Till the Cows Come Home (5 page)

Chapter Six

I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, sticky and sweaty. I lay there, wondering why my eyes were open, when I noticed it was especially dark. And hot. I turned to look at my clock and there were no red numbers showing. My fan sat silent on my dresser, aimed at me but producing no breeze.

“Oh, great,” I said out loud.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and took a moment to let my head clear before standing up. I used the bathroom in the darkness, then walked back into my bedroom to try to find some clothes. I pulled on whatever was closest and made my way down the dark stairs.

The clock in the living room is the only one in the house that doesn’t run on electricity, and I squinted at it. One AM. Good grief.

I went down to the basement to check the fuse box, only bruising my shins twice as I felt my way through the house. Everything looked fine, but I snapped the breakers back and forth to make sure. Still nothing—no flickering lights or reassuring hums. Crap.

Back on the first floor, I glanced out the window at the dusk-to-dawn light, and when I saw it was out figured the breakers in the main barn weren’t working either.

I went out to the garage, trotted up Howie’s steps, and knocked. He came to the door, bleary-eyed and tousled, in boxer shorts.

“What’s wrong?”

“Electric’s out.”

He sighed. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

I went back down the steps and over to the tractor barn, where I started the tractor and pulled it around to the front. By that time Howie was outside, moving things out of the way in the garage.

Our generator sits on a trailer in the back corner of the garage, waiting patiently for us to give it some attention. I hoped it still worked—we hadn’t hauled it out for about ten years and probably hadn’t thought about it more than twice in the time since.

I jumped down from the tractor and helped Howie move things from one place to another. Then, together, we pulled the trailer free from its dark corner and out of the garage. Once it sat close to the tractor, Howie hooked its power take-off shaft to its mate on the tractor, and I got it hooked up to the electrical box in our big barn. I pulled down the main switch and crossed my fingers.

The generator made a few coughing sounds, sputtered, then started to hum, and the dusk-to-dawn light in the barnyard began glowing.

“Thank goodness for that,” I said.

Howie grunted. “Zach okay?”

“Far as I know. I’ll check on him.”

He nodded. “See you in a few hours.”

“You got it, old man.”

I went back inside, called the electric company to report the outage, and after checking to see that Zach was sleeping soundly, pulled off my clothes and crawled back into bed. Thank God my fan was working again. I re-set my clock and was asleep instantly.

I woke again at five o’clock—well, four fifty-nine. I turned off my alarm and sat up slowly, breathing a silent thanks that the electricity was still on.

I pulled on some jeans, an undershirt, and a flannel shirt—my usual morning milking attire—and made my way to the kitchen, where I downed a bowl of Shredded Wheat and a tall glass of orange juice at the kitchen window. I’ve never been one for coffee—it’s death for a farmer. Get used to your caffeine at five AM, and you’ll never be able to get up and do the milking without it.

I had the television on low and was listening to an update on the new flu virus—no more dead children, thank God—when I realized I should wake Zach up so he could get himself together for milking. He had made it clear the night before that I was not to baby him. He’d do his job just like always.

A knock on his door raised no response, so I pushed it open and turned on the light.

“Oh, shit,” I said.

I ran to the bed and felt Zach’s forehead. Burning up. His face was flushed and his breathing was heavy and ragged.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

I hurried to the bathroom and soaked a washcloth in cool water. I wrung it out so it wasn’t dripping, then went back to Zach and placed it on his forehead. I left him long enough to grab the cordless phone from my bedroom, then speed-dialed Jethro and Belle from his bedside.

“’Lo,” Jethro mumbled.

“He’s got it.”

The phone slammed down on the other end, and I pushed the flash button and called Howie. He answered, sounding muffled and sleepy.

“Zach’s got the flu,” I said. “Can you start milking?”

“Oh, no. Of course, Princess. I’ll go right over.”

I was just pulling the blanket off the bed to wrap up Zach when he started to retch. I grabbed the wastebasket and got it to the bed just in time. When he’d finished, I wiped his mouth with the damp cloth and told him everything was going to be okay. His head lolled and he fell back asleep on my neck.

I carried him downstairs, wrapped in the bed’s blanket, and held him on the sofa until I heard a truck speeding up the driveway. I met Jethro at the door, Zach in my arms.

“Oh, my boy,” Jethro said. He took Zach and held him against his chest.

I opened the back door of Jethro’s truck, and Jethro laid his son gently on a pillow and made sure he was covered by the blanket.

“The doc told me to bring him right over,” he said.

“You’ll let me know—”

“Sure, sure. Soon as we can.”

“I’m sorry, Jethro.”

He looked like he wanted a hug, but I was afraid one of us would burst into tears, so I gave him a gentle push toward the driver’s door.

He drove away, avoiding the potholes in the lane, going much slower than he had coming in. I watched them for only a moment before turning toward the barn, where I could try to lose myself in my work. Howie gave me a worried glance when I got in the barn, but I shook my head and looked away.

Most of the cows were already in stalls, and the rest sleepily made their way into one as Howie and I prodded them and slapped their huge haunches to get them moving. Queenie did her part to coax them into place, weaving around their legs and giving high, happy barks. There was the occasional oddball cow, who either didn’t want to go into a stall or wanted to go into one that was already occupied, but for the most part they behaved, which was good since I wasn’t in the mood to deal with delinquents.

We stepped around them, making a quick check for anything unusual, and got them hooked in. Each cow wears a chain around her neck, like a necklace, and we simply attach it to a hook in the milking stall. She still has plenty of room to move around, but we’re assured she’s not going to start working the room. Once we had them all clipped in, Howie started to feed them while I went to get the milk flow going.

I stood at the head of the row and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to find peace in the quiet rhythm of the morning. I could feel adrenaline making me shaky, and knew I had to stay on task if I was going to do my job. Thank goodness the generator was working well and everything could technically go on as usual. Howie had the radio tuned to Temple University’s classical music station, and the sound soothed me, as well as the cows. I had tried every kind of music, but as far as I knew I had the only die-hard classical fans in the dairy field. They liked calming composers like Ravel and Debussy, especially. Mozart and Beethoven were fine, but they tended to get the cows a little more worked up.

I shook myself out of my stupor and started with cow number one, wiping her udder with a wet paper towel to get off manure and straw, then attaching the milking hose to each teat. The hose works in two ways—first it suctions, then pulses, like a calf would do to get the milk going. I got the first four cows pumping, and started cleaning off the next four. I had four sets of hoses working at once, and tried to work ahead so the next four were ready when the first ones were depleted.

I never wear gloves when I’m milking, because I enjoy feeling the leather-like skin on the udders. Before milking, the udder is taut, like a drum, and you can feel the fullness of the milk. Once the udder has been emptied, it is soft, supple, and limp. Until the evening, anyway.

The first four got milked dry, so I unhooked the hoses and got the next ones going. Then I went back to the first ones to spray their teats with antiseptic. Being the first to be done, they would have the longest to relax and eat after their milking.

Howie and I went through the motions, occasionally saying something, but mostly going from chore to chore, patting the cows and doing our best to avoid urine streams which shot out at random. We were on the last set of cows when we heard Queenie start to bark at a truck pulling in the drive.

“Probably your new boyfriend,” Howie said. He stretched his back as he looked out the window. “Looks like a healthy one.”

I threw a bunched-up paper towel at him and stood to look out the window. He was right. Nick’s Ranger was parked next to the heifer barn, and Nick himself was climbing out of it. The events of the morning had pushed his existence from my mind, which was hard to believe. Today he had on a blue T-shirt and another pair of those well-fitting jeans. Queenie was already getting her head rubbed, and her tail was wagging so hard her rump was moving from side to side. I had to make sure to keep my butt in line when I talked to him.

“Gonna go out and greet him?” Howie said. “Don’t want to miss a chance to see him up close.”

“Oh, can it, Howie. I’ll go out, but just to make sure he knows what I want done.”

“Sure,” Howie said. “You do that.”

I left Howie grinning to himself and went out to talk to Nick. He had his gear with him, so I assumed he was there to get started.

“Morning,” I said.

“Morning.”

“You always start work at six-thirty?”

“Actually, I’m a little late. I try to start as early as I can, to avoid the hotter hours of the day. If it’s okay with you, I’ll work till noon or so, then come back later in the afternoon and work through the evening.”

I shrugged. “Whatever. I’m up by five, so you won’t be waking me.” I nodded at the heifer barn. “Anything you need from me?”

Nick shook his head. “I think I’ve got everything. I may have to make a run or two to the paint store, but other than that I’m good to go.”

Good to go. Seeing him, I was good to go, too, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Well,” I said. “You need anything, you just come find me. I’ll be around. Or you could ask Howie, my farmhand. He knows this place almost better than I do.”

“Will do.” He gave me his hundred-watt smile, and my stomach contracted. I did my best to look unaffected as I turned and walked back into the barn.

“You did real good, Princess,” Howie said. “I couldn’t see you sweating or anything.”

I ignored him and switched the hoses to the last set of cows.

“I’m going to call Carla about Cleopatra,” I said. “Be back in a minute.”

Carla answered on the first ring and said she’d come out after her first appointment. It was too hot to let the dead cow go any longer, even if it was in the cool barn.

I hung up and punched in Jethro and Belle’s number.

“What did he say?” Belle sounded out of breath.

“Oh, sorry, Belle. It’s Stella. I wanted to know what you found out about Zach.”

I heard a muffled sob. “I’m still waiting. I wanted to go, too, but.…”

“Sure. Someone had to stay with Mallory. Call when you hear, okay?”

I went back to the parlor, nerves strung even tighter, where Howie and I milked for another hour, till all the cows were done. I had to take occasional breaks to check out Nick’s work, of course, but other than that, things went as usual.

“Only have three that need separate milking,” Howie said. “Pansy went off her antibiotics. You want to do them while I get the others out?”

I nodded and headed to the back stalls, where we had clipped in the ones who needed special attention.

There are a couple of reasons you milk cows apart from the rest of the herd, sending their milk into a separate storage tank. New mothers give the precious colostrum calves need and people don’t want, and any cow on antibiotics gives milk that is tainted and can’t be sold.

When Wayne, or whoever hauls our milk, does his rounds, he takes a sample of each farm’s milk, and if the tank tests positive for antibiotics when he gets to the plant, the farmer who tried to cheat gets to pay for the entire load, plus receives a heavy fine and a blast to their reputation. Definitely not worth trying to get bad milk past the tests. And the restrictions get tougher every year.

“Any preference as to which water source I use?”

I finished putting the milker on Wendy, the mom of Zach’s new calf, and looked up at Nick, who stood leaning against the doorjamb of the milking parlor.

“What do you need it for?” I asked.

Nick smiled and raised his eyebrows, like I didn’t trust him.

“I don’t
care
what you’re using it for,” I said. “I just need to know so I can tell you which spigot to use.”
Geez
.

“I’m going to start powerwashing the heifer barn. I want to get all the gunk off before I start any repairs or painting.”

“Gunk,” I said. “Is that the technical term?”

“It was at Barn Painter University. Or I could be more specific and say peeling paint, wayward ivy, and pigeon poop. Would that make you feel better?”

“Lots. There’s a spigot inside the heifer barn we use to fill up their water tank. You can use that. Go through the door to the right.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nick gave me a small salute and went back to work. I knew he did—I watched him go. I smiled and even gave stupid Wendy a pat on the rump. Hard-liners like Howie might laugh at me for hiring a barn painter, but so far it was worth every penny.

And he hadn’t even done anything yet.

Chapter Seven

“Excuse me,” I said.

The cow stared at me and slowly blinked her long eyelashes.

“Cindy,” I said. “I will get out of your way if you will kindly move a few inches to the left.”

Cindy, a third-generation Royalcrest cow, gave no indication that she understood, so I sucked in my stomach and squeezed between her and the wall. She was almost eighteen, after all, and deserved some respect. As soon as I was past, of course, she decided to move her big rear and go outside.

Howie had unclipped the cows and they were meandering out of the barn, into the pasture, back into the barn, and into stalls to finish up leftover food or to take a nap in the shredded newspapers we use as bedding. They were free to roam where they pleased, within the confines of the electric fences we had set up in the farmyard to keep them out of the yard, the feed barn, and what garden we had. They mostly chose to do whatever took the least effort.

I changed the radio to WMMR, Philly’s classic rock station, and Queenie was keeping me company (getting in the way) as I scraped the floor, cleaned out any stalls that needed it, and put lime on the concrete walkways to make them look clean. Well, maybe not clean. A little whiter, anyway. Some farm cats were watching me do a half-hearted dance with the pitchfork to ZZ Top’s “She’s Got Legs” when Howie came in, chuckling.

“I never said I could dance,” I said.

“I’m not laughing at you, Princess. Have you taken a look at your new boyfriend lately?”

Surprisingly, it had been about a half-hour since I’d taken a break to check out my new hire. A little leery since Howie was so amused, I put down my dance partner and walked outside.

Nick was hard at work, powerwashing the heifer barn, water going everywhere, taking old paint and probably a little bit of the barn with it. I glanced at Howie, unsure what the punch line was.

“Take a closer look,” Howie said.

I walked a little farther toward the heifer barn and finally got the joke. Nick saw me out of the corner of his eye and stopped spraying.

“Need something?” he asked.

I burst out laughing.

“It’s the shoes, right?” he said. “I knew I shouldn’t have worn these.”

I kept laughing and shook my head. No one would know that Adonis lurked under all the paraphernalia he wore. He was completely covered, from head to foot, in coveralls, boots, and gloves, accented by paint specks, dirt, and who-knows-what-else. His hair was covered with a painting cap, and he wore big, bug-like goggles.

“I know,” he said. “I’m the most anal retentive painter you’ve ever met.”

I nodded.

“You need something?” he asked again, I thought a little testily.

I shook my head and tried to get rid of my smile. “Don’t stop working on my account.”

He turned away, and water resumed pounding the barn.

“Lovely,” I said, walking back to Howie.

“Gotta give him points for knowing his job, if not fashion,” Howie said, smirking.

“I suppose your overalls are on the runway in Paris.”

“I wear only the best, b’gosh.”

I groaned and made my way back into the barn. Howie followed.

“At least I know the ugly ducking out there really is a swan,” I said. “Unlike some other guys I know.”

Howie threw a wad of newspaper at me and Queenie ran after it and took it back to him.

“So what are your plans for the day?” I asked.

Howie threw the paper for Queenie again. “I need to fix the conveyor belt on the heifer feeder, then I’m going to scrape the lots that didn’t get cleaned yesterday during the poop fiasco. If I have time before lunch I’m going to haul some hay over for the heifers. You?”

“I think I’ll mow the yard. The way it’s looking we may as well let the cows out on it. Zach was going to do it, but.…”

“Poor little Zach. Any word from Jethro yet?”

I shook my head, trying to ignore the fear creeping back up my throat. “God, he looked awful, Howie. I’ve never felt anyone so hot before. And he practically puked his guts out.”

“I know, Princess. But he’s in good hands. His doc’ll take care of him.”

“Yeah, sure.” I kicked Queenie’s wadded-up paper and she scuttled after it. “I hope we don’t get sick, too. What would we do?”

“You won’t,” Howie said. “Your immune system is made up of warrior blood cells.”

“Regular Klingons. Okay, I get your point. Why worry? See ya later.”

Howie headed out to the barnyard, Queenie trotting after him, and I finished up the stalls in a few minutes. I grabbed a bucket, dumped in some of the milk from the mama cows, and mixed two bottles of formula for the little heifers. I was just getting ready to go when Carla walked into the barn.

I had to laugh. She was wearing an outfit that was surprisingly similar to Nick’s—coveralls, a large rubber apron, and goggles perched on the top of her head. I knew those huge gloves would go on, too, effectively hiding the last bit of her I could see.

“Sorry I couldn’t come out last night,” she said. “I was out of town for a seminar. A special program on mad cow disease. Kind of fitting with what’s going on around here, unknown virus and all.”

I set my bucket on the ground. “You hear about Zach?”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Got sick just this morning.” I explained how I’d come to find him. “So I’m waiting for a phone call.”

“Oh, Stella.”

I bent over to pick up the bucket.

“Anyway,” Carla said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help with your cow yesterday.”

“No problem. I figured Cleo wasn’t going anywhere, so I didn’t want to bring your on-call guy from wherever.”

“He couldn’t’ve come anyway. He had a horse who’d sliced himself up real good on a fence. Not pretty. So where is she?”

“Basement. In the empty stall.”

She sneezed, then coughed.

“What’s up with you?” I asked.

“Just a cold. Too many late nights and early mornings pandering to my elite dairy clientele.”

“You sure it’s not that flu?” I stepped closer to look in her eyes, and she batted me away.

“Of course it’s not. Only kids are getting that.”

“Maybe you should see your doctor just to—”

“Look, I came here to cut up a cow, not find a mother.”

“Sorry. You know your way downstairs.”

She went back out to her truck, grabbed a huge toolbox which I knew would contain an axe and a large knife, and lugged it out of sight. I went back to work.

Gus and the other two calves were waiting for me, pushing their soft, whiskery noses against the metal grating on the front of their hutches. We only had the three right then, including Zach’s new fella. We keep calves in the hutches for six weeks or so, feeding them colostrum the first few days, then formula after that, then sell bull calves to my neighbor and send female calves to the yearling paddock. The two females were waiting to be moved the next day. Gus would go to his own private stall soon after that.

Gus stood on legs that were surprisingly strong and slurped up the milk I poured into his bottle. He looked like he’d be a good bull for Zach. I reached my hand through the wires on the door and scratched his ears. He gazed at me with his liquid eyes and I could swear he smiled. After a final pat I decided it was time to face my overgrown yard.

First, I went into my office to make sure there weren’t any messages from Jethro or Belle. No flashing light. I considered calling them, but forced myself to leave the phone on its cradle. They’d call when they could.

The lawnmower was housed in the garage, and I tried to keep a straight face as I passed Nick. He probably didn’t notice me, anyway, with all his camouflage.

I yanked open the garage door and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. The only light was on a pull chain in the center of the room, and as everything was still in disarray from pulling out the generator, I didn’t feel like wading through machinery to get to it. I gave my Harley a pat as I passed it, noticing it already had a fine layer of dust on it. These dry summer days were terrible for keeping things clean.

I pushed the lawnmower into the driveway to check the oil and gas, and it was only when I was screwing the gas cap back on that I noticed the crack running through the deck almost the whole way across.

Well, crud, I thought. I stood and put my hands on my hips, checking out the yard. I had been saying for the past few days that it could wait another day, and if I said it once more I might as well have just planted wildflowers, set up a booth, and rented out campsites. Besides, the mower wouldn’t fix itself if I stuck it back in the garage.

I got my truck and heaved the mower into the back, muttering under my breath about fourteen-year-old boys who don’t tell when they break things. I probably should have asked for help getting the mower into the truck, but impressing Nick was more important at the time. Whether or not he noticed was a mystery.

I was ready to leave when an electric company truck pulled in. The company was usually very good about quick service when a farmer needed it, and I was pleased to see someone already this morning. A young, chubby guy in a uniform hopped out of the cab.

“There an accident or something?” I asked. Usually when we lost electricity it was from some drunk hitting a pole.

“Actually, you’re the only one with a problem.”

“Really? How could that be?”

“Dunno. I’ll take a look, though.”

I wondered if I should stay to get the news myself, but figured it would take him a while before he knew anything.

“I’m just headed out,” I said. “You need anything, Howie’s around. My farmhand. He can help you with whatever.”

“Okey-dokey.”

I whistled for Queenie and she came running, her nose full of cobwebs. “Where you been, girl?” I wiped off her nose. “Want to go for a ride?” She jumped into the truck and had the side window full of smears before I had a chance to open it. I rolled it down, and we were off.

Granger’s Welding sits off of a dirt road about two miles from my farm. Jethro runs the place, and two of his brothers make up his employee list. I could hear the welding compressor when I opened my door, and hoped I wouldn’t have to wait too far back in line.

The shop looked like an over-sized service garage, with two huge roll-up doors and a little office at the side, shut off from the noise by a flimsy wooden door. They hadn’t bothered to paint the concrete, so the building ended up looking a lot like one of those big cinder blocks mice like to make nests in.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Queenie.

She whined when I slid out by myself.

“I can’t let you out, girl. There’s all kinds of little metal pieces, screws, and other dog hazards. I’ll be back in a minute.” I made sure the cab was in the shade and the windows were cracked, then got out and walked toward the open garage door.

“Anybody home?” I said loudly. I could see somebody at the welding machine, but didn’t recognize him until he stood up straight and took his safety mask off.

“Hey there, Stella,” Jermaine said.

Now, I know you’re thinking Jermaine doesn’t sound like a Bible name one of Ma Granger’s kids might have. If you saw Jermaine, you wouldn’t think he looked like one of her sons, either.

Jethro, as I’ve said before, is a big guy, but Jermaine is probably the biggest man I’ve ever known, his shoulders easily measuring three feet across and his chest so big I couldn’t get my arms all the way around him if I tried. The best way to describe him is to say he resembles one of those NFL linebackers who look like they couldn’t move, they’re so big and kind of fat looking. But when you get a close-up look at Jermaine you see that underneath the fatty exterior is a mass of pure, hard muscle. Making Jermaine all the more amazing is the rich, black skin that lies tight and shiny over all his body, including his shaved head.

Ma didn’t have an affair to get this son—don’t even think it. Jermaine came from New York City to the Grangers as a Fresh Air kid, and he never left. Ma said he fit right in with her boys, plus his name started with a J—God must have meant it to be. Jermaine’s mother—uncomfortably quickly—agreed. No one ever looked back, and if anyone ever questioned Jermaine’s rightful place in the Granger flock, they had Ma to answer to.

“How’s the family?” I asked.

In a flash Jermaine’s face turned from serious to lighthearted and back to serious.

“They’re great. No sign of the flu yet. Vernice is back at work and Lavina is the cutest little thing you ever saw.”

Jermaine’s wife, Vernice, runs a day care for single mothers only. Her mom had taken it over for the past three months while Vernice got to take care of her own new baby. Now that Vernice was back at work, Lavina would be the only child at the day care with the benefit of a mother and a father.

“Lavina going to the day care with Vernice?” I asked.

“Huh-uh. Too worried about this flu thing. Seems like you can’t tell who’s got it till it’s too late. My mother-in-law’s watching the baby.”

“Vernice still nursing her? Getting her those antibodies?”

“Sure is. Anything we can do to fight off this nasty bug.”

A good plan. “Any word on Zach?”

“Just that he’s back home. Jethro showed up not long ago, but he wasn’t in a talking mood and I didn’t want to push. I guess Belle kicked him out of the house. He was being a mother hen and driving them all crazy. He and Jordan are out back. Jude’s got some combine trouble and they’re all standing there scratching their heads. Now, what’s up? I mean, why are you here?”

“My mower.” I jerked my thumb toward my truck. “Got a cracked deck.”

Jermaine walked to my truck and lifted the mower out of the bed with one arm. He set it on the ground and squatted to get a look at it. Queenie yipped at us, and I stuck my hand in the window to make sure she wasn’t getting too hot.

“I need to get my lawn mowed today,” I said.

Jermaine grunted and stood up. “I could fix you up if you want to wait, although it won’t be as pretty as if you’d left it here for a day or two.”

“I don’t want to enter it in a contest. I just want to cut my grass.”

Jermaine picked up the mower like it was nothing. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”