How could this happen? Charles wondered. Chickens weren’t roadrunners, after all. They poked about a barnyard clucking and pecking, but they didn’t just disappear. They didn’t fly very high or very far, they didn’t swim, and it was generally not too hard for Grandma Wheeler, back in Iowa, to catch one for Sunday dinner if she put her mind to it.
After searching for half an hour, Charles gave up and walked home. He went to his room and lay down on the bed, wondering what he would say to Cornelia. It was what Cornelia would say to him, however, that was upsetting: Charles Morgan, I will never speak to you for the rest of my entire life, was what she would probably say.
That’s exactly what she said the next morning when Charles told her. He imagined himself going off to war as a soldier and Cornelia wouldn’t even wave. He imagined her marrying Deeter some day, and even at the wedding, she wouldn’t tell him good-bye.
“Can we go feed No-Name now?” he heard Mindy whisper softly to Cornelia.
And just as softly he heard Cornelia answer, “No, Mindy, because our stupid no-brain of a brother left the door of the shed open last night, and No-Name got out, but we’re still not saying a word about it to Mother in case we find the chicken before her birthday.”
And just as expected, Mindy started to cry but stopped when they saw Mother coming back from the garage holding her new broom without any bristles.
“What happened to this?” she demanded.
Charles closed his eyes. Let them take him out and shoot him. What did it matter? “I did it,” he said.
“Why? Why on earth would a supposedly normal boy take his mother’s best broom and cut off all the bristles?” she asked.
“I sawed them off,” Charles confessed. “It was just an experiment.”
“An experiment to drive me out of my mind?” said Mother.
“No, I’ll buy you a new one, I promise. I’ll work to pay it off,” Charles told her.
Mother looked at him strangely. “All right. Since you like to saw so much, you can start on that pile of brush and branches at the back of the yard. Saw them into four-foot lengths and put them in the trash. Honestly, Charles! It’s not your fault you were born to nutty parents, but I never did anything this crazy!”
Charles set to work at the back of the yard, and when he was through, he plodded reluctantly over to the shed next door. Might as well let Deeter yell at him too, and get it over with.
“I really thought I’d locked the door,” he told the others as the four children stood inside the shed planning a search mission. “I can’t imagine myself dumb enough not to do it.”
“I can,” said Cornelia.
Deeter didn’t say anything at all, perhaps because he knew of someone who was dumb enough to borrow a multicolored pen and drop it down the back of a sixth-grade girl.
Cornelia gravely handed both boys a pillowcase and kept one for herself. “We’re each going to search a different place,” she said. “Mindy, you stay here and watch in case No-Name comes back. If she does, take a handful of feed from the sack, and make a trail right back to the shed for her to follow. When she gets inside, close the door! Charles, you take the path along the creek as far as the highway, I’ll take the path the other way, and Deeter, you look in the woods.”
When Cornelia wanted to sound bossy, Charles thought, she could do it better than anyone. She could sound like a president and a general both at the same time. He set out, the pillowcase under his arm, and was sure he would never forget this mistake the rest of his life. When he graduated from high school, someone would undoubtedly write in his yearbook, To Charles: may all your chickens come home to roost.
Charles himself had no idea what that meant, but Grandma Wheeler used to say it whenever her grandchildren did something they shouldn’t. Sometimes she even said it when Mother did something crazy, like the time she taught Grandpa’s big golden retriever to jump into her lap when she sat down. “Sometime you’re not going to want him to do that, Helen,” Grandma had said. “Watch out, or all your chickens may come home to roost.”
Isn’t that what chickens were supposed to do? Charles had asked his dad about it, and Dad said that Grandma meant you may do something you’ll be sorry for later. But that advice didn’t seem to trouble Dad at all, for the very next day he got the wild idea to buy a huge bunch of bananas wholesale. Charles had never seen so many bananas all in one bunch, the way they grew on trees. The bananas began to ripen all at once, however, and the whole family worked at making a huge batch of banana pudding. Then they invited the neighbors in and had a party. Everyone thought it a wonderful idea. How come none of the mistakes Charles made seemed to turn out right?
Now, as he headed up the path with the pillowcase, he made little clucking noises in his throat, hoping to lure No-Name out of wherever she was hiding. Was this the way he wanted to spend his vacation? Was this what he was born to do? When he saw the highway in the distance and the arch beneath where the creek flowed through to the other side, he was almost afraid to walk up the bank for fear he would see a dead chicken on the pavement above, a flat chicken, a round flat pancake of feathers and feet.
He put one hand over his face when he reached the top, shut his eyes as a truck rolled past, then slowly peered through his fingers.
There was something on the road, all right—a flat pancake of feet and fur. But it was black and white and smelly, and Charles didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. If it could happen to a skunk, it could happen to a chicken. He held his breath until he was down the bank again, and then walked slowly back to the shed.
6
A Very Close Call
Neither Cornelia, Deeter, nor Mindy had seen the chicken either. The four trudged back to the Morgans’ to find Father standing on the porch. Cornelia started to tell him what had happened and then remembered their agreement: If the chicken was missing, he didn’t want to know about it. Not until just before Mom’s birthday, anyway. It was their job to keep it secret and safe.
Father was carrying a suitcase in one hand and his sample case in the other and wore a big grin on his face. He worked for an advertising company, and his favorite line, when he walked into a business, was “How are you going to say ‘Merry Christmas’ to your favorite customers this year?” Then he would suggest a paperweight with a company’s name on the front in silver, or a calendar with a company’s name in gold. He would open his sample case to show the latest line of ballpoint pens and calendars and letter openers.
But right now he was saying, “I’m off to Peoria and Kankakee, but I’ll be back on Thursday.” He winked and tapped Cornelia on the head with his sample case. “Keep that chicken under your hat!” he said.
She gave him a faint smile and watched him back his car out of the driveway and head off down the street with a little toot of the horn. The four children sat down glumly on the front steps, heads in their hands.
“Good-bye, Starlight Park,” said Deeter. “Goodbye, Mad Hornet.”
“Good-bye, Red Devil and Whirl-o-Wheel and cotton candy and hot dogs,” said Charles.
“Good-bye, horse with the tassels on its head!” said Mindy, in a sorrowful voice. “I’ll never get to ride you after all.”
“Oh, stop it, all of you!” said Cornelia. “No-Name might come back yet. What we have to do is leave the shed door open in case she goes in looking for food.”
Not with all those bugs and worms she’s got to eat in the woods, thought Charles.
Deeter’s mom came walking across the front lawn. “Helen! Helen!” she called.
Mother came to the front door to see what she wanted.
Mrs. Delaney stood there in her shorts and sandals with a big smile on her face. She was as tall and skinny as the new tree by the side of the house.
“Helen, I know that your Tom is off on a business trip, so I want you and the children to come over and have dinner with Deeter and me tonight.”
“That sounds wonderful, Marjorie!” said Mother. “We’d love to.”
> “The most marvelous dinner just dropped right into my lap, practically,” Mrs. Delaney went on. “We’re going to have fried chicken.”
“Chicken?” gulped Charles.
“No!” cried Cornelia, leaping to her feet, while Mindy suddenly broke into tears.
Mrs. Morgan stared at her daughters. “What in the world...? Have you girls gone mad?”
But even Deeter was upset. “You didn’t have to kill it, Mom!” he said.
Now Mrs. Delaney was staring. “Good grief, somebody killed it, but it wasn’t me. I went to the supermart this morning, and the price of fryer chickens was so low I just had to get some. Bought two, in fact. Is your family vegetarian, Helen?”
“Not that I know of,” said Mother, “but around our house, anything could happen.” She turned to her daughters again. “What got into you?”
Cornelia looked chagrined. “I don’t know, Mother. We’re discombobulated today, I guess. Sorry, Mrs. Delaney.”
Charles was glad to know that somebody else could do something as stupid as leaving a shed door open, and could hardly keep from laughing.
But Cornelia was beside herself. When the mothers had gone inside to visit, she said, “We almost gave it away, Deeter! If we can’t keep it secret, how can Mindy?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Like your mom says, almost anything could happen. Between now and Friday, in particular. Especially if you’re discombobulated. Whatever that means.”
Mindy started to get up and go in the house for an ice cream bar, but found she had to pull to get away from the step.
“Yuck!” she cried, discovering that she had sat on a big wad of freshly chewed gum.
“Deeter!” Cornelia scolded, when she saw a smile spread slowly across her friend’s face.
“Sorry,” said Deeter, but he wasn’t. Not very. A guy who couldn’t shoot baskets till the trouble with Homer Scoates blew over had to have something to do.
At dinner that evening, the Morgan children arrived in fresh shirts with clean faces. Mrs. Delaney had prepared the best dinner that Charles had eaten in some time: fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans, pickles, and for dessert, a blueberry cobbler with thick cream.
Deeter’s mom towered over her end of the table.
“How are you liking it here now, Helen?” Mrs. Delaney asked. “Feeling settled?”
“Well, I do miss Dad’s farm, but Tom enjoys his new job so much that it was worth the move.”
“What you need is to get active in the Women’s Garden Club,” Mrs. Delaney said. “We’d be glad to have you. And of course there’s the choir at church and the book discussion group.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty to do just getting the house fixed up,” said Mother. “There’s never a dull moment with these kids to look after.” She and Deeter’s mother talked on about the price of milk and the best way to grow tomatoes, while the Morgan children enjoyed their dinner and Charles took seconds on everything.
Cornelia had just taken a bite of the warm blueberry cobbler when she thought she heard a noise outside the window—a noise like a gentle scratch, scratch, scratch. She took another bite and listened.
Scratch, scratch, scratch. The noise came again. This time Charles heard. He looked at Cornelia.
And then they both heard a low cluck, cluck, cluck.
The mothers were talking about peach preserves, and Cornelia rose quietly from her chair.
“Excuse me,” she said, “but I have to go to the bathroom.” She started toward the front door.
“It’s right at the top of the stairs to your left, dear,” said Mrs. Delaney, but Cornelia was outside in an instant.
Deeter’s mom turned to Mother. “She doesn’t like our bathroom?”
Mother looked embarrassed. “She just feels more comfortable in our own, I guess,” she said.
Charles got up next. “I have to go to the bathroom, too,” he said.
“What is it? My cobbler?” Mrs. Delaney asked in alarm.
Then Deeter stood up. “Excuse me,” he said.
“Deeter Delaney, if you want the bathroom, you use it over here,” ordered his mother, but Deeter went outside too, and finally only Mindy was left. She didn’t know what her sister and brother were up to, but right now she didn’t care. She was blueberry from the tip of her nose to the end of her chin, and there was a circle of ice cream around her mouth. She had never tasted anything so delicious.
Cornelia was the first to reach the side of the house, and she could hear the grown-ups talking through the open window. There, right by the flower bed, was No-Name as though nothing had happened. Cornelia put her finger to her lips as Deeter and Charles came up behind her.
“Shhhh,” she whispered. “They can’t see her from here. Get some feed from the shed and let’s try to lure her back there. If we grab her, she might squawk.”
Charles knew that this was a chance to redeem himself. He ran to the shed, filled his pockets with feed, and was back in a flash.
They made a thin trail of feed from where the crooked-legged chicken was standing and on around the house. Slowly, slowly the chicken pecked her way along the ground until finally—finally—she was out of range of the dining room window and Deeter pounced. A minute later she was in the shed once again with the door latched behind her.
Cornelia let her shoulders go limp and collapsed on the ground outside the shed. She and Charles and Deeter smiled at each other in relief.
“Did No-Name come back?” came Mindy’s voice as she ambled through the walnut trees, her face still streaked with blueberry.
“Yes, and you mustn’t say a word about it to anyone!” Cornelia warned her.
Mindy clapped her hands delightedly, and they started toward the house again to finish their dessert. But when they came around the bushes, they saw Mrs. Delaney and Mother standing on the back steps.
“What are you kids up to?” asked Mother. “You’re always out there by the creek.”
“We’re sort of making a summer camp. A place to hang out when it’s hot,” Deeter said.
“Actually,” added Cornelia, “we were just waiting for you and Mrs. Delaney to finish your dinner, and then we were coming in to do the dishes for you. After a dinner like that, the cook deserves a little rest.”
“Well, now isn’t that nice?” said Deeter’s mom. “I think we’ll just take them up on that, Helen.”
Cornelia’s mother shook her head. “I will never understand my children if I live to be one hundred. They can be totally mad one minute and charming the next.”
“Well, let’s go back in the living room and put our feet up,” said Mrs. Delaney.
They did, leaving Cornelia, Charles, Deeter, and Mindy staring at the pots and pans in the kitchen.
“You and your big mouth,” muttered Charles.
But Cornelia only grinned happily. “Think Red Devil. Think Screaming Cyclone. Think cotton candy and Ferris wheel and bumper cars and haunted house.”
It did make a difference to put their minds on something else, they discovered as they worked.
“I heard the Red Devil goes a hundred miles an hour,” said Charles.
“I heard there’s a real petrified hand in the haunted house,” said Deeter.
“I heard that there’s a straight vertical drop on the Screaming Cyclone,” said Cornelia, handing a soapy pan to Charles. “I think when we get to Starlight Park, I’ll buy an all-day ticket to the Cyclone and not ever get off till closing time.”
7
Camping Out
After the Morgans went back home, with Deeter tagging along in his baggy pants, the four children sprawled on the grass in the dusk.
“I wish Mom’s birthday was tomorrow,” said Charles. “No-Name’s going to drive us nuts.”
“Just five more days,” said Cornelia. “We’re doing fine.”
Mother called Mindy to come in for her bath, but the others chased after fireflies for a while. Cornelia liked to put them on her hands like jewelry,
and see them sparkle before they flew away. Deeter caught a firefly and put it in Charles’s ear. The firefly crawled down inside, and Cornelia had to hold a flashlight by his ear for five minutes to lure the bug out.
“Deeter!” she complained. “One of these days your teasing is going to get us in trouble!”
“Sorry,” said Deeter, but what was a little bug, after all?
On the other side of the Morgans’, Mr. and Mrs. Hoover came out on their patio to enjoy the evening breeze.
“You’ll never guess what we saw cross our yard about dinnertime,” Mr. Hoover called over to Cornelia, Charles, and Deeter.
“What?” asked Charles.
“A fox,” Mr. Hoover said.
“A fox? Here?” gasped Cornelia.
“Yep. A little red fox. Ran right across the yard and toward the trees in back. It’s after something, I can tell you.”
Mrs. Hoover laughed. “First he says he saw a chicken, and now he says he saw a fox. If you ask me, my husband needs a new pair of glasses. Only thing I’ve seen is a bunch of boys hanging around back there in the woods, one of them with a pair of binoculars. Playing spy, I’ll bet.”
Deeter gulped. He had no doubt that the boys Mrs. Hoover had seen were Homer Scoates and his gang, and they weren’t playing spy, they were spying! What he said to Cornelia, however, was, “Hoo boy! That fox is after something, all right, and we know what it is.”
“It can’t get in the toolshed, though, can it?” whispered Charles.
“There’s no floor in the shed, that’s what’s worrying me,” Deeter told him. “All that fox has to do is dig a hole in the dirt on the outside and crawl under. Then he’s got breakfast, lunch, and dinner just waiting for him.”
“What are we going to do?” cried Cornelia.
“Well, I sure can’t bring it in my house,” said Deeter. “The only thing I can think of is to take turns sleeping in the shed with it. Tell our moms we’re camping out. I’ll go first.”
The Great Chicken Debacle Page 3