Hens and Chickens Page 6

  No sooner were the words out of Lila’s mouth than the accountant stood up, collected his drink, and hustled off after another prospect. He never said “goodbye” – and he never looked back.

  Lila cringed at the recollection. What would Mike Hobart say if I threw the same announcement at him? Lila wondered. Would he, too, pick up his “toys” and walk away?

  Or maybe – just maybe – might there be HOPE here in Sovereign, Maine?

  Chapter 7

  The First Day of the Rest of Her Life

  Lila awoke early the next morning to the sound of—quiet; complete and absolute stillness. It was almost as though the cozy corner bedroom was soundproofed, and for a few moments the quiet had an unsettling effect on her.

  But as Lila snuggled deeper into the generous featherbed of the Rose Room – enjoying the smell and sensation of the crisp, clothesline-dried sheets on her brass bed – she gradually came to hear a most amazing sound: the beating of her own heart! Lila listened to the regular thump-thump-thump of that steady organ and wondered: When was the last time I listened to my heart beat? A thrill of happiness pervaded Lila’s being, and her heart picked up its tempo in response.

  The Rose Room was every bit as lovely as Lila had pictured. The wall paper was a blushing antique ivory, strewn with bouquets of wine-colored roses that trailed fragile, fairy-like green stems. A ruby red painted floor peeped out beneath a multi-colored, hand-braided rug, and the painted trim around the ceilings and windows was a muted off-white. Old-fashioned lace curtains adorned the two matching windows, one of which – the tall one – faced east, and the other was a smaller, dormer window facing south. The corner room had a slanted ceiling into which the dormer was set, and the room was sparsely but tastefully furnished with two antique chairs and a pine dresser with matching, attached mirror. A blanket chest, which was tucked under the slanted ceiling, boasted several black and white framed family photos and a dish of rose-scented potpourri. Enchanted, Lila lay back upon the feather pillows and tucked the pink patchwork quilt up under her neck.

  I wish I was a kid again! Lila thought. Hot tears filled her eyes, tears for the innocence she had lost in childhood. She dashed them away, angrily, but not before tasting the warm wet salt of despair.

  I’m not going to feel sorry for myself anymore! Lila vowed. The time-worn (but no less useful) quote popped into her head: “Today is the first day of the rest of your life!” Lila repeated the phrase several times to herself until she gradually came to believe that its meaning might just possibly be relevant, even for her situation.

  Maybe it’s not too late to be a kid again. Lila thought. After all, look at Miss Hastings! She’s still a kid – and she’s 87!

  A faint knocking at the bedroom door interrupted Lila’s musings.

  “Lila? Are you awake?” whispered Rebecca. She opened the door slowly and peeked inside. “Isn’t this wonderful?”

  “Totally awesome,” said Lila. She saw that her barefoot friend was shivering in her white cotton nightgown. Lila patted the spot in bed next to her. “Quick, get in here before you freeze to death!”

  Rebecca scooted into bed and the two women giggled as they pulled the covers up to their necks. The sun was just beginning to send searching golden rays over the swaying tops of the pine trees, which were visible through the eastern-facing window.

  “I feel like I went to sleep and woke up in Never Never Land!” exclaimed Rebecca. “Do you think Miss Hastings will let us live here forever?”

  “The question is,” said Lila, “will Miss Hastings LIVE forever!”

  Both women giggled again. “She already has, hasn’t she?” replied Rebecca.

  “Can you imagine anything more totally amazing!”

  “How does she do it, I wonder? Do you think she eats a lot of honey-bee propolis? I’ve heard that’s supposed to have wonderful medicinal effects?”

  Lila absently traced the outline of a rose on the wallpaper above her head. “I think she’s just a kid that never grew up,” she said. “Miss Hastings is the female version of Peter Pan.” Lila paused, her hand dropping to the quilt. “Do you think we get a chance to start over in life, Becca?” she asked, earnestly.

  Rebecca laughed, her tousled mop of loose brown hair making her appear 10 years younger than her 48. “I hope so, because I already have!”

  “No, seriously.”

  “Seriously! But let’s not go there. It’s such a lovely start to the day and I don’t want to dredge up old stuff—for either of us. Let’s just agree that ‘starting over’ is a necessary and welcome part of the human experience and decide – to – start – over – today!” Rebecca emphasized her statement by pulling her feather pillow out from under her head and lightly bopping Lila over the head with it.

  “PILLOW FIGHT!” exclaimed Lila. She responded by whacking Rebecca over the head in return and a playful battle ensued. White down feathers flew like fat April snow.

  The house beneath them had been quiet, but, suddenly – in the midst of the pillow fight – a muted sound of music was heard from a distance below. “That sounds like someone practicing their scales,” said Rebecca, pillow arrested in mid-air. “It’s coming from the studio, that funny-looking part of the house where Miss Hastings used to give piano lessons.”

  “Omigod, do you think it’s her?” said Lila. “Her hands are sooo arthritic.”

  “Where there’s a will—there’s a way,” replied Rebecca. “It’s either Miss Hastings or a ghost playing her baby grand piano since there’s nobody else but us in the house! Shhh, let’s listen.” Rebecca clutched her pillow to her chest and sank down onto her knees on the thick mattress. The scales ended abruptly, and were soon replaced by a light-hearted and lively piano concerto. The two women listened in worshipful silence.

  “Oh, my goodness! That’s ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’,” gushed Rebecca. “It’s Rachmaninoff’s arrangement of Mendelssohn’s Opus 21!”

  Lila nodded, dumbly. The exquisite music had unlocked something deep inside her, something that had been hidden away for nearly 20 years. A little girl was slipping out from behind iron bars and moving ethereally from Lila’s flesh into the dusty motes of light that expanded through the eastern window. Lila’s heart hurt, and she pressed her hand to her chest to keep her heart from breaking.

  Oh, no! Oh, no! she cried, silently. Don’t go! Don’t leave me!

  The vision – an eight-year-old dark-haired, pony-tailed girl in a red sweater and Oshkosh B’Gosh® blue jeans – turned and lifted her chubby hand to Lila in a cheerful greeting.

  Why, she’s saying, ‘Hello!’ noted Lila to herself. She isn’t GOING; she’s COMING—coming home to me!

  There are very few of us who remember the day, the moment, when our childhood ends. For most of us, the sun sets on our innocence gradually, sliding down over the western horizon like a toboggan run down over a long, steep slope. We are never really conscious of the moment we reach the bottom of the slope; we just know that one day we wake up and the toboggan ride is over. For a few unfortunate children, however, the loss of innocence is so tragic and dramatic, that it is a miniature Hiroshima which is etched upon the back of their eyelids forever. Alas, our heroine Lila Woodsum was one of these children!

  However, whether or not the loss of childhood innocence is duly noted and recorded in our diaries, the day in our adulthood in which our childlike sense of trust and wonder is reborn is always remarkable, a truly momentous day – and one that we will never, ever forget. Today was THAT DAY for Lila Woodsum.

  Lila closed her eyes, and allowed her heart to be healed by the sound of the music. The piano acted as a cauterizing agent, singeing evil memories from her heart and replacing them with a cool, deep well of goodness. The healing was so powerful, so real, that Lila could feel a sort of harmony welling up like water in the inner most core of her being. She felt herself floating, as the water buoyed her up, propelling her forward. The water parted like a prayer from her skin. She was cleansed; reborn, an inn
ocent child of God once again.

  The music stopped. Lila caught and held her breath, willing the piano to begin again.

  “Do you think we should get dressed and go down, now that she’s done?” Rebecca asked, tossing the covers aside in answer to her own question.

  Lila was unwilling to shake off her dreamy state. “You go,” she said. “Use the bathroom first. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  She lay back in bed, savoring the moment. Yes, it was a red letter day. And the day was only just beginning!

  When Lila cheerfully joined Rebecca and Miss Hastings in the kitchen 15 minutes later, she discovered a bowl of hot oatmeal awaiting her on the bun warmer of the wood cookstove. She pulled up a chair, and helped herself to a slice of buttery toast.

  “Dahrrrling, there’s a pot of coffee on the stove and some hot water for tea, if you prefer,” said the good-hearted spinster. “I told Rebecca that you’ve now seen the extent of my cooking abilities!” Miss Hastings burst into gales of laughter. “Corn chowder and oatmeal!”

  “You don’t cook?” said Lila, surprised.

  “Never got the hang of it – I was a working gal! I took my noon meals at school, and then most of the rest of my meals came from Ma Jean.”

  “Who is Ma Jean?” asked Rebecca, curiously.

  “She runs the local restaurant—she and I are two peas in a worn out old pea pod! She’s still cooking, and she’s 82! We’ll go down and see Ma Jean for lunch today – she cooks out of a renovated farmhouse on the Bangor Road – and then you city people can see how good food SHOULD taste!”

  “Oh, it sounds lovely!” said Rebecca. “We’ll treat! And don’t you worry about any more meals while we’re here, Miss Hastings. I may not be Ma Jean, but I’m a pretty good cook, if I do say so myself!”

  “When do we meet with Mr. Russell about the house?” Lila asked, anxiously.

  “Don’t you worry, dahrrrling, you won’t be able to sneak out of town without meeting Mr. Wendell Emerson Russell! He’s more excited about your visit than I am! I told him you’d be down around 9:30 a.m., and you don’t have far to go—he’s just down the road!”

  “We saw an old house on the way in last night – with a neat tree out front,” Lila said. “It had steps in it! Is that the place?”

  “That’s it—the old Russell homestead! She’s even older than I am and so is that tree! The children call that the Staircase Tree!” said Miss Hastings. “Would you believe, that poor maple tree was struck by lightning 15 years ago but like some of the rest of us old fools around here simply refuses to die!”

  “Looks like a stairway to heaven,” said Lila; “for us, anyway.”

  Rebecca nodded. “I’m starting to think it is a sign,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

  “Well, it’ll be a GIFT from heaven for Wendell if you two take over that mausoleum,” said Miss Hastings. “I told him I wasn’t going to get involved in this transaction in any way, shape or fashion – except to get you up here to meet with him – BUT dahrrrlings, don’t do anything you don’t want to do!”

  “That’s my job,” Rebecca spoke up, quickly; “to counterbalance Lila’s enthusiasm.” She smiled. “But I think I’m falling under Sovereign’s spell a little bit, too.”

  “Hallelujah!” said Lila, reaching for a second piece of toast.

  A loud double knock on the shed door startled the three women.

  “My goodness, I didn’t hear anyone drive in,” said Miss Hastings, turning half-way around in her chair. “Come in, dahrrrling!” she called, toward the mudroom.

  “It’s just me, Miss Hastings—Mike Hobart,” replied a husky masculine voice. “I’m here to unload that bag of birdseed.”

  “OOoo, dahrrrling! Come in; come in! We’re just finishing our breakfast.”

  A freshly-shaven Mike Hobart entered the kitchen. “I hope I’m not too early,” he said, standing sheepishly on the entryway rug in order to keep from tracking up the kitchen with his wet boot. “Am I interrupting?”

  “I’m done,” said Rebecca, flashing the handsome young carpenter a welcoming smile.

  “Me too,” said Lila, cheerfully. She wolfed down the last crust of toast, and pushed her oatmeal bowl away.

  Rebecca glanced at her young friend in surprise. She had been expecting more of the same cold-shoulder treatment from Lila, but this was almost, well – friendly!

  “I’ll help you, Mike,” said Lila, rising from her chair. “Where do you want us to put the birdseed, Miss Hastings?”

  “OOoo, there’s a big old aluminum can in the shed, dahrrrling, where I store the birdseed to keep it away from the mice and squirrels. There’s plenty of space in it! Haaahaa!” Miss Hastings made a vain attempt at containing her laughter. “Take your time, dahrrrlings!” she added, winking meaningfully at Rebecca.

  Once in the shed, Lila opened up her budget of concerns. “I wanted to help so I could apologize for last night,” she said, holding the door as Mike Hobart passed through with the birdseed on his shoulder. He plopped the 50-pound bag onto the wooden shed floor with a thud. “I was kind of bitchy, and I’m sorry,” she continued.

  “I didn’t notice,” Hobart lied, generously. He pulled out his pocket knife and slit open the plastic bag.

  “Thanks, but I know you’re lying.”

  “You do not,” he said, smiling. He dumped the bag into the aluminum can and a shower of dust floated up into the air. “You don’t even know me.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m pretty good at recognizing liars,” Lila said. “Not that I think you lie regularly,” she added hastily, “but that’s how I can tell. Real, regular liars have a ‘just-washed-my-face’ look of innocence that is so fake. I can spot it a mile away!”

  “Sounds like you’ve had a lot experience with liars.”

  “Too much,” said Lila. She grimaced slightly, and shook her head.

  As Lila tossed her head, shiny black feathers of her hair floated up and then settled back down in disarray. Hobart wanted to lean over and push the feathers back into place. His hand moved toward her head instinctively, but he stopped himself just in time. “Well, you won’t have to worry about that if you stick around Sovereign,” he said. “It’s just the opposite around here. Folks in Sovereign are so brutally honest that sometimes I wish they would lie, at least enough to save my pride once in a while.”

  Lila tittered, which sounded to Hobart like the cheerful chuckle of a bird. Once again he was reminded of a black-capped chickadee, the Maine state bird. Hobart’s heart lifted in response and he wanted to make her laugh again so that he could hear it once more. Her cheeks – so pale yesterday under the harsh fluorescent lights of Gilpin’s General Store – were flushed rosy this morning. Her hazel eyes, which yesterday flashed warningly ‘STAY AWAY,’ now twinkled with the openness of friendly interest.

  Hobart folded up the plastic bag and tucked it onto a gardening shelf in Miss Hastings’ shed. “How long are you staying in town?” he asked, hopefully. He pushed his baseball cap back on his head and looked around for something to lean against.

  “We’re not sure, actually. We’re thinking of buying the Russell place and raising chickens – selling eggs – something like that.”

  Hobart whistled, long and low. “The old Russell place! That would be great. It needs some work, but she’s a beautiful old post and beam.” He leaned against the potting bench and folded his arms.

  “Post and beam?” said Lila, hazel eyes fixing earnestly on Hobart’s ocean-blue ones. “What’s that?”

  “Timber framing; it’s a type of construction,” he replied. “The old timers around here built their houses using trees they cut off the land. They hand-hewed thick beams from the logs and hooked ‘em together like this,” he said. He used his hands to demonstrate the interlocking construction.

  “Seems like you know a lot about it?”

  “I built a post and beam cabin 10 years ago, when I was in college. I learned a lot from my mistakes! My cabin’s a lot smaller, but
it’s the same general principal.”

  “Have you ever been inside the Russell place?” Lila asked, wistfully.

  “Yep, a couple of times. Not long after I first moved here, and then last fall Wendell showed me around again. I know he’s tried to sell the house and some of the land, but – and I probably shouldn’t be telling you this – with the economy and all, I don’t think he’s even had an offer.”

  “Do you think the place can be repaired? Tell me the truth—I know you will,” Lila said, lightly touching the carpenter’s arm, seeking reassurance.

  Her touch electrified Hobart’s arm. For a moment, the wood shed floor beneath his feet drifted away from him. “Maybe,” he said, steadying himself. “The main house is solid, but the hen pen needs work, especially if you’re planning to raise chickens. It’s definitely worth saving, though.”

  “Omigod, that is soo great!” Lila exclaimed. She let go of Hobart’s arm and clasped her hands excitedly. “Can you come with us today and look at it?”

  Hobart hesitated. “I want to—but …” he broke off.

  “But what?”

  “But I really shouldn’t get involved at this point, as much as I’d like to help you. You and, uh, your friend …”

  “Rebecca,” said Lila.

  “You and Rebecca should let Wendell show you the place and then – if you’re still interested – then I’ll help you in any way that I can.”

  “We’ll pay you, of course,” said Lila, quickly.

  “Well, we can talk about that later, too.”

  Lila cocked her head sideways and regarded him carefully. “You’re not one of those guys that go around rescuing damsels in distress, are you?” she asked, pertly.

  “I could be,” admitted Hobart, slightly abashed. “Is that a bad thing?”