Free Heart of a Shepherd by Rosanne Parry

out.
    A second car pulls up, with all the aunts inside. Paco's
abuela
gets out and goes to the schoolhouse steps to talk to our teacher. The oldest uncle says, “Come with us now. We'll go to church tonight at the cathedral in Boise, and then in the morning Abuela will go to be with them at the hospital in Frankfurt.”
    Rosita just looks at the ground, and Paco nudges her toward the cars. I should say something. I take a step closer.
    “Mr. Ugarte, may I come help with the stock at your place?”
    They all turn and look at me.
    “Grandpa and I could drive over after school and make sure everything is squared away for the night.”
    “Gracias,”
the oldest uncle says without smiling. “Our doors are open. You will see what to do.”
    “I'll take care of everything.”
    They get in their cars and drive off. Already I feel that promise on my shoulders, and I'm calculating how to get my chores done faster to have enough time. Grandpa will come help because it's in his code of how to treat people, and Ernesto never complains about extra work. Still, I'm the one who promised.
    I think about my dad loading the Ugartes on a plane for Germany, and promising to call their brothers, and promising he would check up on them to make sure they get treated right.
    I could never do it. I couldn't make all those promises. I could never take those salutes and the “yes, sirs” and then take moms and dads into danger. God knows what I'm supposed to be—not a soldier.

M AY
    “Bueno,
Ignacio. Can you feel the calf?” Ernesto says. He is standing with me in the birthing stall, holding the cow's head so she won't back up and step on me. I've helped with calving since I was eight, but Dad never let me pull a calf before, and now I know why. Last year my arm was too short.
    “Lean into it, Brother,” Grandpa says. He puts a hand on my shoulder and shows me how to turn a little sideways and get a few inches further into the birth canal so I can reach the baby calf. Grandpa pulled the last two calves, and now he's leaning on the bars of the stall to rest. The cow bawls pitifully. She's a first-calf heifer, and she doesn't know what she's doing. Ernesto brought her inside when her labor went on too long.
    “Don't worry, she's just scared. You aren't hurting her,” Grandpa says.
    I grunt and nod, standing in the wet, sticky straw. Grandma's in the stall next to us, making sure the calves we just pulled can stand and drink. There are five more calves with the mothers who didn't need any help at the far end of the barn. The sour, salty smell of blood and goo makes me gag a little, so I breathe through my mouth.
    “Muy bien.
Find the feet—two feet—and pull,” Ernesto says.
    I grope around, twisting my wrist from side to side. At first all I feel is wet fur, and then something roundish and bumpy—a nose, maybe. I work my way down. At last! A leg! It's broomstick-skinny I fish around for the other one and squeeze them tight in my fist.
    “I found them!”
    “Bravo.
Now pull, Ignacio.”
    “Nice and steady, Brother; the hardest part is done.” Grandpa holds the tail to one side so I don't get smacked in the head with it.
    I take a deep breath and pull as steady as I can. I feel the calf's legs and head ease out of the womb and into the birth canal.
    “Here she comes,” I grunt, leaning back.
    I brace myself for another tug, but something sucks the calf backward and pulls me in with it.
    “No! Wait! Hey, she's going backwards.”
    “Sí,”
Ernesto says. “It is like the waves of the ocean. Pull with the wave, not against.”
    This doesn't seem like a good time to point out that I've never been to the beach in my whole life.
    “He's right, Brother, don't fight the contraction. Pull when you feel the squeeze and hold when it lets up. Do you feel it?”
    I've been trying not to think about my arm getting squeezed every other minute, because, honestly, it's a really gross feeling.
    “Sí,
like the ocean.” Ernesto presses my free