A single bead of sweat crept from beneath the band of Little Joe's hat, burrowing through caked-on dirt until it worked itself down into a muddy afterthought. The young man rubbed the back of his grimy hand against his cheek, smearing the streak and wiping away bits of dry earth. He squinted up at the sun while he pushed the heavy plough behind the family's old, tired draft horse. The remains of weeds and old crop lay in the furrows behind him. Little Joe could see his father in the distance. The old man was mending their fence after one of the sheep got tangled in it. There'd be fresh mutton if the dumb animal didn't survive.
Little Joe removed his wide brimmed hat to scratch at his black, wavy hair. He fanned himself and wished for the hundredth time that a breeze, any kind of breeze, would come by and cool him off. He eyed the wide blue sky but the one tiny white cloud far off in the distance gave no hope for shade and his father would have his hide if he ran off to rest under one of their apple trees. Tree lined mountains surrounded the small world he lived in and, again for the hundredth time, he told himself he'd make it to those mountains and keep walking. Some day. For now his bare feet dug into the fresh turned earth and provided him his only comfort in the sweltering heat.
"Saint Fran-swaur," Little Joe whispered. He'd stopped his learning a long time ago but he could remember Miss Pastern in her thick dress and hair pulled back. Her with her stick, tapping on an old sheet of paper and trying to teach the packed room about their local geography. Little Joe remembered little of what he was supposed to have learned but he always remembered the name of the mountain range nearby. "Saint Fran-swaur," he repeated, as if saying the very words would carry him away from his home.
A tug at the plough reminded Little Joe of what he was doing and he wiped the memories away as easily as he'd wiped his sweat. The morning wore on with little more than the wooden and leather creak of the plough and the occasional cry of a bird far above. His father was out of sight, working further down their property. Little Joe heard the rustling of the apple trees moments before a sweet breeze swept around him. He turned to look for his sister at the orchard but he only saw her old wooden, half-filled basket. "What the... Whoa! Whoa, there!"
It took a moment to fumble with the straps before the young man was able to get his harness off. Little Joe hung it on the plough and patted the horses' flank as he passed. Another rush of wind ruffled the trees and tall grass and the overalls he was wearing - his father's old pair, mended by his mother to fit him. Also with it, a snatch of a laugh from beyond the trees. Little Joe walked through the grass and under the small trees until he reached the family's weathered red barn. He could hear a light conversation as he reached the back corner. Looking around the edge, he spied Lily, his sister, standing face to face with James Tolbert - John Tolbert's oldest boy from two farms away. He was dressed in his work clothes with a faint red to his cheeks and sweat covering his brow. His sandy blond hair nearly brushed his eyebrows. He was tall and lanky and well loved by all the girls in the area. Little Joe grit his teeth and nearly stood to call them out. He stopped when James bent down to lift the hem of Lily's dress. The other man's hand vanished beneath the fabric and Lily gasped and laughed and bit her lower lip.
"I... ohhh... I have to get back to the apples, Jamie. Oh. Oh, not there. Don't... oh." Lily's hips rocked slightly and she leaned against the other man. James had his arm around her back and the woman's dress was up to her waist. Little Joe felt a stir in his drawers as he watched James kiss Lily's neck. He rubbed himself as the two lovers kissed. James' deft, feminine hands quickly undid the laces at the front of Lily's dress and she shrugged her left shoulder, exposing her small breast. Little Joe had seen his sister naked years before and thought nothing of it but now, watching the two of them together, his hand quickened its pace in excitement. He watched Lily's nipple vanish into James' mouth and listened to the way she moaned when he pushed her hard against the side of the barn. The overalls were rough against his manhood but he gripped himself hard through the fabric.
Lily tilted her head back. She had her dirty fingers in James' thick hair, twisting and twining her fingers as the man sucked at her. "Jamie. Ohhh, my beautiful boy. Kiss me down below, Jamie. Like before. Please." The man stood back and Little Joe saw how her fat nipple glistened in the sunlight. James knelt and lifted Lily's dress, easily exposing her slim lower body. A thick tangle of black hair hid away her woman parts but Little Joe almost caught a glance as his sister lifted her foot to place it on James' shoulder. The man leaned towards her hair down below and then stopped when Little Joe grunted. He felt his hot seed spurt against his belly and he couldn't hold the noise back against the sudden release.
Without looking back to see if the two lovers had noticed him, Little Joe ran as quickly as he could back to his plough. Their horse, Buster, stomped and dipped his head, snorting slightly at the folly of the young man. Little Joe muttered at himself as he felt the cold wetness in his overalls sticking to his bare lower body. He'd have to hide his deed by working with the pigs and "accidentally" getting some slop or water on his clothes. Better the water - mama would make him wash his own clothes if he came home in a stench.
Little Joe chanced a quick look over to the apple trees as he turned the plough for a new row. Lily was walking back from the barn and he knew the red in her cheeks wasn't from the sun overhead. She nearly fell over on shaky legs when she moved her basket to the next tree and Little Joe felt a quick pang of guilt when he pictured her with her dress up again. He cursed himself and leaned back into his harness to slow Buster. "Steady. Steady on there."
When time came to feed the pigs, Little Joe had no need to fake an accident - one of the younger excitable pigs knocked over the feed trough while he was filling it. He had to near fight the pigs off to right the wooden structure. He cursed and kicked at the crazed little animals and they simply ignored him and pushed forward. "Jus'... Jus' wait for me to..." One of the pigs slammed into legs and he fell to his knees in the muddy slop among the grunting and snorting pigs. Little Joe snarled and struck the animal's head, staggering it. "God damn you stupid little shits!" He yelled at them as the blood pounded in his ears. It maddened him how crazed they became at the simple idea of feeding. It was the same thing every time and he wanted to beat some sense into them when they did it. "It's jus' food, you dumb sons-a-bitches. You can control ya'self for one damn minute."
The sudden clang-clang of an old bell made him stand up. He looked over to the house to see mama ringing the bell for lunch. She rang it loudly a few more times for his father and the sound echoed across the field. Mama's sleeves were rolled back and a single hair had escaped her tight bun. Patches of sweat under her armpits made him thankful (for once) to be working outside. Lily made her way to the house with a full basket of apples and nary a hair out of place. His youngest sister, Annie, peeked from around mama's dress and grinned when she saw Little Joe walking over to the house.
"I don't know what you're thinking, young Joseph Kellerman," Mama called out. "I can smell you from over here and it ain't a good smell. You get yourself over to the stream and clean off before you even think about coming inside. And if you don't see your father coming home, you run out and fetch him and tell him his food is getting cold."
Little Joe sighed and turned to the right, walking across the tall grass as he made his way to the little stream near their house. He snatched his other pair of overalls from their clothesline, holding them away from his soiled clothes. He smelled of rotting vegetables, offal and sweat mixed with a faint whiff of pig. The young man spat to the ground beside him. "I bet James Tolbert never once smelled like pigs," he said, angrily. "Ain't no woman want to be with me but they flock to him like ... like pigs after slop." The mental image of James on his knees, arms wide and a horde of sows charging at him made Little Joe laugh and it was a mean sound.
The thigh deep water was freezing cold and Little Joe shook as he entered naked into the water. His clean clothes hung from the branches of a nearby oak tree while his dirty ones lay on the rocky bank. The young man's small frame shivered as he cleaned himself quickly. He turned to face downstream and then pulled the skin back from the head of his cock to make sure he cleaned every drop of his seed from his body. His manhood swelled, standing to meager attention. He'd played naked plenty of times as a child but the only adult he'd seen naked was his father and he swore his old man was bigger than him down there. A small part of him wish he'd seen James naked so he'd know once and for all whether he was as small as he feared he was.
The sun, previously harsh, now felt like the warm embrace of a lover as he dried himself off on the edge of the water. It only took a few dredges through the river to get most of the slop off of his old clothes and, by the time he was done, he was completely dry.
"Joe!" Little Joe's father's voice rang out loud and clear. "We waitin' on you, son! Hurry up, boy!"
Joe dressed quickly and ran back to the house, only stopping to wipe his feet outside the front door. His father, mother and two sisters were already seated and waiting for him. Their long, slightly warped old wood table dominated the tiny dining room. A small bowl of congealed butter was placed next to a loaf of fresh baked bread and the house was filled with the smell of it. A bowl of thick brown stew lay in front of everyone.
"Hurry and sit so we can say grace," his father told him. I need to get back to the fence before I let the sheep out." Traces of dirt lined the wrinkles of his father's face. Stubborn bits that rebuffed a simple washing. The older man was squat and weathered by long days outside and his fingernails seemed permanently stained brown. Little Joe sat and his father nodded. "Mother, will you say grace this time?"
Their mother, stray hair rescued and back in place, nodded in return. "Annie, sit still or you'll have no food. Dear Lord, we thank you for the food at our table. We thank you for the bountiful crops and healthy animals and healthy children. Please look favorably upon us as we continue to work in your name. Amen."
