this cow be if she didn’t give milk?”
“There are plenty of things a fine animal can do. She is a reason to wake up for chores each morning, she could be a fine pet, and she could even provide meat once her time on this earth is up.”
Pryor laughed openly at Moira’s view of livestock. “You’re gonna lose your farm if you keep animals around as pets! Every animal on the place has to contribute in some way. Look at the pigs, even. They don’t provide anything except meat once they’re butchered, but they work every day.”
“Your pigs? You’re trying to convince me that your pigs work your farm? Now who doesn’t know a thing about farms?” She scoffed and tried once again to go back to the milking, but the cow was having none of it. Pryor came around to watch her efforts again.
“Of course they work. They eat the scraps, the leftover corn husks, and the bones from any game I kill. Why, if not for the pigs, I’d be sitting in a pile of my own garbage, attracting bears and other deadly animals. The pigs keep the place clean each day.”
Moira relaxed her angry posture slightly. “I see. I had not considered it that way.”
“That’s because you’re a princess who lived in a castle. But even your castle had pigs, and swineherds to tend them, otherwise, you’d have all sunk in your own filth. You should have stepped outside the walls and noticed the rest of the people once in a while, then you’d know these things.”
Pryor’s tone had turned biting again, and his open scorn for her station was beginning to wear on her already thin nerves. He’d made more than one reference to her wealth or station, and not in an admiring way.
“I’ll have you know that I did know my people!” she cried out, knocking over the still empty milk bucket and standing up from her stool so quickly, the cow startled. Pryor startled at her outburst, too. “I knew them every one by name and by position. I tended them when they were ill or injured, and cared for their sick children as their fevers raged or the women struggled in their childbeds, just as my mother did before me! I was not a princess, thank you, but even if I had been, the people would have still loved me just as much as they do now! I cared for them, I saw to their comfort and needs, and I did it with respect and genuine Christian concern for them! You do not know me, Mr. Pryor, yet you sit in comfortable judgment over my every action, reveling in my ignorance of your rustic life. I am here to learn and to help you, but if you do not wish to instruct me without scorn, I will happily remove myself from your property!”
It was Pryor’s turn to be humbled by another’s judgment, and he had to admit that he had judged her—harshly, even—and had come up lacking because of his decision that she’d been spoiled and pampered. He raised his hands in a peaceful shrug, and apologized.
“You’re right, I had no idea, and I’m sorry. I truly am,” he clarified when Moira refused to look at him. She turned away, not in disgust at his accusations, but at her own tears. She’d thought only of herself when she left Brennan, and hadn’t spared a single thought for the families she was leaving behind to fend for themselves when it came to needing compassion and care. “Hey now, there’s no need to be unhappy. You were right, and I was wrong. Now don’t be sore at me.”
The pleading tone in his voice was almost Moira’s undoing. He genuinely apologized, and she tried to return his smile.
“Fine. And I thank you for your kind words. Now show me how to milk this cow so I don’t let my own animal go barren!”
She righted the overturned stool and bucket, then went to work again, much to the cow’s continued dismay. Pryor leaned over, begged her pardon, then placed his hands over hers to demonstrate. She bristled at the strange man’s touch, but when she saw the results of his instruction for herself, she very nearly laughed with relief.
“At last!
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