The Harvest of Grace (2 page)

One

From her perch on the milking stool, Sylvia patted the cow’s side and cooed to her, enjoying the warm softness of the cow’s hide. “You’re feeling better now,
ya
?” Puffs of white vapor left her mouth when she spoke, and her fingers ached from the cold.

The cow mooed gently as if answering her.

Sylvia removed the claw milker from the cow’s udder and sprayed Udder Care to prevent chaffing and to ward off mastitis. She set the stool and bucket out of the way, moved to the far end of the stalls, and pulled the lever that opened the tie rails, releasing the last round of cows from their milking stalls.

Daed
lifted two buckets of milk and headed for the milk house. “What are you humming this morning?”

“Oh. Uh …” She hadn’t realized she was humming, so she had to pause for a moment and think. “Moon River.”

“Sure does sound nice. This place don’t seem the same when you’re off. No one else I know hums while working a herd.” He disappeared into the milk house to dump the fresh liquid into the milk tank.

Unlike a lot of Daeds, Sylvia’s hadn’t minded when she bought an iPod during the early years of her
rumschpringe
. The
Englischer
who picked up their milk three times a week had always recharged it for her. But then, five years ago, it fell under a cow during a milking and was trampled to death. Since she still hadn’t joined the faith, she could’ve bought another iPod, but Lilly was seven by then and hanging around the barn more. It would have hurt Lilly to realize that her older sister didn’t always keep the Old Ways, so she never replaced it. But she missed some of her favorite songs, like “Moon River.” The lyrics about the dream maker always made her think of Elam.

Her pulse quickened as she envisioned Elam next to her in the barn. His good looks seemed more suited to modeling in Englischer ads than managing a dairy herd, and she found his physical presence frustratingly compelling. He frequently mentioned marriage lately, and she could imagine their future together, always being close to him, waking alongside him in the mornings. But she had reservations too. Didn’t she want more from true love than heart-pounding attraction? Maybe she just needed to spend more time talking with him about their “rainbow’s end,” and all her reservations would melt into nothingness.

She patted a few cows on the rump, gently moving them along. The herd desperately wanted in the barn at milking time, each cow hurrying to a stall in the milking parlor, but they weren’t eager to leave the building afterward. Their contented lowing and the ease with which they lumbered outdoors toward the bunk feeder and water trough made her smile. The large creatures were the same today as they’d always been—peaceful and productive.

In a side stall a new calf nursed from its mother. Ginger slid her head across the wooden gate, and Sylvia rubbed her long forehead. Sylvia had been up half the night making sure Ginger didn’t have any trouble bringing the calf into the world. Fortunately, Sylvia hadn’t needed to pull the calf or call a vet. Both were victories she was proud of.

Two years ago after she’d cried over the death of both a cow and her calf, her Daed did the unthinkable. He gave her the right to tend to the breeding of the herd as she saw fit. Her ways took more effort than his, but she’d not lost a cow or a calf yet. Milk production was up, and the overall health of the herd had improved. She had her grandpa’s teachings to thank for that.

Her Daed returned from the milk house. “I bet you’re thinking about
Daadi
Fisher.”

“Ya, I think of him every time a healthy calf is born.” As a child she’d been her grandfather’s shadow while he tended to the cows, and she’d been young when he began training her in the value of careful breeding and vigilance during every labor and birth. In spite of her being a girl in a patriarchal society, he believed in her. When he’d passed away a couple of years ago, she thought her heart might break.

Daed headed toward the remaining buckets of milk.

Sylvia pushed the wheeled cart that carried all her milking supplies toward the mud sink. “I need the two heaviest of those buckets, Daed.”

“Two?” His eyes met hers, reflecting interest. “You making more yogurt already?”

“I am.”

“Are we eating that much, or are you selling that much?” He poured the white, frothy liquid into a sterilized milk can for her and securely tamped down the lid.

“The answer to both is yes.”

It was rare to see a smile on Daed’s face before breakfast, but he grinned broadly. “
Sell iss gut
, ya?”

“Ya, it’s a good thing.” She pushed the supply cart into the milk house section of the barn and then returned to the parlor. “Daed, do you mind if I go to the house early? A bad dream woke Ruth up last night. I promised her that this morning I’d prove it was just a dream.”

He tossed a pitchfork into a wheelbarrow and went into the first stall. “Sure, go on.”

Sylvia abandoned her usual routine and climbed the haymow. After finding the mama cat’s new hiding place for her kittens, she gently placed Ruth’s favorite tabby into the inside pocket of her coat and then went back down the ladder.

“Hey, Daed.”

He turned, and she pulled out the kitten, once again hinting at her ultimate goal: for Ruth to be allowed to keep this one inside the house when the little fur ball was a week or so older.

A lopsided grin caused one side of his face to wrinkle, and she wondered what had him so jovial this morning. “Just don’t get me in trouble over it. And make sure Ruthie knows it can’t stay inside. Barn cats tend to become mean once they get a little age on them.”

Sylvia put the milk cans into a wooden handcart. “They wouldn’t if—”

“Go already.” He shooed her toward the barn door. “I don’t want to hear any more of your newfangled ideas about how I could run this farm differently. They always cost me money and energy.”

His tone was playful, but she’d be wise to accept that he meant his words … for now. He’d come a long way in accepting her ideas concerning the farm. She often wondered if he’d give her any say if he had a son. She’d never know, because he had nine daughters, of which she was the eldest and the only one with a heart for farming.

His other daughters were more typical and girlish in every possible way, preferring housework over farm work. The three teenagers—Beckie, Lizzie, and Naomi—hated farming, always had. Lilly, who’d just turned twelve, would never complain about anything, but the smells and hard work made her queasy. The four youngest—Ruth, Barbie Ann, Salome, and Martha—were a hazard in the barn, causing Daed to shoo them away if they set foot inside the milking parlor.

Pushing the milk cart, Sylvia hurried from the barn to the house. Last week’s snow glistened under the early morning sunlight. She toted the heavy milk cans inside one by one, being careful not to lean the containers against her body and squish the kitten.

The warmth of the entryway made her cold fingers scream in pain. Delicious aromas of sausage, biscuits, and coffee made her mouth water and her tummy rumble, keen reminders of how long and cold her night had been.

Her
Mamm
was adding wood to the stove, and Lizzie stood at the sink, washing dishes. There was never a shortage of dirty glasses and plates in a house with eleven people.

Sylvia removed her wader boots. “Morning.”

Lizzie yawned. “That it is, and it arrives way too early in this house.”

“Why, there you are.” Mamm closed the door to the stove, smiling and motioning for her. “
Kumm
. Warm yourself. How’s that mama cow?”

“Ginger and her newborn are doing great.”

“I’m glad, but a girl shouldn’t have to work like you do.”

“I love it. You know that.”

Mamm put her arm around Sylvia’s shoulders and squeezed. “Still, we need a solution, and your Daed’s found one that is right around the corner.”

Sylvia would never get used to Daed making plans about the farm without telling her. “What does that mean?”

Naomi came through the back door, carrying an armload of firewood. She held the door open while Beckie entered with a lighter bundle of wood.

Beckie’s blond hair peeked out from under one of Daed’s black felt hats, and her blue eyes shone with spunk. “Good grief it’s cold out there. Isn’t it time for warmer weather?”

Mamm pulled several mugs out of the cabinet. “Your Daed said they’re calling for a long winter and a late spring this year.”

Clearly her mother had no intention of answering Sylvia’s question. She’d find out whenever her Daed was ready for her to know.

Naomi dumped her load of wood into the bin and quickly straightened it. After she finished, Beckie tossed hers in and began warming her hands over the stove. Naomi straightened the mess, piece by piece. Getting the morning firewood used to be Beckie’s job, but she wasn’t good at doing chores by herself. Not making beds, washing dishes, or getting firewood. She would come back with only a couple of pieces of wood, and later, when Mamm wanted to add fuel to the stove, the bin would be empty. Sylvia and her sisters used to fuss about doing their jobs and then having to help Beckie with hers, but arguing only made everyone’s days miserable. In the end, someone still had to help Beckie in order for all the chores to get done.

On washdays when it was time for Beckie to gather the dirty clothes, she seemed half-blind, always forgetting a few hampers, including the diaper pails. Since Naomi, a brown-haired beauty, was as meticulous as they came, she and Beckie were assigned to work together. Beckie was sweet and plenty smart. She just needed to mature, and Sylvia trusted she’d do that one day. But at eighteen, she had a ways to go.

Beckie dusted her gloved hands over the woodbin. “These temps wouldn’t be so bad if someone in this room”—Beckie stared at Sylvia, amusement dancing in her eyes—“wouldn’t abandon her side of our bed to tend to cows. I woke up lonely and with my toes freezing.”

“You could’ve bedded down beside Ginger. Then you wouldn’t have been lonesome or cold.”

Beckie peeled out of her gloves. “Ew, gross. I will never be
that
frosty or alone, thank you very much. It’s unfair that we ended the day just right, and the next thing I know, I’m in a cold bed all by myself.”

Sylvia couldn’t help but smile. Beckie and she had slept in the same bed since Beckie was old enough to leave her crib. And as far back as Sylvia could remember, they’d ended most days in the same way, sharing things only sisters did and then whispering,
“Im Gott sei Lieb”
—in God’s love—over each other, putting their joys and sorrows in His hands before they fell asleep.

The kitten mewed, and Mamm stopped pouring coffee into a mug. Beckie gazed into Sylvia’s eyes, doing her best to suppress a laugh. Lizzie glanced her way and seemed to purposefully drop a plate onto the countertop in an effort to distract their mother. Thankfully it wasn’t breakable.

“Meow.” Beckie mimicked the kitten and did a good job of it. “Meow.”

Mamm sighed. “Beckie, stop that. I thought I heard a real cat.”

“Me too.” Lizzie mocked scolding Beckie as she picked up the plate.

Mamm didn’t like or trust cats. Rational or not, she worried that they’d scratch one of her daughters’ faces and leave scars.

“I can’t find my homework.” Ruth’s whiny voice was a clear indication of how poorly she’d slept last night.

“Coming.” Mamm wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “She’s so miserable this morning that I don’t know if she can go to school.”

“I’ll see to her.” Sylvia hurried toward the doorway of the kitchen. “And she’ll be in the mood to go within the hour. I’m sure of it.”

“I hope so,” Mamm said. “She loves school like you love farming.”

“Ah, but she’ll grow out of liking school,” Sylvia teased before getting to the steps.

“Wait,” Mamm said.

Sylvia stopped and turned.

Mamm propped her hands on her small hips. “You need to eat.”

“Oh, she’s fine,” Beckie said. “I’ll fix her some coffee and take it to her.”

“You girls.” Mamm sighed. “Something’s going on. I know that much.”

“We’re just pitching in to help each other like you taught us,” Lizzie said.

“Ya, uh-huh.” Mamm slung the dishcloth onto her shoulder, a move she repeated dozens of times every day. “You all stick together like peanut butter and jam.” She motioned for Sylvia to go. “Well, do whatever you’re going to do. But I want food in you within the hour. You were out most of the night, and you also need to get some sleep.”

Mamm’s correcting tone grated on Sylvia a bit. It never seemed to dawn on her Mamm that by Sylvia’s age, she was married and had been running her own home for more than four years. She had one child and another on the way by twenty-two. But as long as Sylvia was unmarried, it seemed she’d be treated like a child.

When Sylvia stepped into Ruthie’s bedroom, her little sister was sitting on her bed, crying. The sight of it tugged on Sylvia’s heart. She covered her lips with her index finger and closed the bedroom door. “Shh. Don’t squeal. But look what I have for you.” Sylvia eased the kitten from her pocket.

Ruthie’s eyes lit up, in much the same way Sylvia imagined her own did whenever Elam came to the house. “Whiskers.” Ruth held out her hands. “She is alive.”

“I told you it was just a bad dream.” Sylvia placed her hand on Ruth’s forehead, checking for a fever. She didn’t seem to be coming down with a bug.

“How’d you get Whiskers past Mamm?”

“The little fur ball likes to snuggle in warm places.”

Sylvia laid Whiskers in Ruth’s lap. She’d no more than gotten Ruth and Whiskers settled and content when Martha started crying, demanding someone get her out of her crib, which woke Salome and Barbie Ann.

The day became a blur of tending to little ones, doing laundry, preparing meals, taking the school-age children to school and picking them up, and helping Beckie make herself another new dress. Sylvia didn’t know why Beckie felt she needed one by that evening when she wasn’t going anywhere, but they got it done before supper. Sylvia also managed to squeeze in a nap before returning to the barn for the second milking.