Chapter Seven
THE MUCK OF THE STREETnearly pulled Norah’s shoe right off her foot.
She tugged at the rope that was attached to the cow’s . . . harness? Halter? Norah hadn’t a clue about the leather contraption around the cow’s head. She didn’t know the first thing about cows at all, except they made milk and that this one liked to say “moo” more frequently than she thought was probably healthy.
And that this cow—Jilly, according to the note Mr. Beck had sent with her—despised walking.
“Lady, you need to get that animal out of the middle of the road.” A surly looking fellow driving a wagon said as he somehow managed to pass by her and the cow.
“I’m trying!” Her voice rose embarrassingly as she tugged on the rope again. The cow didn’t move an inch, and the wagon driver merely shook his head and continued on his way.
She looked down at her ruined shoes. Why hadn’t she run inside and put on a pair of boots instead? Oh yes, because a cow was standing in the road outside her home. Yet another gift from Mr. Beck. And not a soul had been home to help her. Papa, with his expertise on horses, would have been most helpful, but he’d been gone all day.
And so here she was, in the middle of the road, halfway through town and a block from Mr. Beck’s house, with a cow named Jilly who refused to budge.
Swallowing the panic rising in her throat, Norah took a deep breath. Perhaps if she asked the animal nicely rather than tugging at her. After all,shewouldn’t want to do anything someone ordered her to do. Maybe Jilly was the same way.
“Hello, sweet girl,” she said in a calm, soothing voice. Norah raised a hand to scratch Jilly gently on the nose.
Jilly stood completely still, and her big, brown eyes shut just a little.
Norah could have laughed. The cow clearly liked being petted. She kept scratching Jilly’s nose as she cooed, “You want to come on down the street with me now, don’t you, Miss Jilly? We’ll go see your friend, Mr. Beck. I’m sure he has something good for you to eat. Maybe . . . apples. Or oats.” Horses liked apples and oats. Whether cows did, Norah didn’t know, but it seemed to be working. When she gently pulled on the rope, Jilly took a couple of steps forward.
Sending up a prayer of thanks, Norah continued scratching Jilly’s nose and promising everything to the animal from tasty treats to a cozy stall in a barn to a fancy new dress.
And then—finally—they reached Mr. Beck’s small home.
Norah tied the rope to the handrail on the front steps, although she wasn’t certain how necessary that was considering the cow hardly appeared likely to go racing off down the street. She climbed the steps and knocked before going back down to stand near the cow. The last thing she wanted was Mr. Beck inviting her inside for a visit, and so she figured if she looked as if she were in a hurry, that would be less likely to happen.
“Miss Parker!” Mr. Beck, his silver-streaked brown hair glinting in the sun, beamed at her. He shut the door behind him and came down to stand beside her. “You’ve received my gift. I saw Jilly and thought she was perfect for you.” He pushed his spectacles into place and waited for her response.
“Thank you, Mr. Beck. It certainly was a . . . generous gift. But you must know we have no place to keep a cow.” She paused and tried to make her voice as gentle as possible. “And please, I’ve asked you to cease sending me gifts. Don’t you remember?”
“Yes, but don’t all women do that?” He smiled at her as if she were a ninny who didn’t know her own mind.
Norah dug her fingers into her palms. The gifts had been amusing—until the cow—but enough was enough. The first time she’d had to tell Mr. Beck to please not send her any gifts, she’d been terrified of breaking his heart. The second time, she’d felt bad for him. The seventh time held an undercurrent of annoyance. But now?
Now she was mad.
