’s manure-and-cow stench. “What are you making?”
    “I’m building a funnel for our grinder motor,” Lane said gently, describing the shape in the air with his hands. “Your mom needs this so she can grind corn and wheat. That’s how she makes our bread. I’ll bet she’ll show you how to use it when I’m finished, and you can learn how to make bread too.” He picked up a hammer and pounded a few times on the cooling metal. “Everybody needs to learn how to help out with the family. Ya know what I mean?” Lane took off his mask and set it on the dusty cement floor.
    “Can I milk a cow like Matt does?” I blurted out.
    Lane raised his eyebrows in surprise as he peeled off his gloves. “So, you want to help with the cows, do ya?” He sighed. “Well, milkin’ cows is hard work. Maybe you can have your own cow to milk when you’re about ten. By then, your hands will be big and strong enough to squeeze all the milk out of a cow. You know, Ruthie, if you don’t get all the milk out, it’ll dry up inside the cow and it won’t be able to give milk anymore.” He threw his gloves on the ground. “But your mom might need help with other things.”
    I nodded.
    Lane smiled again and patted his faded jeans. “Come sit on my lap.” The words were tinged with a definite sweetness, but also something else, and whatever that something was, it kept me frozen in place from fear or unfamiliarity, my hands clasped behind my back.
    A fly buzzed on my ear in a spot where milk had dried. I shooed it away. “But maybe I can just try it, practice to see if I can do it,” I said shyly. “I’m pretty sure I can milk a cow and help my Mom too.”
    Lane laughed heartily and jumped up, as if the joke had given him energy. In one motion he reached over and picked me up by the belly. My shirt rode up and his calloused hands felt rough against my skin. Then, he sat back down on the bucket and cradled me—one arm around my back and the other under the back of my knees. I felt my bare lower back against the denim of his pants as he bounced his legs up and down as if I were a baby. A nervous knot grew in my stomach, but I wasn’t quite sure why.
    “Well, now. Let’s see.” The bouncing had stopped and he turned his head to look at me. “Maybe you and Luke can come outside in the mornings and afternoons to feed the chickens and pick up the eggs in the chicken coop till you’re both old enough to milk cows.” He put his arm around my neck and brought my face closer to his. His whiskers dotted his jaw, chin, and upper lip. His nose looked bigger and wider up close, shiny, and covered in little white dots.
    “What are we s’posed to do with the eggs?” The words nearly got trapped in my throat, blocked by the knot that