Hens and Chickens Page 5

  “Uh, totally. Just what I pictured . . . oops,” Lila said as they drove by the intersection for Route 7, the Moosehead Trail. “I think we’ve gone too far.” Lila regarded her phone. “We should have taken a right turn a couple of miles back onto Russell Hill Road, sorry—I spaced it.”

  Rebecca turned around at the next driveway and within five minutes they were lumbering slowly up the Russell Hill Road, a secondary back road that was lined with snow-covered stone walls and ancient maple trees. The sun had set, and Rebecca proceeded cautiously as the light quickly evaporated from the evening sky. “I didn’t realize how dark it is in the country without street lights,” she said, laughing nervously.

  Lila spotted the shoulder of a full moon pushing its way up the eastern horizon. “Don’t worry, there’s a full moon on the way up,” she said. As Lila gazed at the ethereal moon, all her negative thoughts evaporated. Instead, she felt a germinating sense of wonder and belonging.

  “How do you know the moon is rising, Ms. Nature?” Rebecca teased.

  Lila tittered, like a jubilant chickadee. “ ‘Cause I can see it through trees!” She pointed to the crest of the moon now clearly visible through a stand of pine trees halfway up the hill. The waxen moon was rising fast, and looked like a roving spotlight as it glided up the hill. Lila’s heart skipped a beat. “Stop a sec, will you?”

  Rebecca obliged, and Lila rolled down her window and breathed in a lung-full of sharp, fresh winter air. “Ahhhh!” she exclaimed. “Now THAT is the smell of liberty!”

  “It’s certainly a far cry from Boston,” agreed Rebecca. “Or even Roxbury, for that matter.”

  While the two friends sat companionably in the parked car, the fat moon slipped up beyond the outstretched fingers of the treetops and floated majestically in the night sky. Lila spied a pair of white tail deer cavorting under a gnarled crabapple tree in the sparkling snow-covered field to her right. She pointed the deer out to Rebecca, exclaiming; “I haven’t seen a deer since I was a kid!” The two deer, hearing Lila’s high-pitched voice through the open car window, scampered off to the safety of the thick woods that lined the far edge of the field.

  “Omigod, look at that tree, Becca!”

  A hundred yards up, on the left hand side of the road, an ancient maple tree was split dramatically in half and stood like a sentinel, with one thickset arm raised to the sky and the other bent graciously to the ground. Into the devastated grounded limb, some imp had carved steps into the wood, creating a set of stairs that led up into the leaf-less canopy of the tree.

  “The tree is welcoming us!” cried Lila.

  “It is very unusual,” said Rebecca, putting the car in gear and proceeding cautiously up the hill toward the split maple tree.

  “Hey, there’s a big old house in back there,” Lila continued eagerly, leaning forward in her seat. “I don’t see any lights, though. Maybe it’s a foreclosed home?”

  Rebecca’s gaze moved beyond the broken maple to examine the darkly-shadowed mass of multiple large buildings set back 50 feet from the road. “It looks pretty run down,” she said, hesitantly.

  “Omigod, this must be the old homestead Miss Hastings wants us to buy! Pull in the driveway!”

  “Oh, do you think we should? Isn’t Miss Hastings expecting us?”

  Lila felt a struggle within herself. Part of her wanted the immediate gratification of seeing the possibilities that awaited them. The other part, however – Lila’s better nature combined with her long-standing habit of timeliness – won out. “Keep going; we’re late already,” she said, dropping back into her seat. “I told Miss Hastings we’d be here by 5:00 and it’s nearly 5:30, now!”

  “I think it’s best to see the place tomorrow, in the daylight. Maybe it will look … better. And we certainly don’t want to keep Miss Hastings waiting.”

  “You’re right, Becca, as usual.”

  A half mile further up the road, just beneath the crest of Russell Hill, Miss Jan Hastings’ shingled two-story cottage hove into view. The former music teacher’s residence was an awkward design, looking as though two very different houses had grappled for the same foundation, and, neither having won, agreed to share the same spot, cold-heartedly embracing one another. Frozen snow crunched beneath the car tires as Rebecca pulled carefully into the narrow curved driveway. Light spilled cheerfully from multiple windows in the antique cottage as though a merry party was underway inside. Rebecca parked the car next to an attached side shed near an obvious break in the snow bank, which – although not the front door – signaled the common entrance. Before she and Lila could unbuckle their seatbelts, however, the side door flew open allowing bright light to escape and spilling a short black shadow across the white snow.

  “Hello, dahrrrlings!” a full-bodied woman’s voice called, by way of a greeting. “I’d offer to help you with your things but I’ve got my slippers on!” Loud gleeful laughter followed. “Come in, come in, you DAHRRRLINGS!”

  Lila and Rebecca exchanged glances. Was this—Miss Jan Hastings?

  Rebecca obediently picked up her purse, exited the car and crunched up the snowy path to the shed. Lila, however, took a moment to gather her overnight bag from the trunk, and, as her eyes became accustomed to the light, surreptitiously examined her Twitter friend. If this was Miss Hastings, the woman was nothing like Lilia had pictured! Jan Hastings was closer to 80 than 60, with an elfin frame and wiry gray-black hair that looked like wriggling worms trying to escape a fork of turned up earthen sod. Most astonishingly to Lila, Miss Hastings was dressed in a smart black wool suit complemented by a frilly white blouse, and sported oversized chicken slippers on her nylon stocking feet. Miss Hastings was so obviously a singular character that, even if Lila hadn’t known anything about her at all, she would have warmed to her immediately.

  “You must be SO tired, poor dahrrrlings,” Miss Hastings gushed, shooing Rebecca into the house. She stood vigil at the door stoop, however, awaiting Lila. “Matilda and I thought you’d nevvver get here!”

  When Lila reached Miss Hastings’ outstretched arthritic hands at the shed door she was moved by an inexplicable feeling of tenderness. She dropped her bag on the shed floor, reached down and hugged the tiny woman. “I’m so glad to meet you, at last,” Lila said, sincerely.

  “Dahrrrling!” cried Miss Hastings, squeezing Lila’s cold fists affectionately with her warm, knobby hands. “Let me look at you—you’re even lovelier than I thought! Come in, dahrrrlings! Come in!”

  Lila felt hot tears fill her eyes, and she brushed them away. I’m home, she thought. I’m safe!

  “Here’s Matilda, waiting for you!” said Miss Hastings, leading them from the shed into a small mudroom.

  The shed had been bright, but the mudroom was lit by a single 40-watt incandescent bulb and Lila blinked to help her eyes adjust to the sudden dimness. She noted a Shaker-style coat rack, draped with several scarves and shawls, and a large dark object in the corner. The room smelled like sweet sawdust.

  Miss Hastings pulled a dark cloth from the object in the corner, and a faint chirping could be heard. “Wake up, dahrrrling – we have visitors!” A caged, black and white hen blinked once or twice, and then hopped down from her perch onto the sawdust.

  “Oh, she was asleep!” said Rebecca. “You shouldn’t have woken her up on our account!”

  “Well, we won’t spend too much time with her because I just know you’re hungry and tired! But I just couldn’t resist introducing you.”

  “Hey, Matilda,” said Lila, schootching down on the floor next to the large wire cage. “I’ve seen your picture and heard all about you!” The hen began hopping and clucking in response, sending sawdust flying everywhere. “Omigod, she’s so cute,” Lila added.

  Lila stuck her finger into the cage and waggled it in a friendly fashion. Matilda cocked her head sideways and eyed the worm-like digit. She clucked disapprovingly, then darted forward and attempted to grasp Lila’s finger with her yellow beak.

  “Hey, she BIT me!
” Lila said, withdrawing her finger quickly with a disconcerted laugh.

  “She probably thought your finger was a worm,” said Rebecca quickly, excusing the chicken.

  “Poor dahrrrling! Did she hurt you? She just wants some treats—I’ve spoiled her. Here, like this,” said Miss Hastings. She mysteriously produced a shiny black seed from her suit pocket and pushed it through the wire bars. Matilda leaped forward, grasped the seed as though it was a bug, and immediately gobbled it down. Miss Hastings cackled with laughter; “Matilda LOVES sunflower seeds!”

  Her words reminded Lila of the 50-pound bag of black oil sunflower seeds that the friendly Mike from Gilpin’s General Store had slung effortlessly into the back seat of the car. “I almost forgot – we brought you a hostess gift,” she said.

  “You dahrrrlings! You didn’t need to bring me ANYTHING – just your wonderful selves!”

  “It’s for Matilda,” Lila said. “A bag of sunflower seeds. Some guy named Mike – Mike Hobart – is going to come by tomorrow and unload them.”

  “Mike Hobart—what a dahrrrling boy! He built the most WONDERFUL cabin in the woods on the other side of town. We’re so fortunate that he’s stayed on in Sovereign after he graduated from Unity College!”

  “He built his own cabin?” asked Lila, becoming interested, in spite of herself.

  “Oh, yes! From pine trees that he cut all from his very own land! He’s so industrious, just like the boys used to be in MY day,” said Miss Hastings. “Now THAT was a VERRRY long time ago!” Once again, she broke into a gale of hearty laughter.

  Rebecca nudged Lila, her blue eyes carrying an unmistakable communication: See? Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge him!

  “He seemed very nice,” said Rebecca.

  “A simply DAHRRRLING boy,” repeated Miss Hastings. “But tell me again, why is Mike stopping by tomorrow?”

  “To unload the bag; it’s pretty heavy – 50 pounds,” said Lila.

  “OOoo, my goodness, 50 pounds – haaaahaaaa!” Miss Hastings burst into laughter again. “OOoo, I see – well, it’s perfectly understandable!”

  “Not to me,” said Lila, confused.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not following, either,” added Rebecca.

  “Dahrrrling, that 50-pound bag of birdseed will outlast both me AND Matilda!”

  Lila felt herself blushing. He had made them buy a 50-pound bag just so he could have an excuse to come over tomorrow!

  Embarrassed, Lila leaned forward to hide her blush. She picked up a few black seeds that had somehow escaped onto the mudroom floor and tossed them back into the cage. Matilda immediately jumped on the sunflower seeds. The bird swallowed the seeds whole, cocked her head at Lila and squawked for more. Lila laughed. “Totally cute,” she said. “I can see why you love her!”

  “Back to sleep, you little rascal!” said Miss Hastings, draping the black cloth over Matilda’s cage. “Come into the kitchen, dahrrrlings, and we’ll get you poor things something to eat, too!”

  In the large, eat-in kitchen, Rebecca and Lila were met by a blast of dry heat from an antique black wood cookstove. A copper tea kettle steamed merrily atop the stove, while a pot of corn chowder, which had been set expectantly on the bun warmer, sent the sweet scent of buttery corn throughout the kitchen. A round oak table with matching pressed-back oak chairs was set cheerily for three diners.

  Lila dropped her overnight bag onto the aged-gold linoleum floor, and leaned toward the scorching woodstove. “Ahhhh, I could get used to this!”

  Miss Hastings wagged a knobby index finger toward a Canadian rocker, judiciously situated between the woodstove and a kitchen window. The rocker was piled high with soft green cushions. “Sit right there, Lila,” said Miss Hastings. “You’ll have toasty toes in no time!”

  Without waiting to be invited twice, Lila unbuttoned her pea coat, slipped it off and plopped into the rocker. “Wake me when it’s breakfast time,” she said.

  “Shouldn’t we take our boots off?” worried Rebecca.

  “OOoo, don’t be silly! I want you to be perfectly at home, dahrrrling,” said Miss Hastings, as she moved spritely about the kitchen, preparing to put the meal on the table.

  “Rebecca DOES take her boots off at home,” interjected Lila.

  “Rebecca! Yes, my poor dahrrrling,”said Miss Hastings, removing a pitcher of cold milk from the fridge and setting it on the table. “I know all about you! Well, you can take your boots off if you want to.”

  Rebecca stepped onto a red braided rug, pulled off her neat ankle boots and set them next to the front door. “Oh?” she said, in a curious manner. “What has Lila tweeted about me?” She shrugged out of her coat, and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair.

  “OOoo, I know EVERYTHING, don’t I, Lila?!” said Miss Hastings, cackling gleefully again. “I know all about that mean old boss, calling you into her office this morning and giving you the boot! After 16 years!”

  “At least she helped me carry my things to the car,” Rebecca said smiling. “That’s more than Joe Kelly, our vice president—he didn’t even say ‘goodbye’!”

  “Tight-fisted old twit!” sympathized Miss Hastings. “We’ll show him, won’t we, Lila?”

  “Totally!” said Lila. She stretched her long legs luxuriously, like a cat, and contentedly surveyed the mustard-colored room. The kitchen sported brightly figured red and yellow curtains that matched the table cloth, and was decorated with chicken and rooster themed knick-knacks and tchotchkes. Lila felt completely at home.

  “Isn’t there something I can do to help, Miss Hastings?” asked Rebecca. “We didn’t mean for you to go to so much trouble for us!”

  “OOoo, please call me Jan, dahrrrling!” replied Miss Hastings. “Nobody calls me Miss Hastings, except for my former students – which – haaaahaaa! - are most of the people in Sovereign!” She cackled again. Her voice had the full-bodied richness of an opera singer.

  “Mike Hobart told us EVERYONE calls you Miss Hastings,” Lila said.

  “That dahrrrling boy!”

  “And I think ‘Miss Hastings’ is lovely,” added Rebecca. “It has such old-fashioned charm to it—that’s what I’m going to call you!”

  “Me too,” said Lila.

  The modest meal went off splendidly. Homemade corn chowder was complemented by a loaf of Amish-made whole wheat bread and farm butter. When the supper things were cleared away, Lila retreated to her rocker by the stove while Rebecca and Miss Hastings settled in at the kitchen table over dainty teacups of black tea.

  “Lila says that you were a music teacher in town, Miss Hastings?” Rebecca said, stirring a large dollop of raspberry honey into her tea.

  “OOoo, yes!” Miss Hastings exclaimed, joyfully. She waggled her knobby finger at Rebecca. “I know every single child in town by name – AND I know their children and grandchildren!” She burst into gales of laughter again.

  “Are you still teaching?” Rebecca asked.

  “Thank goodness, NO! I retired YEARS ago. I should really be dead by now –- haaahaaa! – I’m 87!”

  “Omigod!” cried Lila, who had only been half listening, but now was startled by this piece of information into sitting upright in the rocker. “Eighty-seven? That is totally amazing!”

  “Lila!” expostulated Rebecca.

  “Don’t stop her—I ADORE honesty! That’s why I ADORE children. They’re nothing BUT honest! Just the opposite of all those mean, nasty politicians and corporations!”

  “You got that right,” agreed Lila.

  “Matilda and I still go to school two or three times a year, just to get our honesty FIX!”

  “You take Matilda to school?” Rebecca said. “Oh, I bet the children love that!”

  “OOoo, the dahrrrlings; they do get SO excited when they see Matilda! We sing. We dance. We parade! We do WONDERFUL things!”

  Lila sank back into the rocker and closed her eyes, listening abstractedly to Miss Hastings and Rebecca chat about children, teaching and music. Lila
had formed an image of her Twitter-mate in her mind over the years, and she had discovered during the last hour that Miss Jan Hastings was soo NOT the masculine, work-booted chicken-lover she had imagined but a petite, educated, dynamo of a woman who definitely marched to the beat of her own drum.

  I wonder what I’ll be like when I’M her age? Lila mused to herself. Will I be even half as lovable and fun?

  Lila’s thoughts wandered of their own accord back to the unexpected meeting with Mike Hobart, who had tricked them into buying the largest size of birdseed so that he could have an excuse to see her again. Lila tried to convince herself that she was mad at him, but she failed. Neat trick, she said to herself, impressed by his ingenuity.

  But … would someone like Mike Hobart – if he did come to love her – still feel the same way in ten years? Twenty years? Thirty years? Forty years? Lila wondered.

  At this point in her life, Lila wasn’t interested in any kind of romantic relationship. Still less was she interested in casual sex. She had her reasons, and they were good reasons. Lila believed that her attitude toward sex, romance and dating was nobody’s business but her own (not even Rebecca’s). She was aware that most men thought she had a chip on her shoulder. But if they only knew! The burden she was carrying was more like a mountain, than a chip!

  A tangled mess of painful thoughts and feelings rose up in Lila as she toasted her waif-like frame by Miss Hastings’ cookstove. While half-listening to the conversation between Miss Hastings and Rebecca, Lila flashed back to a recent “dating” experience from the winter, just prior to her friendship with the new corporate attorney Ryan McDonald. After much encouragement, Lila had accompanied some young friends to a bar, friends who had been pushing her to “get out and meet some men.” When her friends abandoned her for the dance floor, Lila was approached by a well-dressed, well-heeled accountant, who, with gin and tonic in hand, confidently appropriated the vacated seat next to her.

  After the usual blather of introductions, the accountant smirked and offered to buy Lila a drink. Bothered by the whole “dating” charade, Lila decided to put her cards on the table. “Look, if you’re just here for sex, don’t waste time on me,” she said, honestly. “I don’t care what happens tonight, I’m not going to have sex with you. So, if sex is all you want—feel free to go find someone else.”