It was nearly spring the day Napoleon burst into the house carrying a large envelope in his hand. Making a quick bend to remove his boots, he untied them and kicked them off, a huge smile stretched across his face. Lea gave him an inquisitive look.
“We got it!” he said, handing her the long, brown envelope.
“What is it?” she asked, reading the return address. “Dominion Lands Office?” She gasped.
“Open it up!” Nap said.
Lea nearly ripped the envelope in two, her fingers trembling. When she read the contents, she lowered the letter and let out a squeal.
“The land is ours!” said Nap, picking her up and twirling her around. “It’s ours! We’ve done it!”
“What’s happening?” asked Pol, jumping up from the sofa, followed by Lilian.
“We own the farm!” cried Nap.
“We own the farm?”
“Yes!”
“We own the farm!” shouted Pol at the top of his lungs. “Today is March fourth, nineteen thirty-two, and WE OWN THE FARM!” He leapt on the couch and bounced up and down.
“No jumping on the furniture,” said Napoleon. “You’re too big. You’re almost ten years old.” He grabbed Pol and flung him around to a soft landing on the floor, then lifted Lilian and Claire in turn, throwing them into the air before catching them. He did a final twirl in the room with Lea, then stopped. “We need to celebrate. What’s for supper?”
“Cow pies,” said Pol.
Lea giggled. At seeing the dismay on Nap’s face, she said, “Don’t worry. He’s just joking. We’re having cod stew, made the right way.”
Lea had learned how to soak the fish for several hours, changing the water three times until all the salt had been rinsed out, then cooking the onions and vegetables with lard until soft. Next, she’d boil the potatoes separately, throwing them into the mixture when they were done. Then, and only then, did she add the cod and milk, cooking it for about fifteen minutes until the fish was flaky. Nap had raved about it, particularly after she began adding a small amount of bacon.
“Mmm!” said Napoleon, eyeing the pot on the stove. “Good choice.”
When they sat down for the long anticipated dinner, Napoleon ate about half of his serving, then laid down his fork.
“What?” Lea asked, noting the sober expression in his eyes.
“I was thinking we should trade the Jersey for a Holstein. It would save us the trip each day, exchanging milk with the neighbours.”
“Not the Jersey!” said Lea, holding her spoon in midair.
“It only makes sense. There’s a farmer, a Mr. McGraw that I met in town. He said he’d be glad to make the switch. His wife likes the cream for cooking.”
“But we’ve had her so long. And she’s more of a pet than anything else,” Lea said. “Besides, she’s your old girlfriend.”
Nap smiled. “I know, but we’ll get used to the new one.”
“No,” said Lilian, her elbows propped on the table, chin resting on her hands. “Jersey’s our cow.”
“Yeah,” said Pol. “How would you like it if we traded you in because you were too short?”
Nap let out a dry laugh. “I understand, kids, but she’s barely giving any milk anymore.”
“But that’s ’cause she’s hungry,” said Lilian.
“Yeah. I think we should keep her,” said Pol.
“I’m afraid not this time. We really need Holstein milk for Claire,” said Nap.
A few days later, the family surrounded the cow, petting her muzzle and neck as Nap prepared to lead her away.
“Goodbye, Jersey,” said Pol, biting his bottom lip.
“You’re the best cow of all,” said Lilian, her mouth hanging down in a pout, “and we’ll never forget you.”
“Ever,” said Claire.
They all waved as Napoleon mounted the horse, leading the cow by its rope.
“That’s like if we gave away Claire,” said Pol.
“I know,” said Lilian. “It’s not fair.”
They watched as Nap took the Jersey away until man and beast had climbed the hill and disappeared from view. Then they retired to the house.
It was a dark day…a Saturday. Grey clouds smothered the prairie. Lea worried that the children seemed a little too quiet, but then why wouldn’t they be? They’d just lost their pet.
Nap returned by lunchtime, dragging along a feisty young cow who tugged rebelliously on its rope.
Lea met him in the barn, dangling Claire on her hip, the other two children close behind. “So this is the new cow, then?” she asked. “What’s her name?”
“Mathilda,” replied Nap, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“Like my sister?”
“Afraid so.”
“Well, we’ll have to change her name. Let’s see now.” She put a finger to her lip. “How about Blacky?”
“Blacky,” said Pol, sneering. “No way. I know. How about Tar?”
“Tar! But tar’s sticky and smells bad,” said Lea.
“How about Rose?” suggested Lilian.
“Rose? That’s a nice name.” Lea placed her hand between the slats of the stall to pet the new cow. “Hello, Rose.”
It bolted backward in revolt.
“See? She doesn’t like that name,” said Pol.
“Guess it’ll take a while to get used to us, right girl?” Lea said.
And a while it took. Milking that night was quite the challenge. It took the efforts of both Nap and Lea to tether the cow and hobble her hind legs before they were able to calm her enough to extract the milk.
“Whoa, there, girl,” said Nap, knotting the animal’s rope to a slat of wood in the stall.
The cow tugged at the cord, letting out a fierce moo.
“It’s okay,” said Lea. “Here, Nap. I’ll slip behind her and tie her hoof while you distract her with a carrot.” She moved past the cow and slowly lifted its hock into the loop of the hobble, but before she could tighten it, the animal kicked her.
“Ow!” Lea cried, falling back in the straw.
“Here, let me try.”
They changed places.
Lea gave the cow a small piece of carrot while Nap grabbed her hind hoof and pushed it into the noose, pulling it taught before she had time to react.
“Ha! Gotcha!”
The young cow mooed in protest while Nap hobbled her other leg.
“She’s ready now,” he said.
Lea pulled out the stool and pail and began milking the new cow. She managed to fill the canister enough for their dinner that night, but dreaded repeating the routine again in the morning.
She awoke to extreme cold, the next day, her breath steaming from beneath the warm covers. Nudging Napoleon, she whispered, “I think it snowed. I’m freezing.”
In response, Nap rose and lit the fire he had prepared the night before, piling dried thistles on paper, followed by cow pies. After he replaced the cast iron lid on the stove, he walked outside to get more manure, a chilly draft blowing through the door as he retrieved it. But instead of closing the door as swiftly as he’d opened it, he stopped, his eyes growing twice their size. “Oh, my gosh!” he said
“What is it?” asked Lea. “Snow?”
Nap gave his head a slow turn, his lips breaking into an astonished smile as their eyes met.
“What?”
Nap clapped his hands. “Kids, get up! Come and see!”
The children scrambled from their warm beds, rubbing their eyes as they ran to the door. Lea picked up Claire and followed.
“What? Did Bonhomme Noël come early?” asked Lilian.
“No. This is better,” said Nap.
Lea peered outside and let out a cry.
The Jersey stood by the barn door, patiently waiting to be milked.
“She walked all the way home!” Lea exclaimed.
Grabbing their coats and boots, they ran outside to greet the cow.
“Jersey!” said Lilian as she threw her arms around its neck.
“Told you you should have never traded her,” said Pol.
Napoleon shrugged. “But I was only thinking of Claire.”
“Yeah, but Jersey loves us. This is her home,” said Pol, petting the animal’s muzzle.
“What are we going to do?” Lea whispered in Nap’s ear as the children showered the cow with attention.
“I guess I’ll have to take her back,” he answered, his voice equally low, “and explain what happened.”
“You’re going to make her travel all that distance?” asked Lea. “She was up all night walking. She’ll be too tired. She’s old, you know.”
“I know. Maybe I should go see McGraw on my own.”
It turned out to be unnecessary as McGraw himself arrived soon afterward.
Napoleon met him at the door, looking rather sheepish.
“That darned cow broke out yesterday,” said McGraw, his face in a scowl. “Can’t find her anywhere. Have you seen her?”
Napoleon nodded, tipping his head toward the barn. “She’s here. She came home last night.”
The farmer shook his head, dumbfounded and followed Nap into the barn. When they came out again, they talked for a while longer, then shook hands, the farmer leaving without the Jersey.
“What happened?” asked Lea.
“He says to keep her, that we can pay him back later on when the crop comes through. He says there’s no sense in forcing her to stay on their farm since she’ll only break out again.”
“So we get to keep Jersey?” asked Lilian.
“Yes,” said Nap. “She’s our cow for the rest of her life.”
“Yay!” Pol cheered.
A few weeks later, Nap’s words came to fruition when they found their dear beloved Jersey lying on her side in the pasture. Lea stared at their pet with pity. Could it be the animal had known her time was near and had come home to die?