Her auburn bun sagged, as streaked with muted white as a song sparrow’s wing. She stood at the door, her back holding the screen open. “A few more minutes won’t hurt.” Taking it from her, he retraced his steps, tossed the pail’s contents, and pumped fresh water into it. You know better than to be out here without a shirt on.” She nodded, dirty water sloshing over the sides of the bucket. His stepmother clomped out, her plump body listing with the weight of the pail she toted.
The hinges on the back-door screen squeaked. Water drizzled down his back, mingling with the sweat collecting between his shoulder blades.
Rearing up, he combed his fingers through his hair. Those cotton seeds rode on the breeze and any exposed skin would begin to itch within a day’s time. The icy stream stung and soothed all at the same time. He yanked off his gloves, shirt, and undershirt, worked the pump, then stuck his whole head beneath the water. It had happened every planting season for his entire twenty-seven years and it would happen for the next. Those misspelled words were on purpose!)Ĭullen’s eyes swelled to mere slits, his roughened cheeks itched, and a sharp line separated the raw skin on his neck from the skin protected by his shirt. (I didn't want you to think the book hadn't been proofread. So, the occasional jumbled word is a word that he was unable to hear correctly and had to decipher through context clues. Cullen is hard of hearing, so when you experience a scene from his perspective, you will see what he sees and *hear* what he hears. It Happened at the Fair A Quick Note from Deeanne
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