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When a child of eleven, Cynthia Gordon was perfectly content to live on the farm in Iowa where she had been born and raised. Her father, a burly, blond, third generation American of Scandinavian descent, grew mostly corn and pigs, but Johnny, her fifteen year old brother, who wanted to stay on the land, was interested in raising cattle. He already had a young milk cow which he had raised from a calf and was thinking of breeding her with a neighbors bull.One morning early that autumn, as the pumpkins were glowing yellow and plump on the vines, and her mothers kitchen was permeated with the heady smell of spices and pickling, and the fresh tart odor of baked apple pies was floating through the...