Hens and Chickens (27 page)

Lila, however, knowing Mike Hobart’s past hunting history and his present feeling about guns, finally spoke up. “I don’t think we should ask Mike,” she said. Since both Wendell and Rebecca immediately assumed that this was because of the current suspended state of their romantic relationship, Lila discovered with relief that she didn’t need to add any further explanation.

“Wal, maybe we kin git young Grayden to do it,” Wendell said. “He’s been itchin’ to use thet new gun his Dad give him for Christmas.”

After a few more minutes of conference, it was settled that – if it was OK with his grandparents – Gray Gilpin should be allowed to utilize his 16-gauge shotgun in service of
The Egg Ladies
. Wendell would set up a target for Gray to practice on in an area near the fox den, and from that vantage point he could keep an eye on the hen pen. If the mother fox and/or her kits were spotted in the area, he would be authorized to send a threatening volley into the air over the foxes’ heads.

“Them foxes better watch out!” said Gray, when he was dropped off along with his gun after church on Sunday. “I told ya they was trouble!” he added, to Lila.

“Oh, please don’t kill them!” Rebecca pleaded.

“He ain’t gonna kill nuthin’!” his grandfather pronounced. “He’s jest here for some target practice and to git familiar with his gun afore deer huntin’ season; right, Grayden?”

“Right, Grandpa,” the teenager replied, meekly.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Wendell assured Ralph. He put a friendly hand on Gray’s shoulder. “Thet’s a pretty shaap lookin’ weapon you got there, young fella!”

Mike Hobart, who was driving up the Russell Hill Road for a Sunday afternoon visit with Miss Hasting, spotted the little group and pulled into the dooryard. It was the first time he had seen Lila in a very l-o-n-g week, although he had received regular reports on his sweetheart from both Wendell and Miss Hastings. This first meeting would be necessarily awkward, but he was grateful for what appeared to be a natural opportunity to stop in and visit.

Hobart hopped out of his truck and offered up a general greeting in response to all the others. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ralph give his wife a meaningful nudge, but most of his attention was directed at Lila, whose bare foot was toying with a pile of sweet-smelling grass clippings in front of her. There was no time to plan a specific course of action, so he simply walked up to her and, without exactly knowing how, shortly found himself holding both of her hands. He racked his brain for something appropriate to say. “Getting a lot of eggs?” he asked, finally.

Lila looked shyly up into his bright blue eyes. “Eight dozen a day,” she replied, aware that all the others were breathlessly watching them. Her first instinct when she had seen his baby blue truck pull in the driveway was to run into the house and hide, but the minister’s words kept floating through her head:
“Follow your heart, and all that blather.”
 Well, her heart was right here in front of her, so why would she run away?

Lila felt absurdly happy. “How’s your barn coming?” she asked, in return.

Hobart was encouraged by the sparkle emanating from her pretty hazel eyes. He felt the ground slipping away beneath his feet. “Pretty good,” he said, lamely.

“I’m soo happy for you, Mike! I can’t wait to see it.”

He attempted to steady himself, but failed. “Getting a lot of eggs?” he repeated.

“Mmmm.”

Behind him, Wendell coughed. Hobart realized that there were others in the world and that he was still holding Lila’s hands. Regretfully, he let her go and turned back to their friends. They were all seven standing in the driveway – Hobart, Lila, Ralph, Maude, Gray, Rebecca and Wendell – enjoying a “dooryard visit,” as it’s known in Maine. The warm May sun was shining, breathing encouraging life into man, beast, bird and insect alike. Two bluebird couples were battling over the same bird box and the apple and lilac trees were nearly bursting with buds waiting to bloom. Honeybees hovered over the bright dandelions blossoms, emitting a little
bzzzing
noise each time they picked up and moved to the next fuzzy yellow button. Hobart inhaled a deep breath of fresh spring air, and regained his equilibrium. “The trusses are coming next week,” he said, for the benefit of the group at large.

“Lovely,” said Rebecca, who hadn’t the least idea what “trusses” were.

“You haven’t forgotten our picnic next Sunday, have you, Sweetie?” said Maude. “I’m making a big batch of bread pudding, just for you!”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten the picnic!”

“I seen you been down to the Millett Rock, Mike,” Wendell said. “Whatcha think?”

Hobart nodded. He leaned back against the side of his truck and folded his arm. “I went in late Friday afternoon,” he replied. “She needs some work, like you said, Wendell, but I think we can get away with cutting out two or three of those big pines. And I’ve got a clearing saw that will take care of those small balsams in the woods road.”

“You got time for all thet?”

“I’m gonna take down the pines today, and I’ll quit work early a couple of days next week to get the path cleared and the brush cleaned up. By the way, I talked with my friend, and the four-wheeler is good to go!”

“Awesome!” said Gray. “Can I drive it?”

“NO!” said both of his grandparents at the same time.

“Sorry, buddy,” said Hobart, winking at the teenager.

“My daughter Amber is coming up on the bus Saturday just so that she can go on the picnic with us,” interjected Rebecca. “I’m so happy you Gilpins will finally have a chance to meet her!”

“How old is
she
?” asked Gray, hopefully.

“Twenty-one,” Rebecca replied, smiling kindly. “Sorry, Gray!” And the dooryard visit broke up with much good-natured laughter.

Now that the first meeting with Mike Hobart was over, Lila found she could look forward to the picnic at the Millett Rock next Sunday with actual pleasure. Euphoric bouts of daydreaming attended her as she lingered through her daily chores, serving to heighten her anticipation. She thought again of what I had said to her about “following your heart,” and my stock in trade went up appreciably.

Who knows where our paths will lead us when we follow our hearts? Sometimes the way tends straight across country, like the old Belfast and Moosehead railroad tracks that once carried the train from the Maine coast to the Sovereign depot (ferrying the Sears® kit house that Ralph Gilpin’s grandfather had purchased for his bride). But more often than not the path has more twists and turns than a cow path in a Maine meadow in August. However, if we truly follow our hearts, what does it matter which way the road goes or even what happens along the road
not taken
? For how is it possible to take a wrong turn when we are in pursuit of our heart’s desire?

Rebecca also felt light-headed throughout the following week. In her own modest mind, she attributed this new intoxication to the fact that Amber would be joining them for the picnic. In addition, she was happily refitting three of the long gowns Lila had discovered in the attic for herself, Lila and her daughter to wear to the picnic. However, there was perhaps some additional kindling on her heart’s fire, which unconsciously aided in the stoking of Rebecca’s internal flame.

By the following Saturday, the day before the big event, the anticipation in the household had built to such a fever pitch that when a knock was heard that afternoon on the front door – that rarely used entryway reserved for the dead – Lila’s heart skipped a beat. For a brief moment she wondered if her father had come back to life as the minister had promised, and was now standing on the cut granite door stoop waiting to tell her that everything was going to be OK!

Trembling, Lila swung open the heavy wooden front door, and discovered—Ryan MacDonald, the Perkins & Gleeful corporate attorney, from Boston!

“Ryan!” she exclaimed, clinging to the weather-beaten wooden door for support. She felt disappointed and yet relieved at the same time that the mystery visitor was NOT the ghost of her father, but her former boyfriend. “What are you doing here?”

MacDonald had not been sure of the reception he would receive – his calls and emails with Lila had dwindled to nearly nothing over the past few months – but he held his ground stolidly. “I’m here to see
you
,” he replied, a friendly expression in his unwavering brown eyes. “How
are
you, Lila? May I come in?”

Lila moved back away from the door. Encouraged, MacDonald stepped into the foyer. He was a tall, slender man, looking every inch the polished 32-year-old corporate attorney that he was, from the top of his neatly clipped brown hair to the bottom of his highly polished leather shoes. Even though it was four o’clock in the afternoon, not a hint of facial hair shadowed his smooth cheeks. He was wearing “business casual” per usual for him on the weekends, and was handsome looking enough to have modeled for GQ magazine.

“Quite a place you’ve got here,” MacDonald continued, glancing around the quaint entryway. “Must be a big change from Boston.” He said this as a statement of fact, not as a question.

Lila tittered. “You have NO idea!”

MacDonald peeked into the living room. “Rebecca here?”

“No, she’s gone up to the bus station in Bangor to pick up her daughter,” Lila said. “I’m sorry; I’m being rude, Ryan; I … I wasn’t expecting YOU. Come in and sit down. Want some coffee?”

MacDonald answered in the affirmative, and Lila turned and headed toward the kitchen. The attorney, however, made for an easy chair in the living room section of the great room. Lila stopped him. “Not here,” she said. “We sit in the kitchen. That’s where we do most of our planning and stuff.”

Docilely he followed her through the living room and dining room, and into the country kitchen. MacDonald examined the rustic, eat-in kitchen with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing as he took a seat at the kitchen table. Lila drew some water from the tap into the 8-cup enamelware percolator coffee pot and set it onto the gas stove to perk. She dumped a generous amount of aromatic coffee grounds into the basket, placed it inside the pot and
clinked
the cover back on the percolator. Then she pulled up her customary seat at the head of the table.

MacDonald, anxious to fulfill his legal obligations before Rebecca returned, opened the negotiations immediately. “Joe sent me up here,” he said. MacDonald’s place setting, which was in point of fact Wendell’s seat, contained the latest issue of GRIT magazine. He automatically moved the brightly-colored country magazine with a chicken on the cover to one side. “Joe has authorized me, as the company attorney, to make you an offer.”

Lila blinked.
Joe who?
“What?” she said. She had moved so far beyond her old life in Boston that she didn’t have the faintest idea what Ryan MacDonald was talking about.

“Perkins & Gleeful will pay you
double
your old salary if you come back as Marketing Director,” MacDonald continued. “Plus stock options worth a lot of money. It’s a
very
good deal, if I do say so myself, Lila.”

When his words finally sank in, Lila burst out laughing. “You mean – go back?! To THAT place!”

MacDonald was disconcerted. “You can’t mean that you like it
here
?” The corporate attorney waved his manicured hand in the direction of the black soapstone sink. “This place is a relic from the 19
^th
century! I don’t know what you’re doing here, but …”

“Raising chickens,” Lila interrupted. “And selling eggs. Organic eggs.”

“… but surely what Joe Kelly and Perkins & Gleeful have to offer is much more lucrative than
this
!”

Lila’s hackles rose. “Lucrative, maybe, as far as the Almighty Dollar goes,” she retorted; “but some things are more important than getting rich in this world, Ryan! I’m happy here; happier than I’ve been since I was a kid! And there’s NOTHING you’ve got to say or NOTHING Joe Kelly has to offer that would ever make me give this up!”

MacDonald quickly realized he was taking the wrong tack with her, and was aware that if he continued in this direction he would get nowhere fast. He was not a high-powered corporate attorney for nothing, and effortlessly shifted direction. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Lila,” he apologized, in a humble voice. “It’s just so much different here from how I’m used to seeing you that I’m surprised, is all.”

MacDonald’s words were effective. Lila felt a rush of remorse. “I’m sorry, too,” she said. “It’s a long way for you to drive to have someone yell at you!”

He smiled, affectionately. “I admit, I
was
kind of hoping for a friendlier reception.” He reached over and took Lila’s hand. “We used to be pretty good friends. I thought we might be able to pick up where we left off?” he added, warmly.

Lila felt the ice growing thin beneath her feet. Fortuitously, a quick, familiar rap on the shed door interrupted their intimate moment. “That’s Wendell,” she said, quickly pulling her hand away. “Door’s open!” she called, but Wendell was already entering the shed.

The old chicken farmer stuck his head in the kitchen. His eyes widened when he saw MacDonald, sitting alone at the table with Lila. She introduced the two men, but neither of them made a move to shake hands.

“Where’s yore little friend?” Wendell asked, instead.

“She’s gone up to Bangor to get Amber,” Lila reminded him.

“Course,” he said. “I forgot. She comin’ back for suppah?”

“I hope so!”

“I’ll be back, then,” said Wendell. He turned and exited hastily, without any further word or even a parting salutation.

MacDonald shook his head in wonderment over the old chicken farmer. “Who was
that
rustic?” he asked.

Lila explained – or attempted to explain – the special relationship
The Egg Ladies
had with Wendell Russell. But she could tell by the bewildered look on Ryan MacDonald’s face that the he wasn’t following her.
He doesn’t know how many different types of love and friendship are possible in this world!