Free Deeply Devoted by Maggie Brendan Page B

the first attempt, milk appeared and Greta clapped her hands together.
    “You did it, Cath! Good for you. Now you can do all the milking while Anna and I explore fun chores more to our liking.” Her lips turned up as she leaned down to look in the pail.
    “Oh no you don’t! You’ll help me.”
    “But you’re doing so well without our—” Suddenly a squirt of Bessie’s milk hit Greta’s cheek as Catharine directed the teat in her hand right at Greta. Anna laughed so hard she had to hold her stomach. Bessie mooed her sentiments with a loud bellow, making the bell around her neck clang loudly.
    After her initial surprise, Greta wiped her cheek with the corner of her apron and pretended to be miffed at her sisters’ laughter, but she giggled good-naturedly. “All right. I guess I deserved that, didn’t I?”
    “You certainly did. In fact, I think tomorrow’s your day.” Catharine laughed. “But I think you need to try your hand at it to see if you’ve forgotten how.” She continued to milk Bessie using both hands, now feeling much more confident.
    Greta cocked an eyebrow in disdain. “Oh, all right. You win this time. But watch out. Milk could go flying again, you know!”
    Catharine shrugged her shoulders playfully, then dried Bessie’s udders with a clean cloth. She breathed a sigh that the chore was done. “You get to milk her tonight.”
    Anna clapped her hands. “Oh, this should be fun. I don’t want to miss it!”

     
    Catharine fanned herself with her apron after standing over the hot stove for hours. She couldn’t remember when she’d been this warm, and it made her long for Holland. She opened all the windows and a door to get a cross breeze to cool down the kitchen and was grateful that Wyoming was a windy place.
    After finding what looked like a side of roast beef from the smokehouse, she’d sprinkled it with salt and a dash of pepper and shoved it into the oven. The potatoes and carrots she’d found in the cellar simmered on the stove. A lump resembling a loaf of bread sat on the counter, ready to be baked after the roast was done. She’d seen their cook back home knead dough before but wasn’t sure of the ingredients except for flour and eggs. Was she supposed to sift the flour? Hopefully the bread would rise up in time to bake for supper.
    She was feeling pretty good about what she’d thrown together after shooing her sisters out of the kitchen. They were only making matters worse, especially Greta. She could be doggedly stubborn sometimes.
    Am I really going to have to do this every day? How in the world can I manage it all—especially if we have children? There’d never be time to read or sew, not with vegetables to can, the wash to do, and the house to care for. One would have to get up at dawn and drop like the sun on the horizon just to get it all finished. She was ready to drop now. But oh, how she wanted to make Peter proud.
    Catharine glanced over at the dough and decided that it certainly hadn’t risen much. Maybe that happened after it went in the hot oven. She looked around with a critical eye. The table was set and even had a vase of yellow bearded irises that Anna had picked earlier, which added a nice touch. She wished her mother’s Blue Willow china graced their table. If it hadn’t been for the unfortunate storm at sea, it would have. No use crying about it now. She wondered if she should be using the dining room but thought maybe that was only for company or special holidays.
    The apples had been sliced and soaked and were now waiting off to the side for a pie. Catharine moved the rolling pin back and forth across the leftover dough to make a piecrust, as she’d seen Cook do when she was a child, and flour flew every which way. She wanted to see if she could flute the sides like Cook always did, but when she tried to lift the crust up, it wouldn’t budge. It was stuck to the countertop! She tried peeling it up with her fingertips, but it only continued to tear