storm was touching? I thought I was the dark one.”
“It made me feel like Da Hah cared about us. That’s what the bishop said, didn’t he?”
“I suppose you could take it that way,” Dora grunted. “It’s just that I got my shawl soaked the whole way through. We got to the buggy as soon as we could, but didn’t you stay out for a while longer?”
“Yah, it felt so good,” Ella said. “I think Da Hah remembered us. I was beginning to think He never would.”
“If the sadness keeps on, I suppose we could get you some of those Englisha pills from the doctor at the clinic,” Dora said, standing up to empty her pail into the milk can. “They say it helps keep the head turned on right.”
“I don’t need my head turned on right,” Ella said. “I just need the hurt to stop.”
“It won’t stop for an awful long time. That’s what the deacon’s wife was telling Emma Troyer when her husband died last year. Emma’s in her thirties and has six children.” Dora sat down again, her stool scraping on the concrete floor.
“I’ll not be taking any pills,” Ella said. “You’re too dark.”
“The world is dark, Ella,” Dora said without looking up, “really, really dark like it was today, and it’s getting darker the older you get.”
“You still have your boyfriend, Dora. Just be thankful for that.”
“Yah, I suppose so,” Dora said, her voice weary.
Ella got up, emptied her milk pail, and released several of the cows. She slapped their backs as they moved out to the barnyard. With Dora almost done, she waited before she allowed more cows in. Dora hurried with the cow she was milking and then set the milk bucket on the concrete while she stepped up to release the cow. Ella saw the accident before it happened. She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but it was too late.
The released cow backed up, straight for the bucket of milk. A belated yell from Dora only made matters worse. The cow jerked sideways and caught its leg on the bucket. The milk spilled out in a white flood, its contents rapidly spreading thin as it crept into the straw, debris, and cow dung on the concrete floor.
“A whole bucket!” Dora wailed. “What a waste, and it was all my fault. A perfectly horrible, dark, and dreary day this is. You naughty, naughty cow.”
“It’s just a cow, yah,” Ella said. “Now get out,” she told the animal, which had set its gaze on the running milk as if wondering why these humans went to so much trouble if they can’t be more careful.
“Why do you girls spill the milk?” Monroe asked, stepping across the gutter. “Don’t you know how to milk a cow by now?”
“You could have a little bit of sympathy,” Dora said. “I just set the pail down to let the cow loose.”
“Never, never do that,” Monroe said. “Never, never just set the pail down.”
“Quit bothering her,” Eli said, speaking up for the first time. “We’ve all had a long day.”
“Long day or not, it still needs sayin’,” Monroe said, his voice firm.
“I heard you, and I already knew,” Dora said. “Now don’t be rubbin it in.”
Monroe looked like he wanted to say something but held his tongue when the next batch of cows swarmed around them, anxious to get at the feed in the stanchions.
Fourteen
T hey bowed their heads together for prayer. It was so gut to be home with everyone gathered together around the table again, just as it should be.
“Dora spilled milk all over the barn,” Monroe said, waving his arms around like Preacher Stutzman. “Ella knows what she’s doing, but Dora and Clara are another matter. Dora still sets buckets of milk on the floor. Daett taught Eli and me that lesson the first time we were in the barn.”
At the head of the table, Noah cleared his throat, and silence fell.
“Yah, it’s not gut to waste milk,” Noah said slowly, “and we do need to be careful. But milk can be replaced. The cows will make more of it. What happened with Aden is the real
“It made me feel like Da Hah cared about us. That’s what the bishop said, didn’t he?”
“I suppose you could take it that way,” Dora grunted. “It’s just that I got my shawl soaked the whole way through. We got to the buggy as soon as we could, but didn’t you stay out for a while longer?”
“Yah, it felt so good,” Ella said. “I think Da Hah remembered us. I was beginning to think He never would.”
“If the sadness keeps on, I suppose we could get you some of those Englisha pills from the doctor at the clinic,” Dora said, standing up to empty her pail into the milk can. “They say it helps keep the head turned on right.”
“I don’t need my head turned on right,” Ella said. “I just need the hurt to stop.”
“It won’t stop for an awful long time. That’s what the deacon’s wife was telling Emma Troyer when her husband died last year. Emma’s in her thirties and has six children.” Dora sat down again, her stool scraping on the concrete floor.
“I’ll not be taking any pills,” Ella said. “You’re too dark.”
“The world is dark, Ella,” Dora said without looking up, “really, really dark like it was today, and it’s getting darker the older you get.”
“You still have your boyfriend, Dora. Just be thankful for that.”
“Yah, I suppose so,” Dora said, her voice weary.
Ella got up, emptied her milk pail, and released several of the cows. She slapped their backs as they moved out to the barnyard. With Dora almost done, she waited before she allowed more cows in. Dora hurried with the cow she was milking and then set the milk bucket on the concrete while she stepped up to release the cow. Ella saw the accident before it happened. She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but it was too late.
The released cow backed up, straight for the bucket of milk. A belated yell from Dora only made matters worse. The cow jerked sideways and caught its leg on the bucket. The milk spilled out in a white flood, its contents rapidly spreading thin as it crept into the straw, debris, and cow dung on the concrete floor.
“A whole bucket!” Dora wailed. “What a waste, and it was all my fault. A perfectly horrible, dark, and dreary day this is. You naughty, naughty cow.”
“It’s just a cow, yah,” Ella said. “Now get out,” she told the animal, which had set its gaze on the running milk as if wondering why these humans went to so much trouble if they can’t be more careful.
“Why do you girls spill the milk?” Monroe asked, stepping across the gutter. “Don’t you know how to milk a cow by now?”
“You could have a little bit of sympathy,” Dora said. “I just set the pail down to let the cow loose.”
“Never, never do that,” Monroe said. “Never, never just set the pail down.”
“Quit bothering her,” Eli said, speaking up for the first time. “We’ve all had a long day.”
“Long day or not, it still needs sayin’,” Monroe said, his voice firm.
“I heard you, and I already knew,” Dora said. “Now don’t be rubbin it in.”
Monroe looked like he wanted to say something but held his tongue when the next batch of cows swarmed around them, anxious to get at the feed in the stanchions.
Fourteen
T hey bowed their heads together for prayer. It was so gut to be home with everyone gathered together around the table again, just as it should be.
“Dora spilled milk all over the barn,” Monroe said, waving his arms around like Preacher Stutzman. “Ella knows what she’s doing, but Dora and Clara are another matter. Dora still sets buckets of milk on the floor. Daett taught Eli and me that lesson the first time we were in the barn.”
At the head of the table, Noah cleared his throat, and silence fell.
“Yah, it’s not gut to waste milk,” Noah said slowly, “and we do need to be careful. But milk can be replaced. The cows will make more of it. What happened with Aden is the real
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