CHAPTER 39
If I thought time with Daddy was going to make me feel better, I was just plain wrong.
A few days after the pageant, I got back from gathering the eggs, surprised to see Daddy still sitting at the breakfast table, like he was waiting for me.
The day had started out like any other summer morning on the farm, with the heat of the sun already burning my shoulders on my trek from the henhouse. Buster had given Teacher a real runaround, and I must’ve been smiling all the way back to the house.
But that wouldn’t last.
“Daddy, you should see Buster in the henhouse, stirring up those old hens. It’s so funny. I grab—”
“I need to talk to you, Pru,” Daddy said. He looked serious as he patted the seat of the chair next to him.
My breath caught. “What’s wrong with Charlotte?”
“Charlotte’s good—I think we can actually plan on getting her home this summer.”
I’d waited to hear those words for so long I squealed like one of the pigs. “That’s great news, Daddy!”
I wanted to leap up ’cause my heart felt so happy, but I could see Daddy wasn’t celebrating. “What’s wrong, then?”
“This isn’t about Charlotte, Pru—it’s about Buster.”
I can’t be sure if it was my heart or my stomach that jumped right then, but I looked down at the table.
“Pru, do you remember when we first got Buster?”
“I’ll never forget it.”
“Honey, when I told you about him, do you remember me pointing out he was a farm animal—not a pet? And farm animals have jobs on the farm.”
“B-Buster helps on the farm, Daddy. You should see the way he helps get the eggs, and—”
“No.” Daddy shook his head. “That’s not the job I meant. A livestock animal’s job on the farm is to earn money by going to market. You know that was always the plan. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clearer from the beginning.”
Every conversation the adults had had with me about Buster—being a farm animal . . . livestock . . . not a pet—came rushing back in a blur. How had my ears heard something over and over that my heart was only hearing for the first time?
Daddy went on. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Now my heart heard loud and clear. I knew—but I couldn’t understand. How could I let Buster go? Tears rolled down my cheeks. “Isn’t there a way we could keep him?”
Daddy’s voice cracked. “No, honey. There isn’t room for a hundred-pound pet on a working farm. Clyde was over to help deliver the piglets and checked out Buster. Said you did a right fine job with raising him. He could bring a good sum of money at market, and once we take out the feeding cost, that money’s yours.”
“I don’t want money. I want Buster.”
He put his arm around me. “I’m sorry. It’s costing too much to care for him as a pet. The farm’s in a place to start making better decisions, not worse. We need to make every penny count.”
I wiped my eyes and looked at the coffee can of money. “But you have money in the piggy bank. Can’t that go to feeding Buster? Please?”
“Do you think that’s what would be best for our farm?”
“It’s not my farm—but it’s my Buster!” I couldn’t look at Daddy. “Saving Buster would be right for him and for me!”
He tried to pat my hand, but I pulled away. “It’s your farm because it belongs to all of us. And we all have to do what’s right for our farm—for our family. And I’m not saying it has to be today—”
“Today?”
“It doesn’t have to be today, but it has to happen, and I think these things are best not put off too long. Sometimes it’s best to get it over with.”
Those words echoed in my head as I stood up. And without remembering taking steps at all, I soon found myself in the orchard.
“Buster! Buster!”
He was chasing a butterfly, but when he heard me, he came running. His head butted against my hand as I petted him. I bent down and tried to hold on to his neck, but he just wanted to be petted, not held. “I’m not gonna let you go, Buster. I won’t.”
Tears fell down my face and onto his wool. It was hard to deny how big he was. His coat was soft and full, like tufts of cotton stuck together. He was strong enough that he could knock me down easy if he wanted to. But he would always be my baby.
I started walking out of the orchard faster and faster, breaking into a run. Buster followed me.
Before too long, I saw Ricky’s house and stopped to catch my breath.
Taking a few deep gulps of air, I squinted at his house. From far away, I thought I saw Ricky out front, but as I walked closer, I realized it was a woman who wasn’t his mom.
Then I got a little closer and I saw the woman looked like Miss Beany, but her hair wasn’t pulled tight into a bun. It hung soft and loose and pretty.
She heard me when I got into the yard. “Hello there, Prudence. How are you doing?” It was Miss Beany, but I couldn’t talk.
Ricky came outside smiling, like there was nothing strange about our teacher being at his house.
“You okay, Pixie?” he asked.
I had a lot of questions about Miss Beany, but right then all I could think of was what Daddy had just said. I knelt down to hold on to Buster. Ricky knelt to pet him too.
“I’m okay.” I hugged Buster, burying my face and tears in his wool.
I heard footsteps coming closer to me. “Is something wrong with Charlotte?” Miss Beany’s hand was on my shoulder.
And then the tears really started flowing. And I told them.
“Not Buster! No!” Ricky looked at Buster, who looked right at him. “He’s so much like a dog, I guess sometimes I forget he’s a lamb.”
“I loved the stories you wrote about this little guy in class. I’m sorry about what’s going on now,” Miss Beany said as she sat down next to us.
We all sat there petting Buster, who sat still for only a few minutes before running around Ricky’s yard, eating grass and anything else growing.
From behind me, I heard barking.
Ricky laughed. “Uh-oh.”
Mud circled Buster, who looked at the dog like he was the funniest-looking lamb he ever did see. Buster lowered his head like he was getting ready to charge him. Softly, he bumped him in the side, and Mud nudged him back, but in a friendly way.
They did this around the yard a while longer before Ricky turned to me. “Do you think you can talk to your pa about Buster?”
“I tried.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Miss Beany asked.
“Can you help me hide Buster or convince Daddy he doesn’t have to go to market?”
She took a breath before answering. “Town’s too small for hiding much of anything. And the only other reason farms have lambs is for their wool. But you’d need more lambs for that to work, I guess. I don’t know. I wish I could help.”
And I knew she meant it. “Thank you.”
She stood up. “Let me know if you think of something I can help with.” And she headed into the house, walking in like she lived there.
Despite being sad, I was also mighty curious. I had to know what was up. “Miss Beany?” I said to Ricky. “Here! Why?”
“Miss Beany and Bill . . . they were high school sweethearts,” Ricky explained. “But when Bill joined the army, they put getting married on hold. She didn’t want me to get teased or nothing, so we didn’t tell folks at school. But now—”
“What happened now?”
“Don’t worry—it’s good. We got a telegram that Bill’s getting better—gonna be released soon. And since school’s let out, Miss Beany’s heading to New York to be with him. Just stopped by here to pick up a few of his things.”
“He’s coming . . . home?” That word held so much meaning for me now.
Ricky grinned and nodded. “I just wish I could go too.”
“But he’ll be home soon. That’s what’s important. And he’ll be so proud of you taking care of everyone while he was gone. You did a good job, Ricky. Maybe he’ll want you to keep that job even when he gets back.”
He shook his head. “Nah. I’m happy Ma’s better, and it’ll be good to get Bill back. One thing I learned this year is being responsible’s a lot of work. Too many decisions. And sometimes those decisions are just plain hard.”
Right then Buster ran back into our view, with Mud chasing him. I looked up at the sky, trying to keep my eyes from misting over again, thinking sometimes those decisions aren’t just hard—they’re downright heartbreaking.