Free Linked Through Time by Jessica Tornese

Rodney and frowned. “That’s cruel,” I criticized, pointing at the brick and braces.
    Rodney snorted. “Whatever, Miss High and Mighty. Your row is waiting,” he said and pointed to several cows lined up in their stalls along the opposite wall. Their tails swished together, dropping occasionally into the floor’s gutter, swirling in the mess that had built up overnight. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through my mouth. Revulsion crept up from my stomach and clawed its way to my throat. Buzzing flies, fresh manure, and pools of urine awaited me, all before breakfast.
    “Stop calling me that. I’m here, aren’t I?” I grumbled. I watched him for a few more minutes, noting his bent posture, his careful, consistent downward pull on the teats. It didn’t look too hard. Approaching the first stall, I eyed the cow warily, waiting for it to turn its massive body and attack. When it stayed perfectly still, chewing contentedly on its hay, I moved forward. Ignoring the leg chains and opting to leave out the tail tying, I drew a wooden T-stool and metal bucket close to the side of the cow.
    Jaw clenched, I reached slowly for the cow’s udder. The cow shifted its weight, stomping its heavy legs in protest. The cow had it in for me; it stopped chewing and now stared at me with large, watery eyes. Rodney had moved three stalls away, far enough that I couldn’t use him as a visual aid any more. I’d better get going or end up swimming in the stock tank. Reaching again for the udders, I blew out a breath to steady myself. I gripped one teat firmly in my hand and started to squeeze and pull down all at the same time.
    Waiting for my weakest moment, the cow bucked, kicking its legs wildly and sent the bucket clattering across the floor. I had no time to react, my hands were frozen in place. Thwap! I flew from the stool, my face stinging from cheek to chin. The cow had smacked me square in the face with its tail, the same tail that had been resting in the vile mess of stink pooled in the gutter.
    Sitting in a state of shock, I didn’t know if I should scream, cry, or throw up the remains of my dinner from last night.
    A loud snort came from the other side of the barn. Rodney sat hunched over, milking his last cow, shaking with silent laughter. He never looked my way, which infuriated me even more. Stupid Neanderthal farm boy . He wasn’t even going to help me.
    Then I remembered… I wasn’t supposed to need any help. The first tears of despair trickled down my smelly cheeks. What was I doing? I couldn’t pretend to be Sarah any more than a cow could pretend to be a monkey. I’m a city girl, born and raised, not some cow milking, pig slopping farmhand.
    Refusing to attempt the milking again, I sat sprawled in the corner of the stall, reliving the past few days. How could I get back home? The question haunted me, playing again and again in my mind. If I had to stay as long as August, trying to repair the damage of Sarah’s premature death, I sure as hell didn’t want to spend the next two months on the farm.
    I could run away. The thought was a blip in the back of my muddled mind. But the thought faded as quickly as it appeared. Where would I run to? I couldn’t exactly hack it in the woods for a few weeks, foraging off of nuts and berries, like some kind of warped version of the reality television show, Survivor. Tears ran unchecked down my cheeks, and I was beyond caring if Rodney heard or saw me in my pitiful shape.
    I couldn’t do the work; that much was obvious. If I wanted to make it the next couple of months, then I needed to leave. A plan began to take shape the more I thought about leaving. I could swim the river to Canada, or hitchhike to the twin cities. Times were innocent and free in the 60s, right? Wasn’t that how my dad used to describe his growing up years? I hoped so.
    A pair of work boots appeared at the corner of the stall. I raised my eyes in defiance, ready to lash out at Rodney if he said one