“He’ll go to school and get a decent job.”
Mama said those words as often as she said her prayers, and
eventually Papa gave in, but he was never the same. I’d only been working in
that office a year when he died.
Mama wanted to sell the farm and move to town, saying I
would never get a wife to live out in the wilds, but the day I brought a sick animal to work so I could dose it regularly was the day Josefina agreed to marry
me.
Now Mama is trying to stop her grandson milking the goats.
..............................................................
Friday fictioneers is a group of writers who post 100-word stories prompted by a photograph on Rochelle's blog http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/
Follow the link on her blog to read the others.
