Chickens & Hens

by Nancy-Gail Burns

  “Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing to fear.”

  “I’m not afraid, but I can’t move forward without taking a step backward first. I have to right a wrong before I go.”

  “You did nothing wrong, and don’t worry, Princess. Love provides understanding.” He squares his shoulders. “Ellie will eventually understand your words were silly rumbles.”

  I shake my head. “‘Eventually’ isn’t good enough. Ma and Granny shouldn’t suffer over my actions.”

  “The choice is yours to make. You were right. The window does close slowly.” His head cocks. “I remember the day you were born. It only took one glimpse for us to fall in love with you. That type of love never goes away. It surrounds you forever.”

  My hands knot. “Still…”

  “Do what you have to do. If you really want to see Ellie and Melina, you can.”

  “How?”

  “Believe it’ll happen, and they’ll appear. Have faith.”

  “What if I don’t have faith?”

  “How can you say such a thing? Your mother—her teachings—they must have left you with something.”

  Ma and her brimming glasses, rainbows, and endless advice… I rolled my eyes back then, and I feel the need to roll them again. Attitude is worthless. Control rests in the uniformed man’s hands. Daddy’s eyes are round with expectation. “You can do this if you believe you can. This journey provides understanding. It lays your past to rest. Don’t let go until you’re ready.”

  I’m not ready. “I can do this,” I say with as much assurance as I can muster.

  “I know you can, Princess.”

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  “And I love you. Don’t let anything stop you.”

  I take the first step. Give me strength, Ma. Show me the way. Let me see overflowing glasses brimming with hope.

  Chapter 62

  A TURN OF EVENTS

  As I close my eyes and clutch the image of my mother, I’m surprised when they open and she’s before me. Her morning is just beginning. It isn’t off to a good start. As she gets out of bed, her left leg smacks the nightstand. The water glass topples, strikes the floor, and shatters into tiny, sharp shards. Her bare feet thump the hardwood as she hurries to find the broom and a cloth.

  “Ma, be careful. You aren’t wearing slippers,” I warn.

  She doesn’t hear me. She hurries past me. The fragments batter the metal dustbin.

  She bends and stares at the splatter. Her thoughts rush into my head as surely as words. Droplets of blood mix with the spilt water. The mixture reminds her of us.

  Puzzled, she wonders why our characters differ so. Her hands tighten as she clutches the answer. Injustice is the culprit she seizes.

  Ma understands unfairness. She weaves it into her way of thinking and keeps the anger and disappointment from her heart. Her lips tighten as she asks why I always entwined injustice with my moral fibre, allowing it to maim my heart. She blames that character flaw for my circumstances.

  I stand quietly in the corner. She’s wrong about the circumstances, but small dissimilarities can create enormous disparities.

  She pats the puddle. The water tempers the stain, causing the white terrycloth rag to appear pink. Perching on the edge of the bed, she picks at the shards of glass buried in her foot. Blood gushes, making it difficult to see them, let alone grasp them. Sharp peaks prick her finger as she runs it along her sole. Tweezers clutch and yank blindly to pull two tiny fragments of the broken glass from her foot. She sets the bloodied pieces on her nightstand.

  Remnants of a dream cling to her. Fingers knot around the bedspread to twist it tightly. My father came to her in that dream, and Ma’s mind replays the images she holds of him.

  Daddy laughs as my knees hit the handlebars of my bicycle. “I can’t believe we bought that bike just last year. We’ll have to buy her a new one. Where did she get such long legs, Ellie?”

  They giggle and simultaneously say, “Not from me.”

  My steps pound down the stairs. A door slams rudely. Daddy leans over and mutters, “Teenagers. Who knew it would be so difficult?”

  She squeezes his hand and says, “We’ll manage.”

  “Did you remember to pack your toothbrush?” Ma asks as she studies the suitcases lining the hallway.

  “Ma,” I snort, “don’t treat me like a baby. I’m off to university, not nursery school.”

  Daddy puts his arm across her shoulder. Eyes glisten, but they smile, knowing that life should rush forward and carry each of us to places presently unexplored.

  A car horn toots. “That’s Susan,” I say excitedly as I look out the window. “I must be off. Bye, Ma. Bye, Daddy. See you at Thanksgiving.”

  They watch me drive off toward a new life as I leave an old one behind. “It’ll be different around the old house,” Daddy says as he opens the door for her. When the door closes, they fall into each other’s arms.

  All those years, I thought she was alone. She wasn’t. Ma dreams of things that could have been and cherishes the fanciful images. Only now does she let them go and feel truly alone.

  She sinks onto the bed. Dreams of Daddy always bring a smile to her face, yet this morning, when her eyes flutter opened, a smile doesn’t play on her lips. An ache circles her wrist. Her hand throbs, etched with the imprint of a violent push. She remembers pushing someone but can’t remember who it was. And Daddy’s whispers, soft and beguiling, circle her.

  Faith… She must have faith.

  The idea of faith causes her mouth to twist into a scowl. Her eyes look upward as she whispers, “Sorry, Paddy, you’re asking the impossible.”

  I feel sick. Ma always believed, even when there appeared nothing left to believe in. I can’t consider that her hopeful spirit is gone.

  A knock sounds on the door. Daddy moves away as her mother enters the room.

  Chapter 63

  Granny—it’s so good to see her. She makes her way to the bed to sit beside Ma. “You look thoughtful,” she remarks.

  “I’m just thinking.”

  The bloodied cloth on the nightstand seizes her attention. “What happened here?”

  “My water glass fell and broke. Be careful where you walk. I ended up cutting my foot.” Her mother’s thick rubber soles reassure.

  “Let’s see.”

  “Oh, Mom, don’t worry. I’m fine.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.” Ma’s soft eyes harden. “Why did I have to knock on doors at forty-one and beg for a job?”

  “Ah, a trip down memory lane.”

  “Yes, it’s a journey I’ve put off for a long time. It seems it can’t be put off any longer. I barely opened my eyes when memories flooded my brain. They left me so angry. My time with Paddy was too short. We planned on growing old together, yet here I am, alone in a big bed.”

  Granny grabs her hand. “Life makes no promises.”

  “No, but I think all of us confuse expectations with promises.”

  “Believing in certainties makes life less scary.”

  Ma laughs, but it holds no mirth. “Until you realize the certainty is of your own making.”

  Granny walks to the window and pulls open the heavy curtains. “Don’t revisit death and sift through its memories. Remember the good times.”

  “I can’t. Death looms and shadows everything.”

  “Only if you let it.”

  Bewilderment settles on Ma’s face. “Normally, I’d agree with you, but not today. It seems I have little choice in the matter.”

  “Then talk and get it out.” Ma shakes her head, and Granny frowns. “Sometimes you have to squeeze out the bad to unearth the good that lies beneath. You’ll feel better if you release it.”

  Ma hangs on to her words and then lets them out in a rush. “I always complain about having to work, but when Paddy was taken from me, I was grateful not to have time to think. I would ring in customers, hurry to help them find a certain product, listen to their complaints, smile at the
ir compliments, and forget my husband was dead. Only on the quiet walk home would it hit me. Poor Paddy wasn’t in his comfortable chair waiting for my return. He was in the cold ground. I cried most nights on the walk home.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “Tears would start on their own accord, washing away a perfectly nice life, leaving nothing in its place. Silly thoughts. Silly tears. I never told you because they angered me. They’re a luxury indulged in by fools.”

  “No, they’re evidence of a caring heart.”

  “Yes, a caring heart. I think it’s more of a curse than anything else. What good is a gentle heart if you’re tested again and again? I’d prefer to be cold hearted.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. Ask yourself this. Would you have married Paddy if you had known he would die young?”

  Ma doesn’t even hesitate. “Nothing could’ve stopped me from marrying that man. I would’ve taken whatever I was given and been grateful.”

  “That’s what you should remember.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

  “I think you do, but it can be a talk for another day.”

  Ma’s eyes drift to study the cloudy sky. “Was I a good mother?”

  “No, you were an exceptional mother.”

  “You say that because you love me. I have this horrible feeling that I failed her. She needed a strong mother, and I was anything but strong.”

  “You are strong.”

  “I feel rather weak at the moment.”

  “There are times we all feel weak.”

  “Even you?”

  Granny leans in to Ma to grab hold of her arm. “Even me, but don’t tell anyone.”

  “I won’t, but if I tell you a secret, will you keep it?”

  “If you want me to.”

  “I always call Death a thief, but I’m a thief, too. I see that now. I stole our period of grieving. I threw sorrow in a dark corner and insisted we move forward without glancing back.” Ma’s eyes drop to the floor. “Mourning purges sadness. Why did I refuse to see that? Why did I push it away? The sadness stayed with her because of me.” She pounds her chest. “My daughter is dying because of my mistakes.”

  “You’re talking nonsense.” Granny’s small mouth puckers. “You’ve never stolen anything in your life.”

  I fall to the floor, but no one notices. I screech, “What have I done?” But no one hears me.

  The conversation continues without interruption.

  Ma’s eyes become brittle. “We’re both thieves. Don’t think for a moment that we aren’t.”

  Granny holds her head high. “I don’t want to talk about that money. I regret nothing. Irene Bell’s relatives didn’t think about her until her money was up for grabs.”

  Ma leans into Granny. “But they never did grab hold of it, because we got hold of it first, and we didn’t let go, did we?”

  “The sin wasn’t committed by us. How could her family have left her to tend to herself?”

  “What they did wasn’t decent, but their wrongness doesn’t make what we did right. Maybe they would have taken the money and buried her properly.”

  “If they cared about that, they would have buried her properly even if they didn’t receive any money. If you remember, I bought her a nice stone. And I’ll have you know, I still take flowers to her grave.”

  “You should. They’ve been bought and paid for.”

  Granny gets off the bed. It barely moves. When did she become so thin? Her lips quiver. “I do it because I want to, not because I have to. That money was our salvation, and I won’t see it as thievery. You don’t give a starving man a loaf of bread and tell him he can’t eat it. Whip yourself raw over supposed sins, but I won’t. Someone wanted us to have that money, and I don’t feel guilty for taking it. I’m going downstairs to make us some breakfast. We need nourishment. Join me when you put your head on straight.”

  Ma’s chin juts. “It is on straight.”

  Granny’s mouth opens, but she swallows her words and walks away.

  Chapter 64

  A kettle whistles, and dishes clatter. Ma makes her way downstairs. I follow. When we enter the kitchen, I can’t remember any of the good memories. I washed them away with silly last words. Ma believes that I tried to kill myself. I could never do such a selfish thing.

  A cup of tea sits at Ma’s place. Raspberry jam, slathered thick, slides off the sides of the four triangles like a volcano erupting.

  “Are you feeling better?” Granny asks.

  “How can I feel better? I picked out Marnie’s cradle. I shouldn’t have to pick out her coffin.”

  “It might not come to that.”

  Ma’s voice becomes small and childlike. “Why electrocution, Mom? How could she do that to herself?”

  Granny sits straighter. “Marnie would never do that intentionally to herself or to you or me for that matter. It was an accident.”

  “I think back on our final conversation, and I know she wanted to end her life.”

  “I helped you raise that girl. I don’t care what she said. She was always melodramatic. It was an accident. She’s clumsy with those long legs and arms.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Ma tosses words in agreement without conviction. She decides an accident is easier to accept and doesn’t want to snatch the comforting conviction from her mother.

  Ma takes a sip of her tea. “The doctors repeatedly tell us the prognosis isn’t good. They want to prepare us. There’s talk about having to make a decision, a decision no person should make.”

  “She might wake up.”

  “No, Mom. They transferred her to Farley’s smaller hospital because the larger, more modern hospital has given up hope. They brought her home to die.” Ma’s head falls onto the table. Again, her voice becomes small and childlike. “Why did she do it, Ma? Why?”

  “We may never know what happened for certain. You can accept it was a suicide attempt, but I won’t. I don’t understand why you’re being like this.”

  “I don’t know. I woke up and remembered a dream about Paddy. He told me to have faith and…” She looks down at the table. “I don’t have any more faith, Mom. It’s gone, it’s all gone.”

  They sit in perfect silence. Ma’s eyes sweep the clock. “We have to be at the hospital by eleven. Doctor Morris wants to talk to us.”

  “She might have something good to say.”

  Ma chokes on her toast. She takes a sip of tea to wash the bread down. “Maybe you’re right. We will find out soon enough.” Her eyes soften. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

  “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you, either. You gave more than you ever took, my dear.”

  “No I didn’t. I remember the day you moved in with us.”

  “You opened the door widely.”

  “I threw open the door, but false gaiety rang out to greet you.”

  “You’d just lost your husband. I didn’t expect you to be happy.”

  Ma pounds the table with her fist. “I should’ve been home to deal with Marnie. I foisted my responsibility on you.”

  Granny’s voice takes on a hard edge. “Marnie might be your daughter, but she’s my granddaughter. You didn’t foist anything on me. I love that girl and would do anything for her. But when she was suffering, I wasn’t the one who helped her. You were.”

  “At what cost?”

  “At the cost that was required.”

  “Using an abused child as an instrument of guilt is unforgivable.”

  “Only in your eyes. Marnie had to learn the hard way. Her father’s death was a tragedy, but worse things can happen—do happen—every day to countless people. We all suffer, but we must go on.”

  “It didn’t make it right. Why didn’t I just share my grief?”

  “You had to pull her out of the hole, not provide company.”

  Ma pours her second cuppa and avoids her mother’s glance.

  “We were blesse
d in many ways. Not every family is as close as ours is. Think of that.”

  Ma holds her tongue. Mean words sit on it. Their bitterness causes her heart to pucker. Closeness signifies a choice. There was no choice. It was forced confinement, she decides.

  Granny gets up to put her cup and plate in the sink. “No sense crying over hardships. They always take something, but they do make you stronger.”

  Ma’s back stiffens. “Some people sail through life without any problems. Why are some of us forced to be stronger?”

  “Destiny,” Granny says as she sits back down.

  “Is it, or do we just pretend it is?” Ma’s fist bangs the table. “Whenever we make the wrong choice, we blame it on destiny.”

  Ma favors Granny with a hard look. “If you want to cry, I’ll join you. But I won’t rehash the past and look for the mistakes we made.”

  “Afraid of what you’ll find?”

  “No, I’m human just like everyone else. I’ve made mistakes, but never out of malice, and never with intention.”

  The chair scrapes the floor as Granny pulls away from the table. “I’m going upstairs to change. I expect you to do the same.”

  Ma gets up and washes the dishes.

  Self-destruction is a heavy burden to saddle someone with, and for a brief second, she’s furious with me.

  “It was an accident!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Ma grabs a bottle of vinegar and a rag. Quick strokes run across the counter.

  When she leaves the kitchen, everything shines.

  Chapter 65

  Ma peers into the mirror. Her white blouse and blue trousers look crisp and ironed. She slips on her black pumps and calls out, “Let’s go, Mom. It’s time to leave.”

  Granny meets her in the hallway wearing blue pants and a vivid turquoise blouse. Chaotic swirls and swoops of orange and red increase the loudness of the cloth until it screams. Ma hands her a bus ticket.

  “Thanks.”

  They don’t speak during the bus ride. Ma pulls the string, and the driver responds to the ping by yelling out, “Sacred Mother of Mercy Hospital!” Six people get off the bus.