to the fence. When the time came Papa led the bleating calf away from its mother out of the yard and around the corner of the stable where it was concealed from sight if not sound and Stanton or Hugh held it while Papa dispatched it. This part I surmised from the bloody knife in Papaâs hand when he reappeared. The cowâs lowing distress echoed about. Birds stopped singing.
Addie clapped her hands to her ears, âMake it stop, Hettie.â And she ran away down the path.
It was a piteous sound. I wanted to row across to the peninsula and sit looking out to sea where there might be a ship that I could imagine was taking me away. Of course I did not do that. I had to be sensible. I went to help.
Fred and Stanton hauled the calf up and suspended it. Blood dripped from its neck into a large bowl beneath. The rope creaked with its weight and the calf swayed and its round brown eyes with their delicate lashes stared. There was a smell of metal. Hugh removed the bowl of blood and replaced it with a clean tub and Papa took his knife and made a long even cut into the calfâs belly, his face twisting, and pulled out all the entrails. They landed heavy and wet in the tub and blood splashed onto my skirts. More washing. Hugh reached out his toe and pushed back a loop of intestine that had fallen over the edge of the tub. It slid very slow down the inside edge. Another smell rose which, combined with the sight of the grey pink loops of intestine, made me retch. I did not run, though I did look aside when Papa began to rummage. Only one of the stomachs contained rennet.
Papa and I went to the kitchen and he showed me how to prepare the stomach, first opening, then washing and drying it. It was hard to cut, being the texture of India rubber, but I managed to slice it into small pieces, which we set to soak in salt water with a little vinegar added. The rennet would be ready in one or two days.
âI donât know how you did it,â Addie said later, while we washed and dried the dishes.
âI donât either. Itâs not for the love of farm life, I can tell you that. There is nothing we can do. Nothing will change if you upset yourself. The calf will still die, the mother will moan, we will still need the money. We will be here. You cannot change anything by your tears, but you can change some things by your actions.â
Two days later Papa showed me how to make the cheese. It took only a little of the rennet mixture stirred through the heated milk to form it into curds. We scooped the curds out and pressed them into the muslin lined moulds until the cheeses had set sufficiently to be released. Lined up white and pure on the storehouse shelves they were a pleasing sight at the end of the day and gave me a feeling of hope. I looked at my hands grown strong from work, and my forearms speckled from working out of doors, and felt a curious mixture of pride and dismay. I had changed from the girl I had been in town, and I did not know if I could change back.
Papa was not to be thwarted in his wish to have Tull come inside, and by degrees he wore Mama down, first by inducing him to have a bath with soap in the washhouse. I did not witness that, but Fred told me of his refusal to have his hair washed or trimmed: most vociferous he was in his protestations. Albert came inside to tell us the news, also carrying a message from Papa that a jacket was now needed for Tull since he couldnât stop shivering.
âThat will be the shock,â Mama said, rising from her chair where she had been sewing, curious despite herself.
âHeâs only cold I think,â Albert said. âNot frightened any more. Heâs furious. It was quite funny, if you want to know what I think.â He grinned.
âBe kind, Albert,â Mama said, in gentle reproof. âCome and help me find something,â and she put her arm about his shoulder in the way she had used to and Albert, surprised, leaned against
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