In Sheep's Clothing Read Free Page A

in it. Nothing fancy—in fact, it looked as if somebody had just taken a tree branch and scribbled it: 1858. That’s all it said.
    I headed over to the stables and saw Uncle Joe as he was rounding the corner with a bucket full of water. “Hey, you need help with that?” I called out.
    â€œTorie! Good to see you.”
    I ran up and gave him a hug, careful not to slosh the water all around. “Good to see you, too.”
    â€œHow was the drive?” he asked.
    â€œCould have been better, but I won’t complain,” I said. “Do you have another bucket?”
    â€œHere, take this one, I’ll go get the other one.”
    I took the bucket from him and headed into the stables. I was amazed at the sheer size of the draft horses in the barn. Their heads alone were about as long as a three-year-old was tall. For the most part they ignored me, and I began looking for a place to empty the bucket. I stood there scratching my head, because I couldn’t find a water trough to pour it in. Uncle Joe came back and realized my dilemma.
    â€œOh, down at the end, just outside the door.”
    I carried the bucket down the length of the stable and found the trough by the fence. I poured the water in and watched it mix with the water that was already in there. I always feel sorry for animals because their water is never clean. “How many horses do you have now?” I asked.
    â€œJust the two Belgians. Eat me out of house and home.”
    â€œI bet,” I said.
    Uncle Joe recited how much food they ate in a day, how much water they drank, how much they cost to be shod, and so forth. It seemed as if he was just making small talk to avoid having to talk about the issue that was really bothering him. I could always sense when people were doing that.
    I went along with it and asked a few questions about the horses. When I had run out of questions to ask, I asked the only thing I could think of. “So you’ve got llamas?”
    â€œYup, your aunt’s idea.”
    â€œShe’s weird.”
    â€œWeirder than you know,” he said. Uncle Joe was one of those all-around nice guys. Pleasant face, kind blue eyes, and a receding hairline that nearly reached the middle of his scalp. He seemed to always be busy and had a habit of talking when he had nothing to say. Sort of like me. I find that an endearing quality, but believe it or not, there are people who don’t like it.
    He glanced about nervously and finally decided to say what it was that was on his mind. “Glad you’re here, Torie. I’m worried about Sissy. You find out what’s wrong with her. Okay?”
    â€œIf … if I can,” I said, a little shocked.
    He gave me the most pathetic look I’ve ever seen. It was almost as if he were crying without actually crying. “If you can’t find out what’s wrong, then nobody can.”

Three
    It was difficult going back into Aunt Sissy’s house and eating breakfast as if Uncle Joe had not just said the oddest thing in the world to me. But I tried my best. Sometimes I think I deserve an Oscar for my performances. Subtlety is not my strong point, by any stretch of the imagination, but I can pretend that nothing is wrong if I have to.
    Breakfast was great. I’m not sure how one woman could make scrambled eggs taste so much better than anybody else’s, but she could. Rudy had gone upstairs to get ready to go fishing, but Colin was still sitting at the end of the long breakfast table. “What are you waiting for, scraps?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” he said. “You know, you really should be nicer to me.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause it would make you a better person.”
    Before I could say anything, Aunt Sissy jumped in. “He’s right, you know.”
    â€œI should be nicer to him?”
    â€œI didn’t say that,” she said. “But it would make you a better person if you were. I,