Till the Cows Come Home (3 page)

With my thumb and forefinger I picked up a gift bag, decorated with flowers and overflowing with pink tissue paper.

“That’s from me,” Abe said.

I looked at the gift and then at him.

“Well, from us. Missy wrapped it.”

I stuck my hand in the tissue and came up with a variety of shower gels and lotions and one of those puffy washing things. I looked at Abe. He turned a bit pink, making him a match with the gift.

“Um, Missy picked it out.”

She smiled. “I figured with all the work you do on the farm you could use some good smelling things. You know, to pamper yourself.”

“Sure,” I said. “Thanks a lot.” I put them back in the bag. They wouldn’t see the light of day until I could find someone else to give them to, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Okay, here’s the last present,” Jethro said. He lumbered over, carrying a large flat package. He was grinning from ear to ear.

I ripped open the paper and caught my breath. It was an aerial photograph of my farm.

“Oh, wow,” I said. “It’s beautiful.” I ran my fingers over the glass. Everything was there—the milkhouse, the heifer barn, the farmhouse, and a little of the fields surrounding it all. There were even dots of cows in the pasture.

“It gives a good look at the manure lagoon,” Jethro said, laughing.

Belle elbowed him in the ribs. “We thought you’d like it. Jude and Marianne pitched in, too. It’s from the four of us.”

I looked at Jude with surprise. Jude was number six of the Granger boys, five years older than me. His wife, Marianne, was my age, and not from a farming family, which she was always quick to point out. Jude worked my land and planted crops on it. The Granger acreage wasn’t enough to support them, and mine made up the difference. In return, he kept my cows in hay and silage from his harvest.

“We thought you’d like a picture of your most prized possession,” Marianne said. Her snide tone of voice made me wonder why she allowed Jude to even give me a present, but I wasn’t going to let her spoil the moment.

“It’s great,” I said. “It’s going up in my office tonight.”

A baby wailed somewhere in the mess of people, and Marianne flinched, then looked down and started picking up the wrapping paper I’d thrown on the ground. I was surprised how much there was.

“Thanks, everybody, for all the great stuff.”

I don’t know if anybody heard me. Their attention was diverted by Queenie, yelping happily as the kids decorated her with cast-off ribbons and bows.

People started to get up and walk off. I turned toward Abe to see if we could do some more catching up, but Missy’s hand looked permanently grafted to his elbow. I ditched that idea and went over to give Ma a hug. “Thanks for a great party.”

“I thought you’d come around and enjoy yourself, eventually.”

“Want me to put this in the truck?” Howie asked. He held up the photograph.

“Sure, why don’t you—”

“Stella!”

Jethro lumbered toward me, a look of fear on his face. My heart skipped a beat.

“What is it?”

“You seen Zach? Where is he?”

“Over there.” I gestured toward the side yard where Queenie and the boy were wrestling, ribbons and bows flying. “What’s wrong, Jethro?”

Instead of answering, Jethro hustled over to Zach, hauled him up by the arm, and started pulling him toward his truck. Queenie leapt up and stood in front of them, teeth bared.

“Queenie!” I yelled. I ran over and grabbed her collar before Jethro could do something stupid. “Jethro, what the hell is the matter with you?”

Queenie quieted, but didn’t sit.

“Out of my way, Stella. The dog, too.”

“What did I do, Dad?” Zach said. “You’re crushing my arm!”

Jethro’s face changed suddenly and he looked down at his huge hand, encircling Zach’s elbow. He dropped Zach’s arm and ran his hand over his face. “Sorry, son.”

“Jethro—”

“Just shut up, Stella, and let me talk, okay? Belle just took a phone call in the house. We have to get home to Mallory.” He stopped and swallowed.

“What? What was the phone call about?”

“You know little Toby Derstine?” he said. “Lives just down the road from you? He came down with flu symptoms three days ago. Now he’s dead.”

Chapter Three

The party cleared out in a heartbeat. Moms, dads, aunts, uncles, all headed home to make sure their sick ones weren’t sicker and their healthy ones stayed healthy. That left Howie, Carla, and me to help Ma clean up the mess. Zach, too, since I’d finally convinced Jethro and Belle he’d be better off at the farm than at home. No reason to subject him to Mallory’s germs more than he already had been.

Ma went into her quiet mode no one dares to interrupt, where she glides around calmly, lips moving in constant prayer, hands in unceasing motion. We worked, our hearts and thoughts with Toby Derstine’s family, as well as with our own sick relatives and friends. Soon the ribbons, gift wrap, and paper plates were in the burning barrel, the leftover food was in the fridge, and the lawn chairs and tables were folded up and stashed in the garage. Howie, Zach, Queenie, and I said good-bye to Carla and left Ma to her meditation.

The Derstines’ lane was packed with vehicles when we drove by. People stood on the porch and lawn, wanting to show support but obviously hesitant to go into the house. Couldn’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to take a chance with the virus, either. I glanced at Zach’s face and felt a stab of helplessness. I wanted to tell him everything would be okay, but how could it be, with our little neighbor dead?

“I’ll go over and pay my respects after milking,” I said.

Howie nodded. “Me, too.”

Zach glanced at me, but I shook my head. “Not you, bud. We’re not chancing it.”

He must’ve agreed, because he didn’t protest.

We pulled into our drive and prepared to get back to work. Even with tragedies next door our chores waited, never fully satisfied. I ran upstairs to change, and when I came back out found Howie and Zach in the milking parlor, staring at a couple of very dirty and extremely smelly cows.

“What on earth?” I headed out back. Howie and Zach followed.

“Well, shit,” I said. And I meant it. There was shit everywhere. Flooding the lower pasture, clouding up the stream, and making my Holsteins more brown than black and white.

“Them muskrats’ve sure been busy,” Howie said.

“Wow,” Zach said.

I crossed my arms and shook my head at my boots, ankle deep in runny muck. The muskrats would chew a hole in the manure pit once or twice a summer, but they’d never been this enthusiastic before.

“Nice birthday present,” Howie said.

I grunted, then gave Zach another quick study to make sure he wasn’t showing any symptoms of the now-deadly flu. So far, so good. Which meant I could put him to work.

“It’s time to milk,” I said. “Why don’t you guys gather the cows and do your thing while I take care of this?”

Zach looked relieved, but Howie scowled. “I’ll do it. You do the cows tonight.”

“Nope. I’ll feel much better if I take care of it. Besides, I don’t think I’ve had quite enough bodily fluids covering me today. I’ll hose off the cows as you bring them by.”

Fortunately, the manure had no way to get into the barnyard or the milking parlor, so as the cows made their slow and clumsy way into the barn, I sprayed the crap off their legs and bellies. Some had apparently decided to lie down in it, too, so those got the full-body treatment. Cows may be good livestock, but no one ever said they were smart.

Queenie, ever the vigilant cow-herder, did her best to round them up without getting too poopy, but I ended up having to spray her down, too.

“Oughta get out the camera,” Howie said. “Not very often you have a herd that’s just stepped out of the shower.”

“Good idea. Zach, grab the Polaroid from the office, will ya? Let’s immortalize this. And while you’re at it, take some pictures of outside before I clean everything off.”

Zach was soon snapping away. I wanted to get his mind on something so he wouldn’t worry about his sister, himself, or poor Toby, and this seemed a good bet. He was used to the camera, as we have to take two pictures, one of each side, of every female calf in order to register her. Zach had long ago designated himself resident portrait-taker.

I was just ready to check out the manure pit when Howie came out of the barn, a frown creasing his face.

“What?” I said.

“We’re short a cow.”

“Who’s missing?”

“Not sure. I just know we’ve got an empty stall.”

“Great.” I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “I’ll go look for her.”

“I can—”

“Just let me go, all right?”

He raised his hands in surrender and headed back in.

I walked an uneven circle, searching in the various corners of the barnyard and the long barn where the cows ate lunch. No missing cow. Huh.

The only other thing would be if she’d gotten stuck or injured in the pasture. The cows have the freedom to roam around down there whenever they want, during the day. I crossed the concrete long barn floor and went out the other side toward the pasture that wasn’t clogged up with manure. Nobody there at first glance, but there were some places I couldn’t see.

Five minutes later I found her. She was lying in the middle of the pasture, on the far side of a little hill, her staring eyes unprotected from a cloud of buzzing flies. I put my hands on my hips and let my head drop. Several hundred dollars had just gone flying out the window.

I squatted down beside Cleopatra—for that’s who it was—to see if I could tell what had killed her. There weren’t any obvious signs. No cuts, no injuries, no blood. I couldn’t imagine what had made her drop dead. If she were pregnant, it could be any number of things, but she just happened to be in-between freshenings.

Out of ideas, I stood. There was no way I could move her myself, so I trudged back up the hill and into the parlor. “Found her. It’s Cleopatra.”

“Well, damn,” Howie said. “Not coming to get milked, is she?”

“’Fraid not.”

Shit.

I called Carla to see if she could come figure out what had killed the cow, but got her answering machine, which told me she was out of town and I should dial the on-call number for emergencies. It didn’t really classify as an emergency, seeing as how Cleo was a little past reviving, so I just hung up.

Leaving Howie to pump the girls and Zach to play Ansel Adams, I waded back across the cement paddock through an inch of sloshy mess to check out the damage in the lagoon walls. The manure had stopped flowing, so I figured I was looking for a hole above surface level. I made my way around the outside of the pit, trying to avoid the larger puddles of poop.

“Oh, ho,” I said.

Right in front of me was a beautiful muskrat hole, six inches wide, edges smooth and shiny. I walked the rest of the exterior, searching for more leaks, and was almost done when I was rewarded with another hole, unfortunately leading right down to the creek.

“Crap-ola,” I said under my breath. I bent down and saw that the hole was the twin of the other one.

“Want me to take a picture of that?” Zach asked, pointing at the creek. Its usually clear water was muddied up with manure, and the rocks and plants on the creek bed were covered with brown slime.

“Sure,” I said. “Might as well document the entire stink-hole. Watch your step.” Zach started to half slide, half walk down the hill toward the creek, keeping the camera up and out of danger.

“Can you get these holes first?” I asked, stopping him. “We can give the muskrats copies for their albums.”

Zach laughed and snapped the pictures. “I’ll get the creek, then I thought I’d take some pictures of Gus. That okay?”

“More than okay. Have fun.”

I watched him as he got closer to the creek and felt my heart climb towards my throat at the thought of losing him to some bizarre illness. Swallowing my unease, I went off to find rocks and mud to plaster up the muskrat holes. With any luck the creek would clear out before it got to someone else’s property and I had to dig into my pollution liability insurance.

When I was done filling in the holes I made my way back up to the paddock and started the Bobcat, a tractor-type machine that looks kind of like a forklift, sporting a metal scraper in the front. I use it almost daily to clear the heifer barn and paddock of manure. It would get more of a workout that day.

As I pushed cow crap back toward the lagoon, the Derstines crowded my thoughts. They were good neighbors, always free with smiles and waves, the dad a construction worker and the mom at home with the two kids. Little Toby, ready to start kindergarten in the fall, was a sweet boy. I couldn’t imagine how his folks must be feeling.

When my vision started to blur I forced my brain to move on to the issue of Miss Beetle and Abe. I was ticked nobody had told me about her—not that they had a reason to, I guess. It was just if I was going to be the only girl in the “family,” I figured I ought to be kept up on important things like Abe’s love life.

And Abe, what was with him bringing home a sophisticated city gal? His blue-collar roots weren’t enough for him now he was a genuine New Yorker?

I slammed to a stop, banging the scraper bucket onto the ground, and picked up the hose I’d left by the barn. I sprayed off the machine and then the paddock floor, fuming all the while. Shit and shine-Missy-ola all in one day. Not to mention the uterine blood and guts I’d experienced in the morning. After stomping over to check the lock on the paddock gate—all we needed to top off the day was cows running loose—I sprayed off my boots and left them at the office door.

I had just sat down and leaned my head against the wall when the phone rang.

“Yeah,” I said. “Royalcrest Farm.”

“Stella?”

“In the flesh.”

“It’s Pam.” Her voice sounded heavier than it had just that morning.

“You all right? Hubert didn’t do something stupider than usual, did he?”

“No, no, he’s fine. I mean, he didn’t.… Oh crap, it’s just this poor little Derstine kid. It’s so awful.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yeah. You realize he’s my neighbor?”

“Oh God, really? I’m sorry.”

We were both silent for a moment.

“So, what’s up?” I said. “Just call to chat?”

She sighed. “I wish. I hated to even bother you, but it’s now ‘my job.’ I got a phone call this afternoon and needed to let you know. Did you have trouble with your manure lagoon today?”

“What? How would anyone know about that? Who called you?”

“So it’s true?”

“It was muskrats. You know how it is.”

“We never had livestock, but I’ve heard lots of stories. Anyway, my caller—who asked that I don’t reveal any names, and dammit I have to respect that—seemed concerned the creek running behind your farm got polluted.”

“Well, you can tell
your caller
it’s already been taken care of. For Christ’s sake.”

“I’m sorry I had to even say anything. I’m sure you have things under control.”

“No problem,” I said, gritting my teeth. “So what’s the council’s plan for investigating Toby’s death? I’m assuming they have one.”

“Sure. It’s their highest priority, of course. The State Department of Health is here, and has pretty much taken over the investigation. I think an invitation to the Centers for Disease Control is forthcoming. Their experts should be here within a day or two.”

“Good. Meanwhile, tell your anonymous caller to leave me the hell alone.”

“You got it.”

I slammed down the phone and spun my chair around to look at the wall. Whoever had called Pam would’ve had to know about the manure leak at the same time, or even before, I did. What did that mean? The creek wasn’t moving fast enough for the grungy water to have reached somebody else already.

Queenie started barking, and I heard a vehicle pull into the driveway. I glanced out the side window at a blue Ford Ranger I didn’t recognize, and saw Queenie hustling to investigate. Soon there were footsteps outside the office door and then a tentative knock.

“Whoever you are,” I said, still facing the wall, “I don’t need any, want any, or have the money for it. Go away.”

“All I want is a minute of your time.”

Rolling my eyes, I spun the chair around and looked at the most beautiful man ever to set foot on my farm. Probably six-two, two hundred, with wavy blond hair highlighting bright blue eyes and a tan that reached down into his collar. Levi’s hugged his lean waist, and a dark green T-shirt pulled tight around his broad chest. I was suddenly very aware I had just finished spraying cow shit around for an hour and a half, and was afraid he was, too.

“You can have
two
minutes,” I said. “Have a seat.”

He sat and stunned me with a smile that was whiter than fresh milk. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“So what do you want?” I asked.

“I’m a barn painter. Or handyman, or concrete layer, or fence-builder. Whatever you might need.”

What I need
, I thought,
is a couple minutes alone with you with my clothes off
.

“I really don’t need anything,” I said. “And what I said about money was true. I don’t have any to spare.”

“I come cheap. And I work hard.”

Now, the funny thing about these barn painters is that every farmer gets visits from a couple of them during the summer. No one knows who they really are or where they come from, and you’re generally thought to be a boob if you fall for their spiel. You also end up paying far more than they’re worth—no matter how charming they may be.

I smiled again and tapped a pencil on my desk. “Sorry. No can do.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He illuminated my office with his teeth. “Sorry I wasted your time.”

“No problem. You were a pleasant interruption.”

I watched very carefully as he left the room, then stood up and walked to the door just to make sure he got into his truck. No other reason. Honest.

Queenie trotted over to him from her perch under a shade tree, and he knelt down and gave her a good rubbing.
She
seemed to think he was good news. While I studied his profile and demeanor appreciatively, an image of Abe and his new girlfriend’s hand slipping around his arm flashed through my mind.
Abie?
My stomach tightened. Why should Abe have all the fun?

“What’s your name?” I called from the door.