The Oldest Heifer is the Best Deal

In a quiet hushed tone, Aunt Laurel gently grabs my hand and steers me around the broad side of Gertrude in the pasture out of sight. “Go through the field to the barn, I need a milk pan, my milking uniform, a stool and my hat. Remain in the tall grasses near the thicket’s edge, the coats will likely not see you.”

Bewildered, I scan Auntie’s face. The resolve met with my gaze quelled the worry swirling around my abdomen.

This summer was supposed to be the definition of quiet in the countryside with Aunt and Uncle. Until the Americans arrived.

Now we house them because we have the largest Inn in town. While Uncle recovers from his injuries, Auntie nurses him and any other weary travellers that come our way. The Inn teams with blue coats at the moment.

I tiptoe nay gallop to the barn on the edge of the pasture. Being short for my age helps me stay out of sight to grab the aforementioned articles.

Just as I am about to leave the open barn that smells of fresh cut hay, one of my favourite scents that I associate with summertime, I hear the most dreaded words.

“The rest of the chaps arrive the day after tomorrow?” A voice asked.

Kneeling down behind the nearest bail of hay I could find I strained my ear to learn more. Did they see me? A faint smell of ammonium fills the air. Clearly they are watering the barn. Classic disregard by the antidisestablishmentarians.

A commanding affirmative response grunts back. “Affirmative.”

They must not see me; I think to myself tugging at a loose braid that is falling apart. I must do something. 

Tell Auntie, she always knows what to do.

But first, I must get to the thicket on the edge of the pasture where the grasses are tallest.

I peek my head around the corner. The coast is clear. In my arms I gather the outfit, the pail, the stool and the hat.

Surely Auntie and her can devise a plan on short notice. Or maybe this is the plan. Scurrying over to where Aunt Laurel awaits in the field, I landed with the articles in my arms.

In a hiss I say, “Auntie, the troops are coming tomorrow. We must warn someone!”

Auntie bowed her head and put out her arms in the full dress of an apron. The sage creases in her all-knowing smile folding as she nodded her head.

“I know Beth. I know. Here is what we are going to do.” She hastily puts her aprons on, tying them, fastening her hat, and steadying the bucket under Gertrude.

As if to tell the child that the plan was in place without the actual plan.

A deep booming voice from the road yelled out, “Fancy a dance in the hay ladies?!”

With bewilderment, I look up to see the two men walking up the lane. One clearly likes refreshments and his fair share of food. He sways as if he has already gotten into the drink. The other, skinnier than me. A stiff navy for the lanky officer and grey coat that truly is not a fit for the rotund gentleman. They can’t be comfortable in those coats surely.

Auntie, fastened to the stool gets to work milking Gertie and adds, “Never mind yourselves gentleman. If you need to take yourselves for a dance in the hay, no one is stopping you.

The two of them laugh from their bellies in the most ungracious way.

“That’s a mighty fine cow you have there,” says the taller coat.

“She’s our finest Heifer!” Auntie Laurel drawls. “The oldest is always the finest heifer.”

This can’t possibly be true. Gertrude is old and every time Auntie Laurel milks her she shakes her head mumbling this might be her last, but they don’t need to know that.  

“You don’t say?” The portly officer says leaning against the fence.

“They’ve seen it all, they know what to expect, and they are always overlooked at the market so you can get a good price for them.” Auntie finishes her task with her pail, stands up, and wipes her hands on her milking costume.

“Now if you’ll excuse us gentleman, unless you intend to buy the oldest heifer here, we must be on our way.”

“Name your price.”

A statement that stops Auntie Laurel in her tracks. She slowly turns around to face them. Holds her head high and postures her hands on her hips.

“You and all your men go back to where you came from and do not bother us again.”

Scoffing, they disregard the agreement.

Auntie Laurel firmly closes the gate of the pasture and walks in the opposite direction of the

Inn. They walk until the end of the lane reaches the forest without looking behind them in silence.

“Auntie?” I ask in complete trepidation.

“Yes Elizabeth?” Auntie Laurel says lost in her thoughts.

“Where are we headed?” I ask.

“To warn the loyalists.” She speaks.

I think long and hard about it, then say, “How come they didn’t buy the oldest heifer?”

“Because the deal I presented didn’t sound like the deal that they wanted.”

“But Gertrude isn’t our oldest heifer.”

“You’re certainly correct about that.” The curved brim of her hat giving a halo to her response, her fitted bodice doing as much justice to her figure as it can as she hauls a pail.

“In actual fact, I am.”

"Do they know that?"

"It's all in a matter of perspective."

"Would you have sold yourself?"

Auntie stops and thinks about this for a moment. "Not in the way that they were hoping. By taking this risk, I am."

Note: this is fiction on true events. Stick around for more Ridiculously Canadian content.