Beth and Ruthie left the house at five in the morning to get over to the pastures early enough to begin bringing the lambs and pigs in. They liked to move slowly, let the animals meander and graze as they would on any other day. Ben Senior was always chiding his daughters about romanticizing the slaughter and getting too attached to the livestock, but this was the way they liked to do it, and he would never interfere. Their father usually came down at some point during the morning to check in, but he let them and Raoul run the show.
Enos, Raoul, and a couple of local kids were loading the truck when they arrived. After Enos felled the grazing steer most on the first shot, the group moved as one, quickly hoisting the dead animal on a pulley to bleed out. After the four steers were killed and bled, that field would be closed to livestock for at least a month to give the rains and vultures a chance to clean up any trace of the slaughter.
Beth and Ruthie stayed with the lambs and pigs in the holding pens until Enos returned. Their deaths, like the steers’, were quick and relatively painless. Once all were slaughtered, the carcasses were loaded into Enos’s refrigerated truck and taken to his processing barn in Prescott. He did all the butchering and packaging there. The meat was returned to Morgan’s Run by the following day.
The sisters never ate lunch on slaughtering day but paused for a cup of tea after Enos’ truck pulled out. Ruthie always cried. Beth seldom did, and today was no exception. Stoic and calm, she walked into the office, heated the tea, took her mug to the back porch and sat, gazing over the fields. When Ruthie joined her, they sat in silence for a while.
Finally Beth said, “Well, that’s done. I’m going to spend the afternoon picking strawberries. How about you?”
“Arugula and tender greens. Maybe tomatoes.”
It was their habit after a slaughter to spend the rest of the day in one of the fields or gardens instead of among the remaining livestock.
At five, Beth headed in, grabbed her things, and took off for the house, where she showered and changed into clean jeans. She was just about to grab one of her old tee shirts when she remembered the new tops she had purchased. Pulling out a soft sage-green top with low beaded neck, she slipped it on, pleased at the way it hugged her body. She brushed out her long hair, tied it loosely back, applied just a little makeup, and gazed at herself in the mirror, satisfied.
When she came downstairs, her father spied her and whistled. “Don’t you look a picture, sweetie? Got a hot date?”
“Hardly. Just meeting a friend in town.”
“Anyone I know?”
She hesitated, hating to lie to her father. “Lang Dillon.”
Ben Senior smiled. “Well, you’ll knock his socks off in that pretty getup, Bethie.”
“Thanks, Dad.” She kissed the top of his head. “Where’s Mother?”
“In the kitchen, gettin’ in Carmela’s way, I expect. How’d today go?”
“Fine. Enos, Raoul, and the crew did great.”
“You, too. Came down midmorning but didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Well, well, that’s more like it,” Leonora Morgan said, stepping into the living room.
“Looks like a million bucks, doesn’t she, Mama?” Ben Senior patted his wife’s behind as she sat on the arm of his chair.
“She certainly does. I may have to stop in at Gabriela’s myself. That’s a lovely top, darlin’, and it certainly suits you. Where are you off to?”
“I’m late, so I’ll let Dad tell you.” Without waiting for her mother’s response, Beth grabbed her bag and scurried out the door.
As she stepped off the porch, she heard her mother saying, “Well, well, well, what’s that about?” Beth grimaced, thinking about the third degree that would be waiting upon her return.