Free Deep in the Heart of Me by Diane Munier

it's broken," I say tenderly touching my nose.
    "Did it knock some sense then?" Dad says at a glance. We have just dumped Tillo and Utz at the school so they can begin the long task of cleaning.
    "What if they don't do it?" Joseph asks.
    "They are out," Dad says backing up the truck. "As it should be."
    My dad is a hard-driving man. He must be, I know this. The family depends on it, and there is nothing more important than the family. Maman says this, too. But for Dad, it's the land. So they check each other, they pull at each other the way the river pulls at the black bottom soil. Some years the land wins and we can farm those rich sections. Other years the river won't budge, and we give up hope of planting a crop. But it's close like that. It's life.
    "Did Shaun come on time?" I ask. We milk at four on the dot. Morning and evening. If milking time is missed production changes, and not for the good. With school starting Dad has to hire more help. Hence Shaun, the young married man that lives on the edge of our property. Shaun lost his wife last spring. Her and the baby. She was nice. I don't want to think about it, but maybe I think about it too much.
    We should have been home on time. Ebbie would have been there to bring in the cows, but milking forty head takes young and strong shoulders. And young and strong knees.
    Dad leans forward and looks past me at Joseph.
    "Had a day boyo."
    "Yes, Sir," Joseph says, then he looks at me with sympathy. To be the oldest son means to take the brunt. The others learn from it.
    "I've no time for this," Dad says next, shifting the truck. "I told you both you're better off in the fields. Boy gets old enough he's too grown to sit in a desk all day when he should be working. Everything you need to know is on the farm. Did I not say that?" he repeats like he's speaking to an argument in his head, one that was waged by Mom wanting her boys to have more school.
    "Yes, Sir," I say.
    "Yes, Sir," Joseph says.
    "I have to leave Tibby in harness…."
    It is my job to tear up the front field, not Dad's. I am failing him.
    "Well?" Dad says looking quickly at me. Oh, so now I can talk I guess.
    I'm not sorry, that's the thing. Maybe he should apologize first…for what he did to Mom.
    "I'm sorry Dad," I say. We don't have to ask Dad forgiveness. We just do that around Mom.
    "Sorry, Dad," Joseph echoes.
    "Well, we're all a sorry bunch here. A sorry bunch." He straightens up and shifts again.
    "Well…I fought two," I say.
    He looks at me. "Should I give you a medal then?"
    I refuse to deflate. "I don't want a medal," I say.
    "He did Dad. He fought hard, and he had those two," Joseph says, and it's a bold thing.
    Dad looks at the road. "Two on one?"
    "Yes, Sir," I say, hopeful even though I don't want to be. I'm mad at him. Very angry.
    Dad sniffs. "Tell me."
    We tell him then, every scrap as we remember. Joseph knows more than me. He's uncanny that way, for details. I think it's one of the ways he's learned to best me, but if he were oldest, he'd understand I have to look at everything very quickly for the good of us all.
    "Well, I'll be damned," Dad says when we're done. I can't help grinning at Joseph even though it hurts my lips and starts fresh blood.
    Then he spoils it like always. "Imagine what we could get done on the place if you put that strength to good use."
    I do deflate a little. Maybe I'm tired in spite of my nap in the gaol. I work hard on the farm. I always have. Since three years old when they started me pulling weeds in the garden.
    But nothing is ever enough for him.
    "Did you break your right hand?" he asks.
    It is rather large. I make a fist.
    "It'll be all right," he says.
    "We're sorry about the trouble Dad," Joseph says again.
    "Sorry is as sorry does. You'll work in the dark tonight boyo."
    "Yes, Sir," Joseph says, and he deflates too. I don't know why. We work in the dark morning and night.
    "One more mess and you're both out of school. Way I see it that shouldn't be hard for