For the first time in weeks, Anya slept deeply under the willows without fear of her captor. In the fickle manner of West Texas, as the temperate day drew to a close, a cold wind swept in clouds from the North. She roused shivering as the rain peppered her with sleet. Knowing she’d die if she just lay there, she managed to rake a bed of leaves and burrowed in, somehow surviving the bitter night. At first light, she emerged, battered but choosing life. The day warmed as though there had been no icy storm in the night.
Despite the beating she’d endured, she walked through the hours, often falling, then struggling back to her feet in search of help. Eventually, she stumbled upon a milk cow grazing in the distance. Laboriously, she made her way toward It, hoping it wouldn’t wander off. She stroked the gentle beast, before dropping to her knees, grasping an udder, and squirting warm milk into her mouth. Strengthened by the cow’s life-saving gift, she leaned against the kind beast, comforted by its warmth.. Anya kept pace with the cow, occasionally milking her or resting while the the beast grazed.Thankfully, the cow didn’t object to her company.
As the afternoon shadows lengthened, the cow seemed charged with purpose and picked up her pace. Anya took hold of her rope halter to keep up. As they climbed over a rise, a homestead came into view. Anya released the cow and she picked up the pace, trotting with purpose as her bag with its engorged udders swung side to side.
Once more Joe settled into his snug cocoon in the barn as Jack and the cats made it their business to join him. Though he was exhausted from all the work caring for his new family, he felt encouraged. That boy was smart. He mimicked Joe at his work and was picking up words way faster than Anna. He was putting a couple of words together now and used cat, dog, cow, milk, eat, pig and half a dozen other useful words, including damn. He’d even walked up on Joe pissing behind the pigsty and worked at getting his own little doodle out to give it a try. That would sure help with some of them diapers.
He checked on the woman and children several times always finding them asleep. The children’s breathing was regular and less shallow. The pink of their cheeks faded as the fever dropped. Twice more he fed and diapered them and assisted the woman to the pot. The next two days were much the same, more feeding, more dosing with Dr. Marvel, more changing, and always, more washing. The little boy rallied first, trailing Joe. From time to time, he called for Mama, but overall seemed contented. Joe looked forward to the woman regaining her strength and assuming her responsibilities. She was attentive to the baby girl who still lay abed with her. Thankfully, the baby finally got hungry enough to accept the bottle after a few tries. It made it easier to get the Dr. Marvel’s in her, anyway. The woman could barely stay awake long enough to feed the baby but kept it at her side. On the fourth day, the woman began to eat regular food, though she mashed it first. One day, she coughed and spit a cracked molar into her palm, increasing Joe’s guilt about burying her alive, though he still didn’t remember hitting her with the shovel. Joe had hopes when she’d learn some English soon, since he didn’t understand a word she said when she did speak to the baby or cry out in pain upon moving. She had picked up on coffee, milk, baby, hurt, boy, pot, and a few other words, but there was no conversation yet. She never called him “Joe.”
The boy stirred. Joe almost wretched as he worked the floppy, little body from under the covers, soiling himself up to the elbows in a soup of feces, urine, and sweat. This was worse than a calf with the scours. He spread a towel on the floor near the hearth and went to work, bathing and diapering the little fellow before he could even think of feeding him.
Nutsrok 