The barn’s backbone wails when something’s wrong.
Lou said that just now, once the beams started creaking. The rafters are grinding. Straw’s stirring over floorboards.
It was wailing the time she caught her foot on a grain bag and pitched forward and landed on a nail come loose. It went through her palm like a worm through an apple.
It wailed when Daddy found his dog waterlogged with flies in her belly. When he left the farm last June. And it’s wailing now, as the telegram boy passes us, going up to the porch, biting his lip.