The Mystery at Sag Bridge

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

I don't know what woke me up. Maybe it was Sally moving around in her bedroom. It was dark and too quiet in the house, not even the usual snoring noises. I heard rumbling in the distance, probably thunder from lightning I saw going on for the past few nights, far off but no rain ever fell.

I reached over to Packey, but he wasn't there. I got up and lit a match to check the clock and it was two in the morning. How could that be-two a.m., and Packey wasn't home yet? Perhaps he was home but didn't come to bed yet. I listened carefully, but I didn't hear any sounds at all, so I went to look for him.

Lighting the lamp, I looked around the room. None of the clothes Packey had been wearing were there. I pulled my robe as far as it would go around my bulging belly and stepped into my slippers, then made my way downstairs, carrying the lamp. He wasn't downstairs either.

I went out on the porch, and no one was there, but light came from the barn. Relieved, I lumbered out there to greet Packey, despite the late hour. I half expected he would meet me on the way, but he didn't.

As I entered the barn, I heard distressed animal sounds, which I realized were coming from the cow. A voice called out, "Who's there?"

It was Mick. "It's me-Meg," I said. "Why would you ever be out here this late? Is the cow in trouble?" I shuffled across the dirt floor toward the stall.

"Yes, Meg-she's in big trouble," Mick said, his tone upset, "an' I don't know as I can save her or the calf. The calf is comin' wrong way, an' I don't seem to be able to turn it or help her move it down at all. Bossie's been bawlin' these last few hours an' she's gettin' weak. I don't know how we can stand to lose one more thing on this farm."

Mick sounded like he was near to tears. I made my way to the door of the stall and looked in to see what was going on.

Sure and I spent much of my life on the farm, but I was like Mam in that I wanted little to do with takin' care of the barn animals. I would feed them or water them if there was no one else to do it, or set them out in the pasture, or put them in the barn. But milking or hitching or doctoring or breeding-those were all things I knew nothing about and didn't want to know about. There was plenty to do in the fields and in the house to be of help, but I drew the line when it came to the animals.

Yet when I looked into the stall it didn't take much to see the cow was in a bad way. She was lying on the ground and thrashing her legs and her head, and rolling her eyes, and bawling in the most pitiful way, and it was clear she was in agony. There was blood and somethin' more on the barn floor near her tail, and I looked away quickly as the sight of it made me queasy. Mick was sitting on the milking stool and looked almost as miserable as the poor cow, disheveled, sweating, and eyeing the wretched animal anxiously. He wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve and looked up at me.

"Why are you out here, Meg? Why aren't you in bed an' sleepin'?"

"I came down to find Packey," I told Mick. "He isn't in the house, an' I saw the light in the barn, an' so I came down. Did you send him for help?"