Katerina's Wish (8 page)

The buildings were bigger than they had appeared from across the field and for a moment my courage failed me. The structure was not just a single house, but many. The low adobe buildings formed three sides of a rectangle around an open courtyard. Each flat-roofed building had several doors, all facing into the courtyard, all painted a cheerful, bright blue. The open courtyard was bare dirt and busy with children playing. Their mothers kept a watchful eye from their shaded doorsteps where they worked.

A chorus of barking dogs announced my arrival, and several mongrels ran toward me. I froze until one of the older women came off the porch and called to them. They retreated, wagging their tales, and I let out my breath.

“Hello,” I called to her. “Do you speak English?”

She shook her head, then with a quick word in Spanish, she sent a boy running to the cluster of low barns and buildings behind the houses. She smiled at me, and I felt my nerves relax a little. It was a warm smile that formed deep crinkles at the corners of her eyes, as if she had been smiling for most of her life. I smiled back and gave a little curtsy, which only widened her smile.

I took the money from my pocket, and gesturing as I spoke, I said, “I was wondering if I could buy—”

The woman held up a hand and gestured for me to wait, so I closed my hand around the money and stopped speaking. A moment later the boy returned from the barn with three men and several older boys. One of the adult men said something in Spanish to the others, and I recognized him as the man I had met
in the fields. I hoped he was telling the others that he recognized me, but I couldn't be sure.

“Buenas tardes, señorita.
You come here before, no?” another man said, and I quickly nodded. I held the money out to him.

“I—I wanted to buy a chicken, please, sir.”

His eyebrows raised and he looked at my money. It was only forty-five cents, less than half what I would have paid at the company store, but I knew Mr. Johnson's prices were high. I held my breath and waited while he translated my request and the men discussed it. Finally, the man nodded.

“Come,” he said, and the group walked back toward the barn. I followed with rising excitement. My mother would be so pleased to get a whole chicken for so little—we often could only afford a part of one to put in the pot.

Chickens were everywhere around the barns, scratching and pecking the bare dirt. Several hens had little broods of chicks scurrying around their feet, and young chickens with new pinfeathers in their wings were flapping and chasing each other like school children. The man to whom I had spoken singled out a hen without a brood and snatched her up, deftly catching her legs with one hand and binding them together with a strip of twine with the other. He held the squawking, flapping bird out to me.

I stared. It hadn't occurred to me that the bird would be alive. Of course, I knew it would be alive, but I hadn't thought about carrying it home that way. In my mind I had seen it much like buying a chicken from Mr. Johnson's store, where they hung already dead and plucked over his counters.

The farmer must have seen the uncertain expression on my face. He calmed the bird and turned her for my inspection. “Don't worry, she is strong, a good layer, no? She gives you many eggs.”

My mouth fell open and I snapped it shut again. Eggs! I had only been thinking about buying a chicken for the pot, but eggs! If I had hens that could lay eggs, maybe I
could
grow meat! There was enough room behind our house for chickens. But one hen could not lay enough eggs for my family to eat well, or to hatch a brood large enough to fill a henhouse—at least, not soon.

“How much for two or three of those?” I asked, pointing at the young chickens chasing each other in and out around an old cart. “I have a large family; one hen won't give enough eggs for all of us.”

“How big is your family?” the man asked.

“There are five of us, plus Old Jan and his two sons.”

The man laughed. “Five is not so big,” he said, unwinding the twine from the hen's legs and letting her go. He spoke to the other men in the group again, and after a time turned back to me.

“Three pullets,” he said, pointing to the young chickens.

“All hens?” I asked. ”

Sí,
pullets,” he said.

I nodded and smiled. “Thank you. Thank you very much.” I handed him the money and he sent one of the boys into the barn for an old sack made of gray, hand-spun wool. The farmer collected three squawking chickens and put them into the bag, which he handed to me.

“Thank you,” I said again. “How long until they lay eggs?”

“A few weeks,
más o menos,”
he said.

Carefully holding the squirming bag, I set off back to where I had left my fish and my pole, then over the ridge toward home. I was thinking happily about the fresh eggs we would have when the chicks got old enough to lay. It would not be much at first, but if these were successful, maybe we could hatch more, and
have meat. My mouth watered as I imagined roasted chicken for our Sunday dinners.

From the top of the ridge, I looked down into the drab coal camp and my thoughts returned to the present. What would my mother say when I came in with live chickens? And what would she say when she found out I spent the change from the store without her permission? My plan had been to bring a chicken for the pot—there was no foolish dream in that. But my bag filled with squirming chicks was full of dreams. And that was the last thing my mother was going to let me bring into the house! How was I going to explain this? More important, what on earth was my mother going to do when I tried?

I SAT DOWN
on the ridge and looked into my bag. The three little chickens looked up at me with their glossy black eyes and peeped their uncertainty. I stared back the same way. I knew nothing about raising chickens. Maybe I should take them back to the farmer and get my money back rather than try to explain it all to my mother. The farmers would laugh at

my foolishness, and I hated that idea. I hated even more the thought that it was foolishness; I wanted my plan to work. I wanted the chickens, and I wanted fresh eggs and meat. Mostly I wanted to prove we didn't have to rely on Mr. Johnson and his awful store.

It was a good plan; I just had to find a way to convince my mother, and that wouldn't be easy. She had protested a garden. I didn't like to think what she would say about chickens. I closed the bag again and got slowly back to my feet. I descended the ridge and entered camp on the west end, so I could pass Old Jan's house before going to my own.

“Ah, here's our fisherman now,” Old Jan said as he saw me coming. “Did you have any luck?”

I climbed the porch steps and sat down beside him. “I caught plenty of fish,” I said. “And I have something else, too. But I need your advice.” I told him of my idea to buy a single chicken for meat and how it had changed, and I showed him the three pullets in the bag.

“That is very serious, Trina, taking money without asking,” he said, his tone sober but still gentle. “You shouldn't have done so.”

“I was afraid my mother would not let me try.”

“Your mother only wants what is best for you,” he said.

Frustration welled up inside me again, just as it had the night I brought home the seeds. “How is it best for me—for any of us—to be stuck here, working and working and never getting ahead? If she wanted what is best for me, she'd let me try to make things better. That is all I'm doing—where's the harm in trying?”

Old Jan patted my knee. “You are a brave girl, Trina, and a good girl. How many fish did you catch?”

I held up the string. “Enough for everyone to have a whole one this time. But what about the chickens?”

“Do you think your momma would cook all the fish for us? I will bring potato soup. I have it simmering on the stove already, but your momma's a better cook with fish.”

I nodded. “She is always happy to have you.”

“Then leave the chickens with me and take the fish to your momma. I'll work something out.”

I did as he said and set off for home with the fish. Momma was pleased to get them, and pleased, too, that I had invited Old Jan and his sons to supper.

“It's the neighborly thing to do,” she said, “and the least we can do, since they are kind enough to lend you the fishing pole.”

I helped Momma prepare supper and filled the tub of washwater for Papa, as I did every evening. My mind, however, was not on my work. I hoped Momma wouldn't notice. I needed her to be pleased with me, to be in a good mood. I had no idea what Old Jan was planning to do when he arrived. I did not see any way he could bring the pullets to our house without brooking my mother's opposition.

My stomach swirled with butterflies when I saw Old Jan approaching with Papa. They were discussing something in earnest tones, so I slipped back inside the house before they saw me. Old Jan did not appear to have the chickens with him, and I was afraid my expression would reveal that I had a secret.

Papa washed the coal dust and dirt from his face and hands in the tub by the back door as usual before the two of them entered. I watched as Momma greeted Papa, then welcomed Old Jan. Neither gave any hint that anything was out of the ordinary.

“Where are your sons?” Momma asked Old Jan.

“They will be along shortly with the soup,” Old Jan said. “I wanted to talk to your husband, so I came along when I saw him passing my house.”

Momma looked between the two men, her eyes registering surprise. “Is something wrong?”

Papa glanced at Old Jan, then back at Momma. “There's talk of layoffs at the mine,” he said. “Just not as much demand for coal now that summer is here.”

Momma's jaw clenched. “Talk? When will we know?”

“They say some people will get their slip with their pay next week,” Papa said. “And, they are going to start giving out scrip payments for the summer.”

“Scrip?” I asked. I had never heard of such a thing.

“It's not real money,” Old Jan explained. “It's like a voucher that you can use to buy things at the store. But you can't buy things anywhere but the company store with it.”

“That doesn't worry me. Where else are we going to spend it, anyway? But the layoffs. I don't know what we will do if you're laid off, Tomas,” Momma said.

Old Jan put a hand on Papa's shoulder. “Don't worry, Mrs. Prochazkova. I have been here for four years and I have seen this many times. Your husband is a hard worker and a family man. They will keep him on. It will be the lazy ones and the bachelors that will go.”

“Let us hope so,” Momma said.

“It's a good thing Trina's such a good fisherman,” Old Jan said with a wink in my direction. “You won't have to worry about going hungry with her in the family, no matter what.”

Momma smiled in my direction, but the creases of worry between her eyes did not go away. “Supper is almost ready,” she said. “Sit down and relax while the girls and I finish up in

the kitchen.”

I understood her worry, and I shared it silently as we finished preparing supper. If Papa lost his job, I didn't know what we would do. I felt a surge of guilt for having spent our money without permission. We would need every last cent we had if there were layoffs at the mine. I was glad that Old Jan hadn't brought the chickens right away—maybe I could still return them and get my money back. My heart fell when I looked out through the open kitchen door and saw Karel and Mark approaching. Mark was carrying a wooden crate, and I had a good idea what was inside it.

He set the crate down outside the back door, putting a rock
on the lid to prevent escape, then came inside just as Momma called everyone to supper. Holena skipped up to Mark and greeted him with a hug.

“Trina caught more fish for us with your pole,” she said happily. Her mood, at least, had not been smothered by the news from the mine.

Karel laughed. “So she did. Trina has out-fished you again, Mark.”

I shrugged. “I'm sure if you had more time, you'd be the better fisherman,” I said to make him feel better. I'd only just started to be able to talk to him again. I didn't need Karel making things more awkward between us.

Papa smiled at me. “Trina has many talents that she's only just discovering,” he said, making me wonder if Old Jan had already told him of the hens. Embarrassed, I retrieved the skillet from the stove and put a fried trout on each plate. Luckily, the conversation among the adults turned back to the topic of the mine, and I could breathe more freely. Maybe the chickens would be forgotten.

Karel was especially worried about the possibility of layoffs. He and Mark were bachelors, even though they had an injured father to support. And bachelors were always laid off before men with families.

“If they let one of us go, we could still get by, I suppose,” he said. “But I don't know what we'll do if we are both laid off. All the other mines are laying workers off too; there won't be any jobs anywhere.”