Mary and Petr were only halfway through their supper when Will took his last bite and rushed his plate to the sink.
“Will, you’re as antsy as a cat in a calf pen,” Mary said. “Give us a chance to finish our meal.”
Will returned to his chair and took his Meerschaum from his pocket. He tapped his fingers on the table top; his unlit pipe dangled from his mouth.
When Petr forked the last scrap from his plate, Mary said, “Will, why don’t you and Petr wait in the other room. I’ll be there as soon as I’ve cleared the table.”
Petr ambled toward the parlor. Will stood, scowled at Mary, and then he turned away when she failed to look up. He threw up his hands and followed Petr, who’d already settled onto the scarlet settee. Will sat in his horsehair. “You’d think time didn’t matter,” Will said. “And I want more cows?”
“Calm down, Will. We don’t need to start milking for half’n hour.”
“The rate we’re going, it’ll be half the day.” Will took a match from his coverall pocket, struck it on his pant leg, and touched the flaming stick to his bowl. He took three deep draws, filled the air with sweet smelling smoke, and sat back in his chair. “I always feel better when this Meerschaum heats up.” Will drew again, mouthed it, and exhaled a fluffy donut that matured and faded as it wandered upward. “It’s a big step for us, Petr. Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe we shouldn’t.”
Mary entered the parlor and sat down. “Okay, Will, tell us your plan.”
“The war’s over,” Will said. “Life will change for everyone.” He puffed twice on his Meerschaum. “Our troops will return wanting all the things they’ve been deprived of these last years. They’re young. They’ll want families, and homes, and cars. They won’t save for tomorrow. They’ve seen their buddies die young, so they know tomorrow may never come.”
“How will that help us?” Mary said.
“They’re tired of rations. They’ll want to eat better. There’ll be more children and more demand for milk. We’re well positioned to serve Milwaukee, Chicago, Minneapolis, St. Paul. We’ll all make money for a change. Especially those of us who sell liquid milk. It’s time to expand, I think. I’ve got ten empty stanchions. Those I thought my heifers would fill.”
“But, Will,” Mary said, “that’ll be thirty-three cows. How can you and Petr ever milk that many? Would you consider beef?”
“I never farmed steers and I don’t want them now. No hogs either. Don’t even mention them.”
“It’d be a lot easier. More milking will put a strain on us all without machines.”
“No beef cattle!”
“A bit edgy, aren’t you, Will? Maybe we should talk about this another time.”
“I’m sorry, Mary. If we can get by for a while, maybe we can save enough to buy machines. I’ve studied it a bit, and I like those Surge milkers. Not right away, mind you. I’ll have to borrow to buy more cows. But, if we make enough—”
“How much will they cost?” Mary said.
“A good grade A cow? A hundred fifty, maybe more. Lots of farmers will be buying.”
Will knew that if he ever wanted to prosper, this was the time to be bold, the time to expand. But he had a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Too many things had already gone wrong.
Mary took a deep breath, walked to him, and grasped his hand. “Will, you’ve studied this. If you’re convinced, I’m with you. Maybe God has better things in store.”
Her touch lifted his spirits. When he was at low tide, Mary always made him feel better.
“I’ll start looking for cows tomorrow.”
* * *
Will searched the river valley, but couldn’t find the cows he wanted. When he drove to his brother’s, he wasn’t surprised at Frank’s response. “I’m looking to get out of milking. I’ll sell you my cows, but don’t expect me to give them away. I’ll expect a fair price.”
“I’ll pay market. Are they healthy?” Will knew the answer. Grandpa never kept an unhealthy cow, and he knew Frank wouldn’t either.
“Won’t find better.”
“Do you have production records?”
“Sure. They’re down a bit. Startin’ to dry up.”
“A little early for that, isn’t it?”
“I’ve been lettin’ them go.” He wiggled his fingers. “Can’t keep up anymore.”
“How much for ten cows?”
“One eighty-five each. I expect to sell all twenty-five at that price. It’ll be two hundred if I break up the herd. I don’t plan to do that, though. Plenty of buyers these days.”
“That’s a bit steep, and I can’t use twenty-five cows. I don’t have room for them.”
“I won’t sell them piecemeal, not yet anyway. Guess you’ll have to look elsewhere.”
Will was finding that difficult. “If I can get others to buy in, buy them all, will you take less?”
“I’ll keep shopping them. If they’re not sold by the time you get back to me, I’ll take one seventy-five each, but no less. They’ll not last long, I expect.”
Will rushed toward his buggy, and then turned back before he unhooked Fanny Too from his grandfather’s hitching post. “Will you hold them for a week?”
“Not if I can sell. And, Will, I expect you’ll pay the delivery cost.”
Will thought about the delivery cost on his way back home. He knew that Mary wasn’t fond of Finian McCarthy, and he supposed he could find another hauler. But Finian’s rates had always been reasonable. And with everything he could borrow going into these cows, he had to cut corners somewhere.
When Will arrived home, he found Mary in the kitchen. He explained Frank’s offer and told her that Frank wouldn’t pay for hauling the cows. When he suggested contacting McCarthy, Mary objected.
“I don’t trust that McCarthy. He’s a slick one.”
“He can be tricky, still, there’s not much damage he can do with the hauling, now is there?”
“I suppose not, but I’ve got this feeling that Finian could turn a honey covered sweet role into a smelly horse biscuit. With Frank asking so much, I suppose we must keep the cost down.”
“He’s always treated me right. His charges have always been reasonable. I think I’ll call him.”
Finian was as exuberant as ever. He told Will that he’d be glad to haul his cows, and that he’d come over the next afternoon to discuss prices.
Will called toward the kitchen, “Mary, Finian’ll be over tomorrow afternoon. Do you want to meet with him?”
Mary wiped her wet hands on her apron as she entered the room. “No, I don’t, but I’d better be here. It’ll probably take the two of us to see through that man’s schemes.”
“Now, Mary.” But Will knew her distrust of Finian wasn’t totally unreasonable. He turned toward the front door. “I’ve got cows to care for,” he said as he rushed from the house.
* * *
Finian McCarthy came down their drive in a new bright red Cadillac convertible.
“He couldn’t be in too much trouble,” Will said. “Looks like he’s doing okay.”
“Appears he’s lost some weight since we last saw him,” Mary said. “He looks kind of pale to me.”
Finian was his usual jaunty self. Dressed in shamrock green slacks, bright yellow suspenders, and a lavender shirt, Finian, despite being hampered by a walking cast, bounded up the slope toward the house.
“Hello, Will. What do you have in mind?”
He crouched and pointed toward Mary. “And HELLO, Mary! I swear—you look better every time I see you.”
He winked in her direction, took Will’s hand, releasing it before Will clenched a finger, and moved toward Mary. She quickly stepped away and turned toward the house. “I’ve got some muffins in the oven. Come inside for coffee and a muffin.”
When Finian offered to haul the cows for five dollars a head, two dollars less than anyone else, Will quickly agreed.
The next morning when he saw Henning at the creamery, Will explained his brother’s offer. At first, Henning was hesitant to buy more because the cows that he owned didn’t produce enough milk to justify the extra expense of grade A production. But when Will offered to help him turn horse stalls into stanchions and extend his air lines, Henning said that he’d think about buying ten cows.
Will knew that ten cows was all that he had room for in his barn, so he asked Earl Roberts to buy his brother’s last five cows. Earl worried that with so many boys returning to their farms from the war, the market might be loaded with milk. When Will convinced him that Swinstein, being a better marketer than most, would get them a good price, Earl agreed to help get Henning on-board, too.
* * *
Jesse drove down Will’s drive with the first load of cows on September 20, 1945. Petr helped them unload. Will was surprised to see his brother because he thought Jesse was hauling steers to Dubuque.
“Finian didn’t want anyone else to bring them. He told me, ‘He’s your brother.’ Kinda surprised me. We’re behind in our plant deliveries.”
Henning took ten cows. Will had upheld his end of the bargain and had helped Henning get started with the whitewashing and converting the horse stalls to stanchions. Until Henning could meet grade A standards, he would have to sell at grade B prices, but with Will’s help, it wouldn’t be for long.
Mary didn’t like the idea of Will being at Henning’s when, with so many cows, they needed him home. But he could see no way around it. If James and Earl hadn’t taken fifteen cows, then he couldn’t have purchased his ten. Will had tried to convince Frank to hold the cows back until Henning finished his barn.
“Can’t do that,” he’d said. “I need that hay to feed my steers through winter. I won’t feed someone else’s cows, too. Grandpa wouldn’t do it, you know.”
Frank was so like Grandpa Duffy that whenever Will was with Frank, it was easy to forget that Grandpa was a quarter-century gone.
Will’s herd now produced fourteen quarts per cow each milking. When Frank’s cows freshened, he expected to average fifteen. Milk prices edged up, too. Will hired Junkie Jenkins to help Mary and Petr while he helped Henning.
When Petr questioned the neighbor boy’s name, Will explained that Junkie came from a large family, and when he was still crawling around, an older brother proclaimed that he was just another piece of junk on the floor. And he’d been Junkie ever since.
Three of the twenty-five cows were to freshen in spring, so Will agreed to pay a premium to take those cows and gain their calves. If the calves were heifers and their mothers proved to be good producers, he would use them to replace older cows.
Will became concerned when one of the cows aborted her calf. When it happened a second time, he called his vet, Raymond Callison, who came right out. Will pulled his herd into the barn, and after a lengthy inspection, Callison delivered his verdict. “Will, I’m afraid you’ve got a problem. It looks like brucellosis to me. We’ll need lab work. I’ll have to quarantine your herd until we know for sure.”
Will grabbed hold of a stanchion. “Bang’s Disease? Frank said they’re disease free.”
“Did you see the vet’s papers?” Ray said. “They had to be certified before they were shipped. A state law, you know.”
“Frank said they were clean. It’s a good herd, from good producers. Grandpa and Frank only kept healthy cows.” Will felt unsteady on his legs. “He’s my brother.”
“I don’t know what could’ve happened. Don’t get too excited, not yet anyhow. Let’s wait for the tests. Have other cattle come in contact with yours?”
“Some went to Roberts and Henning.”
“Afraid I’ll have to quarantine them as well, at least until we know their cows are safe. If it’s Bangs and gets out of hand, it can affect humans as well as cattle.”
That night, James Henning and Earl Roberts pounded on Will’s door. “What’s this all about, Will?” Roberts screamed. “Did you buy sick cows?”
“Calm down,” Henning said. “Can we come in?”
Henning stayed calm, but Earl’s face was red and the veins protruded from his forehead. He pushed through the door and rushed at Will.
“Is Callison right?” he shouted.
“I’m sure this will turn out okay,” Will said. “Just a few days and we’ll know for certain. If you have losses, I’ll reimburse you, but it’ll take awhile for me to recoup, too.”
“It’s Bangs Disease!” Earl shrieked. “That’ll ruin us, put us out of farming. We’ll have to destroy our sick cows.”
“Earl, Callison isn’t sure. They’ll do tests. It must be a mistake. It’ll just be a few days, fellas. Those were my brother’s cows.”
Will couldn’t sleep. He went downstairs, took out his Meerschaum, and slumped into his oversized horsehair. Frank could be an S.O.B., but…
He heard Mary on the stairs and knew he must buck up.
“Are you okay?” She sat on the large arm of the chair. “Your brother wouldn’t sell bad cows. You know that.”
“I don’t think so, but he said his volume’s down. It’s not like him to let production slip. Not like him to let cows dry up early.” Will set his unlit Meerschaum on the side table. “I know this: Grandpa wouldn’t have slowed his output, not for any reason.”
“He’d not do this to his own brother.”
“Sick cows stop producing, Mary.”
“Why don’t you go see him? I’m sure he’ll clear this up. It’s probably all a mistake.”
The next day, Callison drove up Will’s long drive. “It looks bad, Will. The tests came back positive. We’ll have to destroy the sick ones, and the rest will have to remain under quarantine.”
“What about Henning and Roberts? I’ll not be able to face them. I talked them into it.”
“So far, only your cows test positive. We’ll have to watch. We won’t know for a while.”
“Have you told them?”
“I stopped on the way here. Sorry, Will. Bangs is bad, real bad. We gotta stop it early. One good thing. You’ll get reimbursed for each lost cow, about twenty-five percent, they say.”
Will stopped in the entryway to remove his coveralls and shoes; then he stumbled past Mary who was canning pears in the kitchen.
“These are the best pears we’ve had yet.” Mary reached one toward him. “Here, taste it.”
Will ignored Mary’s offer and slumped into his old horsehair. Mary followed him to the parlor. “Is it bad?”
“It’s bad, Mary. Just when I’d gotten to where I can make ends meet, they’ve gone and moved the ends on me. What will we ever do?”
Mary sat beside him and took his hand. “We’ll do like we’ve always done, my dear. We’ll find a way.”
Mary always stood by him when he needed her. Why hadn’t he listened to her? If he’d not rented to Swartz, if there’d not been a fire, they’d not be in this fix. He’d have his rent, and his heifers would be producing by now. Will’s thoughts turned to a Dickinson poem that he’d heard Catherine recite so often. It told about a door opening to wealth and companionship. Then suddenly that door was slammed shut, leaving only misery.
How could his brother do this to him?