Laurel: Bride of Arkansas (American Mail-Order Bride 25) by Carra Copelin Page A

board.
    “So Bessie,” she said in a soft, soothing voice. “We’re going to get you milked and you’ll feel better.”
    Bessie chewed the grain and hay sitting in front of her and answered rather insistently, “Moo!”
    “All right, all right,” Laurel answered back. “I’m doing my best. Careful or I’ll change your name to Bossie.”
    She sat the stool near Bessie’s hind quarter and placed the pail beneath her teats. And wouldn’t that be a word for the society matrons in Philadelphia? She’d bet not one of them had read Aunt Jennie’s Household Bible , nor did they know it even existed. She grinned as she imagined herself and her sisters, Emmeline and Adeline, blurting out that word in the middle of afternoon tea and her grandmother grabbing for her fan and smelling salts. The three of them, as small girls, had been holy terrors. But, alas, wool gathering wasn’t getting Bessie taken care of.
    Sitting on the stool, she rubbed her hands together, making sure they were warm per instruction, and then wrapped each one around a teat. After a short time she found a rhythm and stopped when the pail was almost full. She stood, stretched her back, and set the pail of milk off to her side, and then picked up the stool to return it to its original place in the corner. Her movements must have startled Bessie for the cow let out a cry.
    By the time Laurel heard the commotion behind her, it was too late. Bessie had bumped her on her backside, knocking her face forward onto the barn floor, and kicked over the pail of milk. She reached for the handle and managed to save half, but her dress was drenched with muddy milk and her left hand was planted in a fairly warm cow patty. She managed to crawl away from Bessie’s back feet and prop herself against the outer stall wall.
    Of all the things that had happened in her life, this was the most humiliating. Oh how glad she was her sisters weren’t here to see her predicament. While she could use a good cry over the events of the last few months, this struck her funny bone and she started to laugh. The harder she laughed, the more the tears streamed down her face. She lowered her head and let them flow.
    Griffin came into the barn to put the hoe, shovel and rake back against the wall where they belonged, when he heard the turmoil. He rushed over to her and saw her shoulders shaking with her sobs. He stuck his head around the corner and took a quick look at the cow, and then knelt beside his bride. Her corn silk yellow hair poked out of her braid at odd angles, her dress was stained with mud, and she smelled like the south end of a north bound cow.
    “Laurel? What happened? Are you hurt?” He should’ve stayed close today and helped her get familiar with the place and the routine. When he looked closer, he didn’t see any blood or obvious broken bones, but she hadn’t acknowledged him and she was still crying. “Laurel?”
    She shook her head, looked up at him, and giggled. “I’m sorry, but this has been such a day and it isn’t even noon.”
    “What happened?”
    She swiped at her face with the back of her other hand and took a deep breath. “I’m not exactly sure except that Bessie didn’t like something I did, and she let me know her displeasure.”
    “And you’re laughing?” He flat out didn’t understand this woman. Her personality seemed so different from any woman he’d been acquainted with, he didn’t quite know how to handle her. She intrigued him and he definitely wanted to know more about her. He reached for her upper arms and hauled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and hopefully smelling a little better.”
    “Oh, that’s lovely,” she said, drawing herself up to reach the middle of his chest. “You’re telling your wife she stinks?”
    “I sure am.” He grabbed her manure covered appendage at the elbow and picked up the milk pail with his other hand and walked her outside to the pump head where he kept a bar of soap