Amanda's Beau (5 page)

"Aunt Mandy, here's another one." Rex pointed to the dead hen in the corner of the fenced chicken yard. "It's the second one in a week's time."

Amanda regarded the dead chicken. It was headless, just like the one they'd discovered previously. Some predator, perhaps a rat, a raccoon or maybe even a coyote, was somehow snagging the chickens that ventured too near the chicken wire fence. It would bite off the hen's head unable, Amanda reckoned, to get the rest of the carcass through the bottom of the fence. "This is a riddle," she admitted. "We'll have to solve it soon. We can't afford to keep losing chickens."

"Especially the white leghorns," Rex said. "They're the best layers."

"I didn't realize," Amanda confessed. "Perhaps we should keep Bonita outdoors at night, so she can scare away whatever animal is preying on the hens." The dog wagged her tail at the mention of her name. Amanda gave her a pat on the head.

"Maybe it's a skunk," Rex ventured, "or a rat. Pa was always careful not to let trash and old lumber pile up by the fence near the coop. He said junk made good breeding grounds for mice and rats and other vermin." A shadow seemed to cross his face when he mentioned his father.

Amanda said nothing as she followed him into the large chicken house. The hens greeted them with a loud, clucking chorus, eager for more mash. But first Rex removed the leftover feed from the troughs and shoveled out the wet and soiled bedding. While he did so, she searched for dead chicks inside the hen house and refilled the water pans. She also gathered the eggs — hundreds of them. Some were cracked and dirty. Others appeared green or pale blue. Some even felt bumpy. Once, she'd even found a slippery egg with a thin shell. Rex had told her to throw it away.

This morning, she found two that had been pecked open. "Rex, look at these eggs," she said. "They're cracked and no good now."

"I think one of the hens did that," he said with a frown. "You know, chickens peck at everything. Pa warned me that sometimes they'll eat their own eggs."

"But how do we keep it from happening?" Amanda asked.

Rex shrugged. "We'll have to cull the egg-eaters from the flock, but if we do, there will be fewer laying hens."

"Too bad," Amanda said, shaking her head.

"But chicken and dumplings are good," Rex reminded her with a grin. "Mama always makes chicken and dumplings when Pa culls a hen. She used to, anyway." The smile slipped from his face.

Amanda cleared her throat before saying, "You know more about this chicken business than I do, so just tell me what needs to be done, and I'll do it."

"Would you walk around the fence and see where a predator might be trying to get in at?" he asked. "You know, if the chickens get scared too often, they'll quit laying. I think that's one reason we aren't getting as many eggs as usual."

Amanda raised her eyebrows. Everyday, even on Sundays, she or Rex, and sometimes the two of them together, collected dozens and dozens of eggs. She'd never seen so many eggs in her life. They packed them carefully in wooden crates and kept the crates in the root cellar until Mr. Schwarzkopf came for them. "How many dozen are you supposed to be collecting?" she asked.

Rex shrugged. "I don't know. Pa wrote it all down. But it doesn't seem like we're getting as many as we used to."

While Rex sprinkled corn in the yard, Amanda walked each length of chicken wire surrounding the huge coop. "Over here, Rex," she called. She pointed to a small opening near the bottom of the fence. "Maybe we should fix this."

"I can do it," Rex insisted. "I need to get something from the barn first." He took off at a run, Bonita bounding after him.

In his absence, Amanda carried basket after basket filled with eggs into the root cellar. She and Rex would wash and sort them more carefully later on. But not today, it was Sunday. She wished she could go to church to visit with folks and to listen to a Bible sermon, but it wasn't possible.

Talking with Gil Gladney yesterday had stirred a longing in her for what she considered "meaty discourse." She was weary of chickens, diapers, and whispered sickroom conversation. She couldn't remember the last time she'd read a newspaper. What were President Teddy Roosevelt and his brood of happy youngsters doing in the White House these days? Had the members of the territorial legislature established a mounted police force to track down horse thieves and bank robbers? Were the Russians still at war with the Japanese on the other side of the world?

Amanda wanted to talk about these and other important things. She longed to have time to read the Ben-Hur book Gil had told her about and then discuss it afterward. She wondered if God was mindful of her circumstances at all. Why had all the nursing fallen to her over the years? She'd spent her youth caring for an ailing mother. Ella had married Randall Stewart at age sixteen and moved away from Las Cruces. When their father became sick later on, the responsibility of caring for him had naturally fallen upon Amanda's shoulders. Now, she was again confined to hearth and home, caring for her sister and her sister's youngsters. Would she ever have a life of her own? Would she ever find a husband to love and be loved in return? And what of children? She nurtured these secret longings in her heart. Did God care?

She wondered briefly if Gil attended church services on Sunday. Did he do his own cooking in the little room at the back of the schoolhouse or did he eat with families in the village most of the time? She couldn't get his handsome face out of her mind this morning. Amanda recalled the rush of excitement she had experienced each time he'd fixed his intense, blue-eyed gaze upon her yesterday during the picnic. She smothered a sigh. Tall and well-muscled, Gil was not like any schoolteacher she'd ever known. Why, his smile could melt butter!

Feeling half-ashamed, Amanda resolved not to think any more about Gil Gladney's manly charms. She plucked a fist full of tender grass from under the shade of the cottonwood tree and tossed it into the chicken yard. The hungry hens attacked it greedily. Rex returned with a couple of old boards and a hammer. When he was finished with his task, he stood back with his hands on his hips to admire his work.

"I think it'll do, Aunt Mandy."

Her heart flipped over as she watched him. Rex was so like Ella in this moment, Amanda thought she might cry. She spun around at the sound of a wagon's rumble, swallowing back the lump in her throat. Mr. Snow and his son Jerry had arrived to take Rex to Sunday school. Amanda quickly smoothed her hair in place and straightened her shoulders.

"Rex, go wash your hands. Be quick. I'll finish up here," she promised. The boy darted toward the house, waving at Jerry as he did so. Forcing a cheerful smile, Amanda called out, "Good morning, Mr. Snow."

The tall man had a beard as red as Jerry's hair. His weathered face was speckled with freckles. He raised a hand in greeting as he jumped down from the wagon seat.

"Good morning to you, Miss Dale. My missus sent you these loaves and some of her cinnamon applesauce." He retrieved a box from the back of the wagon. "She had to stay home this morning. Little Martha's got the croup."

"I'm sorry to hear it, Mr. Snow," Amanda said. "Do thank her for me, won't you? It's so kind of her."

"We brought firewood too, Miss Dale," Jerry said. "See?" He indicated the pile in the back of the wagon.

"We'll unload it on our way back from church, when we bring Rex home," Tom Snow promised.

"Thank you. I appreciate it." Amanda was touched by their generosity. Ella and her late husband had such fine neighbors. She wondered if Ella had any idea how warm-hearted the people of Aztec had been following Randall's death. Would she care? Amanda couldn't imagine how they would ever repay everyone for such kindness.

"Put the box on the kitchen table, if you would," she instructed. She gave Rex a quick glance, taking in his slicked down hair and freshly scrubbed face. With a tug here and there, she adjusted his flannel jacket and the collar of his blue broadcloth shirt. "You'll do," she said, with a slight smile.

"Hey, look at her!" Jerry exclaimed, staring down at Minnie. He hovered over the chair Amanda had placed in front of the open oven door. On the chair was the roasting pan with the sleeping baby snuggled inside. "She's growing, by golly."

"You think so?" Rex asked. Amanda noted the tension in his tone.

"Sure," Jerry insisted. He touched one of the baby's tiny fists with the tip of his finger. "Don't you think she looks bigger than the last time we saw her, Dad?"

His father peered at Minnie and nodded. "You know, I think she does. She's still as tiny as a button," he admitted, "but looks to me like she's putting on weight. You'll have to be moving her to the cradle soon, Miss Dale."

Amanda felt a surge of hope. "I'll do that, Mr. Snow." The cradle, piled with small blankets and baby clothes, sat in a corner of Ella's room. It hadn't been used since Rex was a baby, she guessed.

After Rex left with the Snows, she bustled about getting milk ready for Minnie's second feeding of the morning and boiling another pot of coffee for herself. Bonita sprawled underneath the kitchen table. Glancing down at her, Amanda fretted for a moment about Beulah Johnson's comment about seeing the shaggy, red dog before — somewhere else. She said a silent prayer the woman had been mistaken. After cutting a slice of Mrs. Snow's fresh bread, she smeared it with honey. Amanda took a bite. It tasted delicious. She decided she would take a piece to Ella, after feeding and changing the baby and placing her back in the pan in front of the warm oven.

"C'mon, Ella. Taste this." Sitting on the edge of her sister's bed, she pressed the slice of bread to Ella's dry lips.

Ella stared at her with vacant eyes, and slowly turned her head away.

Amanda sighed. "I'm not leaving until you do. You've got to eat. You must get your strength back."

When her sister didn't respond, Amanda put the bread plate on the nightstand by the bed. She pulled back the curtains and let the warm September sunshine flood the room. Ella blinked and pressed her face deeper into the pillow. Amanda tidied up and washed Ella's face and hands with a warm cloth, then she brushed and braided her sister's long, strawberry blonde hair, all the while chatting to her about yesterday's picnic at the old Indian ruins. She finally coaxed Ella into taking a bite of bread and honey and brought her a cup of coffee with lots of milk and sugar added. She was delighted when Ella took not one but two uncertain sips.

"I have an idea," Amanda announced. "I'm going to read to you from the Bible. Would you like that?"

Not truly expecting any kind of response, Amanda retrieved the large Stewart family Bible from the sitting room where it rested on a round ivory-topped piecrust table. She had first noticed it weeks ago when she had arrived to take charge of her sister's household, following Randall's death. But this morning, she was surprised to find it open to the page where births, deaths, and marriages had been recorded. She noted the words Baby Girl Minnie had been entered, along with the infant's date of birth. She recognized Rex's boyish scrawl and felt a tug at her heart. She carried the large Bible into Ella's room.

"Ella, look at this. Rex has entered Minnie's birthday in your family Bible." She held the Bible up for her sister to see. Ella didn't turn her head, but Amanda thought she noticed her sister's eyes swivel slightly in the direction of the open page.

"Do you realize you haven't even named your daughter yet? She'll be two months old soon and doesn't have a real name. Rex dubbed her Minnie because she's so small, and we've been calling her Minnie ever since. But you need to give her a proper name. What about Sarah, after Mother? Or maybe Thelma after Grandma Dale? Of course, I don't think the little dear looks like a Thelma at all. Maybe you should name her after Randall's mother? What was her name?"

Unable to prompt a response, Amanda felt disheartened. She felt a surge of irritation too. Closing the Bible and placing it at the foot of the bed, she went to the kitchen and picked up the pan with Minnie tucked snuggly inside. The infant was just waking from her morning nap. Her blue eyes opened wide, and her little face became alert. The change reminded Amanda of the blooming of a perfect bud. When the baby crammed her tiny fist into her little rosebud mouth, Amanda's heart felt like it would burst with love for the tiny girl.

"You little darling," she crooned. Maybe Mr. Snow was right after all. It was time to move Minnie to the cradle. She might try feeding her with a baby bottle too. There were two in the kitchen cupboard — small glass ones with black, rubber nipples. Doctor Morgan had brought them by on one of his many visits. She carried the baby into Ella's room. Bonita followed closely at her heels.

"Look, Ella. You have a visitor. Isn't she a dolly?" Amanda lifted the baby and placed her gently on a pillow, which she held out for Ella's perusal. Again, Ella refused to respond. Amanda moved the pillow and the baby directly into Ella's line of vision. She noted the flutter of her sister's eyelids. Was she actually looking at the infant? Amanda couldn't tell.

"Mr. Snow stopped by earlier this morning to pick up Rex for Sunday school. He noticed right away how much she's been growing. He even suggested I move her into the cradle now. I think I should, don't you? It will give Minnie a little more room to move her arms and legs."

Ella made no response. Something about her sister's indifference suddenly outraged Amanda. "She's not going to die, Ella. She's a fighter, which is more than I can say for you!" she exclaimed. She gathered the baby on the pillow close to her chest, as though protecting the child from a dangerous chill.

Staring down at her sister, Amanda said, "I thought you had more spunk, Ella. Truly, I did. I know you've lost your husband, and I'm sorry. Randall's death was a tragedy and no mistake. Your baby girl was born early, and you weren't counting on it so soon after your husband's death. But you're only thinking about your own grief. What about Rex? He's been a real little man since all this has happened, I can tell you. You'd be so proud of him, if you knew. And you've got this precious little girl — she needs her mother. Do you realize I've been feeding her with a medicine dropper? If Mother were still alive, she'd be so disappointed in you, Ella."