Page 3

Chapter Two

“ W e finished the beds, Grandma. Can you show us how to do the eggs now?” Dan said as soon as they walked into the kitchen where her grandmother was elbow-deep in a bowl of flour.

“That was perfect timing,” Grandma said, shaping the dough into a ball and then rubbing the floury mixture off her hands before she grabbed a cloth and covered it. “Just let me wash my hands, and we’ll go outside.”

“How many chickens do you have?” Dan asked.

Claire found herself vaguely relieved. She wasn’t sure whether she was going to have to explain to her kids that chickens laid eggs and then people ate them.

She was pretty sure they knew that, but it was the kind of thing they had never actually seen before or experienced.

All the eggs they’d ever seen had come from the grocery store.

She was afraid they had no idea how they got there.

“I have twenty.” Grandma chuckled. “But only about twelve of them lay every day. I’m just too softhearted in my old age, and I can’t get rid of the ones that aren’t laying anymore.”

“Do you have a rooster?” Claire asked, remembering that she’d had several run-ins with her grandma’s roosters over the years and hadn’t always emerged as the winner .

“I do. But he’s a nice, calm fellow. Although sometimes roosters see things that are about their size and think about challenging them.” Her grandma eyed Dan thoughtfully. “We’ll see how he takes to you.”

“What does that mean?” Dan asked with the subtlety of a ten-year-old.

“That means the rooster might be a little bit aggressive. We’ll see.” Claire didn’t want to scare her kids, but she also didn’t want to protect them from the realities of life either.

“Are you saying the rooster may attack us?” Lana said, and she looked like she was planting her feet on the floor and getting ready to absolutely refuse to move.

“I suppose that’s a possibility. I’ve been attacked by roosters and somehow lived to tell the tale. I bet you will too,” Claire said, trying to give Lana an encouraging smile, although she gave her a dose of honesty too. What was she supposed to do, lie to her child?

Maybe she could have broken the truth a little bit more gently, because Lana looked even more determined to stay right where she was.

“I don’t think chickens are my thing. I’ll just stay in here and wait for you guys to come back.”

“If you want to do the dishes tonight, I’m okay with it,” Grandma said.

Claire hid a smile. That sly old lady. She had manipulated her when she was younger, and she hadn’t even known it. But she remembered Grandma saying similar things like that to her and how quickly it had gotten her to agree to whatever Grandma wanted her to do.

Funny, the things kids didn’t notice.

“Fine. I can go out, I guess.”

“That’s great. Then we’ll have you and your brother take turns doing the dishes, and you take turns doing the chickens.”

“Wait a second. You mean Dan also has to do the dishes?” Lana said, again planting her feet.

“Not every day. You guys can switch off. Whoever gathers the eggs, which also includes feeding and watering the chickens, won’t have dish duty in the evening.”

“Why don’t you have a dishwasher?” Dan said, eyeing the old-fashioned kitchen with its porcelain sink and Formica countertops. The wooden cabinets looked like they were made out of particleboard and painted white about fifty years ago. It could definitely use an update.

“Because I have great-grandchildren who come and wash my dishes for me,” Grandma said, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world for her great-grandkids to come and wash the dishes.

It kept Dan from asking about anything anyway.

“This is my gathering basket,” Grandma said as she picked it up from where it sat by the door.

It was a lot fancier than what Claire remembered using when she was a kid. She was pretty sure she’d just pulled her T-shirt out and put the eggs in the pouch it made.

Of course, she remembered breaking more than a few, particularly when she ran away from the rooster.

“That’s cute,” Lana said, and Claire bit back a gasp of surprise. Was Lana actually saying something positive?

Of course a cute little basket might make her want to gather eggs.

“Thanks. I also have an egg-gathering apron, but it’s hanging outside on the porch.

” Grandma walked out, and they all trooped after her.

Grandma showed them the egg-gathering apron, and then she said, “I put it on just in case I have to set my basket down. But then I transfer the eggs to the basket, because it makes me feel cute to carry the basket around.”

Claire kept from snorting. Maybe when she was eighty-something years old, she’d be carrying a basket around just because it made her feel cute. She figured anything that made her feel cute when she was eighty was something she was going to keep in her life.

Goodness, anything that made her feel cute now was something she would keep in her life.

Her kids tramped after her grandma, and Claire brought up the rear as they headed toward the chicken coop, which was fifty or sixty feet away from the back door.

She recalled the chickens pecking all around when she was younger, but she also remembered that Grandma didn’t let them out until it was fairly warm out on a consistent basis.

Once that happened, then Grandma had to go out in the evening once all the chickens had roosted and shut the door.

Otherwise, predators might get in and eat the birds during the night—particularly foxes or owls.

Funny, the things Claire remembered, and equally interesting, the things she forgot.

“All right, we’re all going to pile into the coop, even though it’s not very big in there. I only have twenty birds and ten laying boxes. I couldn’t fit any more, or I probably would have a lot more. Chickens are a lot of fun to watch.”

Her grandma held her cane over her arm as she opened the door to the coop. Then she took the cane, carefully balancing it on the cement block steps as she walked up and into the coop.

It wasn’t a pretty prefabricated shed. It was one that had been built on the property years ago, with its weathered boards and dark gray exterior.

Claire seemed to remember that one time it had been painted white with green shutters and green trim.

But if that memory was correct, the paint had long since faded.

“Close the door behind you,” Grandma said to Claire as Claire stepped in last. “I don’t want anyone to get out.

It’s not quite warm enough yet. I’ve been going to bed earlier and earlier, and I’m not sure I’m even going to let them out this year.

Letting them out means staying up later than is comfortable,” she said, lifting her brows at Claire.

“Now that we’re here, I’m sure I won’t have trouble staying up as late as it takes to close the coop.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Grandma said.

Then she turned to the children and started instructing them on what they needed to do in order to gather the eggs.

“When it’s your turn, you can’t shirk your duties. If there’s a chicken sitting on eggs, you have to put your hand underneath them and get the eggs out from under them. Otherwise, they’re liable to sit on the eggs, and they’ll go bad.”

“How do we know if there are any eggs under there?” Dan asked, looking curiously at a chicken who eyed him suspiciously from the nest box where she sat.

“You have to put your hand under there and feel around. Usually they’re toward the front, but sometimes they put them by their feet.

You’ll be able to feel them,” Grandma said with assurance.

Then, to show them, she stuck her hand underneath the chicken that was sitting there as it pecked at her wrist and arm.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Lana asked as she watched with horror as the chicken practically attacked Grandma’s arm.

“Not really. You get used to it. Every once in a while, they get you in a good spot, but their beaks are trimmed so they can’t hurt each other, and they can’t hurt you either.”

“How do they trim their beaks?” Dan asked.

“You do that when they’re chicks. There are a couple different ways, but one is a tool that’s hot, and it kind of sears the end of their beak. It’s like your fingernails, though. It doesn’t have any feeling in them.”

“I see,” Lana said, still looking a little horrified.

“Look. She was sitting on three eggs. This hen probably isn’t laying eggs—she’s sitting on somebody else’s.”

“You mean another chicken laid those three eggs?”

“Chickens usually only lay one egg a day. So there were probably three different chickens in this nest, and then this hen got in to sit on the eggs, because she’s what we call broody. That’s when a chicken wants to sit on eggs and hatch them herself.”

“Can we let her do that?” Lana asked, showing excitement for the first time that day. Claire wanted to put her hands over her mouth and thank God that there was some kind of sign of happiness and that life might be worth living from her daughter.

“We’ll do that later this summer when it’s warm out.

If the chicks hatch when it’s too cold, they’ll die.

Now, the mom keeps them warm by keeping them close to her, but sometimes the chicks run away and don’t do what they’re supposed to.

In that case, it needs to be warm enough that they’re okay for a few minutes without the heat of their mom. ”

It was all Claire could do not to close her eyes and smile, savoring the memories of her childhood. Her grandma had told her almost the exact same thing back when she was little. She could remember it like it was yesterday. Coming here definitely felt like the right thing to do.

Grandma gathered the eggs, using the apron, and then she helped the children get the eggs out of the apron and put them in the basket. Once the eggs were safely in the basket, she handed it to Claire and then showed the kids how to feed the chickens and fill up their water.

Claire stood watching her kids take turns being grossed out and interested.

It solidified the thought she’d had just a few minutes prior—that coming here was the right thing to do. Not just for her, but for her children too. She thought all of them would benefit.

There was a sadness that burdened her heart, just because her husband wasn’t there, but… He’d made his choice. Over and over and over again. As much as it broke her heart, there was nothing she could do to make him make a different choice, although she wished she could.

Regardless, it was thirty minutes later when, with her basket of eggs, they walked back into the kitchen.

No sooner had they set the basket down and washed their hands than there was a knock at the front door.

“My goodness. Whoever could that be? This is just the busiest my house has been in years,” Grandma said as she got her cane and hobbled to the front door.

Claire almost offered to answer the door for her, but she felt like maybe she would be overstepping just a bit. After all, this was her first day here. Should she act like the house was hers too?

She and Grandma had talked about her paying some type of rent, and Grandma had said that once she got there, they would figure it out.

Claire definitely did not intend to stay here without compensating her grandma in some way, although she probably couldn’t pay what renting a six-bedroom farmhouse was worth.

It was seven bedrooms if she counted the fact that Grandma had turned the old parlor into her own bedroom.

“Josiah McMurtry,” Grandma declared as she opened the door. “I completely forgot that you were here to fix that leaky toilet.”

Claire wanted to sink through the floorboards. Josiah McMurtry? Figures he would be the first person she ran into on her first day here.

She slowly turned and realized his eyes were boring into hers.

“I see your granddaughter showed up like you thought she was gonna,” Josiah said in his slow, methodical way. “Only I wasn’t expecting her until tomorrow. ”

“My goodness. I just have my days all mixed up.” Grandma waved a hand, and Claire wondered exactly what she was doing.

She didn’t seem to be the slightest bit addled any time except when it came to the day that Claire was going to show up.

Had Claire messed up and told her the wrong date?

Or was Grandma doing something different?

Regardless, Claire steeled herself to face this ghost from her past.