I shove the final sack of corn into the trunk and slam the door closed. “All right, Let’s go, kids!”
Georgia continues to harvest under the beating sun, yanking the dry husks from the stalk and filling the sack by her feet. We have gathered over a dozen sacks since dawn, each of them with around 100 pounds of corn.
A breeze rustles the dry rows of corn that fill the sun kissed hills of Chivoc.
“Joey, Anna, come on!” I head toward my car.
We will drop the sacks off at Georgia’s home and pick up tortillas for lunch on our way back. If we work hard enough, we can finish the harvest today.
Six-year-old Annie follows close behind me, and I show her how to open the car door. Annie is Georgia’s granddaughter, a recent addition to their home as of yesterday.
Georgia had told me about her daughter’s divorce earlier this morning as we were picking corn. The difficult marriage, unhealthy living situation.
Now they’re living with her.
I slide into the driver’s seat. “Joey, hurry up!”
Joey crosses his arms from where he stands on the edge of the field. “I’m not going with her.” He shoots a glare at his niece.
I close the door and rest my arm against the open window. “Don’t be silly. You have to go. I need help unloading these things at your house.”
Dry corn whooshes and crackles. The laughter of working families ring throughout the hills. Dry season means long, hard work to be done under the beaming sun. But it also means corn is dry, ripe for the picking, ready to be shelled and stored for the months to come.
Joey’s mouth twists into a scowl. “You go. It’s too crowded.”
“You both can sit in the front—”
“No.”
I huff a sigh. Since when did my adopted little brother become so stubborn? He loves riding in my car. “Joey. For real. I can’t unload these by myself.”
“Fine.” His adolescent voice cracks. “I’ll walk then.” He pulls his hood over his head and stomps through the field to the trees.
“Joey!”
He does not turn back.
I stifle a groan as I feel Annie’s eyes on me. I turn to her worried gaze and smile. “Alright, let’s make it up this hill.”
I engage the four-wheel drive. My 4runner roars as I jostle up the steep incline. We make it to the main dirt road leading to the village just as Joey emerges from the forest path.
I drive next to him and slow down. “Joey, please talk to me.”
He shakes his head, his hood falling down his back. “It’s all her fault. I don’t want to be anywhere near her.”
“But what’s wrong?”
He kicks a rock with the toe of his cracked plastic shoe. “Yesterday, they come barging into my house. My mom told me to play with her, so I did. But then she fell and scrapped her knee.” His voice warbles. “My sister got mad and yelled at me.” He looks up at me, tears glistening in his eyes. “But I didn’t do anything. I was trying to help!”
Joel has never let himself cry in front of me. Not when I helped him with his overwhelming math homework. Not when I caught him being bullied at school. Not even when he escaped his older brother’s drunken violence, fingertip marks bruising his neck.
He sniffles and brushes his sleeve across his face. Sometimes I forget that this man of the house is only twelve-years-old.
I soften my voice. “I know it must be hard for them coming into your house like that without much warning. And it’s not fair that your sister yelled at you if it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry.”
Annie remains silent next to me.
“But you don’t have to keep punishing yourself for something that isn’t your fault,” I say. “Why would you make yourself walk? It’s a long way, and it’s hot out.”
“Not like I haven’t don’t it before.” Joey mumbles.
“Look.” I put the car in park. “If you want, you can ride in the back. There’s not a lot of room, but I promise you don’t have to talk to her the whole ride to your house.”
He glares at Annie. The girl slides down the front seat away from the open window.
“Fine.” Joey climbs in the back, lies down on the corn sacks, and turns his head away.
We drive to the simple house with corn husk walls and tin roof—Georgia and Joel’s new refuge from their previous living situation.
Annie slips out of the car and sits on the front porch without a word. Joey and I work hard, lowering the sacks of corn from my trunk and pushing them on his makeshift sled from the dirt road path to their home.
I hardly notice that Annie has her head in her arms.
When we are on the final load, I look back at her. “Annie, get ready to go. We’re almost done.”
She shakes her head. “I want to stay here and wait for my mom.”
Joey groans and heads to the water barrel for a drink.
“Your mom went to work,” I say, dragging the final sack of corn toward the pile. “She won’t be back until this evening. You need to come with us.”
Annie shakes her head and tears now form in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I drop the heavy sack and kneel in front of her. “Is it because your mom’s not here?”
She shakes her head.
I peek over at the boy slurping down a pail of water. “Is it because Joey was mean to you?”
She shakes her head again.
I sigh in relief. At least I don’t have to deal with that quite yet.
“Then what—”
“It’s because of my dad.” Her lip trembles.
I sit on the dirt floor of the porch. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I open my arms and she comes to me as the tears fall.
“I love my dad,” she whimpers. “Why did my mom have to leave him and come here?”
“I know, honey. It’s so hard.”
Joel walked over to us and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “At least your dad sends you money.” He snaps. “Be happy about that.”
I shoot him a look. “Joey.”
“What? It’s true.”
I hold Annie as she continues to cry. “It’s not your fault, sweetie.”
“But I want him to live with us.”
“I know, honey. And he may yet one day. It’s really hard, but it’s not your fault. It’s okay to be sad about it.”
Joey groans. “I don’t know why you’re still crying. We need to go.”
I can hear his older brother’s anger echoing in Joey’s voice.
I adjust my hold on Annie. “How about this?” I say. “You can bring some toys to the cornfield. And while we’re working, you can play. What do you think?”
Annie sniffles and nods. “But,” she looks up at me. “We didn’t bring a lot of my toys here.”
“It’s okay.” I say, “Bring what you can and when we get there, I’ll even braid your hair. How about that?”
A smile brightens her tear-stained cheeks. She goes into the house to gather what few toys she had brought last night.
I stand and brush the dust from my pants. “Joey, I want you to think.”
“About what?”
I turn the final sack of corn over and dump it on the rest of the husks. “I want you to think about how she must be feeling. She’s not going to have her dad living with her anymore.” The corn husks roll down the golden mound. I fold the now-empty sack in my arms and turn back to Joel. “Have you never felt sad because you don’t have your dad?”
Joey shrugs and picks at the bark of a tree. “I’ve never been sad. I don’t even know him. And at least her dad’s sending them money. My dad never even does that.”
“So, you’ve never been sad that you didn’t grow up with your dad?”
Joey throws the loose piece of bark to the dirt. “Nope.”
“Well, if you ever feel sad one day because you don’t have a dad, then you’re going to understand why Annie is crying.” I turn and gather the other empty sacks strewn around the porch.
The wooden door of the house swings open.
“Hey, Annie.” Joel walks inside. His voice travels through the slits of the cornhusk walls. “You can borrow some of my toys if you want. Here, I’ll get my cars ready for you and you can play with them.”
My heart lightens.
Joel is a hard boy and has had a hard life. But I’m seeing him grow.
And maybe, just maybe, God has allowed this interruption into his normal life for him to see how he can help others and show compassion to those who have who are suffering like he has suffered.
