Finding Home (12 page)

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Authors: Lois Greiman

BOOK: Finding Home
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Emily drew a shuddering breath. “It looked fully formed. And the mom . . .” She winced. “It was really hard for her.”
“She was probably too young. Not big enough to deliver it.”
Emily winced.
“There was nothing you could have done.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You did good. Now go on back upstairs and get some sleep.”
Emily stared at him a moment, then chanced a watery smile. “Okay. Thank you,” she said, and without a glance at Casie, headed toward the stairs.
The entry went quiet.
A dozen emotions seeped through Casie's system. She didn't try to sift through them. Anger was easier to deal with than the mushier ones. She let it take hold.
“What?” Colt asked but she shook her head.
“I've got to get to work,” she said and turned toward the door.
But he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Case—”
“The circle of life?” She snarled the words as she swung back toward him. He backed up a step, eyes wide.
“What about it?” he asked.
“If you'd had a French horn to back up the lyrics, you could have been a real hero.”
“What the hell's wrong with you? She was upset,” he said. “I was just trying to make her feel better. Geez, Case, she's just a girl.”
She raised one brow at him.
“I mean, she's
young
.”
Which made her what? Ancient?
“You're right,” she said finally. “Well . . . thanks for clarifying that.”
“Shit, Case, when did you become such a hard-ass?”
“Maybe it was when you goaded me into riding that dumb sheep.”
“What?”
What?
She hadn't thought about that wild ride for more than a dozen years. “Nothing. Just . . .” She made a shooing motion toward the door. “I have to get to work.”
“You blame me for that?”
“You said I couldn't do it.”
“That didn't mean you
should.
”
“Well, it certainly didn't . . .” She drew a deep breath. “It doesn't matter. That was centuries ago.”
“What other dumb-ass decisions do you blame me for?”
“Nothing,” she said and shoved him toward the door.
“Is that why you rode the dun? To prove something to me?”
“Of course not.” She was beginning to feel desperate, which was just stupid. He had nothing to do with her decisions.
“Is that why you got engaged to Buck?”
“What?”
The question was little more than a gasp of outrage.
He stared at her, eyes solemn. “You don't have to prove anything to me, Case,” he said.
Anger swelled up in earnest. Pulling the door open, Casie put both hands on his shoulders and shoved him onto the porch. “And
you
don't have to prove you're an ass,” she said, then slammed the door in his face.
C
HAPTER
12
“H
ey. ”
Casie sat straight up in bed, immediately clearheaded and cognizant for once.
“What?” she asked and managed to switch on the lamp in the room where she'd slept for most of her life. “What's wrong?” she asked, but Emily just shook her head.
“You'd better come out,” she said and left the room.
Five minutes later, she and Casie once again stood side by side in the cattle barn. It was three forty-five in the morning. A cow lay stretched out on the frosty ground, absolutely still, eyes staring. The scene was a painful reproduction of the situation not forty-eight hours before. This time, however, the newborn calf was on its feet. Still wet with amniotic fluid, it wobbled around for a moment, then flopped to the ground in a tangle of legs and umbilical cord.
“The mom's . . .” Emily cleared her throat. “The mom's dead, right?”
A fairly creative stream of curse words zipped through Casie's head. But she kept her tone steady. After all, Em was just a kid. What's-his-face had said so. “Looks like it.”
The girl pursed her lips. She seemed strangely old. “What do you think happened?”
Casie exhaled carefully. “I don't know.”
“What should we do with the calf?”
“I don't know.” Her voice was sounding a little strained. She took a deep breath. “Maybe we can bottle-feed her.”
“But she'll need colostrum, right?”
“I suppose.”
“Maybe Curly will take her.”
“Curly?”
“The mom from yesterday.” Her young face was very serious.
“The yearling?”
“Uh-huh.”
Casie shook her head. “I don't think so, Em. She's awfully young.”
“What does that have to do with it?” There was a new tightness in her voice that may have suggested tears.
Casie shrugged. She was light-years out of her element.
“Just cuz she's young doesn't mean she can't be a good mother.”
Casie shrugged again, but Emily wasn't giving up.
“Right?” she asked.
“I don't know.” Holy Hannah, three in the morning hardly seemed like the ideal time to be discussing such existential topics.
“Because studies show that young parents have more energy and enthusiasm than their older counterparts. Plus, there are often fewer medical problems if the mother is under thirty.”
Casie stared at her. Emily blinked.
“I read a lot,” she said.
Casie sighed, staring at the corpse. The animal's legs were already stiff. “I'm pretty sure she was under thirty.”
“I think the article applied to people.”
“Well, it doesn't really matter, does it?” she said. “Cuz she's dead.” She felt tired and bitter. Memories of her own mother had been cropping up lately. Memories of laughter and warmth and pinwheel cookies. Kathy Carmichael always knew how to soften the blows.
“Let's just put her in with Curly,” Emily said, nodding toward the calf, which was trying to rise again. “Maybe they'll bond or something.”
Fairy tales. “It doesn't work that way, Em.”
“What do you mean? Mr. Dickenson said cows can make good foster moms.”
“
Mr.
. . .” She shook her head, shocked by the idea that the girl would give her childhood nemesis such a respectful title. “Dickey . . .” She caught herself. Emily was obviously estranged from her mother and probably in desperate need of a role model. What kind of monster would try to take that away from a young, impressionable girl? “I don't think that's exactly what Mr. Dickenson meant.”
“But he knows about cattle, right? He's a cowboy.”
“He's a bronc rider.” All hat and no cattle, some people would say. “Not a working rancher.”
“Well, let's just put the two together. I mean, we've got to try something, right?”
Casie considered disagreeing, but she was too tired and there were tears in the girl's eyes.
The cow called Curly hadn't yet delivered her afterbirth on the previous day, so after removing the stillborn, Casie had kept her in the isolation pen in the hopes that she would “clean” herself without veterinary intervention. Although she had done so, she hadn't eaten the hay they'd offered and now rose cautiously to her feet as she saw them prodding the sodden calf in her direction.
“She looks interested,” Emily said.
Her tone sounded taut with hopefulness. There was nothing more deadly than hope. Casie scowled and opened the gate.
The calf wobbled inside. The cow rumbled low in her throat and took a step forward.
“It's all right,” Casie crooned, and shutting the gate, stepped back to give them space.
Emily held her breath as the newborn stumbled forward with single-minded eagerness, but Curly shambled away.
That scene was replayed a half dozen times before the calf tumbled to the ground and stayed put.
Outside the enclosure, the women remained in immobile silence until Emily finally spoke again.
“What if we tie her up? Make her stand so the baby has a chance to nurse?” she asked, but Casie shook her head.
“It's just . . . they don't take other cows' calves, Em. We'll take Baby inside. Try to bottle-feed her. Maybe I can get some colostrum tomorrow.”
“But that's hours from now. She might not even live that long.”
“There's nothing else we can do, Em. It's not—” she began, but when she glanced to her right, she saw that the girl's lips were pursed as if she could hold back the emotions with sheer willpower, and somehow that almost made it sadder. “All right,” she said and trudged from the barn to gather a few necessities.
In a minute she was back with a lariat. The stiff loop felt awkward in her gloved hands.
“You can rope?” Emily asked, eyes wide.
“Not really. There's not much space.” The pen was less than two hundred square feet. Big enough for the cow to move around. Small enough for someone to get seriously injured when the animal panicked. “But maybe I can drop a loop over her head and tie her up on the post there,” she said and nodded to her right. It sounded good, but the truth was she didn't know what the hell she was talking about. “You stay out here,” she added, and crooning again, ventured into the enclosure. “It's all right, girl. It's okay,” she said, and taking a step forward, swung the loop. It hit the cow's left shoulder and sent her pivoting away in terror. In the meanwhile, the calf had risen shakily for its umpteenth try at life.
“Easy now. Easy,” Casie said, stalking again. Recoiling the rope, she made a second attempt. The loop hit the cow's ear and fell harmlessly to the straw-strewn floor, but in her panic, Curly struck the calf with her shoulder. The baby flew through the air, landed with an audible thud, and remained where she lay.
In a second, Emily was crouched beside it.
“Is she all right?” Casie asked. The cow was facing her again, eyes mad with fear.
“I don't know,” Em said, but at that moment the baby raised her wobbly head and tried to rise. “I think so.”
“We'd better get her to the house before things get worse,” Casie said and moved toward the gate, but Em shook her head.
“One more try. Please. If it doesn't work, we'll quit.”
Casie sighed and wrangled the rope back into a coil. In the end it was dumb luck that caused the loop to fall over the animal's head. Instead of darting away, she charged forward, essentially snaring herself.
“Tie her up! Tie her up!” Emily yelled, but the animal had already ripped the rope from Casie's hands and was dragging it madly around in a circle. There wasn't much they could do but wait for her to settle down. When she finally stopped, Casie crept forward and snagged the end of the rope. It took several minutes for them to wrap the hemp around a nearby post, longer still for Emily to shoo the cow close enough to the fence so they could snub her up tight, disallowing much movement.
By then the women were panting and wide-eyed. Any memory of being chilled was long gone.
Curly stood wheezing, rope stretched tight, eyes bulging.
“Are you sure she's all right?” Emily asked, but Casie wasn't sure of anything.
“Let's just get the baby up to her while we can,” she said.
In a moment they were guiding the little creature toward Curly's udder.
“Hey, cow,” Casie crooned. They scooted the baby forward a couple more steps. Standing as far away from the skittish heifer as possible, Casie cupped a hand under the baby's jaw and guided it toward the milk source. Baby bumped upward with her bony head, and the cow, already enraged, reared against the rope.
“Get back!” Casie warned. Emily jerked away, but the calf didn't, and as the cow toppled onto her side, the baby was crushed beneath her ponderous weight.
“No!”
Only the little animal's head could be seen beneath the cow's prone body. Its eyes were wide with terror, its tongue outstretched in a soundless plea for help. But in a moment Curly scrambled to her feet. The calf, however, remained where she was.
Emily cursed and lurched forward, just managing to drag Baby from beneath Curly's mincing hooves. She wasn't fast enough to avoid being struck by the cow's swinging hindquarters, however, and was tossed through the air like a paper doll.
Casie ended up dragging both the calf
and
the girl away from the heifer's frenetic struggles.
When the three of them were finally outside the pen, Emily sat on her butt with her booted legs stretched out in front of her and the wet calf lying kitty wompus across her lap. Casie was doubled over, panting and shaking.
“What were you thinking?” she breathed. “You could have been—”
“Is she dead?” Emily asked, staring dismally at the soggy animal stretched across her legs.
“I don't know if—” Casie began, but at that moment the calf raised her head. Casie took a steadying breath. “We'll take her up to the house.”
“But she needs—”
“Lots of animals survive without mothers,” Casie snapped.
Emily nodded and rose shakily to her feet.
 
It was still well before dawn when they finally stumbled down the cellar stairs, panting, muscles straining as they lugged the calf between them. The concrete walls and dark interior did nothing to improve the mood.
Lacking dried milk specifically created for calves, Casie stirred up a batch of lamb replacer. But after ten minutes Baby hadn't gotten more than a quarter of a cup or so and most of that had been dribbled down her chin.
The girls sat in dismal dismay. “Well . . .” Casie tried to sound chipper. “She's got some, at least. Why don't you go back to sleep. I'll call around first thing in the morning and figure out the next step.”
Emily opened her mouth as if to argue, but finally she stood and dragged herself up the stairs.
Casie watched her go, then using a towel from a nearby pile, rubbed the calf as dry as she could and covered her with a blanket. The baby looked small and forlorn beneath the ratty woolen. Tears sprang up in Casie's eyes, but she shook her head at the foolishness and rose to her feet.
From the pen nearby a trio of lambs had begun to bleat. It wasn't yet time for their feeding, but she might as well see to it now since she was awake.
Trudging to the kitchen sink, she reached for the tap before she heard the murmured voice behind her. Turning, she saw that the telephone receiver was off its hook and the cord stretched around the wall and out of sight.
“. . . going to die. . . . Mom . . . I know . . .”
Casie turned away and twisted the faucet to warm. So Emily had finally called her mother. She sniffled once and wiped her hand beneath her nose. It was about time the girl got in touch with her family. This was no place for her. In fact, it was no place for Casie, either. Stupid animals always died. She wiped her nose again and dumped a half cup of dried milk into the bowl before adding water and whisking it into a froth.
“You okay?”
Casie jumped at the sound of Emily's voice and cleared her throat. “Of course,” she said but didn't turn around. “How's your mom?”
There was the slightest delay. “She's fine.”
“You probably woke her up, huh?”
“She doesn't sleep much.”
“Really?” She needed a Kleenex. Maybe she was developing allergies. Or maybe the long nights were just getting to her. Little wonder she had a runny nose.

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