The Virgin of Small Plains by Nancy Pickard Read Free Book Online Page A

him from one place to another on this day of no school. How was he going to know where to go next, with no bells to ring in the hallways every forty minutes?
    Clumsily, with his good hand, he slid open one side of the barn door, stepped into the warm, fragrant space, and then closed the door behind him.
    “Dad?”
    His father was in a stall where they had placed one of the cows with her newborn, and he was feeding the calf a supplemental bottle. When Nathan glanced up, and bestowed a tight, tired smile on his son, the unexpected warmth of it nearly undid Rex. Tears sprang to his eyes, and his throat filled. He had a suddenly overwhelming desire to confide his feelings to his dad, just as he had to his mom the night before, but long habit stilled his tongue.
    “Won’t she take the teat?” Rex said, and then cleared his throat.
    “Yeah, she will. I’m just making sure she gets through the first twenty-four hours.” His father pulled a long rubber nipple out of the baby’s mouth, and the calf tried to follow it. Foamy white formula dripped from her pink tongue, and more formula from the big plastic bottle dripped onto the hay at his father’s feet. Behind the calf, the young mother seemed to take it all in bovine stride.
    “Sit down, Rex,” his father said, pointing to a hay bale across the way.
    When Nathan finished with the calf, he went over to the big metal sink they had in the barn, washed out the nipple and bottle, and set them on a counter to dry. Then he sat down near Rex on a second bale of hay, letting out a deep sigh as he settled his weight. Rex rested his wounded hand so that his father couldn’t see it. His mother would be worried, but his father would be pissed at the stupid way he’d broken it.
    Rex sucked air when his hand touched straw.
    “What’s the matter?” his father asked instantly.
    The question made Rex wonder if his mother had talked to his father at all.
    “Nothing.” To take his mind off that pain he touched another one—his sore tongue. “Sorry I didn’t get up in time to feed the calves.”
    His father waved it off. “I never got to sleep. Thought I might as well work.”
    “Where did you take…her?”
    “To Quentin’s office. Nothing else I could do.” He paused a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. “Son, do you trust me?”
    “What?”
    “I said, do you trust me?” It came out gruff, impatient, but Rex put that down to the fact that his father looked embarrassed to be saying the words.
    “Sure,” he said quickly, wanting to get the excruciating moment over with, so he could escape to something easier than talking to his father. Like shoveling acres of driveway with a broken hand. “You’re my dad. Of course I trust you.”
    “Yes, but have I
earned
your trust over the course of your life?”
    Rex thought this was becoming a very strange conversation. “Yes, sir.”
    “What if I told you to do something you thought was wrong?”
    “You wouldn’t do that—”
    “What if I did? Would you do it, just because I asked you to?”
    Rex was just about to complain, “What are you talking about?” when his father quickly added, “Would you trust me to have everybody’s best interests at heart? Would you believe I might be able to see the larger picture?”
    Rex thought the original question was now sufficiently loaded to bring down a bear. What did his dad think he was going to say, anyway? That his own son didn’t trust him? What the hell was this all about?
    I am way too tired for this shit,
Rex thought. He shrugged. “Sure.”
    When his father looked unconvinced, Rex forced himself to add, “Absolutely!”
    “All right, then. I hope to God you mean that.”
    “Dad!” He heard his own voice grating with weariness. “I told you. I do.”
    “Then listen to me. And this time, really listen. For five minutes, don’t be a goddamned teenager who listens with half a brain to what his parents say. Are you listening?”
    “Yes! Jesus, Dad…”
    “This