Three Can Keep a Secret (8 page)

He tossed an envelope onto the desk, and I stared at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t mind. I always wondered why you didn’t have some pictures of your folks around and decided it was time.” He squinted at me shyly. “Do you like them?”

I stood up slowly and put my arms around his neck. He looked me in the eyes, almost fearful, until I leaned forward and kissed him. He stood still for a moment, then slid his hands around my waist. I reached up into his hair and was pulling myself closer to him when I heard the door open.

“Oh, geez, I’m sorry.” Lucy slammed the door behind her.

“Wait, Lucy!” I pulled myself from Abe’s arms and ran into the hallway.

Lucy stood outside the door, mortified. “I am. So. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really.”

Abe stuck his head out the office door. “Geez, Lucy. Your timing really sucks.”

I burst out laughing, and a small smile finally made its way to Lucy’s face. Abe grinned at her, then ducked back into the office.

“You need something?” I asked.

“Just wanted to apologize about my in-laws and the trouble they caused today. They’re good at that.”

“Hey, I’m just glad they’re not mine.”

“Yeah, you should be.” She looked like she was going to say something else, but turned, instead, and headed toward the parlor.

When I got back in the office Abe was already sitting behind the desk, had booted up the computer, and was looking through a manila folder, avoiding my eyes. I was glad he wasn’t standing there waiting for more kissing, because I was embarrassed I’d done it at all.

“There was something you wanted to ask me, right?” he said.

“Um, yeah. I wanted to make sure we got Lucy’s paycheck and benefits started. You on top of that?”

“On my list to do today.”

“Wonderful. Need me to do anything?”

He looked at me strangely, and heat swept through my body. I cleared my throat. “I’d better get to the parlor. It’s only Lucy’s third day and already I’m leaving her to the milking alone.”

“Stella,” Abe said as I opened the door. I looked back. “Any chance we could continue our earlier conversation sometime in the near future?”

I gave him what felt like a very shaky grin, and shut the door.

Chapter Sixteen

Lucy and I were forking the last shredded newspaper into clean stalls when a Harley rumbled up the lane. I could tell from the timbre of the roar that it was Lenny’s bike.

“Uh oh,” I said.

Lucy straightened abruptly. “What?”

I waved my hand. “Oh, nothing. It’s just Lenny, and he was in a hell of a mood when I saw him today.”

Abe had already gone to supper, taking Zach away with him, so Lucy, Tess, and I were the only ones around. I leaned in the doorway of the barn and stared at Lenny. He stared back.

“Hey, Len,” I said.

He looked out at the field behind my house, then back at me. “Sorry.”

I walked toward him and he swung his leg over his two-toned green Wide Glide. When I got close, he offered the meaty part of his arm and I gave it a light punch.

He rubbed his shoulder. “Are we even?”

I grinned. “Sure.”

“Kind of you. And I haven’t even told you what I found for you today.”

“What?”

“How ’bout a new fork for a little birdie’s song? Be a big step to getting your bike back on the road again.”

“Really? That’s great.”

“And I’ve got another surprise I need you to come by the Barn for. Tomorrow?”

“What is this? Christmas?”

He shrugged, and I saw in his eyes he was still haunted by something.

“All right,” I said. “Thanks. I’ll swing by tomorrow. How’d you manage to get the fork?”

Some emotion flitted across his eyes then disappeared just as quickly. “I’ve got my sources. Don’t—”

He cut off abruptly and glanced toward the barn. Lucy stood in the doorway, looking anxious. I waved her over.

“Lucy, Lenny. And vice versa. You saw each other yesterday when Lenny dropped me off. She’s my new farmhand, Len. And Lucy, you know how Zach told you not to be scared of me? It’s the same with Lenny. He’s only half as bad as he looks.”

They looked at each other rather seriously and shook hands.

“Actually,” Lenny said to Lucy, “I was here to make amends with your boss lady, here, and take her out to supper.”

“Wow,” I said. “Taco Bell again?”

“Want to make it a party of three?” Lenny asked Lucy.

“Oh, thanks,” Lucy said, “but I’ve got my daughter to feed. And it’s getting late, so we’d better stay here.”

Lenny brightened from his somber mood. “A little girl? Well, bring her along.”

“Really?”

“I love little girls.”

“Well, okay,” Lucy said, a smile finally beginning. “Let me change out of these clothes and we’ll be right down.” She trotted off to the garage.

“Nice little lady,” Lenny said.

“I’ll let you get by with that,” I said, “because she really is little.”

“And how else would I have meant it?”

I grunted. “I’ll go change, too. Want to come in?”

“Naw. I need some attention from this other little lady here.”

Queenie sat patiently at his feet. Lenny lowered his bulky self to the ground and Queenie immediately attacked him. I left them rolling around like two kids.

Five minutes later I went back outside and Lenny seemed even more relaxed. I guess it’s hard to be uptight when you’ve got grass clippings and dog slobber on your jeans.

Soon we were caravanning down the road, Lenny leading and the three of us gals in my truck. Tess had her hair tied back in a ponytail, and I could’ve been wrong, but I thought maybe Lucy had swiped a little mascara on her eyelashes.

Lenny led us to Zoto’s, a family restaurant down on Route 309. Tess’ face lit up, and she jiggled with excitement in her seat.

Lucy met my eyes over the girl’s head. “I told you we’d eaten at McDonald’s too many times.”

I made a disgusted face and pulled in beside Lenny. While we hopped down from the truck, Lenny turned off his bike and sat. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought he was casing the place. He seemed very interested in the other vehicles in the parking lot and took a lot of time locking up his bike. He also took a long look at Suzy’s Lounge across the street.

“Everything okay, Len?” I said.

He shot me a startled glance but ignored my question, gesturing toward the restaurant’s door. “Shall we?”

Lenny had quite a discussion with the hostess, a chunky little thing who looked like she was barely sixteen. She wanted to seat us in the back part of the restaurant, but Lenny told her if we couldn’t be in the front, we were leaving.

Lucy looked a question at me.

“He’s a biker,” I said. “He’ll feel a lot better if his scooter’s where he can keep an eye on it.”

Lucy nodded understanding, and the ditz hostess finally led us to a booth overlooking the parking lot.

After a little awkwardness, Lenny and I squeezed into the same side of the booth so Lucy and Tess could sit together. I hoped we wouldn’t have to argue too much about whose elbow was bumping whose, because Lenny had some big elbows.

After we ordered, Lenny unwound enough to help Tess figure out the maze on the back of the placemat, and Lucy watched with sadness in her eyes.

“Do you have children, Lenny?” Lucy asked suddenly. “You seem so comfortable with Tess.”

He avoided her eyes by looking out at his bike and then at the ketchup on the table. “No, ma’am. It’s just me. Well, me and Bart, but that’s different.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, confused.

“I mean, we’re not family or anything, but he’s the closest thing I come to it. I mean…never mind.”

I wondered what on earth made him so jittery about a simple question, but I soon figured out, from the blush creeping up his face, that it was the person asking the question rather than the question itself. His eyes darted toward Lucy, who was acting weird and self-conscious herself, picking at something non-existent on the table. Lenny’s leg started jerking up and down, shaking the floor.

“Good lord, Lenny,” I said under my breath. “You trying to start an earthquake?”

His leg stilled. “Sorry. I’m not used to people actually caring about my personal life.”

“Come on, Len,” I said. “You know I’m only interested in you for your body.”

He blinked, then finally laughed, and the tension at our table dissipated. Tess had been oblivious all along.

The rest of the meal passed in stilted but friendly conversation about bikes, Mennonites, and Lucy’s farming experience. Lenny somehow picked up that he shouldn’t ask anything about Tess’ father, and we were soon pushing our plates toward the waitress. We all declined coffee, Lenny paid the bill, and Tess and I clambered into the pickup after thanking Lenny.

Lucy stayed outside to talk with Lenny while he unlocked his bike. I turned my radio on low so Tom Petty could drown out whatever conversation they were having, but I didn’t need to hear anything to see that Lenny was giving his bike a more thorough than necessary inspection, and that once again he was studying Suzy’s parking lot across the street.

It was also apparent that Lucy was feeling awkward and shy. If the words written on our garage had any truth to them, I’d be incredibly surprised. She looked like a teen-ager, not sure how to stand or where to put her hands while she was talking. If she was as promiscuous as the graffiti indicated, she’d have no such problems.

Finally, Lenny straddled his bike and Lucy slid into the truck. She belted herself in and gazed straight ahead, an ambiguous expression on her face.

Lenny waited with a concerned expression until the truck came to life, then started his bike. I gestured for him to take the lead. He rode ahead of us for a few miles before we parted ways, him toward his home in Perkasie, and us toward the farm.

I swear Lucy’s eyes never left his taillight.

Chapter Seventeen

The first sound I heard when I stepped down from my truck was the high keening of labor pains. This is unusual, so I knew something had gone wrong with Poppy’s delivery.

Lucy caught my eye over the hood of the truck. “Let me get Tess to bed, and I’ll be right out.”

I looked at Tess, rubbing her eyes, sleep lines on her face from dozing on Lucy’s shoulder. “Take your time. I’ve seen it all before.”

While Lucy led her sleepy charge toward the garage, I dodged Queenie’s excited jumping and jogged inside—slowing to a walk when my ribs reminded me of their existence—to change into delivering clothes. Most likely everything would go smoothly and Poppy was just being a baby, but no matter what happened I was bound to get splashed with blood, urine, and an ungodly amount of other bodily fluids. That didn’t bother me, but there was no reason to get one of my two pairs of nice jeans stained. I wasn’t going to have money to buy new ones in the foreseeable future.

The light on my phone was flashing when I got into the kitchen, but I didn’t feel like taking the time to listen to any messages. The clock on the oven said it was already close to my usual bedtime of nine-o’clock, so whoever it was could just wait till morning. Or at least till Poppy had delivered her calf and I’d taken a shower.

Decked out in old jeans, a ratty T-shirt, and work boots, with a fresh Motrin coursing through my bloodstream, I found Poppy standing and breathing hard in a secluded corner of the pasture. After ordering Queenie to sit and stay, I turned on my flashlight, checked Poppy’s hind end, and saw tell-tale signs of labor—her water had broken, making a messy circle in the grass, and there was other discharge leaking onto her legs and the ground.

But no hooves were sticking out where they should have been.

When you have a mature cow calving, it shouldn’t take more than two to four hours for labor and delivery to be complete. Since Poppy had been showing signs before dinner, her present condition had me worried. The front hooves are supposed to be the first thing to show, with the nose coming next. With nothing showing after all this time, it could mean the calf was breech, coming nose first, or in some other bizarre or crooked position.

I stroked Poppy’s face while talking soothingly to her, and tried to decide which approach to take to figure out what was wrong. In a couple of minutes her breath started coming faster, and she was soon moaning again, straining and pushing.

“Sorry, old girl,” I said.

I rubbed her side until the contraction was over, then went to her rear and lifted her tail. Still nothing.

I rummaged around in the first aid kit I’d brought and found a rubber glove that fit over most of my arm. I smeared a little KY jelly on my fingers and inserted them into Poppy’s vagina to feel around a little.

“Damn,” I said.

“That doesn’t sound good.” Lucy stood a few feet away in the semi-darkness.

“Feels like the calf’s trying to come out head first,” I said. I pulled out my hand and rested it on Poppy’s bony pelvis. “But at least it’s not breech. We just have to get those hooves in front of its head.”

Lucy’s face lit up, reminding me of Queenie when she wanted me to throw her the remains of a sandwich.

“You want to do the honors?” I asked.

She looked for a moment like she was going to do a cheer, but immediately became all business, finding one of the gloves and moving to Poppy’s behind.

“It’s been a while,” she said, looking anxious.

“You’ll be fine.”

She took a deep breath and moved her hand slowly, finagling her way deeper into Poppy’s insides. I could tell when she felt the calf’s nose by the dreamy look that came into her eyes.

The nostalgic expression was replaced almost instantly by one of surprise when Poppy went into a contraction. Lucy gritted her teeth and smiled tensely.

“Forgot about the pressure, huh?” I said.

She gave a quick laugh and closed her eyes. Soon the contraction was over and Lucy was able to move her arm around, feeling which direction the calf needed to go.

“I think I just need to—”

Poppy suddenly dropped onto her front knees, and it was easy to see the rest of her was going down, too. Lucy extracted her arm and stepped back to let the cow get comfortable on the ground. While this would make Lucy’s job more difficult, it’s very normal for cows to get up and down a lot during labor, and it just might jostle the calf into a better position.

“Well,” Lucy said.

“Maybe she’ll get up soon,” I said. “That would be a lot easier than trying to do this lying down.”

We sat where Poppy wouldn’t see us, hoping it would allow her to relax. As I mentioned before, mature calvers don’t like having people around during labor. Maybe she could forget we were there for a few minutes if we stayed out of sight.

We watched her suffer through a few more contractions before she lumbered her way upright again, swaying a bit until she got all four feet under her.

“Let’s see what happens with a couple more pushes,” I said. I was hoping the up and down had moved the calf to a better place. We waited, but no hooves made themselves evident.

“Guess I’ll go in again,” Lucy said.

This time her expression was one of satisfaction.

“That really did help,” she said. “Look at this.”

Lucy’s tongue stuck out between her teeth as she gently tugged and a perfect, shiny little hoof poked out. She reached in again, and the next thing we knew, both hooves were out and Poppy was pushing. Lucy grabbed hold of the hooves and pulled while Poppy strained, and the feet slid out several more inches. After a quick grin from Lucy, I lay back on the ground to relax while she worked. Queenie came over and licked my face.

“Stella,” Lucy said a few minutes later.

I gently pushed Queenie away and was happy to see a little nose coming out in between two well-formed front legs. After a couple more contractions with Poppy pushing and Lucy pulling, the entire head slipped out.

The head is the biggest obstacle—literally—when a calf is being born. Once that’s out, the mother can breathe a little easier—not quite literally. The next feeling of success comes when the calf’s shoulders emerge, and then, finally, the hips. Once they’re through, it’s pretty much a done deal.

“Good girl, Poppy,” Lucy said. She gave the cow, who had decided to lie down again, a final pat on her rear and came to sit by me.

Normally I would go away and let the cow do the rest of the work, but since Poppy’d had so much trouble this time, I thought I’d stick around and make sure she wasn’t too exhausted to finish it out.

“You can go back to the apartment, if you want,” I said to Lucy.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to miss my first calving in three years.”

The look of contentment on her face prodded me to try to remember the last time I felt inspired by the birthing of a calf. Probably not since I was about ten. Starting almost from my own birth I’d seen hundreds, maybe thousands, of calves born, and while it was still satisfying to have a new calf, it wasn’t earthshaking. I guess that’s okay, but Lucy’s enjoyment made me feel I might be missing something.

As we watched, the calf’s shoulders emerged and came through, and soon the hips, and before we knew it the calf had slipped onto the ground and Poppy was standing up, cleaning it off.

“Looks like a nice little heifer,” I said. Heifers—girls—are always hoped for, since they can be added to the dairy herd and will be milk producers by the time they’re two. A male is just another animal to sell to the neighbors for fattening.

In a natural setting, the calf would be standing and finding her way to her mother’s udder in a short couple of hours. In a farming situation it’s a bit different. We’d let Poppy do some of the cleaning, but give her help with drying, using a pile of towels I had brought with me. As soon as the calf was dry and a bit more accustomed to being in the outside world, I would carry her to a private hutch, where she would sleep on clean, dry straw, and drink Poppy’s colostrum as soon as we got it.

As far as Poppy was concerned, the placenta would soon be delivered, and—sorry—she’d probably eat it. I’ve never learned why cows do this, but there must be some reason since it happens almost every time. Poppy would forget about the calf by this time tomorrow, not having bonded with it, and would be back in her usual routine, being milked twice daily until she recovered enough to be bred again.

It may sound cruel to you, taking the calf from her mother, but I run a business, and things have to be done a certain way. And the animals certainly don’t suffer under my care.

Besides, when you’re going through the grief of losing someone you loved like a father, it makes you wonder if you’d be better off never bonding with anyone.