Sour Apples by Sheila Connolly

Ohio dairy farmers. But she went to college and got a few ag degrees, then worked as a government inspector, on the other side of the fence. That’s what she was doing when we got married about five years ago. I didn’t realize that she really wanted to be hands-on about the whole dairy thing.” He rubbed his hands over his face, as if trying to erase his fatigue. “But I wanted her to be happy. And we were, I guess. I mean, it was fun at first, finding a good piece of property and putting together the herd. I like making cheese, but I don’t like dealing with the animals—all the mess and stink. And there’s no escaping their constant needs.”
    “Are you going to stay on now?” Meg asked.
    “I don’t know. All our savings are tied up in the farm. Joyce didn’t even have life insurance—we couldn’t afford it. Nobody’s going to want to buy the property or the herd, not now, not until we find out what was making the cows sick. So I’m stuck.”
    “Is there anyone who can help you? Some family, maybe?”
    He shook his head. “Nope. We’re both only children. Joyce has some cousins, but they’re not local. I don’t know what I’m going to do—except keep milking the damn cows.”
    Meg’s heart went out to Ethan, trapped in a situation he hadn’t made and clearly didn’t want, with nowhere to turn. It made her feel lucky: at least she liked the apple trees. She wasn’t sure what to say next, but Ethan looked so down thatshe thought it was only kind to keep him here a bit longer. Hadn’t Seth said Ethan didn’t have many friends in Granford? “How many head do you have?”
    “About thirty who are currently producing. Mostly Ayrshires, but a few Guernseys because their milk is so high in butterfat. Their milk makes great cheese, really rich. And they’re generally nice cows. That’s why it was so odd…” He trailed off, shutting his eyes.
    “I heard Joyce was milking a Guernsey when…” Meg couldn’t figure out how to finish her sentence.
    But Ethan apparently understood. “When she died? Yes. But she was in with one of the sweetest, gentlest cows we had—Cyndi. Okay, Cyndi was young and maybe kind of nervous, but Joyce knew how to handle cows. She was careful, but she could also talk to them. She loved that cow. That’s why I can’t understand why…” He stopped, fumbling for words.
    “I heard that you found her,” Meg said quietly. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful for you.”
    Ethan nodded wordlessly. It took him a few moments before he could speak. “I feel so guilty. I was away for the night—I had to go pick up some equipment, and I was running late, so I asked her if she could handle the milking alone and she said sure, no problem. So I crashed overnight in some cheap motel. I came back early the next morning, and I could tell something was wrong even before I got out of the truck. The cows were milling around waiting to be milked. That’s when I found her, in the stall with Cyndi. I could tell she’d been in the middle of milking Cyndi, because the bucket was kicked over and had spilled, but Cyndi’s udder was really swollen. Sorry, that’s probably more than you want to know.”
    “Seth mentioned that Joyce was taking special care with that one cow, milking her by hand,” Meg said.
    “Yes. One of the reasons we bought the place was because it already had a great small milking setup, but Joycewanted to bring Cyndi along gently, because it was her first time. Get her used to the process. That’s why she was in the stall with her, doing it by hand. I could tell Joyce was gone, so I…kind of took a minute to say good-bye to her, and then I called 911. And then I started milking the cows, God help me.”
    “You couldn’t do anything more for Joyce, and you couldn’t let the cows suffer, Ethan. There’s no reason you should feel guilty.” Meg noticed that all the muffins had disappeared. “You want something else? I can make you some bacon and