So Long As It's Wonderful
Chapter 1
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Chapter 1
They say red heads are the wild ones, but Willie’s hair was as black as her mother’s. Her sisters inherited the soft, red curls of the Tollett clan, while hers leaned more to the wiry side. She wore it tied back and covered with a scarf, but nothing could be done about the unruly strands coming out around her face. The wind blowing over the dry plains whipped the strands across her cheeks, and she tried once more to tuck them behind her ears.
Fashionable hair was the furthest thought from the sixteen-year old’s mind. She stood with her father, watching their small herd of polled Herefords. When Willie came out to feed last night, she’d noticed the pregnant heifer, Rose, standing alone in a corner of the cow lot, an early sign of labor. She and Father both kept an eye on her as they completed the morning’s work and returned to the lot as soon as they finished dinner.
Willie’s father bought six heifers of the new Hereford breed at a sale in Amarillo the previous summer. Her grandfather, called Red Sam for his bright hair, bought a bull. They’d immediately bred them, and now five of the six heifers would give birth to their first calves within days of each other. Two healthy calves already stood nudging their mothers for milk. The sixth heifer, who hadn’t managed to get pregnant, would be butchered by the end of spring. Willie understood that death was part of the business, but she felt a throb of sadness in the back of her throat any time she thought of it.
The Herefords were bred to be hornless, as well as docile. More than any of that, Father had bought them for their resilience to harsh weather and limited grazing, both realities on the eastern edge of New Mexico. After they arrived, Willie spent countless hours studying the herd, talking to the heifers and learning their individual patterns. She’d named each one after a flower and went into the pen almost every day, stroking their necks, sharing bits of sweet sorghum, and raising them up as pets. She knew it was foolishness. It wasn’t something other farmers or ranchers, and certainly not her father, would do, but she could not tend to a creature without coming to love it.
Despite the cattle’s promise, Jim Tollett’s friends thought he was crazy. Of course, most households in Roosevelt County kept cows, but only enough to provide milk and meat for their families. Willie’s father was known for telling everyone the wheat prices wouldn’t hold. They shrugged off his warnings as the prophetic gloom typical of Brother Tollett and plowed more land for wheat production.
Jim and his brothers had arrived in the New Mexico Territory in 1907, only five miles from the Texas state line. They had done well during the Great War when demand for American wheat was high. In the five years since the war ended, Jim had bought land from other nesters who couldn’t keep up the game. In sixteen years, he’d gone from living in a dugout to an accumulation of land and relative wealth. Willie’s dream was to manage a farm and a small herd, just like her father.
“I’d better get the coop mended before we lose our flock to a fox,” Father said. No one knew how the wire around the bottom of the chicken coop had come loose but Willie suspected her six-year-old brother, Thurston, of having something to do with it. She wished he were out here now to help with the repair.
On the other hand, she enjoyed working alone with their father. He carried out every movement of his lean body with purpose. He grew his hair long enough to cover his neck and a short beard covered his face. His intense blue eyes never relaxed under the shadow of his hat. A strict man, James Ebby Tollett expected things to be done right with little instruction, and Willie admired him as much as she differed from him. Jim was a serious man who prized order above all else. Willie laughed easily and challenged expectations. Still, nothing gave her more satisfaction than pleasing her father with a job well done.
Willie went about her chores, checking in on Rose every time she passed the cow lot. Each time, she expected to see a new calf on the ground or at her teat, but labor continued without delivery.
Rose tilted her white head one way and then the other. She bawled, kicked the ground, and shifted the weight of her bulging red body forward and backward, all signs of straining, but without the regularity of final contractions. Tulip and Daisy had gone from restlessness to labor within a few hours.
Rose turned toward the fence and Willie noticed the calf’s hooves sticking out under her tail. Delivery had started but stalled. If it didn’t continue soon, Rose and her calf would die.
Willie ran to the chicken coop. She’d seen plenty of births on the farm. She’d even assisted her mother who often served as a midwife to cousins and neighbors when their times came. Experience taught her that some mothers and babies needed assistance. And sometimes, it didn’t make a difference. Around here, the line between birth and death was razor thin.
Willie was surprised to find that her father was not at the chicken coop. The mesh of wire around the bottom was once again intact. He must have moved on to his next task, but she wasn’t sure what that was. Her heart pounded in her chest. She turned a desperate circle, scanning the flat horizon marked with nothing but grass and fences. Seeing no sign of him, she hurried to the barn. As she passed the horse pen, she saw Buck standing alone and realized that her father must have ridden Buster to inspect one of their distant fields.
Grabbing ropes from the barn, Willie hurried back to the heifers’ pen where Rose was now lying on her side. Perhaps the heifer only needed more time. The first labor often took longer and intervening too soon could complicate matters. But so could waiting too long. She stood and scanned the barren horizon again. No sign of her father. Willie could feel her heartbeat in her left temple as sweat formed on her brow. Delay would result in tragedy.
She opened the gate gingerly. The last thing she wanted was to spook the heifer and cause her to get up and run. She kept her distance at first, standing with her back to the gate. Hands shaking, she built a loop with one rope and held it by her side.
Willie took a small step toward the struggling mother-to-be. After a pause, she took another. Rose’s small brown eyes followed her movements. They widened with fear. Willie took a slow step backward. She reached her left hand into her pocket, pulled out a piece of sweet sorghum and held it out to Rose.
“Whoa, Rosie,” Willie crooned. “It’s all right. I’m here to help you.” Hoping her voice was steadier than her stomach, she took another step. The heifer knew her voice. It also knew her habit of sharing sorghum. She continued taking slow steps as she spoke. “Easy, girl. Easy.”
When she was close enough to feel the moisture expelled from each labored breath, Willie reached out and stroked the rippled skin of Rose’s neck. She held out a sorghum piece with her left hand as her right hand slipped the rope over the heifer’s neck. Rose wasn’t interested in the sorghum, but it served as distraction enough. She secured the other end of the rope to the nearest fence post. As she did, she thought of her classmates’ eagerness to get married and have babies. Would they be so eager if they understood what it meant for their young bodies?
Willie approached again, praying the heifer wouldn’t try to bolt. She gathered her skirt and knelt at the heifer’s tail end. Rose bawled and strained her against the rope but didn’t get up. A long red strand of afterbirth clung to the calf’s hooves. It would be dead soon if it wasn’t already. Willie had to act fast.