The evening light was starting to go as Em helped her father with the chores. It was autumn, early November. Em filled the last bucket of water for the night and followed her father to the barn. The water sloshed up the sides when she moved, and she tried to match her father's pace.

The barn was on a hill to the west of the farmhouse, a hundred feet away from the pump. Em watched her feet and counted her steps, one, two, one, two. In the light of the sunset she looked up, squinting in the glow of orange that hit her face, the buildings, the trees. The shadow of her father grew larger. It reached long and thin until it touched the tops of her shoes. She stopped and put the buckets down, water coming up over the lip and landing on the ground. Em sunk her hands deep in her pockets and pulled out her gloves. She put them on and picked up the buckets again, splashing some on her shoes as she hurried to catch up.

At the top of the hill the barn blocked the remaining sunlight from hitting the cattle lot, and only dark forms were visible. Em knew her father was there, but she couldn't make out his shape. Low bellows rolled along the air like hungry ghosts. Em stood beside the fence where the long feed bunk reached out in front of her. She watched cattle push against themselves for position, their warm bodies packed tight for food. Vapor rose from their collective breath, held by the last rays of light. Her father's buckets were sitting by the fence, solid and cold. Em sat hers next to his and watched her own breath rise from her nostrils. In the dark of the lot she heard her father's voice, slapping tough hides to make room for himself. He pulled bales of hay from the hayloft, popped off the twine and spread it evenly for the beasts. Soon the outline of her father was visible. He walked across the lot and back to the fence where Em was standing, reached over the top board to grab the buckets that Em lifted up to him. He disappeared again into the darkness. Em moved from one foot to the next as she waited, rubbing her gloves against her sleeves, watching her breath. She looked back to the dark lot and saw a shadow weaving back and forth on uneven ground. Her father took the last two buckets, disappeared once more, and then came back to the fence.

The evening light was starting to go as Em helped her father with the chores. It was autumn, early November. Em filled the last bucket of water for the night and followed her father to the barn. The water sloshed up the sides when she moved, and she tried to match her father's pace.

The barn was on a hill to the west of the farmhouse, a hundred feet away from the pump. Em watched her feet and counted her steps, one, two, one, two. In the light of the sunset she looked up, squinting in the glow of orange that hit her face, the buildings, the trees. The shadow of her father grew larger. It reached long and thin until it touched the tops of her shoes. She stopped and put the buckets down, water coming up over the lip and landing on the ground. Em sunk her hands deep in her pockets and pulled out her gloves. She put them on and picked up the buckets again, splashing some on her shoes as she hurried to catch up.

At the top of the hill the barn blocked the remaining sunlight from hitting the cattle lot, and only dark forms were visible. Em knew her father was there, but she couldn't make out his shape. Low bellows rolled along the air like hungry ghosts. Em stood beside the fence where the long feed bunk reached out in front of her. She watched cattle push against themselves for position, their warm bodies packed tight for food. Vapor rose from their collective breath, held by the last rays of light. Her father's buckets were sitting by the fence, solid and cold. Em sat hers next to his and watched her own breath rise from her nostrils. In the dark of the lot she heard her father's voice, slapping tough hides to make room for himself. He pulled bales of hay from the hayloft, popped off the twine and spread it evenly for the beasts. Soon the outline of her father was visible. He walked across the lot and back to the fence where Em was standing, reached over the top board to grab the buckets that Em lifted up to him. He disappeared again into the darkness. Em moved from one foot to the next as she waited, rubbing her gloves against her sleeves, watching her breath. She looked back to the dark lot and saw a shadow weaving back and forth on uneven ground. Her father took the last two buckets, disappeared once more, and then came back to the fence.

"Tomorrow I'll look into buying a water tank for the lot so we don't have to carry this water anymore."  He climbed back over the fence, getting pushed around by the cattle at the feed bunk just on the other side. Em picked up two of the empty buckets and followed her father away from the barn.

"Dad, how come you don't wear any gloves when you do chores?" From the light that was left they were both barely visible, almost lost in the twilight.

"Guess I don't need them, Em." His pace was steady across the gravel lane.

"But how come I have to wear gloves? How come my hands get cold?" The sound of their steps echoed off the buildings, making them seem bigger than they were.

"Well, I guess my skin is just thicker than yours. That's what happens when you're out here, year after year. Thickens your skin right up. Tough." He slapped the back of his hand a couple of times, and smiled even though Em couldn't see it. She looked over her shoulder at the last strip of light in the sky, blue leading into blue, then darkness to the stars. A sliver of moon accented the night sky, hanging not too far above Em's head.

"Dad, will my hands be tough like yours someday?" Em and her father reached the sidewalk that led to the house, lit by the artificial porch light that stung her eyes.

"Well, Em, that all depends. All depends on how you use them."