Hens and Chickens (17 page)

“It’s amazing—just what I’d imagined!” Amber exclaimed, twirling around the cheerful front upstairs bedroom that she had selected as her own. “I can’t wait ‘til summer!”

Rebecca beamed with satisfaction and pleasure. “You like it?”

“I love it!” Amber pulled her mother down onto one of the twin beds, and wrapped her arms around Rebecca’s neck. “I’m so happy for you, Mom!” she cried. She laid her head on her mother’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Overjoyed, Rebecca stroked her daughter’s hair lovingly.

Lila watched the affectionate interplay between mother and daughter with dueling pangs of loss and envy as she remembered her own mother. She turned away to hide her tears, and a flickering sensation of shame darted out like a hungry flame from her subconscious.

Back in the box!
she commanded her emotions.
I will NOT let the past ruin my future!

Lila quickly regained her composure. “When are you done school?” she asked, turning back to Amber.

“May 24
^th
– and I’ve already got my bus ticket for Bangor! That’s the closest city to Sovereign I can get.”

“One of us will drive down and get you, if you want,” Lila offered.

“Thanks, but I’m pretty used to public transportation.”

“Well, don’t get TOO used to it, ‘cause up here ‘public transportation’ is catching a ride from a neighbor!”

Lila was somewhat disappointed by Rebecca’s lack-luster interest in the chickens and the hen pen, especially since that had been the focus of Lila’s efforts during the prior six weeks. Bemused, she reminded herself that their partnership was likely to be that much MORE successful because of their separate interests. Already, Rebecca was making lists of necessary purchases for the kitchen and bedrooms, and had even suggested a dinner party – to include Miss Hastings, Wendell, the Gilpins and Mike Hobart – for the following weekend.

Amber and her college friends departed early the following morning, in order to return the rental truck on time and to ensure that they didn’t miss any more classes than necessary. Rebecca and her daughter exchanged tearful hugs goodbye, and then Amber clambered up into the truck.

“I’ll see you in a little more than a month!” Rebecca cried, as the trio backed out of the driveway.

Amber stuck her head out the window. “I forgot to tell you, Mom – all my friends are following @TheEggLadies on Twitter!” she called.

“Don’t forget to text me when you get back!”

Both Lila and Rebecca waved until the empty rental truck disappeared down Russell Hill. The early morning in Sovereign was then still, except for the sounds of awakening birds eagerly going about their work.  Three robins hopped eagerly across the side lawn, looking for worms. A phoebe called from a nearby cedar fencepost:
“Phoebe! Phoebe!”
A mourning dove crooned hauntingly from a high limb in the Staircase Tree. The musky scent of spring and a hint of sweet grass filled the soft country air.

Rebecca, feeling the familiar sadness creeping in, took Lila’s arm companionably. “Looks like it’s just you and me now,
partner
,” she said, with an extra attempt at cheerfulness.

But Lila’s thoughts had already wandered off to revisit with pleasure yesterday’s light kiss from Mike Hobart and she barely noticed Rebecca’s touch.
When will I see him again?!

“Lila?”

“Mmmm?” she said, feeling a warm spot of sunlight on her back.

Rebecca, whose own chick had just flown the nest once again, turned her motherly eyes back to her friend. With a little shock, she registered the change in Lila – the glow of inner satisfaction that had replaced the hurt and anger; the perpetual smile that replaced the scowl and frown; the happy lilt to her gait that replaced the purposeful stride. This was certainly a far cry from the young woman who had stalked out of Joe Kelly’s office in February!

Rebecca had also been reading between the tweets with some accuracy of the developing relationship between Lila and the handsome carpenter. “Hmmm,” she said aloud. “Maybe it’s
not
just you and me!”  

“Maybe not,” said Lila, lazily. “Maybe not!”

Chapter 16

Mouse Motel

Lila was awakened in the middle of the night by an awful screech. At first, because her window was open, she thought the noise that disturbed her slumber must have been the blood-curdling shriek of a prowling owl. However, when the ceiling above trembled and the cries continued, Lila realized that the distress was emanating from Rebecca’s bedroom directly above her.

Not knowing what to think, Lila tossed the down comforter aside and leaped out of bed. In her flannel pajamas she rushed to the bottom of the stairs, grabbing an antique cane along the way, liberating the crutch from its 40-year hiatus by the corner of the brick fireplace. “Are you alright?!”she called up to Rebecca. She took the stairs two at a time.

“Naooo!” screamed Rebecca; and Lila heard what sounded like a struggle on her friend’s bed.

“What IS it?!” she cried, bursting into Rebecca’s bedroom, brandishing the maple cane.

Her friend, pale-faced and trembling – long brown hair disheveled – stood upright on the bed in her white cotton nightdress, with the sheet pulled up nearly to her chin. Lila’s anxious eyes scanned the room but found nothing out of the ordinary! There was no prowler, no rapist, no terrorist, no marauding vigilantes—not even a wayward bat!

Lila turned her gaze back to her friend in wonder. Rebecca did not appear to be having a nightmare or sleepwalking. “What IS it?” Lila repeated, lowering her weapon. “What’s wrong?!”

“There!” shrieked Rebecca, pointing to a dark spot on the painted floor near the stenciled pine dresser.

Lila followed Rebecca’s finger and saw—a tiny gray mouse scrunched up on its haunches looking as harmless as a plastic computer mouse! The rodent evidently thought that its odds were diminished by Lila’s arrival, however, and took the opportunity to shoot across the floor in a beeline for the door. Instinctively, Lila raised her bare right foot and brought it down with a fierce
stomp
. She felt a warm bulge beneath her sole and knew that her timing had been accurate.

“EEeewww!” Rebecca said, covering her face with her hands. “How
could
you, Lila?!”

“It’s just a mouse,” said Lila, lifting her foot. Sure enough, the flattened gray rodent lay lifeless on the ginger-colored floor. She leaned down, picked the mouse up by the tail and quickly moved the bitty carcass behind her back so Rebecca couldn’t see it. “There’s quite a few of ‘em around here,” she continued. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I will
not
!” exclaimed Rebecca, opening her eyes and stiffening up for battle. “That, that …
creature
ran right up over me in bed! I will not have mice in the house, Lila. I will
not
!”

Lila fought back the urge to laugh aloud. “Umm, haha – where’s Mr. T?” asked Lila, biting the inside of her lip. “Your cat should take care of these critters in a few days.” She glanced once again around Rebecca’s neat bedroom. “Where IS Mr. T? I thought he always slept with you?”

Rebecca dropped the white sheet she had been holding, and there, curled up in bed with her, was the 13-pound, four-year-old tiger cat. Exposed to the cool air, Mr. T yawned, and rolled over on his back, showing off his spotted belly. The tabby reached out with one white boot and lazily touched Rebecca’s bare leg.

This time Lila did burst out laughing. “Haaahaaa! Mr. T is not gonna carry his weight around here, I can see that!” She laughed so hard she had to sit down in the oak rocking chair situated next to Rebecca’s window. The cane she had been carrying for protection fell on the wooden floor with a
clack
. Mr. T didn’t even flinch.

Rebecca giggled, and relaxed her defiant stance on the bed. “I won’t have mice in the house, Lila,” she repeated, in a diminished tone. “We’ve got to do something. I
hate
mice!”

“Oh, I get that,” said Lila, taking care to keep the dead mouse out of Rebecca’s line of vision. “Haaahaaa! Too funny! I totally get that!”

After disposing of the mouse down the toilet, Lila tried to convince Rebecca to return to her bed for the balance of the night. However, her stubborn friend insisted on holding vigil on the living room couch, covered up with a spare quilt from the blanket chest in Amber’s bedroom. The quilt, which had been packed away for decades, smelled like moth balls, and Lila was glad to return to her own bedroom, where the fresh evening air seeped in from the partially-open window.

Lila awoke late the next morning to the tantalizing scent of frying bacon. She hurried into her jeans and oversized sweatshirt, and popped into the kitchen. She discovered Rebecca cooking away and regaling Wendell – who had ambled over early to see how the new hens were laying – with the night’s adventures. Lila repressed her greeting and slid into a chair. She gratefully accepted the cup of coffee that Rebecca poured and set on the table in front of Lila without missing a beat in her story.

“And then,” Rebecca continued; “the poor mouse tried to escape out the door, but Lila
stomped
on it!”

“Didja kill it?” Wendell asked Lila, with renewed respect.

“With her
bare foot
!” Rebecca answered, not waiting for Lila to reply. She set a plate down for Wendell that contained several crisp strips of bacon and two cheerful-looking poached eggs on buttered, homemade toast.

Wendell’s eyes widened. Lila didn’t have long to wonder whether he was more interested in the mouse story or the farm fresh eggs cooked to perfection, as he eagerly picked up his fork.

“It was deader than a dormouse,” Lila added, taking a large sip of coffee. Unfortunately, she started to giggle at the memory of Mr. T and some of the hot liquid went painfully up her nose.

“It’s
not
funny, Lila!” Rebecca said, waving a slotted spoon at her younger friend. “I won’t have mice in the house! I checked all of bottom cupboards in here and found
three
mouse holes and
lots
of mouse droppings! How would you like your eggs cooked, dear?”

“Um, poached, thanks,” she said, blowing her nose on a paper napkin. She turned to Wendell and attempted to change the subject. “So, what do you think of our very first eggs?”

Wendell swallowed his initial bite of poached egg and was about to reply when Rebecca interjected again.

“I’m sorry to say this, Wendell,” Rebecca said, cracking an egg on edge of the gas range; “but this place has a major mouse infestation!” She dropped the yolk and white into the pot of boiling water with a
sizzling
splash.

Wendell looked sheepish. He put down his fork. “Wal, you know, I kinda thought there was a problem ovah heah.” He looked at Lila almost accusatorily. “Why didn’t you say nuthin’ earlier?” he asked. “Afore yore little friend got heah?”

Lila swallowed hard. She didn’t want to say that the mice weren’t a “problem” until Rebecca had arrived – although that was the truth – because she didn’t want to risk agitating Rebecca further. “I’ll get some mousetraps from Gilpin’s today,” she said, instead. “What kind do you want me to get, Becca – the sticky ones? Or the old-fashioned snap traps that break their necks? Personally, I prefer the old-fashioned traps – I’d rather get rid of a carcass than have a live mouse stuck on one of those sticky ones watching me and wondering what I was going to do to it.”

Rebecca, who was naturally kind-hearted, gave a little shudder. “Can’t we just catch the mice alive and let them go?”

“Where?” said Lila. “Let them go outside? So they can just turn around and come right back inside?!”

The toast popped up and Rebecca buttered it silently. She scooped out Lila’s eggs and set the plate with two strips of bacon on the table in front of her friend. She put her hands on her hips and pouted.

“Wal, you know, I got an ideah,” said Wendell, flashing Rebecca a gold-toothed grin.

Rebecca perked up. 

“I kin build a Mouse Motel,” continued Wendell. “We kin catch ‘em alive and put ‘em in the Motel. When it’s filled, we kin take the Mouse Motel ovah the river and let ‘em go all at once.” Wendell scratched his head. “Wal, maybe we better take ‘em ovah TWO rivers, jest to be sure they don’t git back heah agin.”

“Oh, that’s
perfect
, Wendell!” Rebecca cried, patting Wendell’s arm appreciatively.  

Encouraged, Wendell picked up his fork and attacked his breakfast with gusto.

Lila eyed him suspiciously. “You’re going to build a mouse motel? So you can take a bunch of mice all at once and dump the problem onto some other unsuspecting homeowner?”

“Let him finish his eggs, Lila,” Rebecca scolded. “They’re getting cold! More toast, Wendell?”

Wendell nodded, and wolfed down his eggs. “Wal, you know, we kin let ‘em go next to an old dairy farm where there’s plenty of bahn cats.”

At the mention of “cats,” Lila rolled her eyes. “Right,” she said. “I do NOT have a lot of faith in cats at the moment.”

“But Wendell … isn’t it going to be a lot of work to build a Mouse Motel?” Rebecca asked.

 “Oh, ‘tain’t much,” he replied. “Jest some hardware cloth hooked together in sections, with a door for each room so they ain’t quite together.”

“How
many
rooms?” asked Rebecca, pausing next to the toaster, two slices of anadama bread in hand. “There are a lot of mice in this house!”

“Wal, you know, we kin make more ‘n one trip ovah the river,” said Wendell. “But I was figgerin’ on six or eight rooms.”

“Eight would be good,” said Rebecca, dropping the bread in the toaster. “We’ll still probably have to make several trips to release the mice, judging by the evidence I uncovered under the counter, and … and last night!”

“Wal, you know, ‘twould be a good way for you to git to see some of the countryside. We kin make a little day trip out of it,” Wendell suggested, blue eyes twinkling.  

“Are you going to put numbers on the doors, Wendell?” asked Rebecca, hopefully. “I think it would be really cute if the Mouse Motel had numbers on the doors.”