by Jane Charles
It was so simple, so easy, yet Matthew was disappointed in himself for not being able to pray with more eloquence. If his father was here he would tan his hide for not being better. How many years had he spent writing and practicing the perfect prayer to be delivered at dinner time? How often had his father criticized those same prayers during dinner? One would think that after so many years of practice he would know what to say, but when it really, truly mattered, those words and years of preparation failed him. When this crisis passed, he would once again strive for perfection, to be what he must. Otherwise, what else was there for him to be?
Matthew filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove to be heated before rummaging through the pantry for foodstuff. He had few cooking skills, if any and the sacks of flour and other ingredients overwhelmed him. He had to get Mrs. Thomas back here to cook for Miss Cooper. Grace, no he couldn’t and shouldn’t think of her by her Christian name, it wasn’t proper and it wasn’t the first time he had slipped into the familiarity. At least it had been in his own thoughts and not said out loud.
Miss Cooper wasn’t in a state to cook for herself and Matthew couldn’t provide anything more than a cup of tea. They didn’t even have any bread. All of it had been eaten last night when he warmed the soup from earlier in the day. They would surely starve at this rate and Miss Cooper needed all the strength she could get for the days to come.
Miss Cooper was still sitting where Matthew had left her when he entered with the tea tray holding four cups. He knew she would try to get her father to drink, but he wanted to make sure Miss Cooper also drank a cup herself. Perkins came forward and took the tray and placed it on a table by the window. Miss Cooper did not even look up from her father. Perkins prepared one cup and handed it to Miss Cooper. “It is how your father prefers his tea.”
She gave a quick nod and accepted the cup. As she blew on it to cool the liquid, Perkins settled himself on the bed and lifted Mr. Cooper. Miss Cooper placed the cup against her father’s lips. “Please, Papa. Drink.”
Mr. Cooper’s eyes opened slightly and he looked at his daughter. With effort he took a few sips before letting his head fall back again.
“Again, Papa.” A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye as she begged and then cajoled her father into taking more sips of tea until the contents were gone. Matthew stood at the end of the bed, grasping the post, his fingers aching from the tight grip with each swallow the man took. This was a good sign. It had to be. The man would recover and Miss Cooper would not be left alone. Matthew couldn’t allow himself to think it would be any other way.
Slowly Perkins lowered Mr. Cooper back against his pillows and adjusted the blanket and Miss Cooper leaned back in her chair and sighed before she glanced up at Matthew with a watery smile.
“He will probably rest for some time now,” Matthew found himself saying. Even though he had very little experience with the sick, he did know that after expending any energy, even just drinking from a cup held to ones lips, left the patient exhausted and they usually slept for a few hours.
“I am just grateful he woke for a short time and drank.” A soft smile came to Miss Cooper’s lips. “Papa will be fine now.”
Matthew wasn’t so certain that was the case, and he argued with himself of whether he should urge caution and in the end held his tongue. He would not take this small bit of peace from her. If her father suffered a setback, he would be there to help and support her.
Grace closed her eyes and relaxed. Her father had awakened and he drank. She had to believe all was well and he would get better now. It would take time, but he would heal. Thank you, she whispered in her mind. Thank you, God for taking care of him.
The clock down the hall chimed and Grace counted each until it stopped after eight. Already the morning was well on its way and she had done nothing but sleep and sit by her father. But what else could she do? He was her first priority. There were things she should see to but she couldn’t even think what they would be right now. All she wanted to do was sleep, rest while her father did, so she was alert when he was.
Someone tapped her shoulder and Grace opened her eyes. Vicar Trent held a steaming cup of tea before her. Perhaps she would be able to think clearer once she drank. She inhaled the aroma and placed the cup to her lip and let the warmth sooth her.
“What of the animals, Miss Cooper?”
Grace looked to Perkins. What was he talking about?
Oh, dear. She straightened and placed her cup on the bedside table. “The cows should have been milked two hours ago. How could I have forgotten?”
“I could send for someone,” Perkins offered.
“There isn’t time.” Grace stood and moved from the room. “Call me if Father wakens.” Without bothering to stop and put on proper shoes or don a cloak, Grace rushed out of the back of the house and practically ran toward the barn. Low mooing could be heard from inside. The cows were probably in pain, waiting to be relieved of their burden. She flung the door open and grabbed the first milk pail. “I am so sorry. I will get to each of you as quickly as I can.”
Grace picked up the stool and placed it beside the first cow, sank down onto it and put the pail in place. A moment later squirts of milk were heard hitting the bottom of the tin bucket.
“Is there anything I could do?”
She glanced up to find Vicar Trent standing in the door. “Have you ever milked a cow?”
He shrugged. “No. Is it difficult?”
It wasn’t really but did she have time to show him? Grace glanced down the line of cows. It would be quicker to teach Vicar Trent than to milk all of the cows herself. “Come here.” She didn’t mean to sound harsh, but she was in a hurry. She wanted to be done with this chore so that she could return to her father.
Grace stood and indicated for Vicar Trent to take a seat. He rubbed his hands together and reached forward but stopped. For the first time in longer than she could remember, Grace felt like smiling, almost giggling. Vicar Trent, the self-assured, composed gentleman that she had come to admire looked as helpless as a child.
“Gently wrap your hands around two teats, but not two that are side by side.”
Vicar Trent seemed to hesitate for a moment before he reached forward. He grabbed and the cow mooed. Just as quickly he let go.
“Gently, but firmly.”
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“She is probably in more pain full of milk than anything else.”
He took a deep breath, leaned forward and grasped again. At least the cow didn’t make any objectionable sounds this time.
“Now, squeeze, starting at the top of the teat and work your way down, moving the milk out of the udder and into the pail.”
Vicar Trent did so with one teat and then the other. Milk splashed into the pail. He looked up over his shoulder and grinned at her. Grace tried not to laugh. It really was such a simple chore and she had forgotten the joy she felt when she milked her first cow. Silly of course, but it added an odd sense of accomplishment.
“Keep a firm hold so the milk doesn’t flow back into the udder.”
Vicar Trent returned his attention to the cow and continued to milk, going a bit faster each time. “How will I know when it is empty?”
Grace giggled. She wasn’t sure the cow was ever empty. As soon as the milking was complete didn’t the udder start filling once again? She simply assumed they did. “The teat will become small, and almost look empty. When that happens, move to the other two until they are all the same.”
He gave a quick nod and went back to work. Grace grabbed a second stool and pail and settled at the side of the next cow. Soon all that could be heard was milk splashing into pails as they milked one cow and then the next until all had been taken care of. When they were finished, Vicar Trent glanced over at the rows of milk, hands fisted on his hips and a silly grin on his face.
“I’ll be back in a moment.”
Matthew couldn’t believe he had just milked cows. It was s
imple, easy, yet necessary. For the first time in a very long time he felt as if he had done something good, helpful, that made a difference. Why didn’t his vocation give him this same sense of accomplishment? As a vicar he should feel it more often, yet it was a row of cows that gave him a purpose.
Perhaps it was because he could see the work he had done. As a vicar, you never knew if you reached someone or not. Did they walk away from his sermons as empty as they had arrived? Did he utter some profound words that stayed with a parishioner for a week, until the next sermon? Did he ever inspire anyone to be better for the Lord?
Matthew turned and thrust his fingers through his hair. That was just it. He would never know. Each Sunday would end with him wondering if he had touched or moved anyone that day. And, should it matter. He wasn’t a vicar for praise or recognition. He was to save souls, as simple as that.
He looked at the pails of milk neatly lined up waiting for delivery. Yet, it felt so good to actually see what one had accomplished.
The minutes ticked by yet Miss Cooper had not returned. Where could she have gone? He stepped outside and looked around. She wasn’t anywhere to be found. Perhaps she was checking on her father. Matthew made his way toward the house. Had something happened while she was out here and that was why she hadn’t returned? She wouldn’t just leave the milk sit there would she.
There was silence when he entered the house and Matthew slowly walked to her father’s bedchamber. He was asleep in his bed and there was a bit more color in his cheeks. Without realizing he had been holding his breath, Matthew let out a sigh of relief. Perkins glanced up at him from a chair in the corner where he sat.
“Have you seen Miss Cooper?” Matthew asked.
“No. She hasn’t been in since she practically ran out of here.”
“How is Mr. Cooper?”
“Resting.”
Matthew nodded his head and left the room. He could tell Mr. Cooper was resting but since Perkins offered nothing further Matthew assumed nothing had happened in his absence. But, where was Miss Cooper?
He wandered around the lower portion of the house but she was not here. At the foot of the stairs he glanced up. Had she gone to her room to change? The young woman had bolted out of bed, after sleeping in her clothing, without bothering to change her dress or repair her hair. Not that Matthew minded. He rather liked her disheveled look. It was more honest in appearance than those ladies who spent hours at their toilette to achieve the proper look. And, if she was up there, he certainly could not go up and check on her. That would be highly improper. It was bad enough that he had carried her upstairs last night and tucked her into bed. But nobody would ever learn of that or she would be ruined.
Instead, Matthew simply decided to wait and returned to Mr. Cooper’s chamber where he poured himself a cup of tea. Surely he would hear her on the stairs when she came down. He took the seat beside the window and sipped on the lukewarm liquid. A moment later he spied Miss Cooper hurrying toward the barn. Behind her a young boy drove a wagon. “Of course.”
“Pardon?”
Matthew glanced to Perkins and shook his head in dismissal. He placed the near empty cup on the table and left before making his way toward the barn. He arrived just in time to help Miss Cooper place the last of the pails into the wagon. She disappeared into the barn again and returned a moment later wearing long work gloves and carrying two large baskets.
Matthew glanced down at them and then back to her.
“Eggs,” she answered and marched off toward the coops.
The young boy stood watching; holding the horses and Matthew followed Miss Cooper. Squawking could be heard from within as he approached and entered the small structure. Feathers flew, wings fluttered and Miss Cooper spoke low.
“I need these and you can lay more tomorrow.”
Hens pecked at her but the gloves protected her tender skin. Miss Cooper moved from one chicken to the next, reaching underneath and taking eggs and putting them in the basket. She had not even gathered half of them but it certainly looked easier that milking a cow. Starting at the opposite end, Matthew began gathering eggs to help her. The first nest was empty and he took two eggs before taking one of the baskets from Grace and putting them inside. The next nest proved to be more difficult. The chicken was not about to give up her eggs without a fight. Matthew jerked his arm back as the sharp edge of her beak tore into the skin on his forearm. He hastily rolled down his sleeves wishing he also had his jacket. Sometime in the middle of the night he had removed it, leaving it in Mr. Cooper’s bedroom. It never occurred to him to even put it on this morning. His cravat and waistcoat were long gone as well. He probably looked as disheveled as Miss Cooper.
He attempted to gather eggs from three more hens and was rewarded with more bites and tears in his once white shirt that was quickly becoming stained with his blood. At the risk of losing a finger, he gathered from the nests currently vacated by their owners and Miss Cooper efficiently collected eggs from beneath protective chickens. He stood at the door watching those vicious animals while holding a full basket as she filled another. They looked innocent enough but after today, Matthew would take joy each time he ate a hen or chicken for dinner. He wasn’t even sure if they were hens or chickens. There was a difference but he wasn’t really sure what it was and at the moment, he didn’t care. He wanted to leave the smelly coup and dream about the next drumstick or thigh he dined on.
Miss Cooper paused before him, her basket full of eggs, as was his, and together they exited into the fresh sunlight morning where they placed the baskets in the back of the wagon.
“I’ll see that everything is delivered and return the pails and baskets to you,” the young man assured Miss. Cooper.
“Thank you, Clive.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Will you be able to help tomorrow as well? I am not sure how long my father will be in recovering from his fall.”
“Of course, Miss Cooper.” He nodded, a crimson stain coming to his cheeks before he hopped up into the seat of the wagon and drove off. The boy was smitten, and who could blame him.
Miss Cooper turned and walked into the barn once again and removed her gloves. “We will have to take care of your arms.” She gestured to his many bite marks. “I should have warned you.”
“I will be sure to be better protected next time. On that you have my promise.”
Miss Cooper bit her lip as if trying not to laugh. Matthew didn’t care if she laughed at him or not. It was good to see her smile again. He knew there would be very few of them in the days to come. But she was correct in one matter, he needed to wash his arms, and find a clean shirt to put on. Though he hated to leave her for but a few moments with her father’s condition unclear, he couldn’t remain dressed as he was. But he wasn’t going to leave until he had checked on Mr. Cooper one last time and Matthew followed Miss Grace from the barn and toward the house. They had just rounded the stable and were in the drive when a voice stopped them.
“I cannot believe what I am seeing.”
Matthew and Miss Cooper turned toward the older female voice. It was Mrs. Montgomery. She was walking along the drive, coming from the front of the house.
“I cannot tell you how disappointed I am at such a sight.”
What was she talking about?
“To think our vicar and you, Miss Cooper.”
Miss Cooper took a step forward. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The woman drew up and thrust her chin in the air. “I am not blind. Look at the two of you, coming from the barn of all places, looking like that.”
Miss Cooper glanced down at herself and then over at Matt, her face taking on a pink hue. They had literally risen from their sleep earlier and had done nothing to repair their appearance. Matthew took a step forward. “It is not what you think and your assumptions are wrong.”
“Are they?” She demanded with a sniff.
“Yes,” Matthew bit out. “I was simply helping Miss Cooper milk the cows and gather the eggs this morni
ng. She had a long difficult night following her father’s fall.”
Her eyebrow arched. “You were here all night?”
As much as Matthew would love to lie to the woman he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He was a vicar and vicars did not lie, even to protect the reputation of a young woman. “Yes. I was here to offer support while we waited to see if Mr. Cooper would survive the night.”
“Nobody else was here?” A calculating gleam came to the woman’s eyes that did not bode well for Miss Cooper.
“Perkins, my father’s valet did not leave his side,” Miss Cooper answered.
“No females to act as guardian?” Mrs. Montgomery asked in a low, menacing voice.
“No,” Miss Cooper answered. “Nor were any necessary.”
“I beg to differ.”
“We were taking care of my father.”
Matthew straightened and looked at Miss Cooper. Did she raise her voice to Mrs. Montgomery?
“Your father is, or was unconscious, Grace, so he hardly qualifies as a proper chaperone.”
Miss Cooper straightened and crossed her arms over her chest. The situation was quickly swirling out of control and Matthew knew he needed to say something quickly to defuse the situation. “I can assure you, Mrs. Montgomery that I was here purely in a supportive capacity as her vicar and minister.”
The haughty woman raised an eyebrow and looked him over from the top of his head to the filth on his boots and back up until her eyes met his. “Clearly.”
“I don’t wish to be rude,” Miss Cooper interrupted. “But why are you here, Mrs. Montgomery. I would like to return to my father if you don’t mind.”
“I had heard someone tried to kill your father and came to offer my support.” She stiffened again. “I can see I am not needed.” With that she pivoted on her heel and marched back toward her carriage, nose in the air.