Page 10 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

Lando

“ S o then . . . listen to this . . . Clementine announces that Pierre’s offered to give her cooking lessons. Cooking lessons .” I throw my hands in the air. “Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous?”

There’s a snort of laughter to my left.

“Amazing. I’m so glad I woke up early for this.”

I glare at Miles, who’s wearing one of his more annoying smirks. Not an ounce of him is bothering to hide how amused he is by my plight. There’s no feign of support. Nothing.

I turn to Hendricks, hoping for a shred more empathy. “Henners, don’t you think it’s ridiculous?”

He removes the earbuds of his stethoscope and loops it around his neck.

“I’m a little busy right now. If you’re going to be in here, at least make yourself useful and give me a hand,” he snaps, one of his palms soothing over the heifer’s neck. The other one is nowhere to be seen. “Easy, mama, they’ll be here soon.”

“Sorry. What d’you need?”

I jump down off the stable gate and step closer to Elsa.

We don’t normally name our cows, but Max took it upon himself to name all the cows last year, and this one stuck, along with Minnie two corrals down. She’s also in active labor, with one of Hendricks’s veterinary assistants monitoring her.

Elsa lets out a loud moo followed by a series of grunts, just to reiterate how uncomfortable she is.

Usually, we leave the cows to deliver their calves by themselves like nature intended, with Hendricks keeping a close eye from a safe distance, but Elsa is having twins, so we’re being more hands-on.

At least I am. I’m not sure why Miles is here.

These calves are the last to be born this season. It’s been a busy two and a half months adding to our small herd of Aberdeen Angus cattle. It usually finishes in early May, but Elsa and Minnie needed to be inseminated twice, having failed the first go-around.

“Just keep her calm. I need her to lie down,” Hendricks replies, peeling off a pair of long gloves. “Her amniotic sack is still intact, but we need to get this one out without the other one bursting. I think he’s a big boy.”

A couple of the chickens have come to see what’s happening, unlike Hamish, who’s snoring loudly under the gate. Every few minutes, one of the farm staff pops their head into the corral to check, and we get an update that Minnie’s calf arrived safe and sound.

I stay with Elsa as Hendricks runs the portable ultrasound across her stomach, nodding in approval, and there’s nothing else we can do except wait. Twins are not something we’ve had often. In fact, in the sixteen years I’ve run the Burlington Estate, we’ve only had twins half a dozen times.

I’m about to ask Hendricks how long he thinks we should leave it before we step in and help when Elsa drops onto her front legs and rolls onto her side.

Her huge belly convulses as her first calf finally decides to make an appearance .

“There we go,” Hendricks murmurs as the pink birth sack appears. “Excellent, I can see a hoof . . . and a nose.”

While Hendricks and I have moved to the side to give Elsa some room, Miles, being Miles, kneels in the hay and strokes through her mane. “Well done, darling, you can do it. Babies will be here soon.”

Amazingly, Miles’s presence seems to calm her, proving it’s not just women he has this hypnotizing effect on. It’s females of all species.

God, he’s annoying.

“Come on, girl. Push.”

Another round of intense contractions, loud mooing, and heavy breathing, and the calf’s legs, head, and shoulders make an appearance. From where I’m standing, this all looks good. The sack still hasn’t burst, but it’s a nice, healthy color, and one more big push should have it sliding right out.

Which is exactly what happens, followed by a flood of amniotic fluid, blood, and the placenta, which splatters everywhere.

The little black calf twitches on the hay.

Miles is still kneeling next to Elsa’s head, stroking her neck and whispering in her ear, but she’s in no condition to move.

Dropping down, I rip the sack open, clear out his nostrils, and clean all the goop off the calf’s face with a handful of hay, trying my best not to touch him before Elsa does.

He takes one big sneeze, spraying me with cow snot, and his first breath comes out in a little squeaking noise. Elsa turns her head toward him but makes no attempt to get closer.

“It’s okay, Elsa. We got him,” I tell her. “You get his brother out.”

Her breathing is labored, and it’s clear she’s becoming distressed. Another set of contractions rolls through her, but nothing happens. I can just make out the tips of one hoof appearing, but that’s it, and there should be more. Sensing the same, Hendricks kneels and feels Elsa for the next calf.

“Shit. Just what I didn’t want. The sack burst with the first calf. If he doesn’t progress, we’ll have to pull him out.”

We wait a couple of minutes to see if Elsa manages to push any more, but after another round of contractions where her mooing is almost deafening, Hendricks steps in to help.

He might be twenty-six and only fully qualified for two years, but Hendricks has spent his entire life caring for animals.

Watching him work still fills me with awe.

Over the years, I must have been present at the delivery of hundreds and hundreds of cows, a dozen or so horses, and many, many puppies, but it was the first time we ever delivered a calf together that set him on the path to becoming a vet.

It wasn’t long after I took over Burlington. I was eighteen, and Hendricks was ten. We’d taken a four-wheeler out into the fields to check on the pregnant heifers and came across one in early labor. Along with Burt Easton, the previous Valentine Nook vet, we stayed with her for ten hours.

Unfortunately, the calf didn’t survive, but after that, Hendricks made it his mission to learn everything he could, eventually specializing in large animals.

He took over Burt’s practice after he retired, and now Hendricks services the farms around Valentine Nook and the Burlington Estate, as well as the ponies of the Polo Club.

Plus, Mrs. Winston’s constantly escaping goat.

Taking hold of the legs, Hendricks shifts his weight back and tugs hard on the calf. His face puffs through his exertions while I stay out of the way, keeping my eye on the first calf as he attempts to lift his head.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” Miles coos to Elsa. “Nearly there.”

“Fuck, this calf is massive.” Hendricks heaves.

“Bigger than the first? ”

“Yeah, his shoulder is twisted around, I think. It’s what’s sticking.

” Hendricks stops pulling and eases his hand inside Elsa to see if he can move the calf before starting up again.

After thirty seconds of doing whatever he’s doing inside Elsa, Hendricks steps back and takes hold of the legs again.

“That’s better. C’mon, buddy, let’s get you out. ”

It takes another minute of grunting all around before the calf arrives with an unceremonious plop onto the hay, followed by another round of blood and goop.

Miles jumps up, joining Hendricks and me by the gate as Elsa eases to standing.

She gives both her calves a long lick, beginning the process of cleaning them and bonding, and next to me, Hendricks takes a long, hard sigh of relief.

By now, we have an audience of twenty or so chickens, a couple of the stable cats who are busily sniffing the newest arrivals, and even Hamish has woken up.

“Excellent work, bud.” Miles holds his hand up to Hendricks for a high five as we all watch on. “Looks like one little happy family now.”

Hendricks lets out a tired chuckle. “It sure does.”

“Congratulations on another successful birthing season,” I add with a laugh.

It has been successful too. We haven’t lost any calves this year. Which is not something I can always say, but those are the realities of farming.

We don’t have a huge herd. It has always been kept small, allowing us to personally manage it.

These calves will have an incredible life and will eventually be either kept for stud purposes or used for meat.

The income received from the Burlington Estate farm is directly allocated toward the upkeep of Valentine Nook and supporting the long-term residents through supplemental income.

It’s a process that has been ongoing for the last couple of centuries, and it’s what allows us to ensure Valentine Nook stays pristine, attracting tourists who spend more money.

We watch in silence as the second calf makes a wobbly attempt to push to his feet and join his brother, already drinking hungrily—a good sign after such a stressful birth.

“I think we can leave them to it,” Hendricks says eventually.

“Always enjoy being present at a birthing,” says Miles, throwing his arm around my shoulders as we walk out into the main yard. “Feel like we should be passing around cigars.”

“I’d rather have a coffee,” I reply, stopping by one of the yard’s large outdoor sinks to wash our hands and clean up as best we can.

Even using a scrubbing brush and a bar of soap doesn’t get me fully clean, but it’ll have to do until I take a long soak in the bath later tonight. If I didn’t have to go to London once a month, I’d quite likely be permanently covered in mud.

Running seven days a week, the yard is the busiest place on the Burlington Estate.

A staff of fifty is responsible for everything from maintaining the machinery to rolling the hay and plowing the fields and taking care of the various animals, including—cows, of course—horses, sheep, chickens, geese, pigs, goats, and the farm cats who keep the mice away.

Every day is an all-hands-on-deck situation, and I come down here each morning to make sure everything’s running smoothly and check in with the yard manager.