The Night Mark(55)

“Thank you,” she said. “You make me almost happy I had to come here.”

“Then I have a job to do.”

“What’s the job?”

“To take the almost out of that sentence.”

She smiled at him. “You’re not going to threaten to put a penny in a jar now, are you?”

Carrick shoved his hands into his pockets, then pulled them out.

“I’m out,” he said.

Faye laughed. Carrick cocked his head, indicating she should follow him. They went back out to the little barn, Carrick holding the bucket in one hand and the kerosene lantern in the other.

In the barn, Carrick hung the lantern from the ceiling, put oats into a bucket and put Nanny onto some kind of feeding stand with a bar to hold her in place.

“It looks a guillotine,” Faye said.

“You have quite an imagination,” Carrick said, adjusting the wooden yoke over Nanny’s neck.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s good to hear you getting your spirit back.”

“I lost my spirit?”

“You’ve barely said ten words since you came here. Not until last night.”

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Faye said. “I was just...” What could she say? How could she explain herself?

“You don’t have to apologize. I know shell shock when I see it.”

“Shell shock,” she repeated. It was what they’d once called post-traumatic stress disorder. Depression and anxiety, coupled with flashbacks, an intense startle reflex—something war veterans and abused women had in common. “That’s a good way to describe it.”

Carrick looked away. “Ah, well, Dad used to knock Mam around so hard she’d forget her own name for days at a time. I still regret she died before I was big enough to kill him for her.”

“Carrick...” Faye wanted nothing more than to reach for him, hold him. Carrick seemed to regret sharing so much. He looked at her, smiled.

“You ready to try this? Nanny’s about to bust.”

Faye exhaled heavily. “I’ll try. But I feel sort of strange about this. I mean, Nanny and I, we barely know each other.”

“She’s a hussy,” Carrick said. “She and Billy aren’t even married.”

“What a scandal,” Faye said as she sat carefully on the little three-legged stool. “And now their baby is illegitimate.”

“A stain on the family name.”

“Carrick. What am I doing?” Faye asked.

“Hands on the teats.”

“Both of them?”

“Both hands, both teats.”

Faye cringed as she wrapped her fingers around the goat’s udders. “This is so weird,” she said, wincing. “Do I pull?”

“No pulling ever. Squeeze. Keep your first finger and your thumb right at the top. Don’t move them. Squeeze down one finger at a time, but fast.”

“That...makes no sense.”

“Here. Give me your hand.”

Faye reluctantly held out her hand to him. The more he touched her, the more she liked it. The more she liked it, the more she wanted him to touch her. Gently, he gripped her first and middle fingers in his right hand and squeezed.

“Like that,” he said. “Feel it?”

“I think so.”

“Try it. And hurry. She’s going to run out of oats soon.”

“What happens then?”

“Ever been kicked by a goat?”

“No.”

“I don’t recommend the experience.”

Faye extracted her fingers from Carrick’s hand and gripped Nanny’s swollen teats again. She bit her lip, closed one eye and squeezed like Carrick had instructed. A tiny stream of white came out and sprayed the inside of the bucket.

“It worked!” Faye said, grinning up at Carrick.

“Good,” he said, grinning proudly. “Do it again.”

She did it again. It happened again. There was now approximately one tablespoon of milk in the bucket. Again she squeezed. More milk. And again. It was like squeezing a tube of toothpaste, sort of, and she almost said that aloud, except she wasn’t sure if toothpaste existed yet.

“So I just keep doing this until she’s empty?” Faye asked, still squeezing. She found a rhythm that seemed to work, and Nanny wasn’t complaining yet.

“Until very little’s coming out.”

“I think we’re there,” Faye said. She squeezed and a few drops trickled into the bucket. “What now?”

“Well...you sort of have to rub them.”

“Rub them?”

Carrick nodded, looking sheepish. “It helps keep them from getting sore.”

“We wouldn’t want sore nipples, would we, Nanny?” Faye said. “I’ve had them myself, and they’re no day at the beach.”

Carrick snorted a laugh.

“You’re blushing,” Faye said to him.

“Not used to ladies talking about their...”

“Nipples?” Faye asked as she gave Nanny the rubdown all ladies deserved.

“Those.”

“Well,” Faye said. “I was married.”

“Are married,” he said.