The ride from town took half an hour with the cart horse’s leisurely pace. We reached the Weatheringtons’ farm as twilight drifted down. Fireflies hovered low over the grass, their greenish-yellow glow winking off and on.
Big Tom stopped the buggy in front of a faded white two-story farmhouse. My legs had gone to sleep during the ride and I stumbled as I followed Hettie across the parched front yard.
“Your room is in the attic,” she said, pushing open the squealing screen door. I mumbled my thanks, following her up a set of creaky stairs into a room with a sloped ceiling. She handed me a lit candle and bid me good night. “Get some rest, girl,” Hettie said, her no-nonsense voice edging toward gentleness. “You look dead on your feet.”
I could only manage a nod in reply as she left. Concern for Lilah took up all my remaining energy. Would the stern Mr. Lybrand be harsh with her? Would Miss Maeve have the courage to defend Lilah if her uncle was unkind?
But even my worries couldn’t survive the siphoning fatigue, and I fell into bed. Consciousness blinked out like the lights of the fireflies in the field.
3
An agonized noise shredded the air. I sat bolt upright in the dark bedroom, adrenaline surging through my limbs.
For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. Then the last few days came back in a rush: I was in Arkansas, on a farm, where I was supposed to be the new hired help. And based on the thump of feet hurrying up the stairs to my attic room, I feared I was about to receive a sudden initiation into my new job.
Hettie barreled in as I scrambled out of bed. She frowned at the candle stump still guttering feebly on the table at my bedside. I’d fallen asleep without putting it out.
“We’ve got a mama cow having trouble.” Hettie tossed a bundle on the foot of the bed. “Here’s work clothes and boots. Get on out to the barn, quick as you can,” she said before rushing out.
I buttoned the short-sleeved work dress, tugged on the too-big boots, and clattered down the stairs with nerves humming. The screen door gave an indignant creak when I pushed it open. Shoulders back, I headed out across the dew-spangled lawn.
A heavy wash of stars covered the sky, pinpricks of light against the inky blue-black. In the dim predawn, a huge barn loomed at the edge of the yard. The bellowing sound rolling from the open doors gave the impression that the building itself was screaming.
I hesitated in the doorway. The cavernous space was full of the scent of manure and the rusty tang of blood. Big Tom crouched in the center of the dirt floor beside a massive black animal. His hands moved expertly over the creature’s distended abdomen. A lantern hung from a peg on the far wall, its feeble light shining on the cow’s heaving side. I’d seen cows before, but only as sides of beef. This was my first encounter with the living, breathing article.
Another earsplitting bellow vibrated through the humid air. I felt my own eyes go wide when I saw two tiny hooves protruding from the cow’s body.
Hettie emerged from a stall to the right, a thick coil of rope slung over her shoulder. She wobbled a bit under the weight before flinging it down beside her husband and motioning me over.
“It’s full breech. We’ll have to pull it,” Big Tom said, securing a length of rope around the spindly legs poking out from the mother. Hettie stepped into place behind him. My breaths came quick and fluttery as I took up the rear. Big Tom gave a nod, and we pulled.
The cow groaned, and a bit more of the calf’s legs appeared. Another tug brought the end of a tail into view. But on the next try, nothing happened. Big Tom’s face went red with strain. “Can you pull any harder?” Hettie looked over her shoulder at me, and I saw real worry in her lined face.
“I’m trying,” I grunted.
The sound of running feet carried over the cow’s labored panting. From the corner of my eye, I caught a blur of motion just before someone pressed in close behind me. “Sorry I’m late, Aunt Het.” The voice was deep, with a molasses-thick drawl.
“Where have you been?” Hettie sounded relieved in spite of herself. “I came to fetch you, but you weren’t in the loft.”
I shifted enough to see a tall boy with hair the color of straw wrapping the rope firmly around his hands. “I’ve got places to go and people to see,” he said breezily. “Pull on three? One … two…” The “three” was cut short as we all strained in unison.
With startling speed, the calf slipped to the ground in a wet tangle of limbs. The exhausted mother stretched her neck out on the dirt floor with a soft lowing sound. When her calf bawled in reply, I dropped the rope and released a long-held breath.
The blond boy took down the lantern and knelt beside Big Tom. His brown britches were patched at the knees, but clean. A cotton shirt worn thin from countless washings hung open at the collar, showing a wide swath of suntanned skin.
“Let’s see what we have here,” he said, untying the rope from the calf’s legs and carefully settling the ungainly, bloody newborn on its feet. Grabbing an empty feed sack from the ground, he murmured softly to the calf as he wiped it clean. His broad hands moved over the animal’s reddish hair with practiced, gentle strokes. “You’re a fine young fellow, aren’t you?” He glanced at the mother cow, his eyes soft with concern. “We’ll get your mama up and about in no time. Y’all will both be all right.” A flutter of surprise lofted through my chest. I hadn’t expected such tenderness on the farm.
The boy looked up at me, his light brows raised. “Are you the new hand come to help out?”
A little knot of defeat formed in the pit of my stomach. Big Tom and Hettie needed a worker who could make a real contribution. Until this boy arrived, my help hadn’t been enough. I had to improve. It was my only chance of staying and being near my sister.
I nodded in reply to the boy’s question. His eyes locked on mine. “Well now, you’re not exactly what I was expecting.”
I watched Big Tom and Hettie go, noting the anxious tones of their hushed conversation. “I’d say that’s the majority opinion here.”
“I’m Abel Atchley. I’d offer to shake, but…” He lifted a hand, sticky with blood and Lord knew what else.
I accepted the challenge, gripping his hand tight and pumping it three times for good measure. “Verity Pruitt. Pleased to meet you.” A smile touched his lips.
My skirt puffed out as I sank down next to him. The calf gave a pitiful little bleat and sprawled back onto the hay, knobby knees jutting at odd angles.
“Don’t worry about helping out here,” Abel said. “You can head on back to the house.”
I thought I caught a playfulness in his eyes, a look I’d seen in everyone who smirked at my intentions of becoming a physician. “Would you say that if I were the boy you’d been expecting?” I asked sharply. “I’ll be just as helpful as you, given time and practice.”
“I was just trying to be considerate because you’re new, not because you’re a girl.” He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, wiping his hands as he stood. Abel took in my ragged appearance and fidgety hands. “If you get this worked up over every little thing, you’re going to run yourself crazy.”