Page 28 of Higher Ground
There was so much water, already. When she had peeked out the window this morning, the lowest parts of the valleys had a shiny coat that she assumed was the flood, but now there was no denying they were covered. She couldn’t have said from here how deep it was except that the tall posts of the old windmill seemed a lot shorter. Emory choked on her inhale. The view wasas breathtaking as it was concerning. She looked out, following Clayton’s pointed arm, to the high paddock way off in the distance. It was crazy to think that Byron owned so much land. Crazier still knowing that he owned so much more, too. Byron had never said as much, but Tucker was quite the town gossip and had never been shy about the investment portfolio he was bound to inherit one day.
But all that was no matter, because there, a long way from the paddock and playing in the floodwater, was a deep red cow.
“Shit, Byron,” Emory gasped. She would have scowled at herself if she could, because of course, Clayton repeated her. “Shit, Papa!”
That got Byron’s attention. He dropped his fork, briefly looking up at Emory before turning slowly in his chair. She wished he’d hurry up because she didn’t know much about farming, but surely one of his prized cows beingin the floodwaterwas not good.
He stood with a start as he finally realised that Clayton wasn’t asking to go see the cows, he was showing them that one was right there.
“Fucking Betty,” he exclaimed. The chair tipped from under him as he raced towards the door.
Emory hoisted Clayton onto her hip and followed him out. She kicked her slip-on shoes over a few times before sliding them onto her feet and running down the hill.
“Byron,” she called out, but he just lifted his arm in a wave without turning back.
She was just starting to wonder what exactly he was going to do about a rogue cow swimming about in the floodwater when Byron stopped short just before his feet hit the water. He took a step forward, then a quick one back. He turned to look up at Emory or the house, but pivoted before she could catch his eye. And he let out a groan that echoed through the hills.
She could see the indecision as he shook his head.
“Maybe we could call Tucker?” she offered. He’d bought the boat after all, maybe now was the chance for it to come in handy.
Byron huffed. “He’d take too long to get here. She could swim down to the next county and we’d lose sight of her.”
Walking tentatively forward, Emory shifted Clayton onto her back. He clung tight to her neck as she held him in a piggyback, for once not demanding to be put down so he could walk. He probably sensed the urgency and panic of the situation.
When she came up beside Byron, Emory stood a step back so there was no chance of the water hitting her feet. It was still, but murky. And Emory had no idea how quickly the water was rising. It was higher now than when she first looked out in the wee hours of the morning, but she couldn’t really have said by how much. She didn’t know how much more they were to expect.
“Is she okay? Swimming?” She reached an arm out to rest on Byron’s shoulder. It shook beneath her touch.
Maybe it was the chill in the morning air, or maybe it was because one of his cows was in danger. Certainly wasn’t just because of Emory, though. At least that’s what she told herself.
“Technically,” Byron said as he ran his hands through his hair and down over his face. “I mean, yeah, she can swim, but if she doesn’t turn back soon, she’s going to tire herself out.”
“She’ll turn back before that, won’t she?”
Emory did her best to ignore the way Clayton was beginning to tug at her ears. Whatever kept him occupied up there would do for right now. The longer the situation went on, the more she was sure that a cow swimming in floodwater wasnotideal. But she knew so little about farm life. She had no idea what to say or how to help, and from the way Byron was still scratching his beard and stepping back and forth, Emory was willing to bet he didn’t know either.
“Honestly,” he said, not taking his eyes off the cow, “any other, I’d say they’d figure it out. But with Betty, all bets are off. She’s gonna do something dumb.”
“How do you know it’s Betty?”
Clayton pulled at her ear, leaning down and speaking directly into it. “Betty red, Mummy.” He gave her hair a small tug for good measure. Her son was right, even in the water, Betty’s coat shone a deep orange-red.
“She’s the only bloody red one,” Byron added. “Still not sure why I bought her. She’s brought me nothing but trouble.”
“Why do you keep her then?”
Byron looked up to the overcast sky, and Emory watched as his chest rose with a deep inhale. When he brought his head level again, he was looking at Emory, not the cow.
“There’s just … something about her. She’s feisty and determined, and for all the grief she gives me, I don’t think any of the other ladies have shown me the kind of care she has. She always comes to say hello when I open the gate and follows me around as I’m fixing fences. I think she’s as connected to me as I am to her.” As he spoke, his eyes continued to dart back to where Betty was still swimming happily in the floodwater.
She’d moved closer to them, much further away from the high paddock where all her herd-mates seemed unfazed. Emory saw then that all of the rest were black with varying amounts of white splotches. In all the times she’d been at the farm, she’d never noticed. Although she’d never really paid attention to the cows either. Her experience at Gardner Farm was completely restricted to the farmhouse and its immediate surrounds.
“Ugh,” Byron groaned as he saw the path Betty was taking, then turned swiftly on his heel and started stalking up the hill toward the house. “Keep an eye on her. Maybe call out her name and see if she gets closer.”
Emory turned to protest, but he was halfway back to the house. She returned her attention to the swimming cow. It was an odd sight, but it filled her belly with amusement.
“You want to help me?” she asked Clayton as she turned her head back. “I’ll count to three and then we’ll yellBettyas loud as we can.”
