Page 51 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
“Of course.”
“Oh, good.” Molly nodded in confirmation.
Silence captured the moment. Molly forked an egg, keeping her eye on the chick, almost too shy to look at her husband. Trent.
No, she hadn’t expected this. A little TLC went a long way... Molly’s eyes lifted and met Trent’s. She just prayed, for both of them, that it wasn’t too late.
17
Molly tossed handfuls of grain on the ground. She had eight chickens.Eight!And the rooster, and five chicks—not including Myrtle, who was tucked into the pocket of her waist apron as she threw goodies to the “girls.”
Three days and she’d not lost one fowl to a predator. Three days and she and Trent had lived in a tentative but balanced existence. Three days and she’d found a tiny spark of joy. Or maybe it was just a tentative peace before a bigger storm. She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t want to ask.
“What’d you name them?” Sid rounded the corner of the barn. Molly had heard Sid pull up in her truck.
Molly offered a lopsided smile as she flung another handful of grain. “You won’t approve.”
“Try me,” Sid challenged, squatting down to reach for a Bantam that sidled away from her.
“Well, that one there that won’t let you pet her, that’s Izzy. She’s shy but super affectionate.”
“And you know this after three days, huh?” Sid teased.
Molly shrugged. “It’s more fun than unpacking boxes. The four Ameraucana there are Sue, Alex, Sylvia, and Chloe. Myrtle is in my pocket. I need to think of the others’ names yet.”
“Really?” Sid laughed. “Human names?”
“What else should I call them?”
“Mother Hen? Henrietta? I don’t know, Goldilocks?” Sid stood. “And the rooster?”
“Oh. I’m calling him Orville. After one of the Wrightbrothers, who tried to fly, sort of flew, but never really got the full use of wings.”
Sid studied Molly for a moment, a softness in her eyes. “You seem ... happier,” she observed.
“I’ve been happy.” Molly brushed off Sid’s perusal of her.
“Sure” was Sid’s unbelieving reply.
“Can you help me haul a few things into the coop attic?” Distract and divert. Molly was going to overfeed the chickens if she wasn’t careful, so she set the bucket of grain back in the feed bin and shut it. Myrtle chirped in her apron pocket. Molly pulled her out and set the little fluff free. She couldn’t rightly make Myrtle a house chicken—or could she?
Sid was willing to help and so they entered the coop. Molly had spent some time stacking some old unused items that had been left behind in the coop in the corner. A few flowerpots. A crate of odds and ends. Some old tools.
Molly hiked up the tools first, climbing the ladder steps. Sid lagged, and when Molly returned, her friend was going through the crate.
“Are you saving all this stuff?” Sid seemed genuinely interested.
Molly nodded, even though Sid wasn’t looking at her as she leaned over the opening into the attic. “I haven’t had a chance to go through it and maybe never will. I’ve got too much to unpack in the house, but the—”
“The chickens. I know.” Sid’s voice was filled with mirth. “The chicken house is top priority.” She bent and pulled out a coffee can with a plastic lid. “This looks like an old Hills Bros. coffee can from the eighties.” She turned it. “See? I was right! I know these things!” Sid pulled off the lid and held the can up and out toward Molly as if in victory. “A canful of old screws and nails! Bonus points for not needing to hit up the hardware store anytime soon.”
Molly winced. “Probably dumb to haul that stuff up here, huh?”
Sid didn’t answer. She had already set aside the can and was digging through a wooden cigar box that held various trinkets like a rusty screwdriver, an unused patch meant to be ironed on someone’s work coat, a pair of pliers... “Look! It’s a lady’s nylon stocking! Gosh, I remember my grandmother wearing nylons!”
Molly made quick work of descending the ladder. “Nylons?”
“Thank God for the invention of leggings!” Sid laughed.
