Emily’s chore today was to take water to her father in the field where he was cutting hay.The temperature was over 100 degrees and there was no shade where the harvester roared like a bull.
Grandma took half a dozen Mason Jars filled them with chopped ice from the barrel in the root cellar. She put them in Emily’s wagon, packed in old quilts.
Six- year-old Emily was proud.She was a big girl.
Swifty Malone’s ford came racing down the road. Water flew. Emily flew.Her father would be thirsty.
Chances of becoming a big girl lost. You reminded me of my second cousin. She was 11 when she came around the end of the school bus and crossed the road, only to be thrown in the air by a car, rolling in the ditch to her mother's horror, watching from the window. Breaking her hip and with brain damage resulting in five weeks of coma and never fully recovering to this day.
