Page 79 of In These Hills

Mr. Coburn knelt and ran a hand along the heifer’s belly. “How can she have the strength left?”

“She doesn’t,” the doctor said, tone somber. “But motherhood has a power not of this world. One I’ve learned never to question.”

Mr. Coburn set his rifle aside. “Mrs. Dunham, you best take your leave. Or at least wait out by the corral.”

Watching the young heifer writhe, her emaciated body heaving, Josephine ached for her. And for Bethie, knowing what the animal meant to her. “What can I do to help?”

The doctor, an older gentleman, looked up. “You ever assisted with a calving, Mrs. Dunham?”

She shook her head, only mildly surprised that he knew her name.

“I’m Doc Wyatt. Newcomers are few around here, so I have the advantage.” He nodded toward the far wall. “If you want to help, fetch some fresh straw.”

“I’ll do that,” Mr. Coburn said, already moving. “But would you run and get Bethie? She’ll want to be here.”

“You sure about that, Dodge?” Doc Wyatt eyed him. “You may end up losing both Maple and the calf.”

“And what will I tell Bethie if Maple dies and I didn’t give her the chance to be here? However this goes.”

Doc Wyatt nodded. “You’re right. That girl’s a Coburn, after all.”

“Where can I find her?” Josephine asked.

“Try the cabin across the field.” Mr. Coburn pushed aside the soiled hay with a gloved hand. “Then the other barn. And get back as fast as you can.”

Josephine ran the entire way, surprised to see the sun dipping low . . . and wondering why a farmhand would live in a cabin.

She burst in through the front door. “Bethie? Are you here?”

No answer.

She tried the first door. A bedroom—likely his, judging by its masculine feel. The next room carried a stillness that told her who it had belonged to, and she closed the door without a sound. The third room had to be Bethie’s. But the girl wasn’t there.

She raced out back. “Bethie!”

Mr. Coburn’s dog, eyes already on her, sat at the base of a wide-limbed oak, then its eyes tracked upward.

“Bethie, if you’re up there, please come down. It’s Maple!”

Branches rustled. Slender legs appeared. Then Bethie dropped lightly to the ground.

Her posture was defiant, but her red-rimmed eyes told the truth. “I already know she’s gone! I don’t need you telling me.”

“She’s not gone, Bethie. She’s giving birth. Your uncle wants you there!”

Bethie took off running, the dog with her. Josephine followed.

Bethie rushed into the stall and dropped down beside the heifer, stroking her head and speaking to her in a soft voice.

“That’s a good girl,” Doc Wyatt encouraged quietly, lighting lanterns. “That’s what she needs, Bethie.”

Mr. Coburn positioned himself and ran a hand across Maple’s belly, pressing intermittently. The heifer kicked, but quick reflexes spared him any damage.

Standing outside the stall with the dog, Josephine wanted to help but didn’t know what to do. So she gathered more fresh straw and scattered it as he’d done earlier.

He glanced up, gratitude in his gaze. “Near the front of the barn, where you came in, there’s a wooden box. I need the rope in it.”

Josephine returned with it. “What do you want me to do?”