Free Little Joe by Sandra Neil Wallace

out, son,” Pa yelled. “Sooner or later he’ll accept her being gone.”
    Eli put the apple slices on the ground and climbed through the fence. He watched as Little Joe ducked in and out of the herd searching for Fancy. The bull calf paced up and down the fence line between the two gates, coming back to the spots where he’d last smelled Fancy. Allaround him cattle grazed, tearing up green shoots to chew. But Little Joe didn’t want a blade of grass. Or even the apple slices Eli’d left him. He wanted Fancy.
    Eli stood quiet beneath the river maple. He didn’t move when a cluster of maple keys spiraled down, nicking his cheek. He let the spinning wings scatter instead of picking them up like he’d done all the springs before, splitting them open and removing the seeds, then sticking the wings on his nose.
    “School bus comes in fifteen minutes, Eli!” Ma had come down and was holding Eli’s lunch. She dipped under the maple, pulled Eli close and kissed the top of his head. “You just keep growing, don’t you?” Ma whispered. “But not too fast.”
    When Ma left, Eli reached out and touched the maple’s peeling trunk. Brittle and gnarled, it still had strength. He leaned against it, closing his eyes until the sound of kids laughing came to him. Eli ran toward the laughter, following the orange hood of the school bus as it rounded the bend and stopped in front of Windswept Farms.
    Eli lay in bed that night, wondering if he could ever be like Pa, snoring so hard no amount of calf bawling could wake him. Didn’t Pa ever think about cows?
He won’t even know she’s gone
. That’s what Pa’d said when Eliguided Little Joe to the pasture—snuck him in—like he said he’d never do again, fooling Little Joe with the smell of Fancy. Grandpa was right—Little Joe was bawling something awful. Eli could hear the calf wailing in the fields. He thought about Grandpa stroking Little Joe’s head softly and then Eli’s. Would Grandpa run out in the middle of the night and soothe Little Joe if he were his bull calf? That’s what Eli wanted to do. He sat up and pulled off the covers but hesitated as he skimmed a toe across the floorboards. Grandpa didn’t own Windswept Farms anymore. Pa did. And Pa’d told Grandpa they’d take care of things. Just him and Pa.
    Eli blew out a gush of warm air, got back under the covers and tried lying still, not thinking about cows for once, but something else. Or nothing at all. For a few seconds the house was silent.
Maybe Pa can hear my bull calf bawling, too
. Eli lurched upright and grinned. But the snoring started up again. Pa had just turned over. He had no idea Little Joe was bawling into the night, aching for his ma.
    “Can you hear it?” Hannah stood in Eli’s doorway, tugging on a purple rabbit slipper.
    “Hear what? Pa snoring?”
    “Worse.” She shuffled across the room.
    “Shh. You’ll wake up Ma and Pa,” Eli warned.
    “Ma can’t sleep when Pa’s snoring,” Hannah said. “Help me up.” She stuck out her polka-dot pajama arms. “Your bed’s higher than mine and I’ve got slippers on.”
    “Ah, Hannah, there’s barely enough room for Tater and me.”
    “Not if you scooch over.”
    Eli yanked both of Hannah’s wrists and pulled her up.
    “Something’s crying,” she whispered, pointing to the window looking over the pasture. “Out there.”
    “It’s Little Joe.” Eli sat up and brought his knees in close. “He’s calling Fancy. They got split up today.”
    “What for?”
    “’Cause it’s time.”
    “But he’s just a baby.”
    They both stopped and eyed the window. Little Joe’s bawling had turned to a moaning so mournful it pierced the night with a new sadness.
    “What are you gonna do?” Hannah asked.
    “Pa says he’ll accept her being gone soon enough.”
    “You can’t listen to Pa. He doesn’t like animals. Not the way you and me do.”
    “You sell your newborn rabbits out from under Snow White all the time.”
    Hannah bit