Trust

I was so happy when Papa chose me to accompany him to the barn. He always made a big deal about how he needed someone responsible to help him with the equipment. "They're not just tools," he'd remind everyone with his flinty index finger emphasizing the point, "and they're certainly not toys. I have expensive equipment in there that helps me keep our farm in business and food on the table. I won't abide any horseplay that might do any damage to any one of this family's investments." He was always so stern about anything in the barn. So he never took just any one of us when he needed some help.

Usually Sharon was given the honor of helping Papa do the important work in the barn. She was the oldest. And she hated it. Her anger was palpable whenever Papa told her to get her shoes on. "Why do I always have to be the one to go," she'd seethe with her fists balled up. "God! It's so annoying!" Sharon was never happy unless she was spending her time out on her boat ferrying herself from one side of the river to the other. She'd plunge her push pole into the marshy waters and shove herself across placid river. Sometimes she would playfully hold out her left hand to collect silver coins from imaginary passengers whom she'd ferry across with her from one side to the other. She would come out of the old barn on the verge of tears with smears of dirt running across her cheeks. She’d stomp in furious defiance around the corner of the barn. But once out of Papa’s sight, her lips would waver and the tears would flow and she’d run to the river as fast as she able.

Duncan was Papa's next choice. Whenever Sharon was hiding on her ferry boat, or when Papa had to do some work that was particularly dangerous, he would take Duncan into the barn with him. Duncan was the first-born son, third behind his two elder sisters (Sharon and Aphrodite). It wasn’t that Papa didn’t trust Duncan, and it wasn’t that Duncan was too young. It was because Papa trusted his oldest boy to do the more important work in the field. Duncan was Papa’s harvester. He got up early everyday. Oftener, he was up earlier than Papa sometimes. He’d wake in the darkness, quietly slip on his long black coat, flip the hood over his head, and sneak out the front door like a shadow and just as silent. He’d shoulder his scythe and make his way to the fields. All day long he would swing his scythe and harvest whatever Papa had planted weeks ago. So because Duncan tirelessly harvested wheat, grass, barley, rye, and all other kinds of things, Papa didn’t want to interrupt him in his work.

And Duncan was very good with that scythe.

If neither Sharon and Duncan were not available, the honor of accompanying Papa into the barn usually went to whoever was fooling around the least.

Aphrodite was almost always useless. Who am I kidding? She was ALWAYS useless. Hair. Fashion. Beauty. Pleasure. Romance. Fantasy. Pamper. Relax. Repeat. That’s all she was ever good for. She would collapse in tears, hyperventilating the moment her hair became disheveled. She would scream bloody murder when her clothes became the least bit dirty. She dropped every tool placed in her hands because it hurt, or was too heavy, or too awkward, or too difficult to use. And every tool, she tearfully moaned, caused the most unsightly callouses on the skin. Her delicate hands were ruined and thereby her chances to charm Prince Charming were equally ruined. The last time he asked Aphrodite to help him in the barn it resulted in a torrent of tears cascading down her cheeks. That was the day she slipped and fell face, hair, and clean clothes into fresh horse shit. She sat in it for a while, frozen with terror, screaming. Papa had to pick her up, carry her into the house, and place her in the tub. She had been traumatized. Papa never asked her to help in the barn again.

It was early Spring and I was in the pen with sheep when Papa chose me to accompany him into the barn. I was usually in the pen with the sheep. Duncan and Sharon were nowhere to be seen. Aphrodite was inside the house dousing herself with perfumes; she was obsessed with perfume ever since her horse shit experience. The others were not around. It was just me. So Papa needed my help in the barn. I jumped. I bahed like the sheep in the pen. Papa swung the left door wide open and I scampered in.

I ran from one machine to the other in excited haste. They were marvelous! And as I ran from one to the next I couldn't help but wonder which of the important machines Papa needed my help with. I looked at him with anticipation, pleading for the answer. "All the way in back," he said. I bahed exuberantly and hoofed it to the back of the barn.

As Papa approached, I saw a shadow cross the opened door of the barn. A black coat, a black hood, and a scythe quietly glided through the doors. They bled into the shadows inside the old barn. I watched as they approached slowly and without a sound. He rested the scythe against the wall. "Well," started Duncan, "this one looks unblemished."

"Yep," said Papa, "I figure it'll do. You ready?"

"Nope. You're the one who brought it."

"Oh, yeah," said Papa remembering something in his pocket. His hand plunged inside the pocket of his overall and returned with a shiny hand gun, a 45. He Handed it to Duncan. "I'll hold 'im," said Papa, as he gently layed his hands on my back and sides.

I bahed gently. Papa's touch was always reassuring.

Duncan cocked the trigger and and extended the gun just behind my head. I trusted Papa. But a deafening noise distracted me from the gentle warmth of Papa's hands. A dark red liquid sprayed against the wall next to me head, and I felt the most throbbing headache I've ever experienced spread over my skull. I was confused as the ground of barn rushed up toward me. I couldn't feel it hit me. But I could feel the warmth of the dark red liquid that spread slowly around my head. I wanted to ask Papa what was happening but I couldn't feel my jaw or tongue to move them. I couldn't move. That's when the fear gripped me. It gripped my heart. My heart! It had stopped beating! I tried to scream for Papa but couldn't!

As the darkness crawled over me I heard Duncan say "he'll make a fine Easter dinner, won't he Pop!"