Curtis, part five

The barn was little more than an oversized shed, even more dilapidated than the shack of a house that was Leta’s new home. Her new husband had just walked her across the back yard, such as it was, opened the door and led her inside. She nearly gagged at the stench, a combination of cow manure and cat urine. A plethora of cats immediately greeted them, whining for food.

Leta hated cats. When she was a little girl spending time on her uncle John’s farm, one of her responsibilities was to guard the newly retrieved milk from the eager felines, while her aunt and cousins continued with the milking. Armed with a stick, she would have to continually keep the animals at bay, and more often than not, ended up being jumped on, scratched and even bitten. But she persevered and almost entirely kept the cats from getting their share off the top. The worst part for her was that once the milk had been separated, her aunt Betsy would send her back to the barn with a partial pail to pour into several saucers on a shelf. Again, the cats would charge her, and one in particular would run up her back, over her head and then leap into the fray, scattering the others to get first dibs of the treat. Just the thought of that horrible chore made Leta’s eyes fill with tears.

Years later, a fellow that was courting her older sister Nellie tried to give her a newly weaned kitten, and the offer sent the ten-year-old screaming from the room.

Now, in her husband’s barn, the memory grabbed hold of her, and she reflexively kicked at the cats.

“Don’t you feed these animals?” she demanded.

“Relax, Mrs. Curtis,” her husband said, as if he were teaching her something she didn’t know, “they’re just old barn cats. They won’t hurt you. They eat plenty.”

“Really?”

“They just know we’re here for the milking is all.”

The cows were definitely aching. Leta could hear their moaning in the small stalls. But just then one of the cats, a large tabby, dug into her leg viciously. Leta screamed in pain, raised her foot and kicked the cruel animal into the wall. It hit with a loud thunk and fell onto the ground. Both Leta and her husband looked to see if the creature would revive, but it failed to move.

“Oh dear,” Leta gasped. “Curtis, I—“

“—Come on,” he snapped, “we have milking to do. I’ll take care of that old rascal later.”

Two pails were hanging from hooks near the cow stalls, and a stool sat nearby. Curtis retrieved one of the pails and the stool and placed the stool near the udders of one of the cows. Then he wiped his hands on his pants and sat on one of the stools.

“Watch me,” he instructed, but Leta was still distracted by the motionless cat. “Watch me!” he snapped. Then he proceeded to demonstrate how to milk a cow, explaining what he did along the way. Leta let him prattle on. Once he had finished, he lifted the pail, patted the beast on her rump and then retrieved the chair.

“Good girl,” he said. “Feeling better?”

Then he turned to Leta and offered her the stool.

“Now, you do it.”

Leta absently accepted the stool, retrieved the second pail and sat beside the second cow. Her husband hovered behind her.

“Now, you just—“ he began, but Leta cut him off tersely.

“I know how to milk a cow, thank you very much.”

And she milked the second cow until the pail was full. Then she stood, lifted the pail with both hands and offered it to her husband.

“I need another pail,” she said.

“No, one pail’s enough,” he said.

“She’s got more in her. Give me another pail, please.”

He looked at her quizzically. “We never milk more than two pails’ worth.

“Well,” Leta said, “all I know is that I could get another pint out of her at least. All I need is a pail.”

“I don’t have another pail,” he admitted.

She looked at him incredulously.

“All right, then,” she said finally. “Take those back to the kitchen, empty one into one of the clean pots and bring the empty pail back.”

Leta waited, gently rubbing the rump of the cow. She realized that her headache had left her, at least temporarily, but she was growing hungry. It was nearly eleven in the morning, and she had not eaten since dinner the previous night.

Her husband returned and handed her the bucket. She sighed with disappointment when he handed it to her; he hadn’t even rinsed it out.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I’ll fetch us some eggs while you do this,” he said and then disappeared.

Finishing her cow and returning to her husband’s, Leta was able to fill the bucket once again, and made a mental note to add two milking buckets to her shopping list.

To be continued.