Till the Cows Come Home (4 page)

He stood. “Nick. Nick Hathaway.”

“So, Nick Hathaway,” I said. “When can you start?”

Chapter Four

The cows were meandering back into the barnyard, udders emptied and stomachs full, and Howie and Zach were cleaning up the parlor. I was watching Nick’s truck disappear down the lane, looking forward to seeing him again the next day, when another truck pulled in. Queenie spun around in circles and barked.

Jethro, Belle, Jude, and Marianne spilled out of the Chevy Dually, Jethro’s four-door pickup. Queenie ran up to Belle, who graciously, if absently, leaned down to get her face licked.

A shiver of fear raced up my spine.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Where’s Mallory?”

Belle’s eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, and she shook her head, like she couldn’t speak.

Jethro cleared his throat. “Threw us out on our ears. Said she couldn’t stand another minute of fussing.”

“So she’s okay?”

Jethro glanced at Belle, then said, “If you count not eating anything and having a fever of a hundred and three okay.”

“Why isn’t she in the hospital?”

“Because they wouldn’t know what to do with her. The doc said to treat the symptoms, you know, the bananas/rice/ applesauce/toast diet and all that, to help her stomach. Tylenol for her fever. And he said not to take her anywhere. It’s all we can do till they figure out what’s making her sick.”

Belle made a sniffling noise and buried her face in Jethro’s shoulder. He put his arm around her for comfort, but looked just as miserable as she.

“So what are you doing here?” I asked. “Zach’s okay. I’ve been watching him.”

Jethro forced a smile. “Would you believe we just had to get another look at the birthday girl?”

“No.”

“Okay. How ’bout we want to see Zach’s new little fella?”

“That’s more like it.” A good excuse to see Zach, anyway. “Zach’s in the barn.” I hooked my thumb over my shoulder. “He’s almost done, I think.”

“Can we go in? I haven’t seen the parlor for a while. Anything different?”

“Nothing’s changed. But you’re welcome to check it out.”

The four of them filed into the parlor, Queenie leading and Marianne lagging behind, sulking about something, her lips pushed out in a pout. If I were generous, I would’ve thought she was worried about her nieces and nephews. In reality, she was probably afraid she’d get poop on her shoes. I followed her in, secretly hoping she’d step in something.

Jethro and Belle stopped just inside the door to watch Zach. From all I could see, he was looking as healthy as he had been half an hour before.

“Can you spare your hired help for a few minutes?” Jethro asked Howie. “We hear he has a new baby.”

Howie looked up and sighed dramatically. “I guess he can go. It’s not every day a boy has a calf.”

Zach grinned and hurried to put up his pitchfork. “C’mon, he’s out in the hutch.”

“Take his milk,” Howie said, gesturing to the bucket of colostrum they’d just gotten.

“Sure.” Zach picked up the bucket and scurried out of the barn, everyone hustling to follow. He wasn’t wasting any time. He also didn’t seem to notice all of the eyes following him and judging whether he seemed sick or not.

“You all set here?” I asked Howie.

“Just about. You can go on out with them. I got the formula bottles ready for the other calves if you want to take them out.”

“Maybe I will. When the Grangers are gone, you want to go over to the Derstines’?”

“Once I clean up. Don’t want to go in these pants.”

“No problem. I should change, too.”

I was halfway out the door when I heard Howie ask who the guy in the Ranger had been. I pretended not to hear. I knew he wasn’t going to be happy I’d hired Nick the Barn Painter.

Gus was outside of his hutch when I got there, reveling in the pats and strokes of the admiring bunch. Queenie thrust her nose into my hand and I rubbed it.

“Yes, girl, you’re still the best,” I whispered to her. She rolled her eyes up at me and panted happily.

Marianne stood a little to the side, looking anywhere but at Gus, and I walked up beside her.

“Cute little guy, huh?” I said.

“I guess. If you like that sort of thing.”

I looked at her. Who didn’t like that sort of thing?

“Seems kind of cruel to take them from their mothers,” she said.

“It’s the best thing for them. They’re bound to get trampled or kicked if they’re in with the big cows. And their mothers forget about them real quick once they’re out of sight.”

“Still seems mean.”

I shrugged. “Part of farming. You get some good snapshots of him?” I called to Zach.

He nodded. “One of each side, just like the heifers. He’s got great markings, don’t you think?”

I smiled. Gus looked like most of the other calves to me, but Zach saw him with a different eye. I was suddenly very glad stupid Wendy had had a bull. Even if it did cost me big bucks for the C-section.

“Jude’s fields are looking healthy again this year,” I said, trying to find something Marianne would talk about.

She gave me a bored look. “I guess. He thinks he’s the ultimate farmer, since everybody else is hurting from the lack of rain.”

I was surprised at her sneering tone. “Could be his touch.”

“I’m the one who buys the seed.”

“Not much to that, is there?”

She turned on me. “What would you know? You haven’t planted crops in years.”

“What’s there to know?”

“Haven’t you kept up at all?

I wanted to hit her, but I restrained myself.

“There’s all kinds of seed to buy anymore,” she said. “They’re finding ways to modify it so it will resist bugs, RoundUp, pretty much anything you want to throw at it.”

“So you’re into that stuff?”

“It’s working, isn’t it? Our crops look better than anybody else’s. I guess no one else thought to buy drought-resistant seed.” She snorted. “I’ve got more brains than any of the dimwit farmers around here. You’d think they never passed the Stone Age.”

Now I really wanted to hit her. Instead, I hooked the bottles of formula onto the girl calves’ fences. They slurped at them hungrily. Their hutches looked a little messy, so I grabbed a nearby pitchfork and cleaned them up while I ignored Marianne and waited for Gus’ love fest to end.

Jude’s crops
were
looking healthy. Last year, too, he’d had good luck, while some of the other farmers around had been plagued with drought and bugs. He liked to think it was his tender care, but it sounded like Marianne’s choice of genetically modified seed had something to do with it. I wondered how they could afford the seed, but figured it wasn’t my place to ask.

Genetically modified crops are quite the rage, but some folks won’t touch them. Some places, especially in Europe and California, have banned GM products from being sold in their supermarkets or served in schools for fear of what the altered genes could do to the human body. They quote studies where unsuspecting ladybugs and monarch butterflies have died from eating the crops, and speak in fear about bugs who have been made sterile by ingesting the changed proteins. How they test that exactly, I’m not sure, but not everyone believes these studies, anyway. Since I haven’t planted crops for years, as Marianne so kindly pointed out, I’ve stayed out of the controversy.

When I had finished cleaning the hutches and the others were done oohing and aahing over Gus, Zach gently put him back in his temporary home. He filled the big bottle with colostrum and gave Gus a final pat through the door. Then he stood up and grinned.

“Got another surprise. Come on.”

I tagged along, not knowing what he meant. There couldn’t have been another new calf I didn’t know about—we didn’t have any more cows due to calve for a week or so. Zach led us down to the lower part of the big barn, underneath the parlor, to a corner where a few bales of old straw sat, loose from their twine. He got fairly close, then leaned over to look at something.

“There,” he said quietly. I waited while the others looked, then got my turn to see the tabby who had been watching the C-section that morning. Her hugely pregnant belly was now flatter, and four little kittens suckled at her nipples.

“When did these come out?” I asked.

“Must’ve been this afternoon while we were gone,” Zach said. “I’ve been watching for them every day, and when she wasn’t around when we got back I searched till I found her.”

He was beaming, the proud daddy of a new calf
and
a litter of kittens.

“Now, you gotta admit that’s pretty cute,” I said to Marianne. She looked at me, then spun around and walked outside. Jude threw a frustrated look at her back, then went after her.

“What’s up her butt?” I asked.

Jethro and Belle looked uncomfortable, but didn’t answer, so I let it go. None of my business, anyway.

We walked out to Jethro’s truck, where Jude stood talking to Marianne, already hidden in the back seat.

“You got room for Zach in there?” I asked.

“Got room for the entire county in there,” Belle said. “But actually.…”

“What?”

She glanced at Zach, and when her lip trembled she stilled it with her teeth. “We thought we’d take you up on your invitation and have him stay the night here. We don’t want him catching Mallory’s…whatever it is.”

“Aw, Mom—”

“Don’t you start, Zachary. We’re trying to keep you healthy.”

“Fine with me,” I said. I tried to sound casual for Zach’s benefit. “I’ve got extra beds. And that way you don’t have to drive him over for the morning milking.”

“But, Mom—”

“Here.” She reached into the truck and pulled out a bag. “I brought you extra clothes.”

“This way you can spend more time with Gus,” I said. “Or give Queenie a good brushing.”

He lit up. “Hadn’t thought of that. Okay. Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad.” He grabbed the bag from Belle and started for the house.

“Second upstairs bedroom on the right,” I yelled after him.

“Thanks, Stella,” Jethro said. His eyes were haunted, and he watched Zach until the screen door slapped shut behind him.

“You know he’s always welcome here. Especially now.”

After a few instructions about bedtime, I shooed them into the truck. “I’ll take care of your son. You concentrate on your daughter. Tell her she’d better get well real quick, or I’ll have to come over and read aloud from my
Hoard’s Dairyman
magazines.”

“Now there’s something to avoid.” Jethro clasped my hand with unusual fervor and climbed into the truck.

Queenie yipped her good-byes while I watched them go, and Howie came out from the parlor. He was about to say something, but I cut him off, figuring he wanted to know about Nick.

“Let’s go get our dead cow,” I said. “Carla’s out of town and won’t be coming tonight.”

Howie gave me a flat-eyed look, then went to get his truck. Barn painter subject averted. For the moment.

When Howie pulled up beside me, I threw a chain and a tarp into the back of the truck and hopped in. We drove around to the back of the pasture where there was a gate, placed there for emergencies. Howie backed up to Cleopatra and we got out.

“Nope,” Howie said. “She’s definitely not doing any more milkings.”

Between the two of us we got the chain wrapped around her hind legs, and after Howie attached the chain to the truck he pulled her onto the tarp I’d laid on the ground. Luckily the barn basement was on the same level as the pasture on the barn side, so we slowly dragged her as close to the barn door as we could.

I trotted up to the yard and found Zach brushing burrs out of Queenie’s fur.

“Get your help for a minute, Zach?” I asked. “You feeling all right?”

“I’m fine. Geez. What do you want me to do?”

When we got back to the pasture, Howie had unfastened the chain from the truck.

“Well, here goes nothing,” I said.

Howie and I each grabbed an end of the chain while Zach crouched in between us, pulling on the tarp. Not an easy job, believe me. Ten minutes later, after we had spent about five minutes of actual dragging and five of recovering, Cleopatra lay in an empty stall where she would stay cool and protected from the other cows.

“Get another tarp to put over her, would you, Zach?”

He wiped sweat from his eyes and stood up. “I thought I was here to keep from getting sick, not to get worked into the ground.”

I swiped at him as he walked past, but he avoided me. I laid my head down on my knees and tried to even out my breathing.

After about thirty seconds of silence Howie said, “So, who was the guy in the Ranger? And don’t pretend you can’t hear me this time.”

Chapter Five

“You did
what?”
Howie’s face turned a mottled red.

“He’s only painting the heifer barn,” I said. “It needs to be done.”

“
I’ll
do it! And Zach’s around!”

“If he doesn’t get sick.” Howie glared at me in silence and I looked down to brush some straw off my jeans. “Anyway, Nick said it would take a couple weeks. When are you going to have the time?”

“Well, if
Nick
said it.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. Queenie here gave him a thumbs up.”

Queenie, hearing her name, wagged her tail enthusiastically.

“And she knows all about barn painters, does she?” He spat on the floor. “And just how little money we have?”

“Give it a rest, Howie.” I was starting to be embarrassed by my impulse. “It has to be done, and he’ll be here in the morning. It’s my farm.”

“I guess it is.
Princess
.” He stomped off to his apartment, where I hoped he’d take a shower. That’s where I was headed.

I scrubbed down again with my Lever 2000, thinking of the frou-frou soapy stuff Abie and his girl had given me for my birthday. I bet that stuff couldn’t cut through the odors of all the bodily fluids I’d been exposed to that day. So what if I ended up smelling more like a man than a woman? At least I didn’t smell like afterbirth.

I pulled on a different pair of jean shorts and a Harley T-shirt, grabbed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and ate it with a glass of milk, standing at the sink. I looked out at the part of the barn I could see from the window. The heifer barn wasn’t the only building that needed paint. We’d see how Pretty Boy did, and if he was playing fair I’d get him to paint the big barn, too. It might cost more than I could really spare, but it would be cheaper than replacing the barn if it wasn’t maintained. Besides, as long as Nick was around I’d get viewing entertainment as part of the bargain.

Zach came through the kitchen and I nodded at the bread and jelly. “Make yourself a sandwich, if you want. Sorry I won’t have a three-course meal, like your mom.”

He held up a Tupperware bowl. “Leftover lasagna. Enough for you, too, if you want it.”

I looked sadly at the last bite of sandwich in my hand. “Too late. Maybe for a midnight snack.”

He shook his head. “Take it now, or it’s gone.”

“Fine, you selfish squirt. Eat all that healthy food.”

He smiled and dumped the bowl’s contents onto a plate. It did look good, but my sandwich had done its work.

I went outside to wait for Howie. Visiting the Derstines wasn’t going to be easy, and I had no idea what I’d say to them, but I needed to at least show my face. I tossed Queenie a treat and she scurried away to eat it behind one of the shrubs. Didn’t want me to steal it back, I guess.

I heard the door of Howie’s apartment close, and I watched as he descended his stairs. By the look on his face, he was still ticked at me. Oh well. Life would go on.

Without exchanging so much as a syllable, we climbed into my truck and drove the quarter mile to the Derstines’ house. I parked to the side of the lane so I wouldn’t block anybody, then paused to look at the small group on the porch.

“Ready?” I asked.

Howie grunted and opened his door.

The walk up the lane was too short, and I soon found myself giving Claire Derstine, Toby’s mother, a hug. She held on for a long time, and I tried not to feel claustrophobic.

“I’m really sorry,” I said when she let go.

She gave me the same speechless nod Belle had given an hour earlier, and I hoped she wouldn’t start a fresh round of tears. Her husband came over and shook my hand.

“Stella, thanks for coming by.”

“Anything I can do, Tom. You holler.”

“Thanks.”

Howie stepped in to shake hands, and I made a beeline to the front of the porch, where I could see the sky and take a deep breath. I acknowledged a few other neighbors, noting that Toby’s baby sister, Greta, was nowhere to be seen.

Another truck pulled into the driveway and Marty and Rochelle Hoffman stepped out of their red Ford F150. Also small-time dairy farmers, I’d known them since I was a tot. They kept busy holding their heads above water, just like me. We’d check in on each other once in a while to make sure we were both still in business, but didn’t see each other near as often as we’d have liked.

They headed straight to the Derstines, but after their initial greeting Rochelle stayed with Claire and Marty angled toward my spot at the railing.

“Damn shame,” Marty said.

“Yup.” I leaned my hip against a porch pillar and shoved my hands in my pockets. “What do you know about this flu, or whatever they’re calling it? You’re good at keeping up with stuff like this.”

He shook his head. “Not much to know yet. The State Department of Health can’t even pin it down. Next thing we know our whole town will be quarantined.”

“Can they do that?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. We’ll see what the CDC has to say. This flu seems limited to about a five-mile radius. Our borough. That’s about it.”

“And they really think it’s the flu?”

“Same symptoms so far. Puking, the runs, fever, aches. It’s so new, though, the kids could develop other stuff before it’s run its course. And they’re just waiting for adults to come down with it. I did hear a couple old folks down at the Home are feeling pretty poorly.”

I glanced around to make sure no one was close, then lowered my voice. “So how come Toby died? Other kids have been sick as long as him, but they’re holding out.”

He clucked his tongue. “Toby had asthma real bad. Docs say it compromised him too much, his body couldn’t take the extra stress. He’d been at home till yesterday, when he got lots worse and they found he had pneumonia on top of it all. Poor little guy.”

I couldn’t think about it. “Greta’s not sick?”

Toby’s baby sister. Not quite a year old, I thought.

“Nope. But they’re not taking any chances. She’s been staying with her grandparents. She’s still nursing, too, so they’re hoping her mom’s immunities will keep her safe.”

I looked over at Claire Derstine, where she sat with Rochelle on a wicker loveseat. She must’ve been going crazy the past week, trying to take care of Toby at the same time she was keeping Greta supplied with antibodies. Not a position to be envied.

“You hear about Bergeys?” Marty asked.

“Which ones?”

“Paul and Kristine.”

I pictured the older couple. Grew crops when they were younger, now rented out their land to farmers still in production. “They sick?”

“In a way. Got bought out by developers. Signed the papers this afternoon.”

My heart sank. “Know who was renting from them?”

“Heard it was Chuckie Moyer.”

Shit. Pam’s dad.

“Wonder what he’ll do,” Marty said. “Nothing left around here to rent.”

Howie found his way to us and gave me a look. He was ready to go.

“See you soon, Marty?” I said.

“Hope so.”

I took another look at Toby’s parents, and when I saw they were surrounded by other folks decided they didn’t need me interrupting with inadequate platitudes. I was sure they were full up on those.

The trip home was just long enough for me to fill Howie in on the Bergeys, and when I parked the truck in our drive, Howie got out and walked toward his place without a word.

“What’cha doing?” I asked Zach when I got in the house. He was crashed on the sofa, surfing the TV.

“Nothing. You want me to do something?”

Stay healthy
. “Nope. Just checking in.”

He flipped to another channel, and while I wanted to stay with him, hovering wouldn’t keep him safe. It might, however, make him mad.

The phone rang and I stepped into the kitchen to answer it. It was Belle.

“He’s all right,” I said. “Just lying here watching TV.”

“Lying there? You’re sure he’s okay?”

“He says he’s fine. Looks fine, too. How’s Mallory?”

“The same. Can’t keep anything down. And now she has this awful rash that’s driving her crazy.”

“Ugh. Give me a call if you need me.”

I hung up and walked out to the garage, tired and worried and needing an outlet. Queenie scuttled along beside me, her coat shiny and burr-free from Zach’s good brushing.

My Harley sat in the garage, dusty and muddy from the last time I rode it, and I wheeled it out onto the drive. I uncoiled the garden hose from the rack on the house, put a little SU2000 in a bucket, and had all I needed to make the bike shine again.

My bike is a 1988 Low Rider, a Big Twin, for those of you who know your bikes. It’s a step up from a Sportster, the smallest Harley-Davidson, and has the guts to make the curving Pennsylvania roads a pleasure to ride. It’s solid black, the only other color the shiny silver chrome I add from time to time. Harley pieces aren’t cheap, but they make bikes come alive. I looked forward to putting on the things I’d been given at my birthday party that day. Man, did that seem a long time ago.

I was admiring the shine I’d accomplished so far when Howie came strolling out the drive. If I hadn’t known better, I’d say he was nervous about approaching me. His hands were stuffed behind the bib of his overalls and he wouldn’t look in my direction.

“What’s up?” I said.

He shook his head and stared out across the neighboring field. Since he was giving me the silent treatment, I went back to the bike.

“You okay?” he asked when I had finished the back fender.

“I’m fine. Sad. Worried as hell about the sick kids.
You
okay?”

He shrugged and took a look at the bike. “Looks great.”

“Yeah.”

He kicked a rock in the driveway, and was such a cliché I had to blink to see if he was real. All he needed was a piece of long grass in his teeth.

“What, Howie?” I said. “Is it the barn painter? Toby? Me snapping at you this morning? What?”

He finally looked at me. “You’re twenty-nine now.”

“That’s how many candles were on the cake.”

“You’re old enough to run this place on your own. You showed that today.”

I looked at him in shock. “Good grief, Howie. You think I want to run this place by myself? Are you nuts? Just because I hired somebody to paint the damned heifer barn?”

Howie sighed. “I don’t care about that. I just— You need a different kind of man around here. Someone younger. Someone more your speed.”

“Someone who will give me babies? Is that what you’re going on about?” I could feel my insides tightening up. “What exactly are you saying, Howie? Are you crapping out on me?”

Howie’s head jerked back like I’d slapped him. “No, Stella, I’m not. I just want you to be happy, that’s all.”

“I am happy.” I threw my rag on the seat of the Harley and put my hands on my hips. “Don’t I look happy to you? When not worrying about sick or dying children I spent my birthday wading through every bodily fluid known to cows, talking to Hubert Purcell, patching up shit-holes, and practically giving myself a stroke dragging a dead cow. Could a girl ask for anything more?”

I felt my ire rising, but the look on Howie’s face stopped me cold. He was trying his best to be the concerned father figure, but the corner of his mouth kept twitching and I saw a sparkle making its way into his eyes.

“Are you laughing at me?” I asked.

“Oh, no.”

“Hey, old man. Is my life funny to you? You want me to tell you a few more things that happened today? Want me to tell you about the shower gel I got from Abe’s new Barbie doll? You’re going to leave me before telling me what to do with
that?”

“Stop, stop!” His eyes watered with suppressed laughter, and he came over to give me a hug. “You know I’ll never leave you, Princess. I’ll be here for you till the cows come home.”

“That’s more like it. I don’t want to hear any more of this talk about young guys or marriage or any of that crap. I’ll hire the likes of Nick to keep my hormones alive, and that’ll be enough.”

“But Stella—”

“If my knight in shining armor comes prancing up the lane, I won’t let him get away, all right?”

Howie looked at me with concern. The laughter had gone from his eyes and he studied my face. “You sure you’ll recognize him?”

“He’ll be the one with cow crap on his boots.”

Howie gave me another grin and looked back at the Harley. “Missed a spot,” he said.