Free Sarah's Garden by Kelly Long Page B

Mamm always said there ’s nothing like a raw onion.” Grant nodded and pulled the onion out, finding his voice.
    He handed the onion over. “Good work. Now I’ll just finish up for you, if I may.”
    “ Jah ,” the little man replied, visibly pleased with the commendation.
    Grant slipped a looped rope from his box and gently put one loop around Tweet’s neck and the other around her back foreleg. She rolled a miserable eye at him and he hummed soothingly as he worked. He drew up the solution of calcium, phosphorous, and dextrose into a giant syringe, then squirted a bit out, ignoring the grave silence of the crowd.
    “That’ll hurt her a bit.” The bishop wrung his small, work-worn hands, eyeing the giant needle.
    “Not much, I promise.”
    Grant knelt and found the vein in the damp neck of the animal, dispensing the liquid. Tweet began to shiver and shake, the muscles beneath her skin rippling with the influx of calcium. She began to drool and Grant continued to hum.
    “She’s looking a bit worse, jah ?” The bishop had dropped beside him and fretted, close to tears again.
    “This is normal,” Grant soothed even as he prayed. Dear Lord, let this old cow live .
    He finished the injection and waited. It normally took only seconds, but she wasn’t getting to her feet. Instead, the giant eyeballs rolled backward in the sockets as she continued to shake. He felt the palpable dissension of the crowd at his back, but he had to wait.
    “Looks like you’ve done more harm than good,” a dry voice pronounced, and Grant looked up to see Jacob Wyse leaning against a support timber.
    “We ’ll give her a few more minutes,” Grant said levelly, while the bishop stroked the straining neck of the animal. Grant felt sweat dampen his brow, then a thought occurred to him and he rustled in his bag.
    “One more injection,” he murmured.
    “More than likely to put her out of her misery,” Jacob asserted, but Grant ignored him.
    “It’s magnesium,” he said low to the bishop as he found the vein. “Sometimes it can really make a difference.”
    Grant sensed the almost immediate change in the animal’s disposition when he’d emptied the syringe and slipped the rope off her neck and leg. He moved back a bit, motioning the bishop to do likewise. He waited, and suddenly Tweet made a scrambling attempt to rise, causing the bishop to jump to his feet and Grant to join him.
    “ Kumme , Tweet. Kumme !” the bishop encouraged.
    Grant smiled and breathed another prayer, this time of thanks. The cow staggered to her feet and stared around at the onlookers, letting out a perplexed “Moo!”
    The bishop shook Grant’s hand, and the onlookers smiled with goodwill; he smiled back. Jacob Wyse seemed to have drifted out of sight. There was a sudden air of festivity as the members of the community shared in the joy of the bishop. The little man wrung Grant’s hand again, as did many other of the men.
    “Now, Doctor, please, name your fee,” the bishop commanded jovially, but Grant shook his head.
    “I’ve got more than enough worldly goods, sir. God has blessed me financially from my father, all the way back to my great-grandfather, so I want to offer my services for free to the Amish hereabout; it’s my offering to the Lord.”
    “Then we are doubly blessed,” the bishop announced, sealing Grant’s acceptance for the moment. “A new vet, and one who works for Der Herr !”
    There was a murmur of approval from the crowd.
    “Now,” the bishop continued. “We will have something to eat, jah ? And you will stay, Doctor, as my guest?”
    “Oh, certainly.”
    “And then we’ll play volleyball. Do you know how to play?”
    Grant ignored the fact that he ’d been captain of his team in college and nodded. The community was accepting him, and the feelings that engendered were too close to a heart sore for him to examine at the moment. He could only grin and be part of the crowd as they swarmed into the house for a an