The familiar pre-dawn sounds of a farmyard — a clucking chicken, a lowing cow — surrounded Kelly as she darted from behind the parked tractor to behind the old milk house. She clutched her flashlight, training the beam on the ground, as she hurried toward the Cheese Shed, determined to finish her mission before sunrise without tripping over a garden rake or stepping in a cow patty.
She eased open the door, wincing at the squeak of the hinges, and slipped inside.
Yeasty warmth penetrated the air, and she inhaled deeply. It smelled like her farm at home. A twinge of guilt flared. This farm worked just as hard as hers. None of it easy. Should I just leave now?
She straightened her shoulders. She’d come this far. And it’s not like she was stealing anything but paper. Hell, she wasn’t even going to take the paper. She’d take a picture of it and put it right back. No harm at all.
Her flashlight swept across the stainless-steel vat, neatly coiled hoses, and hand trucks leaning against the walls, continuing around the room until the light illuminated a door in the corner. That must be the office.
She tiptoed around the cheese-making equipment, careful not to topple any of the stirrers, but she blinked as she neared the door — a light flickered inside the dark room. A metallic rattle shuddered.
Odd. She was pretty sure that no one was doing bookkeeping in the dark.
She flipped her flashlight toward her face, blinding herself.
Stupid. It can’t be my light.
She blinked away the white spots, backed into a stainless-steel table, and sent a stack of measuring cups crashing to the floor.
Clearly, I need to stick to cheese-making.
The other beam darkened.
She crept forward and peered through the glass window in the door, gripping her hefty flashlight. If need be, she could protect herself. She wasn’t going to lose this chance. Not after traveling all the way from upstate New York to this tiny little hamlet in Vermont.
She pushed the door open and trained her beam around the room. “Who’s there?”
A figure swung around. “For cripe’s sake!” A man raised his hands to shield his eyes from the beam. “It’s the middle of the night.”
Kelly squinted at the figure. Short for a man, broad shoulders, dark wavy hair, tan Carhartt pants, and a Wisconsin Badgers t-shirt. “Owen Anderson, is that you?”
“Don’t tell me that’s Kelly from Pierce Arrow Farm? I’d recognize that nasal New York voice anywhere,” Owen responded. “Now get your dang light off my face.”
Kelly lowered her beam toward the floor.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Same as you, I bet,” she said.
“What?”
Kelly shrugged. Nothing to lose now. “I overheard you whining to Geoff from Ridgeland at the World Champion Cheese Contest two weeks ago. Wacky, but it seemed like a good idea. And tonight’s the first new moon since then. Can’t see a thing out there.”
Owen sighed. “Every year, it seems like the same thing. And the competition is held practically right down the street in Madison. It’s one thing to lose to the Swiss, but…”
“I know, Mindy and this irritating little Vermont farm keeps winning the gold medal. It’s been, what, four times in a row now? Seems like she could skip one. Imagine the worth one gold would bring my cheese.” Kelly pointed at the file cabinet behind Owen. “Did you find the recipe?”
“Ha. No. So far, a pile of invoices for stainless steel vats, extra long hoses, and plastic buckets. Love letters from someone named Erika to a guy named Werner. Pictures of the farm and lists of animal names — looks like they go alphabetical for theirs…”
“The recipe? Clock’s ticking, you know.”
“Told ya. No. Would I still be here?”
Kelly raised her flashlight to his hands. Empty. “Tell you what, if you find it or I find it, we can each take a copy.”
“No way,” said Owen. “I got here first.”
“Your cheese business couldn’t make a good blue even if Mindy herself showed you how to do it.”
“Nice from the woman whose cheddar got, what? An honorable mention?” Owen retorted.
Kelly unclenched her jaw and took a deep breath. “Insults won’t get us anywhere. We both need the recipe, right?” She pointed at the increasing light outside. “Let’s combine efforts and get out of here before dawn.”
He looked out the window. “Guess you’re right. The rooster’s going to wake up soon, and I’ve been at this for over two hours already. Take a drawer.”
“Do I have your word?” Kelly asked.
“That I won’t bonk you over the head and scram?” Owen flashed a grin. “That you do.” Owen stuck out his hand. Kelly shook the firm, dry skin, feeling his calluses meet hers.
She pulled open the top drawer on the left cabinet and started flipping through the files. “Taxes. Warranty for the mixer. Report cards for a girl named Eleanor in…” She squinted. “1972. Great.”
They flipped in silence for a few minutes, shoving folders, picking out pieces of paper.
“So what’s your story, Wisconsin boy?” Kelly asked.
“Oh. Not sure it’s all that special,” Owen said. “Generational family farm. Cattle. Corn. I brought in the cheese-making a few years ago as a way to do something different, something more profitable. Got a few goats, but went back to cows.”
He slammed the middle drawer and squatted to open the bottom one. “My dad thought the whole thing was pretty funny at the time. ‘A waste of good milk,’ he’d say. I've got a nice business going with some restaurants now. But a gold medal? That would finally make him proud.”
Kelly stood on her tiptoes to see into the back of the top drawer. “Sounds like my mom. We’re just upstate New York instead, more apples than beef. My mom started our cheese side. Sheep first. But she moved to cows, too.” Kelly paused and stopped pushing the files. “Mom's pushing eighty and still thinks only she can make a decent cheese. If I brought home a gold, maybe she'd trust me enough to retire.”
Owen nodded.
They worked side by side. Calling out curious finds until Owen swore loudly and shoved his finger in his mouth.
“What?” Kelly said.
“Who puts a goddamned box cutter in a file folder?” He pulled out his finger, bright with blood, and with his free hand extracted the blade and threw it into the corner of the room.
“Don’t bleed on the files,” Kelly said.
“What am I supposed to do?”
She looked around the room and grabbed a red bandana hanging on a hook near the door. “Wrap it tight with this,” she said.
Owen shook out the rag and circled his finger. “If I get gangrene, it’s all your fault.”
“You’re the one with this genius idea,” Kelly snapped.
The light outside the window brightened. Lowing sounds grew. A rooster crowed his morning greeting.
Moments later, the overhead light in the small office snapped on, and the door slammed into the wall as it was thrown open.
“What’s going on here?” a voice said. “You’re as loud as the rooster.”
Kelly swung around. Mindy, the award-winning cheese maker herself, stood in the doorway, brandishing a pitchfork.
Kelly’s hands shot up. She glanced at Owen, who raised his slowly.
Mindy looked from one to the other, then at the bandana wrapped around his finger.
"Is that Dirk's good bandana?"
Owen glanced at his hand. "I think so."
Mindy lowered her weapon. “Well, well, what do I have here? If it isn’t Owen Anderson and Kelly Pierce. I haven’t seen you two since the panel on mold cultures.” Mindy tapped the bottom of her pitchfork against the ground. “Early morning for a visit, isn’t it?”
Kelly exchanged a guilty look with Owen. This all seemed like a good idea a few days ago. But here, in the dawn, confronted with an office just like hers at home, and a riled-up Mindy with a pitchfork in front of her … maybe I should have stayed home.
“Well?” Mindy rattled the pitchfork.
“I’m sorry, Mindy,” Kelly said. “It’s going to sound pathetic, but we’re both sick of losing to you every year. We just wanted your blue cheese recipe.” She hung her head. “It seems like a foolish idea now.”
“Yeah. Sorry, Mindy,” Owen said. “I just thought it might give me some ideas. Something I could work off of, ya know?”
Mindy blinked at them like she hadn’t heard them properly. “The recipe? For the blue?”
“Yeah,” Owen said, gesturing to the file cabinets. “We’ve looked in almost every drawer. Haven’t found it.”
Mindy chuckled. Low at first, then louder, before walking behind the desk and flipping open her laptop. “You aren’t going to find it there — haven’t opened those things in years. Everything’s in the computer.”
“Shoulda guessed,” Owen said.
Mindy opened the laptop, tapped a few keys, then a few more, and the printer next to the desk whirred to life, spitting out two pages of paper. She pulled them off and held one toward Owen and one toward Kelly. “You could have just asked.”
Kelly grasped the paper and scanned it, gasping. “The recipe!”
“Why would you do this?” Owen said slowly, his eyes fixed on the paper.
“Why not?” Mindy said. “We are all in this together, aren’t we? Holding onto family farms. Working crazy hours. Rising early. I can’t remember a time when I slept past five. Even as a kid. And well, with the elders gone now, it’s on me and Dirk, and the kids, of course, to keep the place going. The cows are my favorites, especially Zelda. She’s got the best…”
Mindy’s voice droned on. She was a storyteller. Kelly looked at the recipe more closely. It seemed like the real thing. She glanced at Owen and caught his eye, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged as if to say that the universe works in mysterious ways.
Kelly read more closely. Milk, starter culture, blue mold, salt, rennet. Nothing unusual. And the process. Start the milk, drain, stir, salt, and age. Specific times and moisture levels, but nothing unusual there, either. What made it so special?
Mindy’s voice pierced her reading. “Okay, you two scoundrels, it’s almost milking time. Dirk probably has the pot on. Come on up to the house for a cup of coffee, and you can help milk or muck before you leave. Consider it your penance.”
Kelly held out her hand. “Thanks, Mindy. This really means a lot. But I still don’t know how you do it. Year after year.”
Mindy shrugged. “No need to sneak about looking for recipes.” She waved her arm toward the red cow barn visible outside the window. “The recipe only gets you so far.”
Kelly blinked and grabbed Owen’s shoulder. “Of course. It’s Mindy’s cows,” she whispered.