Hens and Chickens Read online

  Rebecca knew it would be useless to continue the “Ryan cares for you” conversation, even in a more-subtle form. Lila was smart, sometimes too smart for her own good. Lila was also stiff-necked and stubborn. If she thought Rebecca was pushing her toward Ryan MacDonald, she would almost necessarily turn and run in the opposite direction. Rebecca allowed the subject to drop. “Which way do I go off the exit?”

  “We can only take a right off this exit,” Lila said. She shifted in her seat. “We’ve got to get a brand name for our new business,” she continued, intently. “What do you think of The Egg Ladies?”

  Rebecca thought a moment. “I always liked the word ‘ladies’ – it’s so old-fashioned,” she said.

  “That kills it, then.” They both laughed.

  “Thanks a lot,” said Rebecca. “You had me picturing myself all laced up in a Gunne Sax gown, collecting eggs from our adoring chickens. I knew I’d never get to own a Gunne Sax!”

  “What’s a gunny sack? Some type of a grain bag, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t know Gunne Sax?!”

  “Totally clueless.”

  Rebecca was momentarily transported to the charm of a past life, a by-gone era. She happily described the hippy-style gowns from the 70s and 80s to Lila. “The dresses were romantic; long and flowing, made with calico and lace and velvet, especially around the bodice,” Rebecca elaborated. “I always dreamed I would wear a pink and ivory dress with a black bodice and go tripping through a green pasture with Prince Charming.”

  “Sounds, um, sweet.”

  “It was sweet. But it was a very sweet time back then.” Rebecca sighed. “I couldn’t afford a Gunne Sax, though – they were terribly expensive. So I tried to sew one, but the dress ended up looking like something Lily Munster would wear. Plus those long dresses look much better on taller girls, like you, dear—doesn’t Route 202 take a turn to the left soon?”

  Lila glanced down at her phone. “Not yet – three more miles. Mmmm, Lily Munster. Not sure I like that image, but I’m seeing the long dress picture. It’s not bad. I almost think it’s something we can work with.”

  “I sewed most of Amber’s baby clothes, you know. I love to sew.”

  At the mention of Amber, Lila gave a little start forward in the passenger seat. “I can’t believe we’re doing this! So, what did she say? I bet Amber loved the idea of an organic egg farm in Maine!”

  Rebecca hesitated. “I told Amber we were going to Maine for the weekend, but I didn’t tell her I lost my job. I didn’t…”

  “What?! You didn’t tell Amber ‘The Plan?’” Lila interrupted. “I was counting on her support. I know how conservative you are, Becca!”

  “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, and I thought …” Rebecca broke off lamely. “I don’t know what I thought.”

  “She’s going to have to know sooner or later,” said Lila. “Especially about the losing-your-job part.”

  “Well, let it be later,” replied Rebecca, with a small but determined shake of her head. “At least until after the weekend. Do you think we should bring a hostess gift to your Twitter friend?” she asked, changing the subject. “That’s what I do when I go to visit someone.”

  “Of course you do; that is so totally 20th century! My aunt used to bring my mother a set of peach-colored bath soaps. She brought the same set every time,” said Lila. “But, hey, why not? Let’s get Miss Jan Hastings something. Who says we have to live in the mean and nasty 21st century?”

  “Who says the 21st century has to be mean and nasty?” countered Rebecca. “Who says we can’t make the 21st century what we want it to be?”

  “R-i-g-h-t,” said Lila, dryly. “What should we get for a hostess gift?”

  “Oh, I don’t know; I don’t know your Twitter friend. Plus I’m not sure how many shopping opportunities we’ll have before we get to Sovereign.”

  Lila regarded the rural landscape with a wry grin. “Good point,” she said. “Let’s just stop at the next store and see what they’ve got, OK?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “You’re going to love Miss Jan Hastings, Becca,” Lila continued, her enthusiasm waxing as the distance to Sovereign waned. “I just know it!”

  Rebecca smiled. “I’m prepared to fall in love with her immediately.”

  “I’ve been reading her tweets for a couple of years, feeling the envy grow inside me, hating my job; hating everything about my life—except you,” Lila added quickly. “Wanting to kiss corporate America good-bye, yet not knowing where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do. Feeling as though I didn’t belong, that I was lost in a world that was growing stranger and stranger …”

  “ ‘curiouser and curiouser’ like Alice in Wonderland…”

  “Exactly! Except whenever I followed Miss Hastings’ tweets, and then I felt as though I belonged in her little world, and that I should be the one taking her and Matilda to school to see the kindergarteners, or stopping in at Ma Jean’s Restaurant to get a piece of apple pie and learn the local gossip, or worrying about the foxes…”

  Lila broke off and gazed out the window.

  Rebecca glanced at the pensive face of her friend, and knew Lila wasn’t seeing the snow-covered landscape that whizzed past. The pine trees. The frozen lake. The empty cottages, waiting for summer visitors. “I hope you’re not going to be disappointed, Lila,” she cautioned.

  Lila shook herself back to the present. Her laugh had a sharp edge to it. “Of course I’m going to be disappointed – we’re all going to be disappointed! That’s the way of the world, these days. EVERYBODY is disappointed in life.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” said Rebecca, quietly.

  “No?” challenged Lila.

  “No.”

  “Prove me wrong, then. Do this with me, and I’ll never ask you for anything else again. Please, Becca!”

  Rebecca was thoughtful. “You know I’d do this crazy adventure and a whole lot more to make you happy, and … and … to maybe help you find some sort of a settled life.”

  “Translated from Rebecca-speak: ‘Find a man and settle down and have babies,’” Lila said, drily. “I know, I know what you’re thinking – you think I might find love and romance in Sovereign, Maine. You just can’t stay away from that ‘Lila needs a lover’ mantra!”

  “Lila needs a solid, steady partner, not a lover,” Rebecca corrected. “And if he happens to turn out to be a lover—well, so much the better!”

  They both laughed. Suddenly, Lila spotted the junction sign for Route 9/202. “Turn left up there,” she said, pointing to an up-coming intersection.

  Rebecca slowed her vehicle, and pulled over into the left-hand turn lane. “Is this it?”

  “This is it!” said Lila. “Let’s go see what Sovereign, Maine can do for BOTH of us. Who knows, you might even find a ‘solid, steady partner’ yourself!”

  “Me?!” Rebecca said, blushing. She felt a thrill of … what? … pulsating through her. Hope? Excitement? New life?

  Funny, it had never occurred to Rebecca that she might find love and romance in Sovereign, Maine!

  Chapter 4

  Sovereign, Maine

  As Rebecca Johnson and Lila Woodsum turn onto Route 9/202 to wend their way up through the picturesque central Maine towns of Albion, Unity and Troy – shaking the dust of corporate America off their feet (and possibly their old way of life) – perhaps this is a good time for us to take a little turn ourselves. Perhaps, my pips, you’ll allow me a fleeting divergence as I describe to you their destination, Sovereign, Maine, and the way of life toward which they are motoring.

  In beginning, I must point out that there is no longer a town center in Sovereign, so if you are expecting to see a country village with charming shops and brick houses, such as in neighboring Unity, for example, you’ll be disappointed. For public buildings, the town of Sovereign now boasts only four: the post office, the elementary school, the Union Church, and the volunteer fire station. Each of these four est
ablishments stands independent like sentinels on four different corners in town. There is also Gilpin’s General Store, situated halfway through Sovereign on the main road, Route 9/202, and which acts as the glue that holds the community together.

  Sovereign, like its neighbors Troy and Thorndike, is a farming community, with the prospect of miles of rolling pasture ground relieved only by private and town wood lots, a brook or two (and more than the requisite number of vernal pools and frog ponds) and a few rolling hills on the Dixmont side of town. A long-shuttered pea canning factory lingers near the abandoned train station as though hoping to hear the revived hiss from the steam engines. I will not say that Sovereign is NOT picturesque – especially in the sweet greenery of June when the scent of fresh-cut hay is in the air and the dairy cows lounge in the cool shade of gray clapboarded barns. But natural physical beauty is not that which has put Sovereign on the map. No, it is the character of Sovereign’s residents – an inner beauty – for which the town is known, and which has ensnared many wayward hearts (including my own).

  There are places in the world populated entirely by good people—people whose natural inclinations are compassionate, kind and thoughtful. Evil does not exist in these communities, having never been able to get a toehold here despite many varied and numerous runs at it over the centuries. These places are like frost-pockets of goodness, where the killing frost comes just in time to quench all budding attempts at small-mindedness and mean spiritedness. No one knows for sure what has allowed these few places in the developed world to flourish in their innocence and decency, but most of us believe that – somewhere – these places exist. Sovereign, Maine, home to Miss Jan Hastings and 1,047 other souls, is one of these places.

  If you were ask Wendell Russell, 64, a direct descendant of the original 18th century settlers of Sovereign (and Miss Hastings’ neighbor to the south on the Russell Hill Road), Wendell would probably credit this phenomena to something special in the soil – the soil which fed the trees and the corn and the cattle and ultimately the people of Sovereign that contributed to (or maybe even caused) this “kindness gene” in the good-hearted DNA of Sovereign descendants. “Wal, you know, they was all eatin’ the same peas, beans and corn when they stahted out,” Wendell would explain. “Or maybe ‘twas the apples, ‘cause, you know, they all shared the same pips back then.”

  They all shared the same pips back then.

  I have often wondered over the years if perhaps the early settlers of Sovereign shared back then because they had to share. Perhaps those folks necessarily learned to squash the natural greedy instincts with which we are all encumbered, and, by such squashing, the less-hardy traits of self-denial and grace were enabled to grow. Perhaps the early settlers, who, in 1790, pushed the boundary of white civilization when they moved out past Fort Halifax into the wild, unorganized territory of the District of Maine, recognized that they were dependent upon one another. They knew that fellowship mattered; that one man by himself would likely fail in this wilderness environment – especially in the God awful winters – but that a community might survive if they stuck together. Perhaps during one long, forsaken winter they awakened to the universal truth (which is so often overlooked or discarded) that it doesn’t matter which man owns the most oxen or which woman has the prettiest ribbons on her bonnet or which child is the smartest—no. None of that matters in the end. What matters in the end is how many times in this life we have said “I love you;” how many burdens carried by others we have offered to share; how many kind words we have bestowed upon children, the downtrodden and the elderly.

  There are those, of course (especially in neighboring Unity), who claim that religion is at the root of the modern day conviviality and goodness of the citizens of Sovereign. Some of these diviners point out that Sovereign was settled by Universalists (such as Miss Hastings’ family), whose steadfast belief in the doctrine of universal Christian salvation for all mankind likely encouraged the humanist notions of empathy and charity to abound. There are other oracles, however, who swear that the first settlers in the area were Quakers (Wendell Russell’s ancestors), who migrated to Sovereign from Philadelphia via Massachusetts and who brought with them into the wilderness brotherly love and acceptance of all.

  But despite what some might think (given my sacred profession) I don’t believe that organized religion has had a hand in creating the benevolence that exists today in Sovereign, Maine. I believe it was more likely a smaller appendage, the pint-sized hand of a trusting child tucked inside the calloused paw of a parent or friend or neighbor, which beget the goodness of this community, a community in which kindness, forbearance and mercy have always been—sovereign.

  You might suspect, then, that Sovereign folks are vigilant against marauding bands of evil and greed, and are quick to bolt their doors lest one snake in the garden despoil the whole spot. But if you think that, “you’d be wrong,” as Wendell Russell would say, chuckling at the notion of locking his door, which doesn’t even have the hardware for such a queer operation.

  Sovereign folks have always been welcoming folks (and I know this from personal experience). It doesn’t matter who you are or where you harken from or even how often you beat your dog or curse your wife – you are gladly received into communal fellowship. For Sovereign folks know that Evil cannot stand and look Good in the face. Wickedness always averts its eyes before the divinity of Love, which is Lord of All. Evil requires fear upon which to feed, much like a vampire requires fresh blood, and when a soul seeks shelter in love it has nothing to fear.

  Therefore, miraculously, the thieves who move to Sovereign become philanthropists, giving away 10 times all they ever thought to steal; the swindlers revert to upstanding citizens and members of the Board of Selectmen; the gossips and back-stabbers transform into harbingers of good news, ferreting out all the spots in Sovereign where the fiddleheads and mushrooms are hiding and sharing that precious information with their neighbors; and the liars and the cowards convert to Methodism and develop altruistic and self-abnegating streaks that occasionally have to be treated with doses of blackstrap molasses, especially in February (so perhaps there is some small validity to the theory that organized religion has benefited Sovereign).

  When the hippies arrived en masse from the Eastern cities in the ‘70s, Sovereign folks found their alternative, back-to-the-land lifestyle refreshing and rejuvenating. Instead of driving the young people away or shunning them like some other Maine communities, residents of Sovereign welcomed the hippies, enjoying the opportunity of revisiting the forgotten arts of homesteading – the cabin building, the root cellaring, the butter churning, the maple sugaring – arts that had been passed down by their ancestors for nearly 200 years but which had been in danger of becoming extinct in the 20th century. Sovereign folks, especially the old timers, thought it was a “darn good chance” to have the hippies homestead in Sovereign, bringing the past back to life, and thus once again the town’s open-door policy enlarged the general goodness of the community.

  Perhaps, at this point, you might be raising “a doubter of truth,” as Wendell Russell would say; a yellow caution flag. Perhaps you might be secretly suggesting to yourself something such as: Why – if the town of Sovereign is so truly good and gracious – why aren’t more than 1,048 souls living there? Why doesn’t everybody live there?

  Why doesn’t everybody live there?

  Unfortunately, this is not a question I can answer. For I do live in Sovereign, now, in an old homestead on the Cross Road. But if you do not inhabit our benevolent community, perhaps you can answer that, or answer the even more germane: Why is my town not more like Sovereign?

  You might also be conjecturing to yourself: If goodness and mercy are as catching as the storyteller claims (like the measles), why has charity not infected every community throughout the world?

  Alas, I cannot answer that question, either. I myself have often wondered why everyone has not cast aside smallness and meanness of spirit and embraced uncondition
al love. I suspect, however, it is because we are humans, and for some reason, we humans are more attracted to the glitter of gold than to the dull grunge of charity.

  (Forgive me, I am now stepping briefly up onto my soap box…)

  Even as I write this little tale, I can hear fear-mongers beating the drums of bigotry and narrow-mindedness so loudly that some citizens have armed themselves with pistols and semi-automatic weapons to use against one another. My Quaker spirit revolts thinking that brother is now prepared to rise up against brother, and father against son! What is this: what is this, I ask, if not the sly, sneaky hand of greed at work broadcasting ignorance and fear, so that the purveyor of this distress might benefit from fear’s largess?

  But fear cannot – will not – gain its desired end. For evil has a way of swallowing itself up completely, like the Cheshire Cat, and someday – SOMEDAY, I promise! – evil will disappear altogether from the face of the earth!

  But we must help, my pips; we must help.

  We must be kind. We must be compassionate. We must be thoughtful. We must be just. We must not be small-minded or mean-spirited. We must not give evil a toehold in our communities. We must act in a communal spirit of love and fellowship that acts as a killing frost. We must create our own frost pockets of goodness.

  With our help, the tide will turn. Already, there is an undertow of mercy at work scrubbing evil from our hearts, washing the meanness of the 20th century – the greed, the self-indulgence, the fear – safely out to sea. This sandblasting of a new heaven and a new earth in the 21st century will take some time, requiring from all of us patience, courage, hope, forbearance, love, black flies—and a sense of humor.

  And in the meanwhile, the folks of Sovereign will keep their doors unlocked.

  Chapter 5

  Mike Hobart

  Shortly before dusk on that same Friday, our hero, 30-year-old Mike Hobart, pulled his late model baby blue pickup truck into the near-empty parking lot at Gilpin’s General Store, a 110-year-old mercantile situated, as I have mentioned, about halfway into the bounded settlement of Sovereign on Route 9/202. During Sovereign’s heyday of 1910-1950 (when the population broke the 2,000 threshold), five general stores operated in strategic locations around the 10-square-mile settlement, including two near the old train station. Now, however, only Gilpin’s remained. Yet sadly even this legendary landmark was threatened with extinction, thanks to the advent of big box stores and the ever-widening shock waves of the Great Recession.