“I’m sorry, Astrid. All your hard work—”
“Nonsense. After all these years I can bake bread in my sleep. In a couple of days we’ll do it again. It’ll give you a chance to practice.”
Anne nodded, feeling close to tears. Astrid squeezed her shoulder. “For now, let’s open the windows and air out the kitchen. Everything will be fine, dear.”
She wondered at that. Perhaps returning to England was for the best. She’d never fit in here.
****
Erik found Anne sitting on a wooden box in the barn, her head bent and her shoulders slumped. She looked so sad it broke his heart. He sat beside her.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were getting a cooking lesson.”
She gave him a wry smile. “Apparently I have no talent for cooking. I hope you like your bread well done.”
He chuckled. “That would explain the smoke pouring out the windows. Have you never baked bread before?”
“No, never. When rationing came, Mother took over all the cooking. Food was too precious to waste on a novice cook’s experiments. After my family died, I lived in the nurses’ residence and ate in the cafeteria.” She lowered her head once more. “I feel so useless here.”
He understood about feeling useless. Every time his injuries prevented him from being able to do his chores he felt less a man.
“There’s something you can help me with. Every day the cattle need to go to the dugout for water. Until freeze-up, you can let the milk cows out into the pasture in the morning after milking and bring them back in the afternoon in time for their second milking.” The milk cows were gentle and docile and wouldn’t give her any trouble. Besides, they knew their routine so well they could practically herd themselves. “What do you say?”
She smiled. “I say show me what to do.”
They walked from the barn to the adjacent corral where his ten milk cows idly munched on the last of the summer’s grass. He opened the gate to the corral and clapped his hands.
“Hey up!” he called. The cattle slowly made their way through the gate, following one after another in single file. Erik and Anne followed, walking the quarter mile through the pasture to the dugout.
“It’s so peaceful here. Quiet. I’ll miss that when I’m back in London.”
When she was back in London.
How dull and grey his life would be then. She’d brought much-needed color to his world. He desperately pushed the thought away. “Are you looking forward to going home?”
She shrugged, her dark hair rippling in the cool wind. “I don’t know. Aside from a few good friends, there’s nothing left for me in England. Maybe that’s why I said yes to Anders. I needed a new start.”
“How did you meet?” He had to know, even if it hurt to hear how much she’d loved his brother.
“We met at a dance hall. He paid me a lot of attention, and at first I ignored him—a lot of soldiers liked to flirt. He started showing up at the nurses’ residence, bringing me little gifts, things like chocolate and silk stockings. Not that I didn’t appreciate them, but many soldiers tried to impress us British girls with black market gifts.
“But then one day he found me reading a book of poetry. I told him how my father had loved poetry and had a whole room in our house devoted to books. Of course, they’d all been lost in the blast. A couple of weeks later, he showed up at the hospital with a copy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s
Sonnets from the Portuguese.
After that I saw him in a new light.”
It was like Anders to pursue the object of his desire with single-minded attention. But in pursuing Anne he’d hurt her, and that Erik could never forgive.
“I really thought we had something special together,” she said, gazing out over the countryside. “Something that would last. So I said yes when he proposed. We couldn’t arrange the wedding before he was shipped back to Canada, so I agreed to wait until I arrived here. Since I had no family, it didn’t matter to me where we married. Just as long as we did.” She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Do you think he would have gone back to Signe even if he and I had married before we left England?”
The hurt in her eyes felt like a knife twisting into his gut. “I don’t know. I can’t tell you what my brother might have done. All I know is that I’m sorry he hurt you.”
And I’m sorry you have to leave.
“So am I.” She pushed her wind-blown hair from her face. “Tell me about Dieppe. How were you injured?”
Erik blinked at the abrupt change of subject, his gut tightening as it did whenever he thought about Dieppe. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Perhaps talking would help.” She smiled. “Besides, you’ve listened patiently to my painful stories. It’s time for me to reciprocate.”
He looked into her dark eyes. Since he’d been home, he hadn’t spoken to anyone about that day. No one here understood the pain, the fear, the anger. But Anne had lived through the horrors of war herself. For the first time, he felt able to talk.
“The whole thing was a debacle. The raid depended on the element of surprise, but a couple of German trawlers spotted some of our landing craft and opened fire. The Germans manning the gun positions on the beach heard the gunfire and were ready for us. They shot us like fish in a barrel as we tried to land on the beach.” He closed his eyes and saw men falling around him, the beach turning red with their blood, their cries echoing in his ears. “I remember jumping out of the landing craft onto the shale. Then there was a pain in my leg that burned like fire. The next thing I remember was waking up in hospital.”
“You were lucky. A lot of men didn’t make it back.”
He nodded. Over a thousand were killed, hundreds more wounded or taken prisoner. If someone hadn’t scraped him off that beach and thrown him into a landing craft heading back to one of the ships, he would have been another death statistic.
Sometimes he wondered if he might have been better off dead. His life was never going to be what he’d hoped for before the war. His dreams were simple; he wanted his own farm, children, a wife who loved him. But even those modest dreams were beyond his grasp now.
“You were lucky,” she repeated, her gaze holding his. “You’ve still got your life. So many men never got the second chance you’re getting.”
When she looked at him he could almost believe he’d been spared for a reason.
They arrived at the dugout. The milk cows stood on the edge and dipped their heads to drink. Soon the coldest weather would come and the water would freeze. He wasn’t looking forward to smashing holes in the ice to allow the cattle to drink. The work was wet and cold and miserable, made slow and painful by his injured leg. Maybe he’d be better off selling the farm. He and his mother could move into Emerald, or perhaps Prince Albert. Hopefully, he could get a job that didn’t involve too much physical labor.
Who was he kidding? He’d hate living in a city and he’d hate working for someone else. Assuming anyone would hire him.
“So, this afternoon I round up the milk cows and bring them back to the barn, right?”
“Right. Are you going to be okay?”
She winced. “They are awfully big, aren’t they?”
“Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you. But if you’re afraid, just call me.”
“I won’t be afraid. I’ll be fine.”
Erik wondered if she was trying to convince him or herself. He put some levity into his tone. “If you’d rather, you can help me muck out the stalls in the barns. I’ve got a pitchfork just the right size for you.”
“I can do that, too.”
“I was kidding, Anne. You don’t have to clean the barn.”
“And I was serious when I said I didn’t want to feel useless.” She started walking, then turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Are you coming?”
He couldn’t hide his grin. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Chapter Four
Later that afternoon, Anne walked down to the dugout. With a nervous whistle, she called to the milk cows, just as Erik had done that morning.
“Hey up! Hey up!”
At first the cows simply stared at her, but after a moment of indecision, they began to head for the barn. Anne followed, feeling equal parts pride and relief.
By the time she herded them into the barn, Astrid and Erik were already there, preparing for the evening milking. They ushered each cow into her stall, the mangers already filled with hay and grain. Suddenly Astrid began to chuckle. Then Anne heard Erik’s deep laugh.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
Ingrid walked into the barn at that moment. “Yes, what’s so funny?”
“Oh Anne, I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at you, but—”
Astrid snorted with laughter, unable to speak. She pointed toward the two animals in the last stall. Ingrid stepped closer to inspect and then began to chuckle.
“Oh, I see the problem.”
Anne threw up her hands. “Will someone please tell me what’s so damn funny?”
Erik crooked his finger. “Come with me.”
He led her down the middle of the barn, leaning heavily on his cane. The cows contentedly munched on their hay, tails swishing happily, oblivious to the human merriment around them.
“Take a look, Anne. What do you see?”
“I see the backsides of a lot of cows. What of it?”
“Look a little closer, under the cows.”
Anne ducked her head for a better inspection. “I see the bag where the milk is kept. What do you call that?”
“The udder. Now look closely at the udder of each cow.”
Anne walked down the row of stalls, her annoyance growing. What on earth was he trying to tell her? Every cow looked the same from underneath, the same swollen udder waiting to be milked.
“They’re all the same. I don’t understand—”
She stopped short and stared at the bovines in the last stall. Anne smiled, finally catching the joke.
“Well,” she said, pretending to carefully study the animals. “I’m afraid you’re going to have a difficult time milking these two. Unless I miss my guess, they’re male.”
Ingrid broke out in laughter and Astrid wiped tears of mirth from her cheeks. She put her arm around Anne and gave her a squeeze.
“Oh, my dear, I haven’t laughed so hard in a very long time.”
Erik laughed as well, the sound warming her heart. When he smiled he looked years younger, and so handsome her heart caught in her throat.
She blinked at him, confused at her thoughts. It had only been two days since she’d learned of Anders’s marriage. Shouldn’t she still be mourning the death of their relationship? Shouldn’t she still be missing him?
In a heartbeat she recognized that she didn’t miss Anders at all. Her pride had taken a beating because of his dismissal, but she was more concerned about the uncertainty of her future than in losing Anders.
Had she ever really loved him, or had she wanted her own family so badly that she’d convinced herself she did?
“Come on,” Erik said. “Let’s kick these two out and find our missing ladies. When we come back, maybe Ingrid will show you how the milking is done.”
Anne stared into his blue eyes. Someday, if she married, she promised herself if would be for love.
“Lead the way.”
****
Ingrid gently massaged the cow’s udder and then pulled on the teat. A stream of white, creamy milk flowed into the pail below.
“You have to be calm and patient, and gentle. The happier the cow is, the more milk you’ll get.”
“Some farmers, mostly men, are too impatient,” Astrid added. “They pull on the teats so hard that the milk ducts become blocked and the cow gets mastitis.”
Anne’s training as a nurse kicked in at the word. “Human mothers can get mastitis, too. I understand it can be quite painful. At least that’s what I was told. I’ve never worked in obstetrics or pediatrics, other than in short stints during my training.”
“Where did you work during the war, Anne?” Ingrid asked.
“At St. Bartholomew’s in London. I assisted in the operating theater, but mostly I looked after patients on the wards.”
Astrid sighed. “Erik needs another surgery on his leg. The doctor in Prince Albert wants to remove the remaining shrapnel.”
“When is he having the surgery?”
Astrid shrugged one shoulder as she continued to milk her cow. “I don’t know. He’s being stubborn about it. He’s says we haven’t the money for the surgery, and he’s too busy on the farm. I think he’s just scared.”
Anne could understand his fear. The prospect of going under the knife for a second time was daunting. He already knew how long and painful his recovery would be. But she also knew that, without the surgery, the pain might not subside. If the shrapnel moved and damaged tissue, the pain could increase and leave him immobile. Anne went cold at the thought.
Ingrid pulled the bucket of milk from under her cow and set it by the door. “I think the pain is getting worse. He won’t say anything to us, but I can see that his movements are becoming stiffer and slower. That’s why we’ve taken over the milking. He was finding it too uncomfortable to crouch under the cows like this. We kicked him out, but we told him it was because he wasn’t gentle enough with our girls.”
Astrid moved to a new cow, stretching her back before sitting on her small stool once more. “It was nice to hear him laugh again today. I don’t think I’ve heard his laugh since he came home from the war.”
“I think you’re right, Ma,” Ingrid said, winking at Anne. “And I think we’ve got Anne here to thank for that.”
“Because I can’t tell the difference between a female cow and a male one? I have to say, it really doesn’t take much to amuse you people.”
Astrid laughed. “Dear Anne. I’m glad we got to meet you. I only wish things had been different.”
Anne swallowed and looked away. She’d miss Astrid and Ingrid when she left.
And Erik
.
“Now it’s time for you to try,” Ingrid said, patting the rump of an enormous white cow. “Old Bessie here is the gentlest of the lot. She’ll be patient with you.”
Anne sat on Ingrid’s three-legged stool and positioned the milk pail beneath Bessie’s udder. She cautiously took hold of one of the teats.
“Remember, keep calm and Bessie will do all the work.”