Dr. Jacobs’ Full Moon

“Well, now you have a fine bull calf,” Dr. Jacobs said to the assembled family of Huldras, all four of whom were staring at him through the dim light of the kitchen, as if they were mice discovered in the pantry.

Tommy, the youngest Huldra, repeated excitedly, “A fine bull calf, papa, a bull!”

“Aye, a bull, Tommy, but I’ve no need for a bull.” Mr. Huldra said, mimicking Tommy’s high voice. In his normal, gruffer voice he added, “I need four teats for milk.”

“Oh,” Dr. Jacobs said. “He looks good. Raise him right and he might fetch a good price at auction next fall.”

“Or he might not,” Mr. Huldra replied, with a touch of anger in his voice. “And I’ll have fed him for the better part of a year.”

It was obvious to Dr. Jacobs that Mr. Huldra was determined to be disgusted with the night’s work. “Aye, that’s true,” Dr. Jacobs agreed. “There’s no rhyme or reason to prices sometimes. I think it’s magic, to tell the truth.”

“Let’s not bring magic into it,” Mrs. Huldra said. “There’s a full moon tonight.”

“A full moon?” Dr. Jacobs asked. “Well, that’s good magic for me! It will light up moors so I can find my way back to the village.”

“Hmpf.” Mr. Huldra grunted.

Mrs. Huldra nervously twisted the edge of her apron. “And I’ll have no bad words about magic in this house,” she said. “It’s bad luck, if you ask me.”

“Well, I’ll be quiet then, and be off.” Dr. Jacobs stood up and walked to the door. He retrieved his hat, coat, and veterinary kit bag from the coat rack. “I’ll send the bill in the morning.”

“I’m sure you will,” Mr. Huldra said. “And for a bull calf!”

“Dr. Jacobs, wait.” Mrs. Huldra pleaded. “It’s a full moon and a storm’s brewing. Please stay the night.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Huldra, but I think I’ll be home before the storm arrives, especially with a full moon to light my way.”

“And there’s the fairy folk,” Mrs. Huldra continued. “A full moon and a winter storm might stir them up, get them excited, you might say.”

“The fairy folk, is it?” Dr. Jacobs asked. “Well, I’ve never met one, so I can’t imagine I’ve given any of them cause to do me harm.”

“Don’t be so sure, Dr. Jacobs,” Mrs. Huldra’s eyes narrowed. “The fairy folk are a touchy lot.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, Mrs. Huldra. Thanks for the cuppa.” Dr. Jacobs opened the door and stepped out into the cold night air.

The full moon did indeed allow Dr. Jacobs’ to make good time on the first half of his journey to the village. But then a wickedly cold wind swept across the moors, harassing stray clouds into dense formations, obscuring the moon. Dr. Jacobs shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets and leaned against the side-swiping wind. He mentally cursed farmers who lived on farms at the end of roads that were virtually impassable to cars. Dr. Jacobs’s truck could have made the trip, but it was in the shop for maintenance., so when Mr. Huldra called for help, Dr. Jacobs had a choice to make. He could have said no, he couldn’t get out to the Huldra farm until tomorrow. That ran the risk of leaving Mr. Huldra with a dead calf, or a dead calf and a dead cow. And that’s how enemies are made! So, he said he’d be along soon, and made the five kilometer walk from the village to the Hulda farm.

It had been a pleasant enough walk then, a nice bit of exercise on a crisp Wednesday afternoon. A storm had been predicted, but not until late, and if worse came to worse — truly, the worse scenario — he could stay the night with the Huldas. But Dr. Jaccobs didn’t fancy an uncomfortable night on a sagging couch in a damp sitting room, with all of those Hulda eyes staring at him until bedtime (Dr. Jacobs knew from experience that bedtime was early, because Mr. Hulda was a dairy farmer, but the absence of the Hulda’s staring eyes would only marginally improve a dismal situation). Until bedtime, Mr. Hulda would find ten different ways to complain about the bill while Mrs. Hulda plied her visitor with weak tea (how many times did she reuse a teabag?). And any conversation would be dull, dull, dull!

Eyes or no eyes, dull or not, he was beginning to wish he had stayed the night, because the wind was blowing harder and small pellets of ice smashed into his face. He stopped and turned around, straining to see a light from the Hulda’s cottage, but he could see nothing. “Well, I’m surely more than halfway there, so I’ll keep going,” he said out loud, the sound barely leaving his lips before it was snatched away and scattered by the wind. “Surely it’s not much farther.” His pants and coat were sheathed in ice, and he was getting colder.

After a few more minutes of trudging in the wind, he stopped to catch his breath, standing with his back to the gale. Over his gasping breath and the sound of the wind he thought he heard a faint noise in the distance. What was that sound? He lifted his head and leaned toward the noise. It sounded like squeaky hinges! Perhaps there’s a barn or a shed where he could wait out the storm! Excited and relieved, he set off in the direction of the sound.

The walk would have been unbearable, as it was straight into the wind and slashing ice, but he was comforted by the fact that the squeaking was growing louder, giving him hope of shelter. “Yes, there it is!” He shouted to the wind. He broke into a stiff-legged run toward the dark shape of a small building.

When he reached the barn, for it was a barn, he found a door flapping in the wind. He went inside and secured the door behind him. It was cold, but he felt better just being out of the wind and ice. His nose and ears informed him that he wasn’t the only occupant. There were several large cows lying contentedly on a straw bed. Cows! Dr. Jacob’s was delighted. Good luck indeed! Cows meant warmth. He walked slowly towards the beasts, speaking in a quiet tone to avoid alarming them. There were three cows, and none paid him any attention. He pulled his coat off, then eased down next to the cow on the end of their line. He was happy when he felt the warmth of the cow’s body against his back. He pulled up his knees and draped his coat over them, then reached back and placed his frozen hands on the warm sides of the cow.

After a few minutes, Dr. Jacob’s began to feel more or less normal and he realized how foolish he had been. No doubt, he had been minutes away from hypothermia, and he probably had not been thinking clearly. Mentally retracing his steps from his afternoon walk to the farm, he couldn’t recall seeing a barn, however small, along his route. When the full moon darkened behind the clouds and the wind and ice battered him, he must have wandered off his footpath, which is the most dangerous thing a man could do on the moors in winter.

“Well,” he said to the cows, “you’ve saved me, and I thank you for it.” One of the cows flicked its tail, but the other two offered no opinions.

As he warmed, Dr. Jacob’s grew drowsy. It had been a long day, and his work and the walking and wind and ice left him feeling exhausted. He closed his eyes and was soon asleep.

Sometime later he woke up to see three figures standing in front of him, one tall, two short. They stared at him with a look that he knew he’d seen before, but he couldn’t remember where. In fact, he was feeling so hazy and warm that he couldn’t remember much of anything, including his manners. He should stand up to greet the farmer — for that’s whom Dr. Jacobs supposed was in front of him — and explain why he was in his barn, but he couldn’t. So warm. He felt the cow shift a bit, and suddenly he was enveloped in the warmth of its massive body. So warm. Sleep.

It was daylight when Dr. Jacobs woke, and he was no longer leaning against a cow in a barn. He was leaning against the back door of his house, the first floor of which also contained his small animal practice. He had no memory of how he had made the trip across the moors. Perhaps he’d passed out and the farmer picked him up and carried him home. He must find the man and thank him. It’ll be easy to discover the farmer’s name, Dr. Jacobs thought wryly, because the story would soon be charging along the village gossip line like a fire engine, embellished by as many salacious details as the teller of the tale could imagine. “Stone drunk, he was, and there was lipstick on his cheek!” There will be tongue-clucking and twittering, and a few matrons who’ll decide to have their cats cared for by the vet over in the next village. Which was fine by Dr. Jacobs, because he didn’t like matrons with cats. He always felt sorry for the cats.

He heard sirens echoing deliriously through the village’s main street, a rare event. He walked around the side of his house in time to see a police car and an ambulance speed by. He watched them bump over the small bridge at the edge of the village, then make a left on a rutted, unpaved road that wandered through the moors. The very road that he had followed yesterday! Ah, he thought, someone wasn’t as lucky as I was last night. They lost the full moon but didn’t find a barn.

He saw Mr. Fulton hurrying along the street. “Oh, hello Mr. Fulton!” Dr. Jacobs called loudly. “Any idea what’s happening?” But Mr. Fulton didn’t stop or even acknowledge Dr. Jacobs’ question, which was very odd, since Mr. Fulton was known to be a stickler for good manners. Dr. Jacobs shrugged his shoulders and muttered, “Perhaps Mr. Fulton is hard of hearing.”

Dr. Jacobs turned around to walk to his back door, but discovered three figures staring at him, one tall, two short, all of them wearing dull gray cloaks that fastened at their necks. The tall one was a woman, but Dr. Jacobs memory was hazy as to her name. The shorter two were children and, well, he’d never be very good with children. Before he could greet them, the tall figure nodded her head and turned and walked away.

Dr. Jacobs had an inexplicable, overwhelming urge to follow, so he began walking behind them. He walked past his house toward the low brick wall that bounded his property. The figures were already over the wall and walking into the heather, in a direction opposite that of the emergency vehicles. Dr. Jacobs vaulted easily over the fence and followed them into the moors.