The Wish and the Peacock

by Wendy S. Swore

  “Okay, Paige, now make a loop and half hitch above the ankle and then do it again just above the hooves. Don’t forget to keep the chain right over the toes, so you don’t hurt the joints.”

  When both feet are chained, I hook the loose ends up to the handle of the puller, but before I can crank the lever, Mr. Rivas’s Chevy pulls up with Mateo riding shotgun.

  The doors fly open, and Scotty jumps out, chattering all the way from the truck to the barn, as if his brain is stuck on overdrive. “ . . . and Paige said not to call, but complications are more probable with a breach calf, and an eighteen-hundred-pound cow has got to be at least as dangerous as a horse, which can kick with two thousand pounds of force per square inch, so . . .”

  Mr. Rivas and Mateo step up onto the stall rail, watching me work.

  “I got this.” I grip the long handle with one hand and pump the lever carefully back and forth with the other.

  Mr. Rivas climbs in, eyes the chains, and braces the handle on my calf-puller. “Ándale, sure. You do it. Go on.”

  I don’t want him in my stall. This is my place; just me and my dad come in here.

  “Do you need help?” Mateo asks, and I shake my head.

  “I can do it!” Gripping with both hands, I slowly pump the lever up and down, the chain dragging the tiny hooves further out into the world.

  I breathe deep and block Mateo out. His dad out. Scotty out. I have to focus. I have to remember everything Dad taught me.

  Every inch forward pulls me back in time, to the hundred times I’ve done this with Dad. Spring births are always a miracle, but when you have to fight for them, pull them into the world, it’s different. Dad always says it’s like shaking hands with God—I’ll do my best, and you do the rest.

  His voice echoes inside my head. Easy, easy. A little more pressure.

  With every contraction, I push the lever, cranking back and forth. Hope flutters in my chest as the legs emerge bit by bit. When Milkshake rests, I slip my hand up the calf’s legs as far as I can reach and rub around, keeping it all slippery.

  Don’t let her tear, Dad would say. Gentle now. Focus.

  Milkshake bellows and grunts, her breath coming in gasps, then her sides lift and strain. Quickly, I pump the lever, keeping tension on the feet, but letting her do most of the work. The calf comes faster and faster. First the thighs, then hips, and tail.

  Stay in the moment, Dad says. She’s counting on you. Don’t give up on her.

  The bottom of the rib cage peeks out, and Scotty cries, “It’s coming!”

  Let it come on its own if you can. Watch her close. Help as much as she needs and no more. Dad stands beside me, close, just in case.

  “Wait.” His hand darts forward, helping make space for the newborn. “Okay. Go ahead.”

  Almost done. Everything is exactly as it should be: just me and my dad guiding a new life into the world.

  Shaking hands with God.

  I smile up at my dad . . . but Mr. Rivas smiles back.

  Mr. Rivas.

  Not my dad. Never my dad.

  “Oh!” I choke, my eyes darting to the side and back. “Where—”

  “Ándale, Paige. You’re doing so well.” He touches my hand on the lever, gently urging me to crank it again. My hand shakes under his, and it’s all wrong, but I pull because I must.

  The calf doesn’t move.

  I pull the lever again, but Milkshake bellows, and everything stops.

  The calf is stuck.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mateo’s head pops up. “Is she stuck?”

  “Oh gosh, oh gosh.” Scotty twists the collar of his shirt hard enough to leave a rash.

  I push up inside, trying to feel if maybe a leg or something is hung up against the cow’s hip bones, but it’s all so tight I can’t hardly reach anything. Think, think! What would Dad do?

  He was here with me, but he wasn’t. And now everything is too fast, too bright, too loud. It’s supposed to be my dad standing here, not someone else.

  But Milkshake needs me. She pants and grunts, a soft groan of pain and fear.

  “I can do this. I can do this.” But in that moment, my brain is stuck harder than the calf. I know what to do—if I could just think—but with Mateo and Mr. Rivas right there watching and Scotty twisting his hands all together, the next step teeters on the edge of my brain, and all I can think of is how much I wish Dad really was here.

  My voice shakes, “Uh, we need to . . . need to . . .”

  Without a word, Mr. Rivas angles the handle down to the ground and the calf shifts, sliding forward another inch. He reaches past me and cranks the lever, then drops the handle to the ground once more, and this time, the calf rotates just enough. I’ve seen Dad do it before. I could have done it. But it all happened so fast, I hadn’t had time to think, and now it’s over and done.

  “That’s it.” Mateo smacks the top rail. “It’s free.”

  “I know.” As the handle comes back up the second time, I crank the lever fast to take up the slack.

  With one long desperate bellow, Milkshake’s front knees buckle, and the limp calf slides to the ground with a wet slurp.

  A heartbeat later, I’m on my knees, and Mateo jumps in beside me to wipe the slime away from the calf’s nose and mouth, helping me rub it down with fresh straw.

  Mr. Rivas pulls the quick-release knot to free Milkshake’s head, and I bite my lip. I shoulda done that as soon as she fell. I knew that too. He’s rushing me; that’s all. Nothing else is gonna slip by me. I rub the calf harder.

  Finally, the calf lets out a pitiful bawl and rolls its head, its legs flailing as it struggles to right itself.

  “Woo!” Scotty’s fists pump. “He’s okay!”

  A knot wedges tight in my throat as relief wars with shame inside me. I’m so glad they’re both okay, but I could have done it alone—should have done it alone.

  “You’ve got a little bull.” Mateo nudges my shoulder, and I nod, ’cause no words can squeak out anyway.

  Patting the wobbly little guy one more time, I go to Milkshake, my hands smoothing her quivering hide. “You did good, momma. It’s a boy. You’ve got a boy.”

  Sweat stains her forehead and runs down her jawline. Flecks of foam cling to her mouth, and her nostrils flare wide with every deep breath. Hot air washes over my forearms as she rests her chin on my hands. When her eyes meet mine, there’s no panic. No pain. Only trust.

  She doesn’t know I almost failed her. She only knows I tried and that all is well.

  When her breathing evens, we help her to her feet, and back away as she cleans her calf, her long tongue rasping over the little one till his hair sticks out in a dozen bad cowlicks going every which way.

  T-Rex’s tail wags a steady beat while he leans against Scotty, watching through the rails as a tiny bawling voice is answered by Milkshake’s deep rumbling moo.

  Mr. Rivas ducks between the rails and pats Mateo’s back. “She is good now, eh?”

  “She sure is!” Scotty beams at him as if Mr. Rivas was the one who pulled the calf. “Thanks for coming.”

  “No pasa nada.” Mr. Rivas waves off Scotty’s praise and walks to his truck.

  Mateo stays beside me and tries to catch my eye. “On the way here, I saw some dogs out by the juniper grove.”

  “Are you sure they weren’t Kimana’s dogs?”

  “No. These were new. A pack of four or five.” His eyes go soft when he looks at my calf. “Just keep an eye out.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  Beyond him, Mr. Rivas waits in the driver’s seat, one elbow out the window, the other hand resting on the wheel. He catches me looking and nods.

  After a few steps, Mateo turns back to me. “Oh, and Paige?”

  “Yes?”

  Looking me straight in the eye, he touch
es his heart. “You did good. You should be proud.”

  “Thanks.” I give a half-hearted wave as he leaves. I turn to watch my cows. Even though I know they’re both alright, I don’t really let myself believe it until the wobbly calf finally gets to his feet, latches on, and suckles with greedy little slurps. Only then do I slip outside to the spigot and wash my hands and arms down with well water cold enough to sting.

  “I’m gonna check on Royal.” Scotty tugs my shirt, telling me to follow him, then skips on ahead.

  “I’ll come later. I want to watch the calf a while.”

  “Okay. It’s a good thing Mr. Rivas came, don’t you think?”

  “I didn’t need his help!” I holler after him, but he’s already halfway to the chicken barn. From the doorway of Milkshake’s barn, I watch him run away, and I let the breeze play with my hair and tug at my shirt.

  I kick a dirt clod across the road and watch as it soars, bounces, and breaks apart, skittering in a dozen different directions.

  The whole calf-pulling spins in my head like blades on a windmill, repeating ’round and ’round. One second I was there, in the perfect moment, with Dad right by my side, and the next he was gone, and it was just me and Mr. Rivas, and I didn’t know what to do. I might have been able to help Milkshake on my own—I’ve seen it done a hundred times—but I couldn’t think, and now I don’t know for sure. I’ll never know. I only know I hesitated when it mattered most.

  I close my eyes and try to focus on the facts.

  Milkshake’s okay. The calf is okay. Scotty and me are both okay. Everything is fine. Dad would understand.

  I repeat it in my head until I almost believe it.

  An hour later, after the calf settled down for a nap, Scotty and I lie propped up on our elbows, watching Royal eat a piece of bread. His sleek blue neck shimmers each time he bobs down, pecking with his black shiny beak. So far, we’ve discovered he loves bread, berries, ants, beetles, grasshoppers, worms, flower petals, leaves, and fruit—especially melons. He eats melon rinds right down till the outer skin curls inward because every bit of the flesh has been pecked away.

  “You think he’s got a family nearby?” Scotty’s freckled cheek rests against his fist and a half-chewed straw dangles from his lips.

  “Maybe. He sure made a ruckus the other day.”

  “They’re supposed to make noise.” He lifts a finger for each point. “They honk when danger is near, they cry for mating and other reasons, they rattle their tail feathers, they—”

  “I know, but most of the time he’s so quiet. Maybe he’s just hiding, you know, so he won’t attract predators while he’s hurt.”

  Royal watches us as we talk, his head cocked one way to focus his shiny black eye at me, then the other way for Scotty.

  “You think he’d help run Miss Dolly off if he was better?” asks Scotty.

  I raise my eyebrow. “Well, you did say peacocks kill any snakes and spiders they find in their territory . . .”

  T-Rex swivels his head and wags his tail as Mom and Grandpa pull up in the truck, the bed filled with plastic totes and boxes.

  “Come on.” I tug Scotty’s jeans and motion for him to follow me.

  We crawl off the back of the stack and slide around the back wall by the coop. By the time Mom and Grandpa unload some totes and spot us, we’re dumping a sack of chicken scratch into the feed bins.

  Scotty raises an eyebrow at me, and I nod. It should be safe to say hello from here.

  “Mom! Guess what?” Scotty says, running up and taking a tote from her. “Milkshake had her calf today.”

  “I heard,” Mom says.

  Grandpa clears his throat. “Javier Rivas said you did a right fine job, Paige. Kept a cool head and pulled that calf right on out.”

  “What I want to know is why we had to hear it from Javier.” Mom gives me the look. “Why didn’t you call us? Where’s your phone?”

  I shrug. “It’s at the house, in the kitchen maybe. You guys were in town, and Mr. Rivas is right next door, so Scotty called him.”

  “You could have texted.” She brushes past me.

  I sigh. There’s only so many times a person can say the same thing without being heard before it becomes pointless. “I don’t text.”

  “Mateo texts,” Scotty pipes up. “And Kimana texts.”

  “Yay for them. Doesn’t anyone want to know about the calf?”

  “A healthy young bull, I hear.” Grandpa pats me on the back.

  Finally! My shoulders relax. “Wait till you see him. He’s got the cutest, curliest red coat ever, and he eats like his belly button’s rubbing a blister on his backbone. He’s great.”

  “I’m glad he’s healthy, but my point is you shouldn’t have had to do it at all.” Mom sets Scotty’s tote on top of hers. “Anything could have happened—you could have been hurt.”

  “It was fine, Mom. Really.” Drop it already.

  “Well, at least you won’t have to worry about the cows much longer.” She sidesteps as Grandpa puts another tote next to the others.

  “What does that mean?” Milkshake isn’t a worry to me. No more than T-Rex or Scotty. I raised her myself. If anything, she’s my friend.

  “I asked Javier to help get the pigs to the sale. He can do it tomorrow, but then he’ll be busy for several days after that, so we’ve been talking about having a sale right here for the cattle and horses. We’ve had plenty of offers; that’s for sure.”

  “You can’t let him take the pigs. They’ve got piglets. It’s not even time yet—the price won’t be good until July. That’s three months away!”

  “Paige, I know.” Mom keeps talking like it’s all done already. “It has to happen, and I expect you to help.”

  “But we’ll lose—”

  “No buts. I know you think you know best, but you don’t. Sometimes we have to make hard decisions. I need to know I can count on you.”

  I stare at her. She can’t be serious.

  “Well?” Mom prods.

  “I keep my promises.” But my oldest promise always comes first. Take care of the farm; take care of the family.

  “Can I count on you or not?”

  Woodenly, I nod. But inside, my brain is on fire. Every night she locks herself in her room and checks out like she’s a hen sitting in the dark, shut off to everything—to us—until dawn. But dawn feels so far off, I’ve almost given up waiting for it. She’s always been able to count on me. I’m the one that does chores and looks after everything when she’s here but still gone.

  I’m the one. Me.

  While she sews and studies and hides, I’m the reason why the animals are fed and happy, why everything is running like it should be.

  I did that. Me.

  It’s not anything out of the ordinary either. Farm girls do this day in, day out. Dad did this every day of his life. I did it the week of his funeral and every day since. It’s as natural as breathing. But Mom talks like it’s something to run away from, or to let go. You don’t let go of family. I promised I’d take care of them, and I am.

  I try hard to let Mom’s words splash and slide off me, raindrops on glass. She’s just worried, like Scotty was. I know that.

  “Do you see what I mean?” Mom murmurs to Grandpa. “We can’t do this on our own. She could have been killed. We have to sell.”

  I’m her example for why we can’t farm.

  Me.

  It’s so unfair it makes me want to scream.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Stars cling to the sky when I wake the next morning, but I don’t wait for the dawn. All night my dreams were full of stuck calves, Milkshake’s pained bellows, Mom’s voice saying, “We can’t do this on our own,” and Dad saying, “Don’t give up on her. She’s counting on you.”

  No more sleep for me tonight.

  I get everyo
ne fed and watered long before the sun breaks over the mountains, but I save Milkshake for last.

  She lies on her side, her rusty-brown hide shadowed next to her calf’s soft red curls. With bright eyes and perked ears, she tracks me as I walk to her empty feed trough.

  “Hey, momma. Did you sleep better than me?” Fresh hay flakes crackle as I toss them in, filling her trough, then sprinkle a measure of grain on top.

  Milkshake heaves herself to her feet, and the calf raises his head, blinking with long lashes.

  With his momma rooting for grain, he tries out one leg and then another until he gains his feet and stands there all knobby knees and scrawny legs.

  Milkshake moos, her mouth full of grain and hay. He answers with a tiny, “Mah!” and kicks up his feet in a little sideways hop.

  Quivering, he flings his tail around as if to see what it does, then nuzzles her udder to nurse. Hard and fast, he thrusts his tiny muzzle up against her like quick punches, his pink tongue peeking out as he swallows.

  “Oh, you’re adorable.”

  At the corner of the stall, I slip between the rails and pull a manure fork in with me. It’s sorta like a plastic pitchfork but for poop. Scooping and dumping into a wheelbarrow outside the stall, I clear all the soiled straw and spread fresh down.

  The rake slides through the bars, and I prop it against the rail, then follow it through. All is well here. My cows are clean, fed, and safe.

  I palm Dad’s stone as I watch Milkshake and her calf. I rub my thumb over the bump-bump of the heart, then swirl into the groove in the middle. How many wishes did he make on this stone before he threw it in the wishfire with all of them attached?

  I bring it to my lips and whisper my first wish. “Let him grow up healthy and strong.”

  The calf’s tail waggles, and he bobs his head with happy smacking and sucking sounds.

  I tuck my stone in my pocket and pat the rail once before leaving. Tomorrow I’ll probably move them out with the herd, but today, they get to be together, just the two of them. Safe and sound.