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She had been milking when the pains started. She pressed her face against the cow’s warm belly to muffle her screams, but Vera heard her.
“What’s the matter?”
“I think it’s started.”
Vera pushed aside her own milking stool and came to stand beside Carol.
“It’s not due yet.”
Carol gasped as another wave of pain overtook her. The cow, a brown and white Jersey, turned its face toward her. Carol imagined sympathy in the soft brown eyes.
She felt the painful grip of Vera’s hand on her shoulder and heard the impatience in her voice.
“Not here. We have to go up to the bedroom. You can’t do it here; everyone will know.”
Carol staggered to her feet, knocking over the three-legged stool. The milk bucket tipped, and she watched the warm creamy milk spilling across the toes of her boots.
What a shame, she thought. Someone, somewhere, would go without their milk ration today.
With Vera tugging urgently at her arm, she took a step forward and looked down in horror as a gush of blood turned the milk pink.
Another wave of pain grabbed at her. Panic and horror overcame her self-control, and she screamed, making no attempt to muffle the sound.
Vera pulled at her again. “Shut up!”
It was too late. A man in brown overalls stood in the doorway of the barn.
She heard Vera’s protest. “It’s nothing. Stomach ache.”
The man shook his head. “That’s no stomach ache.”
Vera’s grip tightened on her arm. “Your name is Vera. Remember. You’re Vera Malloy.”