Free A Hidden Truth by Judith Miller Page A

considered the sheep to be an extension of our family, but Anton viewed them merely as work. I thought it a privilege to care for them, but he viewed it a punishment. He’d never said these things to me, but when I was in his presence, I sensed he’d developed little, if any, fondness for shepherding.
    Both my father and I had been patient in our teaching—my father more so than I, for I couldn’t understand anyone who didn’t enjoy caring for animals. But Anton avoided the sheep whenever possible. At least that was how it seemed to me. He grumbled when required to go to the pasture and watch over the sheep. He much preferred the idea of keeping them in the barn all winter. Except when the ground turned exceedingly wet or during winter snows, my father pastured the sheep. Years of shepherding had convinced him that fresh-air foraging provided the best care for the animals. Closed inside the barns, they developed more sickness. Fresh air, fresh water, proper food, and a loving shepherd—those were the things necessary for raising good sheep, at least that was my father’s belief. Right now the sheep might be receiving fresh air, water, and good food, but I didn’t believe they were being tended by a loving shepherd.
    I’d done my best to offer kindness and gentle instruction, but Anton was different from the other men in our village. Instead of being cheerful and pleasant, most of the time he appeared quiet and withdrawn or angry and sullen. Only when he spoke to me about his inventions did I see a glimmer in his eyes and hear excitement in his voice.
    Even on Sundays the animals needed care, which was another matter that annoyed Anton. When we’d returned from meeting a few minutes ago, he’d started toward the stairs, and my father called to him.
    â€œJa?”
    â€œAre you forgetting the sheep?”
    His features tightened into a frown. “I would like to, but it seems there is always someone to remind me.”
    I was surprised when my father chuckled. “All of us need reminders, Anton. I’m here to remind you when you forget the sheep just as my aching body reminds me that I must slow down. Our hungry friends who come to this dining hall every day are a reminder that meals must be prepared. And the ringing bell in the tower keeps all of us on schedule. You see? We all must pay heed and be thankful for the reminders in our life.”
    Anton didn’t appear convinced. He trod to the kitchen, the soles of his shoes slapping the wooden floor with an angry beat.
    Drawing close to my father, I sat down next to him. “I can go and take care of the sheep, Vater. You know I do not mind. And Anton does not want to go.”
    â€œAll the more reason he should do it. One day he will learn to serve with a cheerful heart. Until then, he will make himself miserable.”
    â€œAnd the sheep, Vater. They sense his anger and frustration when he is around them. Have you not noticed that they are not as calm as they used to be?”
    â€œI was a shepherd before you were born, child. I understand that the sheep do better with a shepherd who tends them with a pleasant spirit. Let me worry about Anton. You should know that I won’t let any harm come to the sheep.” He pushed up from his chair and slowly straightened his body. “If it will ease your worrying, you can go down to the barn and check on the sheep, but wait a few more minutes. Give Anton time to complete his work before you go down there. I am going upstairs for a rest.”
    My eyes remained fastened upon my father as he hobbled across the room. His once-broad shoulders now hunched forward, and his long-legged stride had been replaced by a limping gait. He didn’t need to speak of his pain—the changes in his carriage and posture spoke for him.
    I’d been watching the clock with great intensity when the kitchen door opened and someone entered. Thinking it was Anton, I jumped up and