Page 28 of Till The Cows Come Home
Chapter Twenty-Five
Miles
“ W here’s Sage?” I questioned, attempting to sit up, but the words were muffled by the mask covering my face.
The surrounding people helped pull me up, and I tugged the oxygen down, repeating my question. Before it was answered, I saw Sage speaking with a paramedic and the pleading look on her face broke my heart.
“You need to keep that on,” the paramedic nearest ordered.
“Can you put us together, please?” I asked, and I could tell Sage was having a similar conversation with the man in front of her.
“You were unconscious, and she needed to be examined. Now that you’re awake, I don’t see a reason to keep you apart.”
Sage’s paramedic seemed to think the same because moments later she approached me, throwing herself across my chest.
“I thought you were gone,” she sobbed.
“Shhh, I’m right here.” I whispered, pulling her into my chest, ignoring the hiss of pain I felt as she made contact with my skin.
The medics moved our masks back across our faces and we sat there waiting for an update, savoring each breath we thought we’d never get a chance to take.
As we sat, I began to feel Sage’s shoulders shake, and as much as I wanted to comfort her and tell her everything would be okay, I couldn’t.
Instead, I allowed my own tears to escape, grieving before I’d even known all that was lost. After a while, a group of firefighters approached us, and we leaned forward, eager to hear the prognosis.
“Hi guys, my name is Jenny. I’m the fire chief here in Lox. Which one of you does this farm belong to?”
“Both of us,” I responded, grabbing Sage’s hand. “It belongs to us both.”
“And how many cows did y'all have?” she asked, each word thickly coated with a layer of sympathy.
“Ninety-six total, including the calves,” I responded, waiting for the blow.
“It looks like sixty-two made it out. I’m so sorry. The fire engulfed where the stalls were, but we contained it before it made its way to the parlor. You should?—”
She continued talking, but my brain couldn’t process anything more. Thirty-four. We’d lost thirty-four cows. Thirty-four members of our family. Gone.
“Is it safe for us?” I asked. “I’d like to head to the pasture to start completing a roll call and see who’s missing.”
“The barn still needs to be cleared for stability, but you’re more than welcome to head to the pasture. I do advise you to go to the hospital at some point to get those burns looked at, but I know better than to try to force a farmer to see a doctor.”
“Thanks.” I nodded, stepping off the back of the ambulance.
As I grabbed Sage’s hand, helping her down, two cars pulled in, one after the other, and I watched as Ruby sprinted over, followed closely by Sage’s parents.
“Oh my god guys, are you okay?” Ruby asked, pulling us both in a hug.
“We’re okay,” Sage responded, but I could tell she was trying her best not to fall apart.
“Sweetheart, what happened?” Gale cried out, turning Sage’s body to face her. She looked her daughter over for injuries while searching between our eyes for an explanation.
“They don’t know yet,” I interjected. “We were just about to go see who made it.”
“We’ll help,” Stu offered, the others nodding in unison. “Do you have a record we could use to see who you started with?”
My heart sank, flooded with embarrassment. My lack of record keeping had finally snuck up on me, but as I was about to admit my fault, Sage spoke up.
“I made a list,” she choked out through her smoke tinged voice, “numerical by ear tag. We can use it to check off who’s here. I’ll grab it.”
Before I could react, she was headed towards the house and I couldn’t help but look with awe at the woman walking away from me.
I had no idea she’d done more work with the paperwork, but I wasn’t surprised.
The entire time I was attempting to win Sage over, she was showing me in her own little ways that she was already mine.
In her absence, I gathered some flashlights and a spare jacket from my truck, flinching as the fabric made brief contact with my open skin. My hands shook as I attempted to secure the buttons down the front, the adrenaline undoubtedly wearing off to unearth the swirls of emotions I’d suppressed.
Sage emerged from the house holding a few copies of the list on clipboards and as she dolled them out, she also handed us each a red and green highlighter.
My brain paused for a moment, briefly confused, but the weight behind the colors quickly settled into my chest. I grabbed Sage’s hand, desperate for the support of her touch, and after handing out flashlights to the others, we all made our way to the pasture.
The fire department had flooded patches to allow the surviving cows fresh drinking water and I cringed at the memory of my own soot filled throat, eternally grateful that they were allowed the same relief.
Light threatened to peek over the hills, and I knew the true sunrise would soon arrive to unveil the damage hidden in the dark.
“I guess we just start with the closest,” I sighed, overwhelmed by the sight in front of me.
Sage nodded, stepping to the first heifer I knew as Patty, scanning her list until she located the ear tag number.
“Glad to see you, Patty,” she whispered, highlighting the row in green before stroking the cow’s neck. Tears rolled down her face as she placed a kiss on her nose, lingering for just a moment, before moving to the next.
The others followed suit, repeating this process until every remaining cow was accounted for.
“How many?” I asked Stu.
“Thirty-five,” he responded.
“We got twenty-seven, so that adds up.”
“Did you guys see Blossom?” Sage asked, biting her lip in an attempt to stop it from quivering.
“No,” Ruby answered, squeezing her friend's hand. “You?”
Sage shook her head no, unable to answer, and Ruby engulfed her in an embrace.
“I’m so sorry, Sage.”
As we rounded back into a group, we were met with firefighters who cleared us to enter the barn.
We began the process again, and grief consumed me as I watched the group switch from green highlighters to red.
This time, the process took much longer, our hearts breaking a bit more each time a line was added to the rows.
Some of the bodies were unrecognizable, distinguished only by their tag amongst the ash and as the groups joined again, not a single person stood with dry eyes.
“Anyone missing?” I asked, hardly keeping it together as we overlapped lists.
“Blossom,” Sage noticed, a tiny sliver of hope in her voice. “She’s not highlighted at all.”
Without discussion, the groups dispersed, silently understanding the necessary closure. We searched every nook and cranny big enough to fit the not so small calf and after about thirty minutes of searching, I shined my light into the brush, surprised when two bloodshot eyes glowed back at me.
“Here!” I called out. “I think I found her.”
I reached out my hand, attempting to entice her out, but it wasn’t until Sage approached that she relented.
“Here baby,” Sage cooed, putting forth as much emotion as she could muster to recreate the happy voice she’d often used with Blossom.
After a few moments, the leaves rustled, and the calf’s head poked out.
“137,” I whispered, confirming her tag number. “It’s her.”
“Of course it's her,” Sage responded, dropping to her knees.
Blossom walked up to Sage, nudging at her hands until Sage wrapped her arms around the cow’s tiny neck. My tears began to run, spilling over the emotional dam I’d built, and when Gale’s hand slipped into mine, I nearly fell apart..
“Everything will be okay,” Gale whispered up to me. “It may not feel like it right now, but it will.”
I just nodded, knowing that my emotions would overtake my voice if I attempted to speak .
After Sage inspected Blossom, satisfied she’d be okay in the pasture for a while, we made our way back to the first responders. They continued to monitor the barn and as we approached, the chief met us again.
“Hi guys, I think we’ve figured out the cause,” she said, and with all eyes on her, she continued. “With the burn pattern, we're predicting that the fire started near the center of the barn. We recovered some candles in that area, is it possible those were lit tonight?”
Before my heart had a chance to break, I felt Sage’s hand drop from mine and I cringed as she took a step away from me.
“We did this?” she cried.
I looked beyond her eyes, understanding that at this moment, whatever we’d begun to build was about to crumble.