Chapter 31
JOSEPHINE WASN’T PREPARED for the grim sight that met her when she peered into the stall.
The young heifer, barely more than a calf herself, lay on her side, her reddish-brown hide dull and slick with sweat. The young mother-to-be shuddered and strained in feces-stained hay, her taut, bloated belly rippling as she labored.
“Dodge, her calf’s coming!”
“It can’t be.” Mr. Coburn stared. “She’s all but dead, Doc.”
“She may be, but the calf isn’t. And she’s trying to push it out.”
Mr. Coburn knelt and ran a hand along the heifer’s belly. “How can she have the strength left?”
“She doesn’t,” the doctor said, tone somber. “But motherhood has a power not of this world. One I’ve learned never to question.”
Mr. Coburn set his rifle aside. “Mrs. Dunham, you best take your leave. Or at least wait out by the corral.”
Watching the young heifer writhe, her emaciated body heaving, Josephine ached for her. And for Bethie, knowing what the animal meant to her. “What can I do to help?”
The doctor, an older gentleman, looked up. “You ever assisted with a calving, Mrs. Dunham?”
She shook her head, only mildly surprised that he knew her name.
“I’m Doc Wyatt. Newcomers are few around here, so I have the advantage.” He nodded toward the far wall. “If you want to help, fetch some fresh straw.”
“I’ll do that,” Mr. Coburn said, already moving. “But would you run and get Bethie? She’ll want to be here.”
“You sure about that, Dodge?” Doc Wyatt eyed him. “You may end up losing both Maple and the calf.”
“And what will I tell Bethie if Maple dies and I didn’t give her the chance to be here? However this goes.”
Doc Wyatt nodded. “You’re right. That girl’s a Coburn, after all.”
“Where can I find her?” Josephine asked.
“Try the cabin across the field.” Mr. Coburn pushed aside the soiled hay with a gloved hand. “Then the other barn. And get back as fast as you can.”
Josephine ran the entire way, surprised to see the sun dipping low . . . and wondering why a farmhand would live in a cabin.
She burst in through the front door. “Bethie? Are you here?”
No answer.
She tried the first door. A bedroom—likely his, judging by its masculine feel. The next room carried a stillness that told her who it had belonged to, and she closed the door without a sound. The third room had to be Bethie’s. But the girl wasn’t there.
She raced out back. “Bethie!”
Mr. Coburn’s dog, eyes already on her, sat at the base of a wide-limbed oak, then its eyes tracked upward.
“Bethie, if you’re up there, please come down. It’s Maple!”
Branches rustled. Slender legs appeared. Then Bethie dropped lightly to the ground.
Her posture was defiant, but her red-rimmed eyes told the truth. “I already know she’s gone! I don’t need you telling me.”
“She’s not gone, Bethie. She’s giving birth. Your uncle wants you there!”
Bethie took off running, the dog with her. Josephine followed.
Bethie rushed into the stall and dropped down beside the heifer, stroking her head and speaking to her in a soft voice.
“That’s a good girl,” Doc Wyatt encouraged quietly, lighting lanterns. “That’s what she needs, Bethie.”
Mr. Coburn positioned himself and ran a hand across Maple’s belly, pressing intermittently. The heifer kicked, but quick reflexes spared him any damage.
Standing outside the stall with the dog, Josephine wanted to help but didn’t know what to do. So she gathered more fresh straw and scattered it as he’d done earlier.
He glanced up, gratitude in his gaze. “Near the front of the barn, where you came in, there’s a wooden box. I need the rope in it.”
Josephine returned with it. “What do you want me to do?”
“Help me pull. When the time comes.”
“Help you pull,” she repeated confidently, as though she understood what he meant. Which she did—in theory.
“First,” he continued, “we check presentation. Make sure this little one’s set to come as it should.”
Josephine winced as he reached inside the birthing canal. The heifer bellowed, its breathing labored, and Mr. Coburn grimaced, sucking in a breath.
“Contractions,” Doc Wyatt said softly, looking at Josephine.
Understanding dawned.
“You’ve never done this before?” Bethie asked, disbelief sharpening her features. “I thought you were a teacher.”
“Bethie . . .” Mr. Coburn straightened and reached for a towel. “There are many kinds of learning. Each has its place.”
“Some more than others,” the girl responded beneath her breath.
“You’re right, Bethie,” Josephine admitted. “While I know a lot about many different subjects, I know very little, if anything, about this one. But I’m willing to learn.”
“And that”—Mr. Coburn looked at Bethie—“is half the lesson taught.”
Bethie lowered her head without comment.
“Maple’s presenting well, forelegs extended,” he continued, sounding more like a doctor than a farmhand.
“You’re doing so good, girl,” Bethie whispered. “You’re gonna love your little one, Maple. You’re gonna be such a good mama.”
“Bethie . . .” Mr. Coburn whispered.
The girl slowly lifted her gaze.
“Straight shooter?” he asked softly.
“S-Straight shooter,” she repeated, voice trembling.
“Maple will likely die giving birth to her calf. But if she doesn’t, we’ll do our best to let her see it before she goes.”
Bethie nodded, tears streaming down her face.
“I’m not feeling any more contractions,” Mr. Coburn said after a moment. “We need to hurry. I’m going to try and get the loop around the hooves.”
Straining, he apparently managed it, then pulled tight.
He handed Josephine the rope. “Doc’s going to stay up there on that end. He knows where to push. You and me, we’ll pull together from down here. When I say pull, pull. And when I say stop—”
“I’ll stop,” Josephine said succinctly, gripping the rope behind him and positioning herself on her haunches as he’d done.
“Come on, Maple, girl,” Bethie whispered. “Stay just a little longer.”
“Pull!”
Josephine pulled as hard as she could, her strength a fraction of his.
Her body began to shake from the exertion, and just when she thought she couldn’t pull any longer—the calf’s hooves appeared, followed in a slippery rush by what looked like its nose.
But it was covered by some sort of milky white—
“Stop!”
Josephine let go and fell back into the hay, the agonizing cries of the mother causing tears to knot in her throat.
“You all right?” Mr. Coburn asked, glancing back.
“I’m fine.” Her breath came heavy.
Seconds passed.
“Let’s go again! Everybody ready?”
Josephine rose into position. Doc Wyatt nodded.
“Pull!”
Josephine gritted her teeth, straining with everything she had, wanting Maple to see her calf before she died. But more, wanting that for Bethie.
A rush of fluid, and the forelegs and full head appeared, then the abdomen.
“Stop!”
Catching herself this time, Josephine moved to rest on her knees, gaining her breath as Mr. Coburn gently tore a hole in the white film covering the calf’s body.
“One last time should do it,” he said, removing the rope. “But this time, we each hold a leg. Right about here. You ready?”
Close beside him, Josephine tightened her grip. “Ready.”
“Pull!”
After a moment, the body of the calf slid free, and Josephine watched in exhausted amazement as the calf’s belly moved up and down, its eyes open and alert.
“Help me rub it down, then I’ll carry it to Maple.”
Realizing Mr. Coburn was talking to her, Josephine followed his lead and grabbed straw and began rubbing the calf’s slick body. He tickled the calf’s nostrils with straw until it moved its head and snorted, its coat the same deep honeyed brown as its mother’s.
“Usually the mama will turn and start licking it,” he said, leaning closer. “She’ll nudge it, trying to get it to move. But Maple’s not able to do that, so we’re helping her out.”
Josephine rubbed the calf’s neck, its belly, then moved back to its head. Despite the straw, her hands grew slippery with afterbirth. But she didn’t mind. This was . . . a miracle.
“Bull or heifer?” Bethie asked as she watched from where she sat, cradling Maple’s head.
Dodge looked. “Heifer.”
“You had a heifer, girl,” Bethie whispered. “A pretty thing just like you.”
Josephine looked beside her, keeping her voice low. “Does it have the disease?” she whispered, wiping her hands on the cloth he gave her.
“Hard to tell yet. But it looks mighty healthy compared to three others born in recent days.”
She frowned. “Those calves all died?”
He held her gaze, and she bowed her head, unable to imagine having to do what he’d done.
“Dodge.” A hint of warning laced Doc Wyatt’s tone.
Mr. Coburn cradled the calf in his arms. “Come on, sweet thing. Let’s meet your mama.” He laid the calf down by Maple, and the dying mother struggled to lift her head, but couldn’t.
“Look at your sweet daughter,” Bethie whispered, rubbing the new calf behind its still-wet ears. “She’s so pretty. Just like—” Her voice broke. “Just like you. Don’t you worry . . . I’ll take good care of her for you,” Bethie said between sobs.
Josephine watched, her heart aching, but in awe of the girl’s strength.
A moment passed, and Doc Wyatt slipped a hand beneath Maple’s neck. He shook his head.
Mr. Coburn leaned down. “Bethie, let’s get you and this new little one to another stall. We need to get her some milk.”
Bethie looked up. “You have to promise me she won’t die, too.”
“Honey, you know I can’t do that.”
“Then I don’t want her.” Bethie stood up, hands fisted at her sides.
Mr. Coburn moved closer. “She needs you, Bethie. And besides, you just promised Maple you’d take care of her.”
Josephine stared, finding that a rather cruel reminder at the moment. Especially for one so young. About to come to the girl’s defense, she held back when Bethie picked up the newborn calf.
“Excuse me, sir. You need anything else before we call it a day?”
Josephine turned to see a group of farmhands standing in the entrance to the barn—all of them looking to Dodge Coburn.
“Are the carcasses taken care of?”
“Yes, sir. Burning as we speak. We got teams set up to watch the fire all night like you asked, and we’ll take turns watching over the sick ones.”
“Sounds good. A couple of final things . . .”
As Josephine watched Dodge Coburn interact with the other men, unmistakably in the role of their superior, the word underestimated came to mind yet again.
But this time, with the word greatly.