“You had better take the milk on to the house first,” he said.
Joe stood, the pail swinging from his hand.
His voice was dogged though quiet.
“I’ll find her in the morning.”
“Take the milk on to the house,” McEachern said. “I will wait for you here.”
For a moment longer Joe stood there.
Then he moved.
He emerged and went on to the kitchen.
Mrs. McEachern came in as he was setting the pail onto the table.
“Supper is ready,” she said. “Has Mr. McEachern come to the house yet?”
Joe was turning away, back toward the door.
“He’ll be in soon,” he said.
He could feel the woman watching him.
She said, in a tone tentative, anxious:
“You’ll have just time to wash.”
“We’ll be in soon.” He returned to the barn.
Mrs. McEachern came to the door and looked after him.
It was not yet full dark and she could see her husband standing in the barn door.
She did not call.
She just stood there and watched the two men meet.
She could not hear what they said.
“She will be down at the creek, you say?” McEachern said.
“I said she may be.
This is a goodsized pasture.”
“Ah,” McEachern said.
Both their voices were quiet. “Where do you think she will be?”
“I don’t know.
I ain’t no cow.
I don’t know where she might be.”
McEachern moved.
“We’ll go see,” he said.
They entered the pasture in single file.
The creek was a quarter of a mile distant.
Against the dark band of trees where it flowed fireflies winked and faded.
They reached these trees.
The trunks of them were choked with marshy undergrowth, hard to penetrate even by day. “Call her,” McEachern said.
Joe did not answer.
He did not move.
They faced one another.
“She’s my cow,” Joe said. “You gave her to me.
I raised her from a calf because you gave her to me to be my own.”
“Yes,” McEachern said. “I gave her to you.
To teach you the responsibility of possessing, owning, ownership.
The responsibility of the owner to that which he owns under God’s sufferance.
To teach you foresight and aggrandisement.
Call her.”
For a while longer they faced one another.
Perhaps they were looking at one another.
Then Joe turned and went on along the marsh, McEachern following.
“Why don’t you call her?” he said.