by Heather Gray
The two chatted amiably for a bit longer before Reverend Green stood and said, "Mary, it's been a pleasure visiting with you today. I'd like to come back and see you again sometime if you think that would be okay."
Nodding, Mary said, "Of course, Reverend. You can come anytime." Mary showed him to the door and, as they stood on the threshold, told him, "I need to think about what you said, about whether or not I need to recommit my life or get baptized again."
"That's wonderful news, Mary. Decisions like that shouldn't be taken lightly." Placing his hat on his head, he said, "I'm always available if you have any questions." Mary waved to the reverend as he headed back down the drive toward town.
Deciding to leave the door open to the sunshine and fall breeze, Mary went upstairs and sought out a trunk she'd hidden under her bed after Ma died. Always afraid Pa would see her with it and do something, she hadn't pulled the trunk out in years. Right after Ma died, Mary put some of the woman's favorite things in it and shoved it as far up under her bed as she could. Over the years, she'd been glad she had done so. When times got tough, Pa sold off a lot of Ma's things, leaving them with precious little to remember her by. This trunk, along with their memories, was pretty much all they had left of Ma.
It took a few hearty tugs before the trunk came free of the bed. Mary carefully lifted the lid and peeked inside. Sure enough, resting right there on the top, was Ma's Bible. She studied it for a moment, not sure she wanted to disturb the items in this trunk. Eventually reaching in, she caressed the leather cover. The Bible looked old. Maybe it had been a family Bible and belonged to someone else before it belonged to Ma. Unable to contain her curiosity, Mary pulled the Bible out of the trunk and opened the front cover.
To Emeline Fitzgerald on your wedding day. May God bless you and your family with a precious love for each other and Him. Love, Mom and Dad.
Turning the page, she saw the date of her parents wedding recorded. Below that was listed each of their children and the date they were born. She and Clive had two dates listed next to their names. Mary would have been ten when the second date was written down. That must have been what Reverend Green was talking about. Ma had recorded the date they'd each accepted Christ. Clive would have been almost ten when his second date was written down.
Mary ran her fingers over the names and dates written in her mother's hand. There had never been any reason to doubt how much Ma loved them. She had always felt precious when in Ma's presence. Memories of racing home from school because she couldn't wait to see Ma came flooding back. Ma had always greeted her children at the front door with a big hug for each of them.
Setting the Bible on her quilt, Mary looked at it for a moment before closing the trunk and pushing it back under the bed. She needed to do some thinking about the direction this family was going to take, and she could think of no better time than while doing laundry. That's when she got all her best ideas. Even better, Grady had repaired the old wringer, so the process didn't take nearly as long as it used to.
As she thought about the future of her family, Mary couldn't help but picture Grady as part of it. Accepting his return to Texas was proving harder than she'd anticipated. Despite her attempts to push him away, he'd become such an integral part of their lives. She wanted to tell him about her talk with Reverend Green and ask why he'd never mentioned Clive's baptism to her. As Mary hung the last item up on the clothesline, she realized how quickly the day had slipped by.
She'd spent far more time thinking about Grady than about the future of her family.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A couple weeks later, Mary was dressed in her grubbiest clothes and working to clean out the chicken coop. The straw bedding needed to be changed and the floor swept. "Who'd have thought a bunch of hens could smell so bad?" she asked the few hens who had remained in the coop with her.
"Well, it's not like you built them an outhouse to use," came a gruff voice from outside. Mary's hand was on the nearby shotgun faster than she could process the thought of danger at the unfamiliar voice. The fear that some of her pa's cronies had shown up, not realizing he was dead, assailed her.
Mary stepped out of the henhouse, shotgun leveled at a lone man standing before her. Well, lone might have been a stretch. He had a wagon with two fine looking heifers tied to the back. The horses, too, gave the impression of good health. "Who are you, and what are you doing on my farm?" she asked, the fear she'd first felt upon hearing the stranger putting an edge into her voice.
The man stepped back and held his hands up in the air, "Whoa there, missy. I'm jus' deliverin' milk cows. No need for that kind o'greetin'."
Mary took another look at the man. He was older than she'd first thought, too old to have been on the trail alone. "Where's your crew?" she asked.
"I left 'em in town. Figured they earned a spell to relax, get some grub, and find a bath. Didn't no how think I'd need an armed guard."
Lowering her gun slightly, she asked, "Who sent for cows?"
"An old friend of mine, James Wilkes. But he said to deliver them to the Fitzgerald farm, which is why I'm here."
Mary lowered the gun but didn't move any closer to the man. "I'm not used to strangers out here. Sorry about the unfriendly greeting." After the slightest pause, she said, "I didn't expect the cows to be here so fast. Mr. Wilkes didn't say nothin' about them bein' on their way already."
Still holding his hands in the air, the man said, "No harm. I wasn't expectin' to find you here alone." Squinting a bit as if examining her, he added, "You seem a mite young to be runnin' a farm if'n you don't mind me sayin'."
Mary caught herself as she began to raise the shotgun again. Noticing for the first time the man's wrinkled and weather-worn face, white hair, and slightly stooped shoulders, she made herself set the shotgun down outside the penned area of the coop. She nodded to his rig and said, "We can untie the cows here, and then I can take you on up to the Wilkes farm. Mr. Wilkes helped us prepare proper stalls for our new additions. I think you'll find them up to standard."
Lowering his arms and holding out his hand, the man said, "Pleased to meet you, miss. I'm Bertrand O'Keefe, but folks call me Bert."
Mary shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. O'Keefe. I'm Mary Fitzgerald, and this is my family's farm here. I appreciate you bringing us some of your milking cows. We need to make a living, and we were offered a contract for milk. It's a plum deal for us as long as we can meet the demand." Heading toward the barn, she added, "Come this way, and I'll show you the stalls we've got for the girls."
"I understand yer also wantin' to learn about makin' cheese."
Embarrassed at the admission, Mary said, "I tried once before, but it made the most awful stench and the cheese wasn't fit for man nor beast to eat. There wasn't any milk to waste, so I didn't try anymore. I've got a couple months before we have to start meeting demand with these milk cows and am hoping I can get the hang of cheese-making before then. I don't want to ruin milk we could be selling or using ourselves."
Nodding, Mr. O'Keefe said, "Rightly so. Rightly so." He let out a low whistle as he took in the interior of the barn. "This building's been here awhile, hasn't it?"
"Long as I can remember," Mary said, looking around and seeing how dilapidated the building must look to the stranger. Not wanting him to decide his cows wouldn't be safe here, she ushered him through the main area and down the aisle where the stalls were situated. "Come this way, though. Take a look at where the girls will be."
They had all worked hard to prepare a place befitting the new additions to their milk herd. Mr. O'Keefe inspected the stalls and nodded. "Let's get the girls in here so they can settle in. They'll be ready for milkin' around six this evening." Nodding toward Flower, their other cow, he said, "They'll likely produce twice as much milk as she does, maybe more, and I chose two that'll cycle through their off-season at opposite times."
"Off season?" Mary asked, unsure what he meant.
Mr. O'Keefe gave her a strange look and then s
aid, "Let's get them settled. Then we'll go see James."
****
"Bertie!" Mrs. Wilkes shouted in surprise as she saw them approaching her porch. It appeared Bert wasn't the only name the older man went by. Mary filed that information away for safe-keeping. Mrs. Wilkes' comfort with the man made Mary feel more at ease.
Hearing his wife's shout, Mr. O'Keefe exited the barn to greet his long-time friend. "It's good to see you, old friend." The two men exchanged a hearty embrace before their visitor gave Mrs. Wilkes a hug and a peck on the cheek. "Hey there, Bert, that's my wife you're kissing," Mr. Wilkes said with humor laced through his words. Clearly these three were long-time friends.
Mrs. Wilkes made coffee, and the four settled down at the kitchen table to visit. "So how long will you be with us Bert?" Mr. Wilkes asked.
"I spect I'll be here about two months. Need to head back before winter closes the route. These old bones don't like the snow as much as they used to," he said with a chuckle. "I've got two men with me. They're in town now, but they'll be out here by nightfall. They'll bunk out in the hayloft if you've got room for them." When Mr. Wilkes nodded, he continued. "The cows are settled in at Mary's. Looks like you all made a nice cozy place for them. I'm sure they'll be happy there."
After taking a long drink of his coffee, he continued, "I'll want to supervise milking the next two days to make sure you all know what you're doing and are going to be able to take good care of my girls." When Mary nodded in agreement, he continued, "They're a bit spoiled with a higher grade feed than what I figure you have available to you here. They might rebel a bit at first, but when they get hungry enough, they'll eat."
Worried, Mary glanced at Mr. Wilkes, who spoke up, "They've got hay that should get them through the winter, but they've also been collecting brush and other greenery from the farm in case the hay runs short."
"Oats would be a good addition if you can afford it. The happier they are, the better they'll produce."
Mary, beginning to feel a bit panicked, watched Mr. Wilkes, who interjected, "We'll do what we can, Bert, but this family is depending on these cows for their survival. There may not be extra money for luxuries like oats."
The men exchanged a look Mary couldn't quite read. Then Mr. O'Keefe questioned Mary. "When did your cow last calve?"
Shaking her head, Mary answered, "It's been years since Flower had a calf. Before Ma died, I think. I've never been able to afford the stud fee."
Looking puzzled, Mr. O'Keefe asked, "And she's still producing milk?"
Mary nodded, surprised he would ask such a question. "Of course. She's a dairy cow."
Mr. O'Keefe exchanged another look with Mr. Wilkes, and then Mr. Wilkes, looking chagrined, said, "Mary, a dairy cow can produce milk for ten to twelve months after it has its baby. Then it dries up and won't produce again until the next time it calves."
Mary viewed first one man and then the other before saying, "But Flower's been producing for years. Not always a lot, but she's been producing for years."
Looking embarrassed, Mr. Wilkes said, "I might have changed your cow out every now and then."
Confused, Mary observed her neighbor and said, "I don't understand."
"I told you I checked on your animals now and then, right?" When Mary nodded, he continued. "I could tell Flower was drying up, so I exchanged her for a cow I had that looked pretty similar. When no one seemed to notice, I bred Flower with our bull and, once she'd calved and was producing milk again, put her back into place." Mary's mind raced as she stared at the man. She didn't go out to the animal pen much because Pa noticed when she was absent. The younger kids had almost always done the chores out there. As she continued to stare at Mr. Wilkes, he added, "I might have done that twice."
"Twice?" Mary asked, feeling dumb.
Nodding, Mr. Wilkes added, "I got better at it after that. She's probably going to dry up again here in another month or two, and her calf should be born a couple of months after. I've tried to time it so she'd get a couple of months off from milking before she calved again."
"Calf?" Mary hardly recognized her own voice as she continued staring at her neighbor. "She's pregnant?"
Blushing, Mr. Wilkes answered, "I told you I got better at it. I bred her about six months ago. If she were still in that back pen, I'd be removing her about a month from now. I'd keep her out long enough for her to have the baby and for us to get the calf weaned enough to drink a bottle at least, and then I'd be putting her back into the pen."
When Mary continued staring blankly at the man, Mrs. Wilkes asked, "Mary, dear, are you all right?"
Forcing herself to turn her head, she answered Mrs. Wilkes, "I'm surprised. I didn't know dairy cows stopped producing milk." Turning back to Mr. Wilkes, she said, "We never would have survived if you hadn't intervened." Then, shaking her head, she said, "The boys told me a couple times that we had a different cow, but I thought they were working too hard and imagining things." Shaking her head ruefully, she added, "It seems you got as good at being sneaky as we did." Turning to Mr. O'Keefe, she added, "I apparently have more to learn about the dairy industry than I'd realized. Perhaps you could treat me like a new employee and start from the beginning. I need to get this right."
"Sure thing, missy. Why don't you head on back to your farm. I want to visit with my friends here for a spell. I'll be by this evening around six to walk you through the milking."
"Of course," Mary said as she stood. "We'll see you this evening then."
Mary stepped out onto the Wilkeses' porch. She stood there, breathing deeply, fighting back the panic and unsettled feelings swarming through her stomach. Before she stepped off the porch she heard Mr. O'Keefe say, "You've got some explaining to do, James. What did you get me into here?"
Disheartened, Mary trudged home. For the first time since she'd agreed to Mr. Livingston's terms, she wondered whether she'd done the right thing for her family. If she'd made a mistake, it could cost them everything.
****
That afternoon Mary greeted her brothers and sisters with a smile and a plate of cookies. The girls accepted the cookies without question. Bobby gave her a worried look but said nothing. Clive, on the other hand, refused a cookie. As soon as the others left the room, he demanded, "What's wrong?"
Pasting a smile on her face, Mary said, "Take a cookie and go look in the barn." Clive gave her a suspicious look, grabbed a cookie, and banged out the front door. Mary wasn't accustomed to misleading her brothers and sisters. She was used to protecting them, but by pretending everything was okay, she felt like she was lying to them.
God, if you're listening, I could use your help right now. I'm scared to death Mr. O'Keefe will come back here tonight and tear down all the hope this family has built up.
When Clive didn't immediately come back, Mary returned to the kitchen and the pot of beans she had cooking. They no longer had to worry about Pa stealing what few coins they had, but they still had a long winter ahead of them and needed to make every coin stretch. Mary eyed her flour supply and knew the luxury of the cookies was going to mean less bread to bake later in the week. She could have kicked herself, but baking was a nervous habit for her. That's why Bobby and Clive had been suspicious when they saw the cookies. They knew baking usually meant something was wrong.
As evening approached, Mr. Wilkes and Mr. O'Keefe came up the drive and into the front yard. They didn't make it as far as the front door. Gigi, catching sight of them, ran out of the house and hugged Mr. Wilkes. "Mary made cookies! You should ask for some. She won't let me have anymore, but she won't say no to you!"
Laughing, Mr. Wilkes turned to his friend and said, "Bert, I'd like to introduce you to the youngest Fitzgerald. This here is Gigi. Gigi, this is Mr. O'Keefe, a friend of mine."
Speaking faster than a chicken clucks, Gigi said, "You brought us cows. They're beautiful cows! Do they have names yet? I wanted to name them, but Mary said I should wait to see if they already have names. I couldn't believe she didn't ask you t
heir names when you brought them. It's important to know the names of your new family members, isn't it?"
Standing on the porch and taking in the whole scene, Mary finally cut in and said, "Gigi, finish the dishes please. I need to speak to Mr. Wilkes and Mr. O'Keefe a moment before we go out to the barn." Mary had to give Gigi credit. While the girl's feet dragged with reluctance, there wasn't an ounce of defiance in her as she gave them her back and trudged back up the stairs to the house.
Mary stepped off the porch and walked toward the men. She had been rehearsing what she needed to say and wanted to get it said before they could interrupt her. "Mr. O'Keefe, I want to thank you for…"
"Now hold on here a minute, Mary," he interrupted her. "I need t' say something."
Not to be deterred, Mary said, "I want to thank you for bringing…"
"Now, Mary, you need t' let me speak," Mr. O'Keefe said.
Crossing her arms in defiance, Mary stood there and said nothing.
"I need to apologize for some o' the things I said earlier," Mr. O'Keefe said. "I didn't have a good picture o' the situation. James here wrote and spected me to write back sayin' whether or not I could help. Then he was gonna give me more information. Not seeing a need t' bother with correspondence, I grabbed me some cows and came straightaway. James assures me you're willing t' work hard and able t' learn whatever it's gonna take to make this little venture of yours a success. I'll teach you everything you need t' know about cows, makin' cheese, milkin' these girls, the breeding cycle, an' anything else you can think of. Once I'm back in Montana, you can write me with any questions you have."