Bittersweet by Cathy Marie Hake Page A

talk sense into you.”
    “Yeah, well, anytime you take a notion in your head that you or your ma need some extry holp, I’ll bring Ivy back.”
    “I’ll keep your offer in mind. After I cool down this beauty, I’ll take a turn with the plow.”
    “No need. I ain’t had to stop onc’t on account of the blade clogging. I heard tell of these steel moldboard plows, but niver got to use one.” Ishmael stuck out a bony finger and drew a line in the air. “This’un cuts on through the earth, deep and sure.”
    “It does.” Galen didn’t remember seeing a plow back at the Grubbs’ place. They owned one very sorry-looking mule. Had Ishmael prepared the ground with nothing more than hand tools? “I don’t mind lending my plow out to folks who treat it with respect. In fact, a neighbor will be over early next week to borrow it. He uses my John Deere plow, and in return he lets me use his McCormick reaper.”
    “Don’t mean to boast, but I’m good with a reaper. Come harvest, you’ll find that out.”
    Ishmael didn’t take the opening and ask to use the plow, so Galen let the matter go. “If you’re half as good with the reaper as you are with a plow, I’ll be satisfied.”
    “I promised I’d work hard for you, and I will. It feels good, turning your soil. It’s rich—mighty rich. Niver saw me such a wiggle of worms whilst turnin’ over the ground.”
    “The birds like it, too.” Dozens of sparrows and chickadees dotted the earth, hopping to and fro, feasting on whatever insects and seeds surfaced as Ishmael turned the ground.
    “Got a scarecrow handy?”
    “Nope. Haven’t gotten around to making one. Ma always has my littlest brother help her with that chore. It’s a family tradition.” I sure miss them .
    “Your family shore has a heap of traditions.”
    Galen nodded and led the horse off. Since Da passed on, something came up nearly every single day that underscored his absence. Silly things that never registered suddenly became important—Ma still hugged and kissed them all good night, but now Galen squeezed Colin’s arm and ruffled Sean and Dale’s hair ere they climbed the ladder to the loft. Da always left the porch humming or whistling. Even though Galen’s heart weighed heavy with grief, he forced himself to whistle just so Ma and the boys wouldn’t be robbed of that tiny thing.
    Jesus, the pastor said at Da’s funeral that you lost your earthly father. Joseph had already taught you carpentry, but you were known as Mary’s son. You know what it’s like to love and lose your daddy. You carried on and provided in Joseph’s stead. Even on the cross, you took care of your mother. Help me meet my family’s needs—those of their bodies, their minds, and their hearts. I can’t do it on my own. I’ve got to rely on you .
    “Hey, Boss!”
    Galen left the horse in a stall and went back outside.
    Ishmael pointed. “Somebody’s a-comin’.”
    Galen pivoted to the side. He stuck two fingers into his mouth and let out a loud three-toned whistle. The whistle came back with the notes reversed.
    “It’s them—my family!”
    The group disappeared in a crook in the road, then reappeared. “How come so many are a-comin’? I thought you got yourself a ma and three youngers.”
    “The neighbors are with them. My best friend, Josh, gave me his word that he’d keep watch over my family.”
    “But they got two wagons.”
    Galen laughed as yet another wagon followed the second.
    “Josh’s wife, Ruth, is opening a library. It looks like she bought every book in the state of California!”
    “Hoo-oo-eee! Lookee thar. They have stuff loaded onto every last wagon!”
    Galen shook his head. When Josh McCain stopped the first wagon in the yard, Galen raised one brow in silent query.
    “I brought them all home, safe and sound.”
    Josh’s housekeeper, Hilda, stopped the second wagon. “Facts are facts, so I’m not boasting. I took first place for the best bucket of lard, and Laney got second