The Songbird and the Silver Comb
by K. S. Dearsley
The spirit of the yard had a lot to answer for, Magda thought. She set down the bucket and fastened back the hair that the Dvorovoi’s teasing breeze had blown free with her silver comb. Not that that was her worst complaint. The Dvorovoi was supposed to look after the livestock, yet here was their cow struggling to deliver a breech calf. Magda’s lips quirked up in a satisfied smile. At least the emergency had brought Nikolai, the eldest son from the neighboring farm here to help. Neither he nor her husband, Oleg, turned as she entered the barn. Their attention remained focussed on the shuddering belly of the cow. Magda’s brow gathered into two deep creases between her eyes, and the smile with which she had been ready to dazzle Nikolai thinned to a flat seam.
“Here’s your water, Niko,” she said, willing him to take his intent dark eyes from the beast and see her. Instead, Oleg glanced in her direction.
“What’re you all dressed up for?” he grumbled. His grizzled hair and rumpled clothes were as rough as his manner.
“It’s just a clean apron,” Magda lied.
“Not for long in here.”
“Have you forgotten? Anya’s arriving today. Someone should meet the girl, she’s my niece, after all.”
Oleg grunted.
“It would make more sense if you went. You’d be quicker in the cart, and I’m sure I’ll be more use here than you. Women know more about these things.”
Oleg swung round. Magda planted her hands on her hips and tilted her chin. He said nothing, but let his gaze stray to her flat belly.
“Go if you need to, Oleg,” Nikolai said without turning. “Nothing’s going to happen here for a while.”
Magda smirked as Oleg snatched up a wisp of straw and wiped his hands. “All right, I’ll go. But this niece of yours had better be as hardworking as your sister says. I can’t afford to keep an idle pair of hands, especially if we lose the cow.”
Nikolai glanced over his shoulder as Oleg shut the barn door behind him. “You’re right to get him out of here.”
Magda’s smirk broadened to a grin.
“He’s too tense. We need to keep the cow calm.” He ran his hand over the beast’s swollen flank. Magda took a ragged breath as if feeling his touch on her belly. She stepped closer to him, into the shaft of sunlight where the glossy plaits that crowned her head gleamed, and her scent could work its power.
“Stand at her head, Magda, and speak softly to her.”
Magda stiffened. She did as he bid and began singing to the gravid beast. She chose a song of tragic love, watching Nikolai for the effect of her clear voice.
The cow shuddered and groaned. Outside, there was the rattle of cartwheels. Oleg flung the door open.
“You’re back soon,” Magda snapped.
Oleg hurried in and displaced her at the cow’s head.
“I was already on the road, Aunt,” a soft voice explained.
Magda looked sharply at the girl who stood uncertainly in the doorway. “But you can’t be little Anya!” Magda’s voice sounded like a starling’s compared to a robin’s. The girl had nothing of Magda’s mousey sister’s looks. Her blonde hair hung like a rippling field of ripe barley down to her hips. Long lashes dusted with gold framed her anxious blue eyes as she dipped Magda a curtsey.