Chickens & Hens

by Nancy-Gail Burns

  Fear thickens Ma’s voice. “What is it?”

  “She’s had a weak spell and is asking for you.”

  “Is it her heart?”

  “I don’t know. She’s acting odd.”

  “I’ll get Homer Davis to give me a ride. Hurry back to her. I’ll be home soon.”

  I rush to the garden and find her boxing her chicks and red hen. “Stop. You should rest. Ma will be home soon. Homer Davis is driving her.”

  My words cause her to move faster. I try to snatch the box from her, and she growls, “Leave me be.” She rushes into the house, clutching it tightly. Her eyes are wild and glazed. I fear she’s gone mad. Relief washes over me when the front door slams a few minutes later. I hurry to the hall.

  “Where’s Mom?” Ma asks.

  “She’s in the living room.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “I guess, I don’t know.”

  Homer remains on the porch. “Check on her and let me know if she needs to go to the hospital. I’ll drive you.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  Ma goes into the living room. “Homer is here. Do you want him to bring you to the hospital?”

  Granny clutches the box tightly to her chest. “No, get rid of him.”

  Ma hurries down the hall. “Thank you, Homer, but she doesn’t need to go to the hospital. It was a weak spell. I’m going to make her something to eat. I’m sure that’ll set things right.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I am,” she says. “Thanks again.” She closes the door.

  I’m sitting with Granny. The chicks remain boxed, but the hen sits on her knee. She closed all the drapes. The room is dark and ominous.

  “Mother of God, what should l do?” she asks as she sways in the chair. I fear she has little time left.

  When Ma returns and sees Granny, her knees buckle. She grabs hold of the blue velvet chair for support. “Maybe it was a mistake to send Homer away. Call the ambulance.”

  I jump from the chair.

  “Don’t call anyone,” Granny says in a voice that doesn’t sound like her own.

  “What’s all this about?” Ma asks.

  Granny’s glance darts to the windows, zips around the room, and lands on me. “I want you to leave and not come back until I call you.”

  My eyes dart to Ma. “Do as she says,” she tells me.

  I head to the back porch. I barely sit down before a squeal causes me to jump. It’s Ma who’s yelling. What happened to Granny?

  I rush inside, throw open the French doors, and bolt into the living room. Upturned, the red hen nestles on Granny’s knee. Ma’s hand burrows up its plastic butt. She plucks money out by the fistful. A gasp escapes. Both women turn around. Their stares batter me.

  “I told you to leave the room and to only come back when I called you.”

  The money at my mother’s feet mesmerizes. “Where did it come from?” I ask as I bend down to stroke it. Hundred-dollar bills colour our worn-out living room carpet.

  Ma throws herself onto a chair. “Might as well tell her.”

  “Someone stuffed the little red hen and all her chicks with cash,” Granny whispers. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Ma leaps from the chair and grabs Pansy, one of the chicks. She tugs the bills from her small opening. The pile of cash grows.

  “How much is there?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Granny says. “Three chicks still have impacted butts.”

  Ma yanks out wads of currency to relieve the compression. “Bust them open with a hammer so we can find out,” I suggest.

  A look of horror crosses Granny’s face. “I can’t do that. You have a slender hand. Use it to flush out their bottoms.”

  The money is jammed into tight balls, making it difficult to empty the chicks’ behinds.

  Granny looks heavenward once we’re done. “It’s a gift from God.”

  “It’s a way of saving our family,” Mom adds.

  “It’s the old woman’s money,” I declare.

  Granny’s back stiffens until she appears two inches taller. “It’s not,” she argues.

  “It is so,” I say right back.

  “But she’s dead.”

  Ma looks crestfallen. “But her relatives aren’t. Remember how many of them came to town?”

  “Looking for money,” Granny says, finishing the sentence.

  My stare turns to Granny. “The money you found.”

  She shakes her head. “You don’t know for sure.”

  “Maybe not, but it makes more sense than thinking God stuffed your plastic chick’s bums with bills.”

  Granny clucks. “I guess I should try to get in touch with them.”

  Ma catches her eyes. “The old woman wanted you to have the money. You were always kind to her.”

  Granny stares at the stack of bills. “Not that kind.”

  “I never saw any of her so-called relatives before she died,” I say, already deciding we should keep the money.

  “Doesn’t matter,” my grandmother says. “It would still be stealing.”

  “But they’re rich. They took a plane to get here. Did you see the clothes they wore? Better than anything any of us ever wore.”

  “Keeping the money would still be a bad thing,” Granny says, but her eyes glaze with confusion.

  “It wouldn’t be good, nor would it be bad,” I reply. “It would be a bit of both.”

  “We’ll be able to keep the house,” Mom remarks. “We could also send for Eva.”

  My grandmother’s face puckers in thought. Her small, brown eyes become mere slits. She gives me an exasperated look. “If only you would have obeyed my direct order to leave the room and not come back until I called you, I wouldn’t be in this position.”

  “Oh, come on, you can’t blame me for your problem.”

  “I can, and I do. I told you to leave the room and here you are.”

  “I heard a scream.”

  “You could’ve called out. You didn’t have to march back in here after you were told to leave.”

  I stomp my foot. “What does my presence have to do with this mess?”

  Granny sighs. “Everything. Your mother and I could have made a decision, and whatever we decided wouldn’t have affected you.”

  “I get it. You would’ve kept the money and not told me, but now that I know about it, I can’t be ignorant of your decision.”

  I expect Granny to disagree. “Exactly,” she says.

  I get off the chair. “Pretend I was never here.”

  “Can’t be done,” my grandmother and mother say in unison.

  I leave the room. Before I close the French doors, I say, “Sure it can.”

  We never speak of the money. The white sign never touches our front lawn. Granny wires funds to Eva. They fret over her indecisiveness over whether to move or not. They also fret over me. They have it in their heads that they corrupted me.

  I’m glad I know about the chickens. The incident doesn’t corrupt me or make me think less of them. It illustrates that no matter who you are or how old you are, it’s sometimes difficult to recognize right from wrong. Life is not tidy.

  Granny looked at Irene Bell and felt a kinship with the old woman and her hardships. I think the old woman looked at Granny and felt the same. Some would say she wasn’t of right mind when she stuffed her life’s savings into the chickens and hens, but I think she was. Most leave their savings to their family. Does that make sense when your family closes their hearts to you, yet allows their hands to remain open?

  Chapter 47

  Granny’s mouth crumbles without a sound. She heaves herself from the telephone table. “The coastguards found the boat. They didn’t find the bodies. The icy water has the boys in its grip. Lord knows if it’ll ever let go.” Her head cocks. “Is there any grave more piteous?”

  “Don’t think about it, Mom.”

  “I can’t help it. The sea is cruel. I don’t want it to have Earl and my grandso
ns.”

  Ma squeezes her shoulder and all but pulls her down the hall. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  Granny wears pain like a tight garment. It pulls her innards in and leaves her stock-still and distant. Ma’s tone is gentle. “Did you convince Eva to move in with us?”

  Granny’s head shakes. “I begged her to, but she doesn’t want to leave the home she shared with her family. She has so little of them left.”

  “It’s her choice to make.”

  Within weeks, loneliness and grief shove Eva out the door. The very thing that drew her to the water drives her away. Waves smacking her deck no longer sing a lullaby to ease her to sleep. Instead, they strike fear and carry nightmares of her loved ones bobbing in the cold current trying to find their way home. She packs two suitcases and turns her back on the ocean that provided for her family for decades, only to steal them away in an instant.

  I don’t know Eva very well. Throughout the years, she managed the odd visit, but they were far between. The day of her arrival, Ma and Auntie Fran head to the airport to pick her up. “I’m sure we’ll have enough room for her luggage,” Fran says as she eyes the massive trunk of her car.

  I’m not so sure. I expect Eva to bring a big black cloud with her, and black clouds are hard to contain. Granny sits on the porch, swinging softly. “Why didn’t you go, too?”

  “A crowd might upset her, given her situation.”

  My trepidation deepens. When Eva heaves the cloud through our front door, nothing will ease the gloom.

  Fran’s Impala returns within the hour. The open windows don’t release the sounds of sisters reuniting after years of being apart. The silence holds a warning. Eva steps out. She’s a handsome woman with high cheekbones, dark, wavy hair, and doe-like eyes. She’s dressed in black from head to toe.

  “Oh my poor baby,” Granny laments as Eva’s feet touch the grey painted wooden floor of our porch. She stands and holds her arms out. Eva walks by them and sits in the chair beside the swing. “Sorry, Mom, I can’t bear affection. My heart is in knots. Give me some time, okay?”

  Granny sits back down and nods, but her eyes are glossy. “What you went through…”

  Eva cuts her off. “I can’t talk about it.”

  Succinct and dismissive, her words distance as surely as a push. Granny folds her hands across her lap and sits quietly.

  Eva grabs her mother’s hands and squeezes. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, Mom, but the scabs under my eyes just dried up. I can’t shed any more tears. I have to move away from them or I’ll go mad. We’ll talk, but not now.”

  We spend the day skirting around anything deep and meaningful as we skim the shallow surface of our lives. Night falls, and we gladly go to sleep.

  I wake up to the smell of bacon. I expect to see Ma at the stove. Instead, I find Eva.

  “The bacon is almost ready.” She cocks her head to one side. “I hear Mom and Ellie on the stairs. You make toast, and I’ll make the eggs.”

  “I thought I smelled bacon,” Ma says as she enters the kitchen. She moves to grab the apron around Eva’s waist. Eva sidesteps her. “You don’t have to make breakfast,” Ma says.

  “I want to make everyone breakfast. It feels good to do something for others.”

  Ma sits down. She smiles when Eva hands her a cup of coffee. She beams when a plate with bacon, eggs, and toast sits in front of her. Her teeth bite down, and the bacon lets out a sharp crunch. “You remember how I like it.”

  “Of course, you’ve always liked your bacon and toast nearly burnt and your eggs runny.”

  Eva sits down with her plate, and Granny says, “You have to eat more than that.”

  “My appetite isn’t back. Give it time.”

  Granny purses her lips and looks off into the distance.

  My poor aunt. She accepts the death of her husband and sons, but she can’t accept hugs, kind words, or food.

  Eva opens the newspaper and thumbs through the pages until she finds the classifieds.

  “Where did you get the paper?” Ma asks.

  “I went to the corner store.”

  “I could get it delivered for you.”

  “No need, I only require it for a few days.”

  Granny’s neck cranes until it looks ironed. “Why do you say that?” she asks as she squints to see what she’s reading.

  “I’m looking for a job, Mom.”

  “You don’t need to worry about finding a job.”

  “I want a job.”

  “Fine, but wait for something good. Don’t take just anything.”

  Eva laughs. “I can’t be fussy. I don’t have many skills. I’ll have to do whatever I have to.”

  Granny’s chin juts out. “Wait for something good,” she repeats.

  Eva shakes her head. “I won’t be living off the two of you.”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  “Why, are you rich all of a sudden?”

  We have money coming out of chicken’s arses, but it’s our dirty secret.

  The sharp smell of marker wafts across the table. Eva circles three jobs. When everyone’s plate is clean, Ma stands. “I’ll do the dishes,” she says as she grabs the cups and saucers.

  Granny grabs the plates. “You wash, and I’ll dry.”

  I grab the broom to sweep the kitchen floor.

  Eva goes upstairs. She returns twenty minutes later wearing a blue dress with a white collar. Freshly polished white pumps and the matching clutch make her look professional.

  Granny puts down the dishcloth. “You don’t have to start looking today. You just got here.”

  Ma elbows her and whispers, “Let her be, she knows what she needs.”

  Three hours later, the front door opens. Eva’s hair is damp, and her face is flushed. Wrinkles crisscross her dress. Dark scuffs mar her white shoes. She doesn’t say much, so we know the hunt was fruitless.

  The next morning, she circles jobs that she didn’t circle the day before. She eats a bowl of oatmeal and hurries upstairs. She comes down wearing a blue flowered dress. “Can I borrow a pair of your shoes, Ellie?”

  Ma frowns. “Your feet are a half size smaller than mine, but help yourself. Look in my closet and take what you like.”

  Eva picks Ma’s black flats and begins her hunt once again.

  I’m peeling eggs to make egg salad sandwiches for lunch when the screen door opens. Granny takes one look at Eva and pours her a glass of lemonade. Everything around us breaks, but the heat remains constant. Eva’s face is red and blotchy. Her hair is limp and dripping.

  Ma dusts the phone table with the remains of an old grey sweatshirt. The telephone rings, and she startles. She grabs the receiver and snaps, “Hello.” The sweatshirt falls to the floor. “I’ll get her.” She covers the receiver with her hand. “Eva, come quick.”

  Eva mouths, “Is it about a job?”

  Ma shakes her head.

  Eva snatches the phone. An array of emotions skirt across her face—shock, relief, and finally, sheer bliss.

  Ma throws herself onto a chair. Granny questions her, but she just keeps repeating, “Sweet Jesus,” over and over again.

  Eva hangs up. She walks into the kitchen. Her eyes find Ma’s. “I spent all my money getting here, but I have to go back home.”

  “You do,” Ma agrees.

  “But she is home,” Granny spouts.

  “As soon as I can,” Eva says as she flings herself into the chair across from Ma.

  Ma nods, and Granny shouts, “What’s going on? Who was on the phone?”

  The sisters exchange a glance. The air around us hangs. Something happened, but Granny and I don’t know what. We can only wait. “Earl was on the phone.”

  “But Earl is dead.”

  “No, he’s not!” Eva exclaims. “He and my boys are alive!”

  “But he was declared dead. They all were.”

  “The coast guards were wrong. Their boat hit a breaker and was swamped, but the Berkley men aren’t easy t
o kill. They grabbed hold of a piece of driftwood and made it to a small island. They lived off wild ducks and kept a lookout for boats. A hunter found them. When they returned home, my friend Joan told them where to find me. I have to get back. They need me. Thank God the house hasn’t sold.”

  “Take the next plane out,” Gram says. “You have to be with your family.”

  “But the money,” Eva moans. “I don’t have any, and the airlines won’t take credit.”

  Granny’s face lights with pride. “I’ll give you what you need.”

  Eva’s head begins to shake. Ma gets up suddenly and goes to the telephone table. She takes out the phone book.

  “Who are you calling?” Granny asks.

  “The Daily Journal.”

  “Why?” Eva asks.

  “You’re going to tell them your story.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Trust me. Fix your hair and put on some lipstick.”

  My aunt’s face knots in confusion.

  “Go,” Ma orders.

  Ma barely gets off the phone when it rings again.

  “Eva!” she hollers. “Hurry up! A photographer is on his way. He’s going to take your picture.”

  Eva stomps down the stairs. “I don’t understand what you’re doing.”

  “I’m getting you home. They want your story on how your family returned from the dead.”

  “That’s personal. Why should I tell everyone about it?”

  “Don’t get all haughty. You’ll change your mind when the bigwig from the airline hands you a free ticket.”

  “Free?”

  “Yes, it’s a touching story and great publicity for the airline.”

  “Oh my, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Eva squeals as she wraps her arms around Ma. She grabs Granny from the chair, pulls her up, and wraps her arms around her, too. Suddenly, all four of us are dancing in a circle. “They’re alive, they’re alive!” Eva chants, and it sounds like the most beautiful song in the world.

  Eva leaves for home within hours. She wears her blue flowered dress and looks ten years younger than she did when she arrived.

  Ma and Granny sit at the kitchen table. “I would have paid for her ticket,” Granny says as she blows on her warm tea.

  “I know, Mom, but it’s better this way. We can’t start acting rich or people will begin to wonder.”