Free The Soldier's Lady by Michael Phillips Page B

to talk to like this.”
    As we emerged from the road through the trees, with the barn in sight in the distance, one of the cows got stubborn about going back. Suddenly she bolted into the adjoining field of growing corn and lumbered clumsily across it, then stopped and began munching away on the small green stalks.
    â€œHey, watch that one!” shouted Micah.
    â€œI’ve got her!” I yelled. I tore after her, trying to swing wide and get behind her, but she saw me and ran off again in another direction. Micah saw my dilemma and ran to try to cut the ornery thing off while the other cows continued to meander toward the house and barn.
    But as awkward as cows look when they’re running, they can still run faster than people! It took us both five or ten minutes running back and forth and dashing to cut off one line of escape or another to get the stupid thing back with the herd.
    Just as we had nearly joined the others as they moved methodically along, the rebellious cow tried once more to make a brief dash for it. Afraid that the whole thing was about to start all over again—and I was tired!—I sprinted as hard as I could after it.
    As I did I slipped as I ran through a patch of mud.
    â€œOh no!” I cried as I sprawled onto my face.
    Micah came running just as the cow thought better of another flight and came back and fell in line behind the rest.
    â€œI’m all right!” I said. “I just lost my balance.”
    He reached down and helped me to my feet.
    â€œYou’re a mess!” he laughed.
    â€œWhat do you expect?” I laughed playfully. “I’ve been chasing cows. And at least I won’t be tracking in cow manure on my shoes.”
    Micah glanced down at his boots.
    â€œUgh!” he exclaimed.
    â€œNow who’s the mess!” I said. “Come on!”
    I broke into a run as Micah hurried to join me and we raced back to the cows. By the time we neared the barn, we were walking together again, though still laughing and teasing each other about our respective messes. A playful spirit seemed to get into us both.
    Papa walked up as we herded the cows toward the barn. He looked at us up and down, head to foot, then shook his head with a smile.
    â€œYou ready for some help with the milking?” he asked me. “Or were you planning to teach Micah here the fine art of pulling milk out of a cow’s udder?”
    â€œThis refined Northern boy!” I said, nodding toward Micah with pretended seriousness. “I don’t think he could!”
    â€œNow I ask you, Mr. Daniels,” said Micah, “is this fair? She has been giving me a hard time ever since . . . well, I admit I stepped where I shouldn’t have.But I did help bring these ladies in from the pasture. For all she knows, I am as experienced at milking cows as she. But she gives me no chance. She ridicules me and rejects my humblest and sincerest efforts to be helpful!”
    â€œYeah, you’re right,” smiled Papa. “She’s an ornery one, all right. I’d stay clear of her if I were you!”
    â€œPerhaps I should do exactly that,” said Micah. He turned and began to walk away as if I had hurt his feelings.
    â€œSo, Mr. Micah Duff,” I called after him, “how many cows have you milked?”
    â€œFor your information, young lady,” he called back, “I have never milked a cow in my life.”
    â€œI thought so!”
    â€œBut if you can do it, I can do it!”
    â€œHa!” I laughed. “It’s not so easy.”
    â€œWell, I’d stay for a lesson, but I told Mr. Daniels I’d help him shoe the new horses. At least someone around here appreciates my skills. . . .” He threw his hands in the air and again walked off. “Rejection . . . rejection! Wherever I go it’s the same!” he said as he went. “Women playing with men’s feelings like they were toys.”
    I kept laughing as Papa