Part 3
Cora shut the empty pasture lane so the rest of the herd stayed near water they could still reach. Then she walked to the well shed and called Glen, reading him the gauge instead of telling him what she thought was wrong. He asked her to stop drawing on it until he arrived.
She called the garage next. Her supervisor moved another mechanic onto her bus and told her to update him before lunch. Cora had saved three days of leave for a visit to the coast she kept postponing; by the time she hung up, she was counting them against the farm.
She carried the portable trough to the barn’s shaded side and filled it from the water remaining in the storage tank. There was still water in the upper trough too. She left access to both, kept the animals out of the handling pen, and watched the calves until she was sure each could drink without being pushed aside.
Beth answered on the fourth ring. Cora could hear the store’s delivery alarm and somebody asking about a pallet jack.
“The well’s not keeping up,” Cora said. “Glen’s coming. I’ve got water out for them now, but I may need a delivery.”
“Have you ordered one?”
“I’m calling next.”
“Call first. Then tell me when.”
The water hauler had delivered to two farms up the road the previous week. Cora had written the number down then, irritated with herself for feeling relieved that the trouble belonged elsewhere. He could come before lunch and fill their storage tank, but Friday’s delivery would have to be paid for when he arrived.
Cora gave him the address and took the cash envelope from the kitchen drawer. She counted it twice. There was enough for this load, although it had been put aside for hay.
Glen came in a dusty service truck. By the time he finished his checks, dust had worked into the wet cuffs of his shirt. The new line wasn’t leaking. After checking the pump and watching the well’s recovery, he told Cora the supply had fallen badly in the dry weather; repeated demand was drawing it down faster than it recovered.
He would not promise that a pump replacement or a deeper hole would fix it. They discussed using the storage tank and monitoring the refill without drawing the well down again. He wrote down what she needed to watch and told her when to call.
Cora listened without reaching for a tool. Behind the shed, the water hauler was backing into place, his tires making slow adjustments in the gravel. The new pipe under the lane had cost Beth her roof deposit, and there was still a truck bringing water to the farm.
Beth arrived just as the driver unrolled his hose. She had half an hour before she had to cover a cashier’s break and was still wearing her store shirt. A streak of flour marked one sleeve from a bag that had split that morning.
“Where do you want me?” she asked.
Cora pointed to the gate. Beth held it while the driver carried the hose through, keeping the heavy coupling from striking the post. When the water began moving, Cora could feel its vibration through the tank wall.
“I’ll pay for this one,” she told Beth. “It’s ordered and covered.”
Beth nodded. She watched the tank rather than thanking Cora for a bill that belonged to the farm.
By noon the troughs were refilling again. Cora moved only the few animals that needed easier access, slowly and over a short distance, and left the others in the shade. The black backs under the trees were still dusty, the grass still short, but nobody was waiting at an empty rim.
She called their veterinarian about the coming heat and the water interruption. They went over shade, steady water access, watching for distress, and avoiding unnecessary handling. Cora described Midge, who had begun to breathe harder, and followed the advice to monitor her closely and call back if it didn’t ease.
Beth crouched outside the fence near Midge’s calf. He worked his jaw at her with a scrap of grass sticking out, as if he had a question he wasn’t going to ask. Beth brushed the flour from her sleeve and laughed once.
“You should go,” Cora said. “You’ll be late.”
“I told them I might be.”
It was the sort of kindness Cora normally accepted without looking directly at it. She checked her watch instead and told Beth she would take over here. Beth stood, rubbed her knee, and asked to meet after her shift with the bills.
That evening they used the kitchen table. Beth spread out the hay estimate, the water receipt, and the farm’s current balance. Cora brought the grazing map, its lower corner rubbed soft from being carried in her back pocket.
The lower pasture was buying them time. It wasn’t supplying all the feed the cows needed, and it couldn’t change the well’s recovery. They worked out what repeated water deliveries would cost and how quickly they would consume the money meant for winter hay.
“If I keep twelve pairs,” Cora said, then stopped. She tried again with eight and found that she could look at the next month without pretending the weather forecast was a deposit slip.
Beth checked the figures. She crossed out one charge Cora had counted twice and added the hauler’s delivery fee. Neither of them spoke while she did it.
Cora reached for the mug Beth had brought from the cupboard. It was their mother’s old blue one, the handle repaired years ago with a crooked seam. Beth always gave Cora that mug because she knew how to hold it without testing the repair.
“Somebody might board four for a while,” Cora said.
“Ask Nell. But ask her what she can do.”
Beth turned the cattle list toward her. Cora expected the four younger cows she had considered selling in May, before changing her mind. Beth’s pencil rested beside Midge’s name.
To read the rest of the story – CLICK the NEXT button 👇👇👇