Page 29 of To Know Miss May

Livvy glanced behind the couple as the cows reached them, popping their large heads and woeful eyes over the wooden fence to see what their keepers were up to. The closest one to them, Charlotte, chewed a mouthful of grass in circles, rain gathering in drops beneath her chin before dripping to the ground below.

The large white spot blazoned across her brow was half-hidden by a crown made up of long grasses and small, white daisies. Livvy couldn’t help but smile. The love and attention the Otterhams bestowed on these cows were more than admirable, it was enviable.

“I do think it looks lovely,” Livvy said.

“As do I,” Mr. Otterham said with a wink. “’Twon’t last long on her fore’ead, but at least she be lookin’ presentable for a moment.”

“’Ave ye tried to put one on ’er calf, yet?”

“Lucy?” Mr. Otterham shook his head, leaning back to see behind the cows. “’Eavens, no. She’d eat the thing ’fore I could finish it.”

Livvy smiled, stepping closer to the fence to see the little calf hiding behind her mother’s leg. “Ah, she be darlin’ without it,” Livvy said, crouching down to see the little calf’s face through the gate. Lucy—Livvy tried to remember all the names of the cows, if only for Mr. and Mrs. Otterham’s sake—stared back at her, taking a few tentative steps closer to Livvy before her long, pink tongue curled out from beneath her wide, black nose and licked Livvy’s outstretched palm.

“Afternoon,” she cooed, grinning at the affection she’d received.

How Livvy loved the spring. The rain, the newly blooming flowers, the calves. All of it breathed life back into the Mount and into the people.

Straightening from her crouched position, she turned to see Mrs. Otterham wincing as a raindrop splashed in her eyelashes. “This rain,” she murmured. “Thought we’d ’ave a moment’s peace from it, but ’Eaven do ’ave other plans.”

“The cows seem to be enjoyin’ it, though,” Livvy said. “Think o’ ’ow clean they’ll be with all this water. And the flowers’ll thrive more, and the grass’ll be greener.”

Mrs. Otterham patted Livvy’s cheek again. “Ye always do know ’ow to brighten me spirits, love.”

Livvy could say the same about Mrs. Otterham. When Mother had died, Livvy had been asked question after question about what had occurred and how it had happened. Children and adults alike seemed bound and determined to receive answers. But the Otterhams, instead of asking questions, had brought a care package for Livvy filled with books, a new warm blanket, and a few fruits.

Livvy hadn’t realized until she was older how poor the Otterhams were. Only then did she learn to truly appreciate the gift she’d been given by them. They’d also encouraged her to visit with the cows whenever Livvy wished to—a fact that helped to distract her from the pain of her mother’s death. While there, they would speak of books and cows and the sea—never her parents, which she appreciated, too. Livvy wouldn’t be the person she was today without their influence in her life.

Another drop of rain fell in Mrs. Otterham’s eyes. She patted her stays, then turned to her husband. “I’ve misplaced me wretched handkerchief again, Brae.”

Mr. Otterham came to his wife’s aid, producing his grey handkerchief and delivering it to Mrs. Otterham, who used it to wipe the moisture from her eye.

Livvy watched the couple with admiration. She’d always loved how they loved each other. Livvy could count on one hand the number of times Father and Mother had been affectionate with Livvy—and she could not remember a single time when they were affectionate with each another.

Dismissing the sorrowful thought, she returned her attention to the cows. More and more of them poked their heads over the gate and above the stone wall, their ears sticking straight out, like a bird’s airborne wings.

Livvy did her best to pet and name each one, only being corrected once by Mr. Otterham—“This one be Anna, that one be Beatrice.” “Oh, does it really matter, Brae?”—as the three of them visited with one another.

Soon, the conversation shifted from the cows to the Otterhams’ children and grandchildren, who lived on the mainland in Mousehole.

“I do wish they lived closer, but we must be grateful for what we ’ave, mustn’t we?” Mrs. Otterham said.

“That be enough ’bout we, though,” Mr. Otterham said. “Tell us more ’bout what ye’ve been up to.”

Livvy’s thoughts instantly shifted to the night before, dining with August’s family, speaking with him about books, living out a dream she thought would never come to fruition.

“Oh, nothin’, really,” she replied. “Aside from readin’ me new books.”

The discussion settled on her reading, then, which Mrs. Otterham always feigned more interest in than Livvy was certain she had. Never mind that, though. If the couple were willing to listen to her retell all that she’d read after a week or two of reading, she would gladly do so. Especially if that meant not going into detail about a certain dinner party she attended.

They’d always been dull, dreadful, stressful affairs. But last night, well, she would simply say that August Moon had the transfixing power that may have changed her mind forever.

As she finished her summarization of what she’d read thus far in Robinson Crusoe and tried yet again to push August’s handsome features from her memory, the rain poured harder around them, and Livvy had to take her leave, if only to allow the poor couple to get to a shelter themselves.

“Ye best ’ead ’ome for ye catch another cold,” Mrs. Otterham said.

“Do take care on your return, darlin’,” Mr. Otterham added.

Livvy bade farewell to the couple, promising to return soon, then made her way along the muddy pathway, carefully sidestepping the puddles and patches of slick grass.