Part 3
“Would you say that because Ben died here?” Ruth asked.
“I’d say it because one person isn’t enough, and the restraint you’d need is on another farm.”
Ruth drew a chair away from the table. Elaine stayed beside the counter, holding the damp towel.
“You know cattle,” she said. “I went to veterinary school already knowing things you taught me. But this yard still can’t provide what he needs.”
Through the window, Otis moved into the evening light. He stopped where he could see both women inside.
Ruth sat down.
“Could you speak to Keene about the college?”
“He’ll take your call.”
Ruth found his number. Elaine put the towel over its hook and waited while her mother telephoned. Afterward, they poured the last of the coffee. It had been standing too long, but neither reached for the sink.
The college farm already housed mature bulls. Keene thought Otis’s handling needs might be useful for advanced livestock instruction, provided the facilities and staff could accommodate him. Ruth sent the manager the records. Cole agreed to include his account, and she told Warren exactly where it was going.
While the college reviewed the material, she kept her phone in her shirt pocket, the ringer high even in the quiet office. At the fence, Otis began moving a short distance toward the blue square. Some days he interrupted the exercise to examine a rail or a patch of ground. Ruth held the cloth where he could see it until he chose to continue.
Warren came near the end of the second week. After watching one brief session, he asked her to put the cloth away. Otis returned to the feeder, and Warren remained several feet from the barrier.
“Cole showed me the account you took.”
“He made sure I had it right.”
“He’s asked for a place in the feed office while his hand heals.”
Ruth waited.
Warren bent to pull a grass seed from his trouser hem. He spent a while working its point out of the fabric.
“I kept telling him we’d held his job. Never asked whether he wanted another one.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“We’ve started talking about it.” He straightened. “If the farm accepts Otis, I’ll pay the transport and the initial care costs. Ownership goes with him. I won’t be keeping a share.”
Ruth glanced toward the bull.
“You’re prepared to let him go completely?”
“To a place I can name? Yes.”
The manager’s call caught Ruth carrying an empty pail into the office on Saturday. She set it down carefully when he identified himself.
He and Keene had finished reviewing the records. They could offer an isolated paddock adjoining suitable handling facilities while the assessment continued. Experienced employees would do the work. Students would observe from outside the barriers.
“If the arrangement fails?” Ruth asked.
“Keene and I will decide whether we can continue safely. I’m not offering a guarantee beyond what we can provide.”
Outside, Otis was rubbing his forehead along the worn timber. Ruth watched until he lifted his head.
“Please speak with Warren.”
By afternoon, Warren had approved. The farm’s intake conditions and transport requirements arrived in Ruth’s email before she finished the evening feed.
Curtis Danner came the next morning. He hauled the college’s difficult cattle and had brought measurements for a lower trailer with an easier ramp. The contractor Keene recommended met him at the yard.
They walked the approach twice. At the turn toward the old dock, Curtis stopped and looked back toward the pens.
“To give him enough room, we have to open this up.”
The contractor indicated the concrete curb and two posts. The yellow gate would come out with them.
Ruth went closer to the hinge. Ben had painted the gate after work one summer, using enamel left from the tool shed. Beneath the hinge plate, his thumb had left a ridged oval in the tacky paint.
“What about bringing panels down the far side?” she asked.
Curtis followed her proposed route. At its tightest point, he spread his arms and turned his shoulders, showing her what the bull would have to negotiate.
“I’m not loading him around this corner.”
“We could widen it some.”
“Not enough.”
He handed her the trailer dimensions and his available dates. He had another pickup after hers. Delays would mean rearranging it, and keeping his truck there would cost extra.
Ruth thanked him with a stiffness she heard too late to correct. He folded his measuring tape and went back to his vehicle.
The accident file was in the bottom drawer behind old tax records. That evening, Ruth laid it under the desk lamp and separated the pages held by a corroded clip.
She found the question about earlier warnings on the second page of her statement. Her answer occupied less than a line.
On fresh paper, she wrote Ben’s words as she remembered them. Then she wrote her reply.
At the attorney’s office the next morning, she put the two accounts side by side. She wanted the correction delivered to the office that had investigated the death and to the insurer that had handled it.
The attorney read both before speaking. He would need to review the file. There could be further questions, and he could not yet tell her what consequences might follow.
“Some of it’s gone from my memory,” Ruth said.
“Leave those spaces empty. Don’t try to complete them.”
He gave her privacy to read the new statement again. Ruth reached the sentence saying Ben had wanted to get the load finished. She drew a line through it.
When the attorney returned, she signed beneath the remaining words.
She called the contractor from the parking lot. His estimate exceeded Warren’s entire boarding payment. A permanent commercial loading approach would have to wait; for now, she authorized removal and a safe temporary lane.
Then she canceled the rest of her fall bookings. The difference would come from the account she depended on through winter.
Elaine arrived after clinic hours when she learned what was happening. Ruth had the estimate ready, with the canceled reservations beside it.
“You could’ve called me first,” Elaine said.
“What would you have done?”
Elaine pulled out a chair but did not sit. There was a narrow clean mark across her nose where protective glasses had rested, and strands of hair had escaped around her ears.
“I don’t know. I could’ve known.”
“I’m not giving you the bill.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
Ruth moved the estimate toward her. After a moment, Elaine sat.
“Have you had anything to eat?” Ruth asked.
Her daughter shook her head. Ruth brought out the sandwich left from lunch, cut it in half on a paper towel, and handed her the larger piece.
The contractor began Tuesday by measuring and photographing the assembly. Ruth watched from beyond the marked work area while the gate was supported and its connections released. It descended onto the equipment trailer without swinging free.
The curb broke into thick slabs. Beneath it lay dry, light-colored soil Ruth had last seen when the children were young.
The contractor approached her before securing the load.
“Anything you want saved?”
She looked toward the hinge. For several seconds she could feel herself about to point.
Then she remembered Ben at supper after painting, a yellow streak near his eyebrow where he had tried to wipe away sweat with his wrist. He had denied getting paint on himself until Elaine brought him a mirror.
“All of it goes,” Ruth said.
Elaine stood beside her as the load left. Their sleeves did not touch. Both waited until the trailer turned onto the road.
During the next two days, the contractor built the broad approach Curtis required. Panels rated for mature bulls were attached to solid supports. Uneven footing was corrected. Every person would work behind a barrier, and Otis could retreat to his pen if they abandoned the attempt.
Curtis checked the route with them before the trailer was brought into position. At one bend, Elaine asked for a length of canvas to be shifted. From where it hung, Otis would lose sight of the person carrying the square.
Ruth unfastened it. She moved it where Elaine indicated, secured it again, and walked back to check the view from the bull’s height.
On Thursday afternoon, they opened only the first section. Otis explored the new footing, looked through the panels, and returned to his pen. They ended the session there.
The lower trailer stood ready on Friday morning, its engine silent. Warren waited outside the work area. Three days remained before his deadline.
Elaine carried the blue cloth to her assigned place. She looked along the new lane, across the ground where the alley had been. Then she turned and walked back to Ruth.
The cloth was pressed between her palms.
“I can’t work from there,” she said…
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