Page 93 of This Broken Heart
Betsy’s more or less like the family pet to the Olsons. She’s been intermingling with the herd since long before Josh took over. It is true, she is a bovine leader in the herd. They follow her in, calm down when she’s around. But the risks of letting her intermingle with the herd are now very clear.
And Josh is the one who gets to carry the blame. He didn’t start it, but he let it continue.
This is the way of life on the farm. The cycle of life is brutal.
The Olsons are big-hearted people. I’m not sure how they stand it.
He slips back outside, disappearing into the barn to help Betsy in whatever way he can.
As the hours wile on, I feed the kids and get them ready for bed. Lisa shows up just as I’m reading the kids a bedtime story. She claims she was missing the kids, but I can tell by the way her gaze keeps straying north that she’s worried about Josh.
She’s not wrong to worry. Josh doesn’t even come in for dinner. The barn is heated, but that rickety heater won’t be able to compete with these frigid January temperatures.
Once I’m sure the kids are sound asleep, I make up a little basket for Josh. Warm soup. Bread. Coffee.
Throwing the hood up on my parka, I press out into the night. The wind hits me hard, sucking the breath from my lungs. It’s so cold it stings my skin, but if I turn my gaze upward, the stars glitter like diamonds. It’s frigid and unforgiving and completely breathtakingly beautiful.
Listening to the wind twine through the branches, to the way my boots crunch on the snow, I push into the barn.
Betsy’s making low sounds of distress. Josh sits on a stool beside her. His hand sweeps up and down her back. His head is bowed.
“No progress?”
My voice startles him. He jerks around, staring at me with a worried expression. “What are you doing out here?”
Too late, I remember this is how Ana got sick.
Like… exactly how she got sick.
The calving barn.
The cold night.
I hold out the basket, I’m not sure if it’s an offering or an apology, but he ignores it. I clear my throat. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“It’s too cold to be walking around out there.”
“I’ve got my coat on.”
He presses his eyes shut, his voice is gruff. “That’s not the point.” He looks at me, frowning. “What about the kids? You just left them alone in there?”
I feel like a kid getting into trouble with a stern teacher. My hackles go up and I can’t help but to feel defensive. How did a kind act turn into a sin? “Your mom came over to spend the night with them. You’d know that if you left the barn. Besides, I have the monitor.”
I hold it up and Maven’s lullaby playlist faintly echoes back to us on it.
He turns away, putting both hands on Betsy’s side. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
“Okay.” I say, not quite keeping the hurt out of my voice. “My bad, Josh.”
I want him to turn around. To see a comforting smile on his face, but he won’t look at me. It hurts more than if he’d just snap at me some more.
Setting his dinner on the stool, I trudge back into the dark night, feeling empty-hearted.
The cold seeps into my body and I take a shower, hoping to warm the chill from my blood.
But this isn’t the type of chill you can warm up with blankets and hot tea. It’s a feeling of hurt that goes deeper than my skin. I sleep fitfully and somewhere around two, I hear the door open and close.
Climbing to my feet, I slip into the hall and lean against the doorframe. “How’s Betsy?”