Will knew mechanical things, but he wasn’t fond of them. They weren’t as reliable as his horses. And besides, he couldn’t talk to them. They didn’t respond like his horse.
“Fanny Too, how’d we get into such trouble? It doesn’t look good, does it, old girl?”
Fanny Too nuzzled Will’s neck.
A machine wouldn’t do that.
“I know. I know. You’ve done your best. It’s me who’s made the mess.”
Will opened the gate, then paused before he left Fanny Too’s stall. “It’s okay, old girl. We’ll see this through together.”
Will walked slowly around the barn and up the ramp to the hayloft. He sat on a half-empty grain bag and placed his head in his hands. He remembered a tug-of-war competition when he was a boy. He’d slipped on the rope, and he and his friends lost the competition. He knew it was his fault, and he’d let them down. He ran all the way home and cried in his room. Over tug-of-war. It seemed so important then. He looked around the loft. The fork rope dangled to the floor. It hung limp, inviting… no, he wouldn’t let Mary face the music alone.
Will reached around the milk house door and grabbed his fishing pole. The morning’s dew sparkled in the grass. More than half his herd was gone. With so few cows, milking hadn’t taken long. He’d hated letting Petr go, but he’d had little choice. Thankfully, George Snell needed the help. Will hoped that Snell would keep Petr on through the winter. He had enough cows needing milking.
Where could he fish undisturbed today? This may be his last chance before winter set in. Maybe the downed tree behind Earl Roberts’s place. He hadn’t been there since the summer. Did he really want to go near Earl’s? Still, he felt drawn in that direction. He walked through his bean field, threw his pole over the fence, and slid under the bottom strand. He ambled through the hay stubble and turned toward the river. A slight cooling breeze blew in Will’s face, and as he approached his largest corn field, the stalks bent to confront him. When he stopped to wipe his brow, he could hear their murmuring, could hear their whispered accusations.
Will turned toward the river. Should he go the long way or cut behind Earl’s buildings? He decided to slip behind Earl’s place. The shortcut saved a half-mile walk. From a distance Will saw Marge and their youngest daughter, Emily Lou, racing around the yard. He edged closer until he could hear a man’s voice call from the barn. The words weren’t those that Will would utter around his children. He moved closer. Emmy Lou saw him and ran in his direction. “Mr. O’Shaughnessy, Dad’s having a terrible time. He can’t get the machines working, and the cows are bawling for relief.”
Will approached the barn door. He wasn’t sure he should be there. “Earl, are you in here?”
Will heard a commotion inside the milk house. He hesitated but walked toward the noise. “What’s wrong?”
“Will O’Shaughnessy, what are you doing here? I’ve got enough trouble as it is.”
“What’s wrong, Earl?”
“It’s this damn pump. It’s not working, not drawing air.”
“Maybe I can help.”
“Will, I swore if I never saw you again, it would be too soon. You’ve left me in a terrible fix. I’m lucky I haven’t lost any cows, least not yet. Could lose my whole herd.”
“No one feels worse than I do, and no one’s lost more. You know I had no bad intent.”
“We trusted your judgment. Now, I may not have enough income to pay my bills. I’ll be in a terrible fix if I lose cows.”
“It may not come to that. Let me look at your pump. Do you have a five-eighths socket?”
Will levered the piston. “Your rings are shot. It’ll take a few days to get new ones.”
“What’ll I do for milking? The cows can’t wait. I’m rusty milking by hand.”
“I’ll help. I owe you that. But I want to try something first. Bring your tractor over.”
“Tractor?”
“I’ve got an idea. Always thought it might work.”
Earl drove his Farmall tractor toward the milk house.
“Come as close to the door as possible,” Will said. “A little more left.”
Earl backed within two feet of the doorway.
“Whoa, that’s close enough. I’ll need a long vacuum hose, a spark plug wrench, and I’ll need a petcock, too.”
“What are you up to? I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t know that I trust your judgment anymore.”
“Fair enough, Earl. I don’t know that it’ll work either, but it’s worth a try. It could save lots of squeezing.”
While Earl retrieved the hose and wrench, Will inspected the milk line. He hoped the vacuum hose was long enough, but when he stretched it toward the tractor, he found that it wasn’t. “Earl, we’ll need something longer than this.”
“It’s the longest I could find. If it’ll help, I have another just like it.”
“Do you have a hose splice? Splicing’ll cut the draw, I think. I hope the tractor’s got enough vacuum to pull it.”
Earl returned with the splice and handed it to Will, who’d just removed the plug from the manifold. “I don’t understand.”
“If I insert this petcock into the manifold,” he fingered the shiny metal valve, “and then connect it to the milk line, I think your tractor can pull enough vacuum to run your machines.” Will screwed the petcock’s threads into the opening. “Keep your fingers crossed.”
The hose didn’t quite reach the milk line, so Will undid the connection and replaced the petcock with the plug. “Turn your tractor and come in from the side.”
After several attempts, Earl jimmied the tractor in place, so tight to the doorway they couldn’t get through. “Go round and work from inside,” Will said.
Will removed the plug once more and reinserted the petcock. He stretched the hose, and this time Earl could connect it to the milk line. He shouted to Will, “Start the engine.”
The engine popped and fizzled out. Will turned the crank again. The engine fired, coughed once, and then it settled into a hesitant, continuous popping.
Will slowly opened the petcock and heard the welcome sound of air rushing through the line. “It’s working. Attach a milking machine.”
Earl hung a canister under a cow’s udder. “I hope this works, Will.”
“I think it’ll do,” Will said as Earl attached the hose from the machine to the nearest petcock and then slipped the cups onto the cow’s teats, one at a time. A steady rhythm of surging milk greeted their ears.
“Looks like you did it right,” Earl said. “This time.”
“Looks like you won’t abuse your fingers,” Will said. “This time.”
Will strolled home, his fishing pole over his shoulder. He no longer felt the need to fish. Helping Roberts had been small recompense, and he felt better, but he wasn’t sure why he should.
“Well, Fanny Too. Let’s pull some of that brush that Petr cut last spring. I’ve been meanin’ to do that all summer.”
He hooked Fanny Too onto the stone boat and walked her through the gate, past his sparse herd, toward the far side of the enclosure. He knew a little exercise would do Fanny Too good, and it was good for him as well. It’d give him more time with his friend. “What do you think, old girl? Do you think I’ll be able to recover?”
Fanny Too turned toward him and nickered softly.
“But how’ll I make a living?”
They pulled brush across the pasture, through the gate, and into a large pile that Will stacked away from the barn. Will had seen innocent fires flare out of control and turn into monstrous beasts that consumed the farmer’s buildings. He needed to be careful.
The brush reached upward toward a sun that was now high in the sky. “Fanny Too, I think we’ve done enough for today.”
Will walked his horse to the water tank. When he released the brake, a wisp of wind sent the sail blades whirling, and fresh water gushed into the tank. Before the tank overflowed, Will pulled the rope which braked the flying sail. “No use wasting our precious water,” he said aloud to Fanny Too. She turned away. He supposed she understood people better than conservation.
After she dipped her nose and drank long, Will said, “That’s enough, Fanny Too. Can’t afford to get you sick, now can we? We need each other, old girl.”
Will led Fanny Too to her stall, forked hay into her manger and poured a scoop of oats alongside. He wanted to spend time with Catherine who was home for the weekend, so he turned toward the house, but not before he acknowledged Fanny Too’s enthusiastic whinny with a tip of his cap. “Enjoy those oats, old girl. Let’s hope there’s more work ahead.”
Will met Catherine as he stepped through the door. She ignored his greeting and ran past without a word. That’s not like my girl, Will thought, so he followed her toward the kitchen. Will took one step into the room and saw Catherine, her head buried in Mary’s bosom, crying her heart out. He retreated to his horsehair in the parlor. Whatever could be wrong?
After a few minutes, Will heard footsteps through the kitchen and then on the stairs. A moment later, Mary entered and sat across from him.
“What’s wrong with Catherine?” Will said. “She didn’t even say hello when I came in.”
“It’s a rough time for her, Will. She’s in a dither, worrying about this first teaching position. She’s worn herself to a frazzle, preparing all summer. She’s hardly left Sharon’s house. Then today, she went to Jenny Witherspoon’s for an afternoon tea. She planned to stay into the evening.” Mary looked so distressed that Will was alarmed. “The girls were so mean that she left and ran home. It’s the cattle thing. One of the girls said that you’ve stolen their livelihood, and that it’s all your fault.”
“Jenny? Her father didn’t lose any cows. Why, she’s Catherine’s best friend.”
“No, Jenny tried to defend Catherine. It was Liz Roberts. She was vicious. She wouldn’t let up.”
“I helped Earl today.”
“Liz probably didn’t know,” Mary said.
“It shouldn’t affect our girls. They had no part in this.”
“No, it shouldn’t, but it does. You should know better than anyone that life’s not always fair.”
The sins of their fathers. Could it get any worse?