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He was startled out of his trance. "Oh. Hi, Katie." "Why don'tcha go talk to Vannah? Maybe she'd like to go to the shearin' dance next week." "But your mama?"
"She ain't so strict no more. I think she'd let us all go if we wanted to. My daddy don't like the Fourth o' July none, but the shearin' dance might be all right."
He grinned. "Really? Thanks, Katie, I'll do that." Without a backward glance, he raced over to Savannah. She looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. Katie yanked up her skirts and ran across the dirt road, skidding beside Savannah just as Jeffie was finishing his question. "... Do you think she'd let you go?" Savannah blushed and stared down at the cornbread in her hands. "I think she might."
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"Great! Well . . ." Jeffie looked as if he was trying to think of something else to say.
Tired of the silence, Katie butted in. "Ain't you two gonna talk or somethin'?"
"Hey, Jeffie!" yelled Harvey Hannah. "You gonna play
ball or not?"
Jeffie looked relieved. "I gotta go. 'B-Bye!"
'"Bye, Jeffie," Savannah said without looking up.
He flashed Katie a grin and mouthed thank you. Then he turned and hightailed it back to the group of boys.
Katie took a bite of cornbread and chewed thoughtfully, staring at her sister's still pink cheeks. "You know, Vannah, you act sort o' ... fool-headed around Jeffie."
Savannah sighed. "I know. But Mama says it don't mean there's somethin' wrong with me. She says it's normal."
Katie thought about that for a minute. "Yeah, Jeffie acts
just as stupid around you."
Savannah gave her a sudden smile. "Thanks for tellin' him to ask me to the dance."
Katie took another bite and mumbled, "Sure" with a full mouth. "Now all you got to do is learn to dance."
Savannah dropped her cornbread. "Oh my gosh, I never thought about that. I'll make a fool of myself."
"Yep, you'd best get Mama to help you."
Jack held the squirming, frightened sheep in an iron grip. Stooping low over the animal, he ran the razor-sharp clippers along the belly. Fleecy yellowed wool fell away from the pink flesh in a thick trail and heaped on the straw-covered floor. Occasionally the sharp blades nicked the sheep's soft belly, sending tiny droplets of blood splattering upward onto Jack's face and neck.
He sheared the sheep in a matter of moments, then jammed the clippers in his belt and let the sheep go. The
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animal bleated loudly and ran on wobbly legs right into the wall.
Tiredly Jack turned the sheep around, pointing him toward the pasture. Still bleating, the sheep barreled from the lean-to and joined the rest of the already-sheared sheep in the pasture.
Jack straightened. Pushing a fist at the base of his aching back, he swiped the sweat from his brow and let out his breath in an exhausted sigh. Christ, he was tired. And sore. He couldn't remember when he'd been this sore. The constant squeeze-release action of the clippers caused an ache that started in his hand and drove deep into his shoulder, and his back was half-broken from stooping over sheep for twelve hours.
He lifted his heavy head and looked around. Jim was at the front of the lean-to, bent over a squirming sheep. Sikes and the two Indians followed in a straight line. Jack brought up the rear. Beside them, out in the holding corral, there were a good hundred sheep left to be sheared. The last rays of the day's sun slid across the closely bunched animals, turning their fleecy backs into humps of pinkish gold.
Jack shoved the hat off his damp brow. "Come on, boys, how 'bout we call it a night?"
"Whew!" Jerry Sikes yelled back, letting his sheared sheep go. "I thought we'd never quit."
The men finished up the sheep they were working on, then closed the pasture gate behind them. Jack pitchforked some hay to the corralled sheep, and the day's work was done.
Too tired to say much, the men walked back to the barn, where their bedrolls were already laid out on layers of new straw.
