Because he’d worked up an appetite from the morning excitement, he would chance a bout of heartburn from fried potatoes and bacon. Besides, he loved his fraa’s cooking, especially her scrambled eggs with chopped sweet red peppers. Filling a travel mug with the last of the second pot of coffee, he headed outdoors. His sons had wolfed down their meal and already left. James had ridden off to gather helpers while John readied the heifers for milking. Breathing in the crisp air, the bishop thought about his daughter’s question. Did someone pull down their fences and no one else’s? That was how it appeared to him. But trying to figure this out wouldn’t get their chores done, and with James gone he needed to lend a hand. It had been a while since he’d milked a cow, but like riding a bicycle, one never lost the ability. The low winter sun had reached its zenith by the time they finished milking and filling feed troughs. They turned the horses into the small paddock by the barn before checking on the repair progress.
