“No, I imagine the chick will be rather tough.”
Barely a week passes when another chick goes missing. Granny fills in the hole with the toe of her boot. By the end of the month, only the red hen remains. Granny refuses to retaliate. She allows a stranger to trespass and steal.
In the first week of July, the red hen disappears. Granny plants a few marigolds so she doesn’t have to see the empty space where her chickens and hens once sat.
Not one complaint leaves her mouth. It doesn’t seem right. As we sit on the porch to enjoy the warmth of the day, I remark, “She’s probably going to start on your bunnies, now that the chickens are gone.”
Granny frowns and sighs but says nothing.
Chapter 43
One day, the old woman makes her way down the road. Her walk is as crooked as her wonky-wheeled cart. As she gets closer, I notice her cart is empty. I get off the chair to get a better look.
Granny, who is sitting on the swing, hisses, “Don’t stare. It’s not polite.”
I sit back down. “I wonder what happened to all her stuff.”
“Who knows?” Granny says. “I’m sure the good stuff was taken by someone stronger than her.”
“Did she have any good stuff?”
“Everyone has something of value.”
I get off my chair and lean on the railing. “I’m going to tell her not to go in your garden anymore.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“But…”
Her hand grabs me with the power of a vice. “It’s my garden. I decide who can go in it.”
“Fine, but when she steals the rest of your animals, remember I warned you.”
Granny suddenly calls out, “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
The woman stops and replies, “That it is.”
They share a glance, and Granny gets up and leans over the railing. “Feel free to open the gate and look at the garden whenever you want. I enjoy seeing the pleasure it gives you.”
“It’s a mighty fine garden. Looking at it makes me happy.”
“It makes me happy, too,” Granny says. “I’m happy to share it with you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that. I’ll try to think of something to share with you, too.”
“No need,” Granny says with a smile. “By the way, we’re having sandwiches. Would you like one?”
“I should be on my way.”
“I’ll wrap one up for you,” Granny suggests.
The woman nods. Granny takes her plate with her ham sandwich and returns with it wrapped. She hurries over to the woman and gives it to her.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” Granny says. “If you want, come over every lunch time. I’ll leave a little something on the table in the garden.”
“We’ll see,” the woman says.
“Suit yourself. Just remember, your lunch will be on the table.”
Every morning, I wake up, throw on my jeans and a t-shirt, and run outside. I examine the garden, looking for holes. I don’t find any. Maybe Granny is smart to provide her with a lunch.
Days turn into weeks. Nothing goes missing, and I soon stop checking the garden every day. One day, I take a quick peek, and the little red hen and all her chicks stare back at me. I run into the house.
“Granny, come quick.”
Granny’s face falls when she sees me. “Don’t tell me what’s missing. I don’t want to know.”
“No, you’re going to want to see this.” I take her by the arm and lead her into the garden. Granny’s hand flies to her mouth. “She brought them back. I guess she didn’t steal them. She only gave them a vacation.”
“The little red hen and her chicks look cleaner than they did before.”
Granny smiles. “I think she tried to eat them and found them to be too tough. Lord knows how long they simmered in the pot.”
I put my arm around her shoulder. “I’m just glad they’re back to where they belong.”
I often look for the old woman, but I never see her again. I later hear that she died. When I tell my grandmother, her face falls in sadness. “I quit leaving her lunches. I wondered why she stopped dropping by. Hopefully, she’s in a happier place.” She smacks my knee. “We should find out where the city buried her.”
“How are we going to do that? We don’t even know her name.”
“Someone must know it. Leave it to me. I’ll make a few calls and find out.”
Two days later, Granny’s gray head peers through the window. My foot barely touches the step when she runs onto the porch. “Her name is Irene Bell. They buried her behind the Presbyterian church. I thought we could go see her today.”
“Today?” I whine. “Why do we have to visit a dead woman we didn’t even know in life on the warmest day of summer?”
“Everyone enjoys a visit.” She steers me into the house. “I walked to the Italian store, and you’re right, it’s really hot out today. But I didn’t mind. I wanted to make you a special lunch. Geneva salami and that cheese you like so much, all wrapped in one of those crusty buns.”
The sandwich sits at my place, bursting with plump abundance. The fridge door opens. My favorite pop is soon beside the plate. “What time do you want to leave?” I ask.
“As soon as we’re done eating.”
Before we leave, she goes to her garden, cuts a bunch of flowers, and puts them in a plastic vase. “I want her to have some of the flowers she loved so much,” she says as she gets up. Suddenly, she bends and grabs a plastic Black Lab. He’s one of her favorites. “I’m not going to divide the family of hens and chickens, but I think the old lady will like old Rufus.”
We only walk a short way when sweat pools in my hairline and drips into my eyes. It burns something awful. “This is stupid. We didn’t even know her.”
Granny grabs hold of my arm. “Sure we did. Whenever she passed me, I could smell the tang of disappointment. Whenever I looked into her eyes, I caught a glimpse of faded dreams. And don’t we all know about them?”
I remember the filth of the woman—the gray cast to her skin, the stringiness of her hair, and the smell. It was like rotting vegetables. “No one has to live like that,” I huff.
“I’m sure she didn’t write her ending. It must have just happened.”
“Nothing would force me to live like a bum.”
“Don’t tempt fate, my girl. When dreadful things take place, haziness can replace clarity, because you want it to. Show compassion, because one day, you might want to blur the sharp lines of reality.”
I look away from her face. Maybe she’s right. I don’t know the old woman’s story. I have no right to judge.
We arrive at the cemetery, and Granny finds her within minutes.
“How did you do that?”
“I don’t know. Something led me to her.”
There’s no monument, only a number. Granny bends to set the bouquet of flowers on the pitiful grave, and my heart swells. No one deserves to end up as a number. She places Rufus beside the flowers, and I’m glad he’ll keep her company. Labs are faithful creatures.
Weeks pass. The summer becomes cooler, but rumours heat up. I repeatedly hear stories about the old woman having money. Stories strengthen when relatives of the old woman arrive en masse.
They stay in hotels, eat out, and buy trinkets. Farley’s economy gets a little boost, but it barely lasts a week. They search every square inch of the dilapidated rooming house where the old woman lived. They don’t find any money. They pack all of the old woman’s possessions in two boxes. The garbage truck gobbles them in one bite. Her relatives leave town poorer, not richer.
Everyone assumes the rumours are the product of invention. I lose interest. Money doesn’t mean much to me.
Chapter 44
My pen scribbles across the page of my journal.
Dear Diary,
Today at school, Wendy called me over. You wouldn’t believe what she said.
“Mom
, Marnie, could you come downstairs please?”
I put down my pen. Whatever Ma wants probably won’t take long. I leave everything on my desk and hurry downstairs. Ma is at the kitchen table, cheeks blotchy and hands wringing imaginary clothes. A pot of tea steeps in the centre of the table. Our favorite mugs sit in front of our places. As soon as Granny sits down, Ma says, “I’ll get to the point.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It is, Mom.” Ma bites her lip and looks away. “We’re going to lose the house.”
“What?” Granny asks as if she hadn’t heard.
“I have to sell the house.”
A burst of anger bubbles from my gut. “You can’t sell the house!”
“I don’t have a choice. After all our expenses, there isn’t any money left to pay the taxes. They let me get away with it for a time, but that time is over. They’re demanding payment. I must sell while I still can.”
Sell the house! I can’t believe it. At that moment, I’m naïve and not terribly perceptive when it comes to finances. Ma never buys new dresses. I think clothes don’t matter to her. She works during her scheduled vacation by picking up Mrs. Thomason’s shifts and allowing her to pay her so that on paper, it appears that she vacationed.
I assume that Ma likes to work and will miss the drugstore if she takes two weeks off. I never even suspected that we’re poor. We have plenty of food. We may not wear the most stylish of clothing, but I never feel like we’re lacking. We’re happy, and nothing else matters.
Granny jumps off her chair and races over to the sink. She opens a cupboard and reaches behind the pipes. She comes back to the table with a coffee tin. She pulls the lid off and dumps a small bundle of bills on the table. “Take it,” she says as she sits down.
“No, you keep it for emergencies.”
“This is an emergency.”
Ma eyes the tiny collection of bills. “It’s not enough.”
“How much do you owe?”
“More money than either of us have.”
“Does that mean we’ll have to move away from Elm Street?” I ask. The conversation is dreamlike. It feels like it’s happening to someone else. I can’t move from my home.
Granny looks down at the table. “If only I could contribute more.”
“It’s not your fault,” Ma says as she gathers the money and puts it in Granny’s hand.
My throat tightens. “When will we have to move?”
“Hopefully, we’ll be able to stay until fall.”
Fall isn’t that far away. It’s almost the end of the summer. “Where will we go?” I ask.
“We’ll have to rent an apartment,” Mom says and tries to smile.
“I don’t want to live in an apartment.”
“Maybe between the two of us, we’ll be able to get something nice,” Granny says as she studies Ma’s face. “Maybe a duplex with a yard. It won’t be that bad, Marnie.”
“I’m sure we’ll be able to rent something real nice,” Ma agrees, but her face doesn’t register hope. Despair is what flits across her eyes.
We don’t talk about it again. Ma picks up more shifts and falls into bed most nights. Granny pushes the problem aside with work. She no longer sits in the chair by the window. I sit in the chair. How can I be poor and not even know it? My eyes take stock and see the shabby furniture.
A thick layer of glue holds the coffee table’s leg in place. Wire wraps around the plant stand, cleverly hidden by the thick hoya’s stems. The rug’s flowers resemble blooms dying in the last onslaught of summer’s heat. My family is poor. I guess I’m stupid, for I never noticed.
Chapter 45
For all her preaching on attitude, Ma is very superstitious. She believes bad things happen in threes. Edna’s widowhood is a tragedy, and the imminent loss of our home qualifies as a disaster. When Aunt Eva calls, she suspects the worst. Unfortunately, I answered the phone when no one else was home, and I never thought to ask what the call regarded. As soon as Ma walks through the door, I tell her that her sister called, and the interrogation begins.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing much. She wants to talk to you.”
“How did she sound?”
“She sounded like she always does.”
Ma shakes her head in annoyance. “You must have heard some hint in her voice. Did she sound happy, sad, excited…?”
“I don’t know. We only spoke for a few seconds.”
“It was in her voice,” she insists. “Eva never calls without reason.” Ma paces around the kitchen. “I hope no one died.”
“I’m sure no one did.”
Arms discharge into the air. “She lives in the Maritimes. Calling us is expensive. She wouldn’t call unless something happened.”
“Maybe she just called to say hello.”
“No, she would never do that.”
“Maybe something good happened.”
“If it was good news, she would write a letter.”
“How do you know?”
“Good news travels fast—bad news travels faster,” she says ominously.
When my grandmother arrives, the atmosphere of the house worsens. After an hour of conjecture, they decide to take the big step. They’re going to place a long-distance phone call. My grandmother goes upstairs and retrieves my aunt’s number from a folded piece of paper that she keeps in her drawer.
Ma and Granny make their way to the phone. Granny slowly reads the digits as my mother carefully punches in the numbers. She repeats each one aloud to ensure she doesn’t make a mistake.
I roll my eyes, go into the living room, and turn on the television. They’re making a big deal out of nothing. Aunt Eva called. So what?
Ma sits at the telephone table. Legs crossed, head cocked, she looks like a painting—still and quiet. Granny stands beside her, her face a mass of worry lines. Ma grabs Granny’s hand. She hangs up the phone. Granny’s body stiffens, bracing, ready to accept.
“Earl’s boat went missing.”
Granny’s hands fly to her face. “Was he alone?”
“No, both boys were with him.”
Granny makes tea. The kettle’s whistle breaks the silence a few moments later. Granny and Ma drink from the steamy mugs without allowing the water to cool.
“Edna lost her husband, we’ll lose the house, and poor Eva lost her family. Tragedy always arrives in threes.” Mom has already decided the worst has happened.
“Isn’t there a chance Uncle Earl’s boat will be found?”
“A small one,” Granny says.
“Isn’t there a chance we’ll be able to keep the house?”
Ma sets down her cup. “No.”
Ma chews on her lip. “I feel bad about not being able to offer Eva money. I don’t think Earl left her with much.”
Granny’s eyes bulge as her lips tighten. “Why should you feel bad? I’m her mother. I should be able to help her, but I can’t.” Granny waves her tight fists in the air. “Living all these years, you’d think I’d have more money than you can stuff in a coffee can, but I don’t. By God, I can’t even fill the damn tin.”
Ma puts her arm around Granny’s shoulder. “Money was never important to you.”
Granny’s body stiffens. “Maybe it should have been. If I had some real money socked away, you’d be able to keep the house, and we could send for Eva, but I can’t do anything. I’m just a stupid old woman who doesn’t have anything.”
Ma’s eyes tear. “You have us.”
Her words relax Granny’s face. “Yes, and I’m grateful for that, but what can I give you in return?”
“Your love has always been enough, so stop talking like that.”
“You can’t bring love to the bank,” Granny retorts. “What we need is cold, hard cash, so don’t tell me I’m stupid for regretting never making any.” With that, Granny stomps from the room. Ma and I exchange glances, but we don’t say anything. We’re too broken hearted to speak. All this talk about money is making my head
ache and my stomach churn. The worst of it is knowing that Granny is right. Money may be an evil, but it pays the bills and allows you to do what you want.
I look up at the clock. It’s only nine o’clock, but I make my way to bed. I close my diary. I don’t want to write about this day anymore. Alone in the dark room, I wonder why our lives are falling apart. Did we do something wrong, or did we fail to do something right?
I wake up early the next morning. I snap the blinds open. Granny is in her garden cleaning her plastic animals with the hose and placing them on the porch to dry. Boxes litter the yard, so I know she’s packing them away. The move is fast approaching. Mr. Dodds will hammer his white sign by the end of the month.
I turn away from the window. What will become of us? Poor Granny will lose her cherished garden, and I’ll lose the only home I’ve ever known. Ma never complains, but she must feel as if she’s losing Daddy all over again. We buried my father in the cemetery, but the biggest part of him remains in his garden. Every spring, when the flowers poke out of the ground, I feel Daddy give them a nudge. Our rhododendron flourishes because he still whispers in its ear, “Make me proud, go blooming crazy.”
Lately, Ma cries when she sits in the back. I once overhead her talking to Daddy, telling him we have to leave.
Oh, Daddy, I can’t bear to go.
I have one leg in my jeans when Granny screams. I stumble as I make my way to the window. Granny is lying on the ground. Unhappiness has struck her down dead!
Chapter 46
“Stop squirting me with cold water!”
“I thought you were dead.”
“And cold water revives the dead?”
“I guess not.”
“Surely not, so don’t tell everyone you saved me.” Granny struggles to get up as she attempts to wipe the mud from her clothes. After a few swipes, she gives up. “Call your mother immediately.”
She’s so pale, I run.
I dial the drugstore and ask for Ma. “Come quick, something is wrong with Granny.”
Chickens & Hens Page 17