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FEBRUARY 6th, 1791. 8 AM, MEREWORTH HOME.
February 6th, 1791. The world outside was hushed, blanketed in a soft whisper of snowflakes. Each delicate flake danced down from the sky, adding to the layer of white that coated the ground. The trees, stood tall, their branches adorned with snow. The air crisp. Agnus' boots crunched against the snow-covered path as he made his way through the land. As he walked, he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. The pungent odor of cow manure assaulted his senses, causing him to involuntarily wrinkle his nose in distaste. With a grimace, he muttered a curse under his breath and reached up to wipe away the snow that fell on his hat. His Grandfather, Larry, trailed behind him.
"Good morning, Mary," greeted his grandfather Larry with a warm smile as he approached the cow in the barn.
"Mary got a lot on her mind." Agnus commented with a chuckle.
"Mmm-hmm," Larry mumbled in agreement. Clutching a bucket, he slyly winked at Agnus and then lifted the wooden panel in front of the cow.
Steam billowed from Larry's mouth as the grizzled old man spoke between breaths, his whiskered chin trembling with each word.
"Remember to keep her belly full. That's the secret to keeping the cow content."
Agnus nodded solemnly, his straw hat perched precariously atop his head, undoubtedly pushed back by an exuberant round of chores he had recently completed. His tinted glasses began to mist in the frosty barn, almost obscuring the light that illuminated his eyes. The straw in his hands chafed as he rubbed them on his dirty trousers.
The course fibers stung against his palms, creating small abrasions that bled ever so slightly. It was a minor sacrifice for keeping the mound of hay fresh and dry.
He moved to the next stall, the one Fallon called home. "Here we go, old timer, let's get you cleaned up." He looked Fallon over, making sure all looked in order, before sending an eager hand to collect the hay that awaited in a basket nearby. He filled a pile onto the feeder and watched Fallon take the first dose before proceeding through each of the stalls, tending to the rest of the horses.
Larry glanced over at his grandson, gauging the young limber nature of his body as he handled the pitchfork, making believe it weighed no more than a mere twig. And every now and again, his straw-hat-shaded eyes met Larry's, filled with a respectful and inquisitive light.
The sound of shoveling metal against ice denoted the arrival of his attendance at work, and by that, the sun had begun to burn its way high right above Agnus's head, barely visible behind some low-hanging clouds.
"Hold your shirt tighter. Don't want an old ghost taking your lungs again, boy," Larry scolded with a chuckle.
"Gramps, just let me do my job," Agnus grumbled in response, acquiescing with a renewed tug at the neckline of his shirt. "Close to done."
