And because no one outside my family, except the surgeon, knew about Emmeline, I waited until the milkmaids finished the morning milking and walked back to their homes for midday meal, their blue dresses disappearing around the fence. Only then, with the coast clear, did I lead Emmeline from the house, keeping the pace slow as we crossed the yard. I’d gotten used to the way she dipped to one side when she walked. Many times I’d wanted to ask about her foot, but I remembered the embarrassment in her eyes when I’d told her that I’d been the one who’d removed her river-soaked boots. With the morning milking done, the cows were grazing in the nearby pasture. They raised their horned heads as we approached. Maybe they thought she was one of their regular milkmaids, seeing as she was dressed in a milkmaid’s dress. I had no idea which cow had found Emmeline. They all looked exactly alike. But Emmeline seemed to have her heart set on thanking the creature. “We don’t have cows like this in the Flatlands,”
