Page 24 of A Groom for Millie
Early the next morning Millie had to milk the cow before she headed to town to teach. Mary Rose was still asleep when Millie bundled up and walked across the yard. She heard the goats bleating and the chickens squawking in the barn.
Pushing the door open, the animals raced from the barn to forage in the pasture. The chickens waddled into the fresh air, clucking their displeasure at not being fed.
“Alright, alright,” Millie said, pushing the chickens aside. “Let me get you fed.” She filled a bucket with feed and scattered it on the ground. The chickens flocked to the feed and raced to gobble up the best morsels.
She put the bucket next to the feed bin. Her horse neighed softly to her in greeting. Millie walked over and rubbed the velvet muzzle, placing her forehead against the horse.
“How about we put you out for a bit?” Millie asked. The horse snorted his agreement and Millie opened the pen, letting the horse walk out to the barnyard and the small pasture below.
She watched the horse weave between the goats that were munching on the grass sticking out in clumps from the snow. The sound of her cow mooing reminded Millie why she came to the barn so early this morning.
The cow stood in the stockyard watching Millie with large brown eyes. She was the one milking cow Millie had left. The others died in the blizzard or a few days later from the stress of the snowstorm.
Millie looked at the animal, noting the bright red collar around her neck. She even had a bell hanging down. Millie walked over and rubbed the cow between the eyes and wondered why she never named either the cow or the horse. Freckles only had a name because that is what Mary Rose called the small goat.
Her husband had suggested that Millie not name any of the animals. They weren’t pets, he told her. They were working animals, or food. As soon as she named one, an attachment would be formed and then George would complain he couldn’t butcher one of Millie’s pets. So, everything was horse, goat, chicken, goat, cow, goat and more chickens.
“Come on, girl,” Millie cooed, leading the cow to the milk house. “Let’s get you some relief.” She placed the cow between the wall and a holding board. Millie would have access to milk the animal, but there was no way the beast would be able to kick her. Granted the Guernsey was gentle at most times, but when her udders were full, she could be a little cranky. Millie placed hay in the trough where the cow’s head fit through the slats and then went to fetch a bucket of water.
The water was cold, and the animal voiced her displeasure when Millie washed the swollen teats. She patted them dry and then pulled up her stool. Placing the bucket under the cow she squeezed as she recited the alphabet. It normally took four rounds for the bucket to be full.
She was partially through the third round when she heard the knocking from the other side of the wall. The milking parlor was a small shed along the far wall of the barn. The noise was coming from the same place Millie heard it the previous evening. The goats must have knocked some things over.
Millie sighed. It was always something. She finished milking and covered the bucket with a clean cloth. That prevented dirt or snow from falling in the warm milk. The sound was louder through the wall.
“Alright, I’m coming,” Millie grumbled. She quickly released the cow, patting the animal on the rump to move her back to the stockyard. Picking up the bucket she carried it back into the barn. She didn’t see any goats in the barn, but the sound could be heard coming from the last pen.
“Freckles, if you are into…” Millie rounded the edge of the pen and let out a gasp. The bucket dropped from her hands and the warm milk ran across the floor, disappearing under the straw and blankets. Millie’s hands started shaking and a cry escaped her lips. On the floor was the man from yesterday. He was buried under the straw and Millie could see that he was trying to move.
A pool of blood was congealed under his shoulder, staining the dirt floor. Picking up the straw broom, Millie flipped it around and gently poked the man’s leg with it.
The man moaned and shifted slightly. He let out a little cry and opened his eyes, staring at Millie. She didn’t know who was more afraid. He of her, or she of him.
She was more afraid. Raising the broom as a weapon in case he tried something tricky, Millie was prepared to defend her home, her barn and protect her mother and daughter.
“You’re that man they said murdered all those people in Flat River.”
The man looked confused. He lifted his hand to his head and Millie could see the dried blood crusting his hands and fingers.
“I never…,” he began. He put his palm on the ground and tried to lift himself to a seated position. He was partially up when he lifted his hand out towards Millie. His voice cracked as he said two words.
Help me.
His body lunged forward, and Millie let out a scream, dropping the broom and running towards the house.
“Well, Millicent, dearest, you just can’t leave him in the barn.” Regina sat at the table blowing on her coffee before taking a sip. “Stop your pacing, you’re making me dizzy.”
Millie was walking around the table. “What would like me to do? Invite him into the house?”
Regina put her cup down. “That would be a splendid idea. Much better than having him sleeping in a pile of straw.”
“Where would I even put him?” Millie couldn’t believe she was even having this conversation. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s injured, momma. I don’t know what I can do for him.”
“What about that little friend of yours?”
“Heather?”
“Yes, that’s it. Lovely woman.” Regina picked up her cup and blew once more on her coffee.
