Chicken Feathers

by Joy Cowley

  “Wasn’t fox size. Squeezed the breath out of me. I figured you’d be along after breakfast.”

  “I didn’t work on the boat yesterday.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So I noticed.”

  “I was hunting for you in the woods! Then we found your feathers. Annalee and Harrison came over and we had a funeral for you. I didn’t go near the tractor shed all day.”

  She shifted and her claws pricked his skin. “Undo it,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The funeral. Undo it. I want my ring.”

  First red light from the new Tarkah egg and Josh was out of bed. Semolina settled into the warm place he’d left, but not for long. Josh couldn’t wait to share the happy thing with his father. “I’ll carry you up the stairs. I won’t hurt you.”

  “No!” Semolina snapped her eye at him. “Not the biggie with the broom!”

  “Just Dad. Please?”

  “Okay. But not the other one!”

  At that moment, Josh had a thought that came at him like a bolt of lightning. Grandma and Semolina didn’t get on because they were alike.

  He put a folded bath towel over his hands like a cushion and carried the chicken up the stairs on it, careful so that his footsteps wouldn’t jolt her. The door to his parents’ room was closed, and with his hands full, he couldn’t open it. He called several times. “Dad? Dad? Da-ad!”

  Tucker gave an answering grunt.

  “Open the door,” Josh said. “I got a surprise for you.”

  Most times Tucker’s emotions were middle range, neither hot nor cold, but when he saw Semolina, he got lit up like a firecracker, crying, “Well, bless my soul! It’s a doggone miracle! That’s what it is. Miracle!”

  “Caw-awk!” clucked Semolina.

  “It was fox’s blood, Dad,” said Josh. “She stuck her beak in his paw and he let her go. That’s how she got away.”

  Tucker pulled back the curtains and beckoned them over to the window. In the early morning light, he looked at every part of the old chicken, lifting her wings, lightly touching the tooth marks. Then he looked at Josh, his eyes heavy with thought. “Ain’t no fox, son.”

  “It was!” Josh insisted. “That same old red fox as stole the eggs.”

  Tucker rubbed his mouth. “That’s an interesting theory, Josh.”

  “It’s true!”

  The sad, soft look came back, and Josh realized his dad was trying to find the best way of dealing with the old problem of the talking chicken. Tucker put his hand on Josh’s head, the way the preacher man sometimes did after church. “We don’t know that, son.”

  Josh didn’t say anything. He’d made a promise to himself, he’d never again mention Semolina’s talk, and he would keep that promise, no matter what.

  “You see,” said Tucker, “no chicken could fight off a fox. These bites are from a smaller animal, a ferret maybe. Years ago I seen a duck fight off a ferret. Looks like a ferret came snooping and they had a right old tussle. The bites ain’t deep, but they’re likely infected. We need to get her to the vet.”

  Josh nodded. His dad was right about that, at least. The chicken’s pimply skin was red around the tooth holes.

  There was a knocking at the door, and Grandma called out, “You wanting breakfast early, Tucker?”

  “Come in, Augusta,” said Tucker, and Semolina fluttered in alarm. She scrabbled over the towel, claws catching in the cotton, and tried to climb up Josh’s shirt. Josh brought the towel up to cover her, but too late—Grandma was already in the room in her purple robe and slippers.

  “Beg pardon,” she said. “I thought you were all up. I heard you—oh my Lord! Is that the chicken?”

  “She’s alive,” said Tucker. “It’s a miracle!”

  “Looks fifty percent dead,” said Grandma, who wasn’t wearing her glasses. “God help us! The fox has plucked her for the oven!”

  “We think it was a ferret—or a rat,” said Tucker.

  Grandma poked Semolina. “She’s cold. She’s got the shakes.”

  Josh thought the spasms were from fear of Grandma, but he didn’t like to say so. Grandma went back to her room and came out with some knitting, the little green coat she’d showed his mom at the hospital. She thrust the baby garment at Josh. “Here! Put this on her.”

  The black telephone in the kitchen grew warm with breath, Tucker calling the hospital to talk to Elizabeth, Josh waking up Annalee, Tucker asking the vet woman if he could have the first appointment at her clinic for his son’s chicken bitten by a ferret.

  Semolina wouldn’t eat anything. She was awful tired and mostly wanted to rest. Josh felt he had to put the green knitting on her for Grandma’s sake, but spittin’ bugs, a baby’s coat wasn’t the most suitable cover for a chicken. Wings weren’t arms. He draped it over her like a cape, did up the top two buttons and let the sleeves hang. It looked stupid on her, but it was of some use. She stopped shivering, and when he next looked at her, she had her head under one of the sleeves and was asleep.

  Tucker thought that the picnic basket was best for the trip to the vet. It was round with a double lid, and being of woven cane, the air got through. Although Grandma said nothing, she looked as though her tongue hurt from biting on it. “I’ll scrub it after,” Tucker told her, and she nodded. Of course, he’d never scrub it. Josh knew that. With Grandma, Tucker often made promises to keep peace.

  Josh would have preferred to ride in the car with Semolina on his lap, but Tucker said she should be handled as little as possible to avoid spreading infection through her body. The towel was in the bottom of the basket, and she crouched on it asleep in the funny green jacket, every now and then twitching as if she was remembering the fox attack. Josh couldn’t stop himself from lifting the lid to peek at her. “You can sit on the table anytime you like,” he whispered.

  The vet woman treated the old, half-plucked chicken as though it was the most beautiful bird on the planet. “All right, Semolina, let’s look at you. I love your coat. Do you mind if I unbutton it?” She pulled the overhead lamp down close to look at the red marks. “Mmm, it wasn’t a ferret, that’s certain.”

  Tucker shrugged. “I guessed some small critter—”

  She shook her head. “A ferret would go for her throat. This animal had big jaws. I’d say a fox or maybe a dog.”

  Josh felt a ripple of surprise go through his father. Tucker gave him a quick look that Josh pretended not to notice.

  “The damage looks worse than it is,” said the vet. “There are no broken bones, no head trauma. She’ll need antibiotics. I’ll give you some powder to put in her food and a tube of ointment to apply three times a day. Good girl, Semolina. Do you want your coat back on?”

  Tucker ran his hand over the back of his neck. “What’s your guess? Dog? Or fox?”

  “I’d bet on a fox.” The vet did up the buttons on the green baby coat. “I don’t know how she got away. Judging from the loss of feathers, I’d say she put up one heck of a fight.” She patted Semolina with a finger light as a feather. “Brave girl!”

  As they went back to the car, Josh sensed his father’s unease. Tucker was troubled—not because he was wrong, but because he couldn’t explain how Josh had been right. He looked hard at Josh as they opened the car, but all he said was, “Fox, eh?”

  It was Josh’s idea that they go by the hospital and take Semolina in to see Elizabeth. The suggestion didn’t rest easy with Tucker. “It’s real early. They might be busy. And a chicken?”

  “The nurses won’t mind. Dad, it’s a picnic basket!”

  Tucker relaxed into his slow smile. “So it is!” he said. “And if there was ever a day for a picnic, this is it!”

  Elizabeth Miller was out of bed, arranging some flowers on the table by the window. She was surprised to see them, and she almost ran to hug them. Immediately she knew what was in the basket. “You’ve brought Semolina!”

  “Are you supposed to be out of bed?” Tucker asked.

  “Yes! Oh yes! Darling Tucker, I�
�m so well! We are both well, Tori and I. This is our best day yet.” She lifted the lid of the basket. “Semolina! Oh my goodness! The famous green coat, one hundred percent natural wool!” She put her hand to her mouth to hide laughter. “I can’t think what Mother will say if she finds out!”

  “Grandma gave it to her!” said Josh.

  Elizabeth looked at Tucker, and he nodded. “Mother gave it to her?” she said. “That’s a bigger miracle than Semolina escaping from the ferret!”

  Tucker put his hands in his pockets. “The vet says—it was—probably a fox.”

  There was a short silence. Elizabeth said, “The fox?”

  Tucker nodded again. “Likely.”

  She turned to Josh. “How did—”

  But Josh had promised himself he wouldn’t get into those old discussions again. He strolled over to the window and looked out at the clouds rolling in from the north. Thunderstorm by afternoon, he guessed. They needed good rain. River would swell and he’d be able to launch his boat.

  Elizabeth sat in the chair. Her stomach was now so big it took up most of her lap, and the picnic basket was perched on the edge of her knees. She spoke to Semolina, and Semolina answered with a crooning cawk, cawk, letting Elizabeth know she was pleased to see her. Josh stood near, just in case the basket dropped, and he asked his mother, “Do you think chickens have a chicken god to look after them?”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.” She smiled. “People call God Father, so I guess chickens could call God Chicken and foxes could call God Fox. That seems logical.”

  “You mean there’s a fox god too?”

  “No. It the same god—one great creator Spirit, but we’ve all got some of it in us, so we see it like ourselves. Does that make sense?”

  “I—I think so.”

  “I guess it means we’re all connected—chickens and foxes and rabbits and people.” She took a deep breath, and her face looked shiny with happiness. “Oh, Josh, isn’t this a wonderful world?”

  “Sure is!” He reached out to hug her, the baby and the basket between them. The whole world was super-duper wonderful, and right now, he couldn’t think of one single worry wrinkle.

  Annalee came over after lunch, just as the weather was breaking. The thunder rolled around like marbles in a pan while big spots of rain hit the yard, disturbing dust. Semolina had eaten some bread soaked in milk and was now back in the picnic basket in Josh’s room, with Grandma saying no more than “Not on the bed!”

  Josh held the basket lid open while Annalee put antibiotic ointment on the bites. “You crazy bird! How did you get away from that fox? This time yesterday we were so miserable! I never knew I could get that sad about a chicken. No! Don’t peck me. This is ointment to make you better. Keep still! Don’t you know I love you?”

  The rain thickened, and soon a thin sheet of water lay on the rock-hard lawn. Josh looked out the window. “I have to dig up the box and get her silver ring.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Annalee. “We’ll get another one.”

  Josh had to be careful with words. “I think she would like—I think I would like—to get the one we buried.”

  Annalee came out and held an umbrella over them both as he dug. The soft earth had turned to mud, so that the cereal box no longer looked cheerful. It was sodden and fell to bits as he pulled it out. He opened the plastic bag. This time, it wasn’t chicken blood he smelled, but fox blood, and his nose wrinkled. He put in two fingers, pried out the strip of silver and closed the top as quick as he could.

  “It’s not a grave anymore,” Annalee said.

  She was right. There was no point in putting the feathers back in the hole. He troweled in muddy earth. Then they put the bag and the remains of the cereal box in the trash can.

  That night he took some mashed potato and peas back to his room, mixed in Semolina’s antibiotic powder and placed the bowl on the floor. She ate some and seemed a mite perkier. She was pleased to have her ring back. She held her leg out to look at it, then put her foot down and tested the ring with her beak to make sure it wouldn’t come off. She wasn’t up to much talking, though, and she still had the jitters. She was scared the fox would come after her again and didn’t want the window open.

  “I’ll put the basket lids down,” Josh said.

  “Won’t make no difference to that fox,” she muttered.

  “All right. Window open only one inch,” he said. “That suit you?”

  “Have it your way, buddy.” She shrank down into the green coat and closed her eyes.

  “You sound just like Grandma,” he said as he turned toward the door.

  Her indignant squawk stopped him. She had her head over the edge of the basket, her yellow eye wide with anger. “What’s that? What did you say?”

  “It’s okay, Semolina,” he said. “It was only a joke.”

  But fact was, it wasn’t.

  He too went to sleep while the evening was still light. He hadn’t realized he was exhausted until he put his head on the pillow and felt himself falling away into someplace deep, dark and gentle. When he woke, it was dark and Semolina wasn’t in the basket. She was on the floor singing an egg song.

  “Tarkah, tarkah, tark. Tarkah, tarkah, tark.”

  Josh sat up and put on the light. “What are you doing?”

  She ignored him. Her head was raised, her eyes closed, and she was singing as she had not sung for more than four years. It was the song of rejoicing at the laying of a new warm egg.

  “Tarkah, tarkah, tark!”

  “Semolina!” He got out of bed, intending to lift her back into the basket, but then the noise started outside the window, the same egg song echoing through the darkness. He pressed his face against the window. The rain had stopped, and the sky was as black as a cave. No light at all. Yet from every chicken barn came the same sound from hundreds of voices. The egg song gathered strength until it seemed to fill every space on the farm and then some. It was like a hundred choirs singing the same notes over and over.

  “Tarkah, tarkah, tark. Tarkah, tarkah, tark.”

  What was happening? Chickens never laid eggs at night! It must be the fox! he thought. This was a warning of some kind!

  Except that Semolina didn’t look scared. Her beak was open, her throat was quivering and the screens of her eyelids were closed as though she was watching something inside her head.

  Josh heard feet on the boards above his head. His father was awake and running down the stairs, and the phone in the kitchen was ringing.

  The chicken noise grew louder until the air inside and outside the house was quivering with egg song. Josh put Semolina back in the basket, but she didn’t stop singing. The sound drilled right through his head. He opened his door and saw his father in the hall.

  Tucker was pulling his pants on over his pajamas, and he was crying, big sobs that were halfway to laughter. “Josh, you got a baby sister, born six minutes ago, and they’re fine! They’re both grand as can be!”

  Chapter Ten

  LATER THAT MORNING, JOSH put his photo card, The Story of the Little Red Hen, on the wall. He decided he would make a similar card for baby Tori, pictures of her family, the house, the farm, Grandma, Semolina, and on top of the card he would write, On the night you were born, three thousand and one chickens sang you their egg song.

  Tori looked like a sleeping doll rolled up in a blanket. Josh hadn’t expected her to be so small, even though Elizabeth told him that six-and-a-half pounds was a reasonable size for a baby. The other surprise was all her hair. The only other new baby Josh had seen up close had been bald. Tori had black hair that stood up on her head like a rooster’s comb, and above her closed eyes were two sketchy black eyebrows as fine as feathers. Her nose was small and pointed, and her mouth folded up as though it hadn’t been used yet.

  “Do you want to hold her?” Tucker asked.

  He hesitated.

  Elizabeth smiled. “She may have come four weeks early, but she’s very strong.”

 
He held his arms out and his mother put the baby against him, showing him how to place his hands, one under her neck to steady her head. Tori didn’t open her eyes, but she snuffled a bit. He stared at her. She’d grown for eight and a bit months and then come out of his mother’s round belly like a chick coming out of an egg. But she was more helpless than a baby chicken. He might have to wait awhile before he showed her his boat and Semolina and the rainbows over the chard patch.

  Tucker always said that news went around the county quicker than a head cold, and within three days it was like all the folk in the area were singing egg songs too. The phone rang and rang, and there were flowers and packages for the baby and ladies from the church bringing cakes and pot roast to help Grandma out. Annalee came over with her old doll carriage.

  “Don’t you want to keep it?” Josh said.

  “Nope. I need the space in my room. There’s a teddy bear too and Jumbo the gray velvet elephant. How’s Semolina?”

  “Getting better and better. I took off the wool coat. She—” He was going to say she said it was too hot, but he stopped himself. “She’s more comfortable without it, and she’s eating real good. Want to see her?”

  They sat on the porch swing, Semolina crouched between them. The old bird had a fringe of feathers top and bottom and bare skin mottled pink and white in the middle. The bite marks had closed up and were near enough to healed. Annalee laughed. “Beg pardon, Semolina, but you look as though you’re wearing a bikini.”

  “She won’t take offense,” said Josh. “She doesn’t know what a bikini is.” He caught Annalee’s quick look. Darn! He’d come paper-thin close to breaking his promise. He said quickly, “She can walk fine and stretch out her wings. Here, Semolina, climb on my knee.”

  The chicken took not one scrap of notice but sidled closer to Annalee, who automatically started stroking her with those long pink nails. After a while, Annalee said, “It’s been a great summer.”