A half hour later, we’ve managed to get up and dressed just as the sun rises.
I let the chickens out and feed them before I go help with the milking.
I now regularly do Genevieve and Vera and Millicent. And I’ve been practicing with one of the more temperamental ones—Lola. She didn’t like me for the first couple of months, but now she tolerates me okay. But I’m hesitant because I’m afraid she’s going to kick, so I haven’t managed to complete her milking all the way yet.
Today I do though.
Mason is supposed to be milking one of the other cows, but I know he’s watching me from the corner of his eyes. He’s sitting very still as I milk Lola, the liquid spraying into the container with each squeeze.
I try not to get tense because the animals can pick up on those vibes. But as I complete the last of it, my hand is shaking slightly.
In rising excitement. Not in fear.
Lola gives a little huff as I let her udder go and pat herside. I stand up carefully and bring the pail over to the large refrigerated container to pour it in.
When I’ve finished, I turn around at Mason, beaming and clapping my hands.
He’s grinning back. He opens his arms, and I run into them.
He grabs me, swinging me around in a big hug.
“I did it! I did it!”
To someone else, successfully milking a temperamental cow might not be much of an accomplishment. But it’s a real victory for me.
Mason is laughing openly as he swings me around again. “You did great.” When he puts me down, we stand smiling at each other. “I’m proud of you.”
I have to admit the truth to him. “I’m proud of me too.”
The following week on Thursday market day, I’m having a really good day.
We have a new kind of cheese to sell, and the villagers are loving the samples and buying a lot of it. It’s just after noon, and we’re almost out of the stock we brought with us.
Mason is proud of the cheese. He’s been working on it since he moved back to take over the farm, and he’s just now gotten it to a point where he’s satisfied. He’s holdingon to his typical matter-of-fact manner, but I can read small signs in his face and posture now.
He’s proud of himself. As proud as I was last week when I managed to successfully milk Lola.
He’s been in a particularly good mood for the past week and a half. He’s enjoying all the sex we’ve been having since we started trying out different positions. We’ve averaged twice a day for ten days now, and even after we used up all the positions described in the book, we’ve been experimenting with arrangements we make up in our own heads.
It’s been fun in a way I never would have expected a regular life could be. And it’s not just the physical pleasure I’m enjoying.
I feel closer to Mason. Emotionally. Closer than I’ve ever felt to anyone—even Annabelle. He’s been talking to me more. Over meals. In bed after we have sex. Even during morning chores and cold afternoons when there’s nothing else to be done outside.
It’s not as if life here has gotten miraculously easy. We both work hard, and some of our efforts never pay off in any satisfying way. But it’s different than it was. I’m happy when I wake up in the morning and look forward to the day.
Even as a child, I never experienced anything like it.
Mason is feeling the same way. Or at least something similar. It’s plain as day on his face and in his behavior.
I can see it even now as he stands behind our stall and talks to the butcher.
Bill came with us today—he enjoys sitting at our feet, snorting out dropped crumbs and accepting the occasional scratch behind his ears from villagers—and now he’s having a snuffling interaction with the butcher’s dog.
Bill has been as happy as Mason and I have been. He’s even stopped sleeping on the porch and moved into the house to sleep near the heater in the living room.
Maybe he’s simply cold, but I think he’s feeling like he’s part of the family now.
I hope so.
