The Things I Know(44)
‘One of them is sitting on the eggs, proper broody,’ said her mum, waiting in the kitchen.
‘Oh no, which one?’ Hitch asked, as she held the back door open.
‘How should I know? Dad’s gone back up to the coop.’
Hitch whistled for Buddy to come as she trotted across the yard, out over the back grass and towards the paddock. If a hen got broody, it was bad news. Broody hens wanted to sit on eggs and raise a clutch of chicks; what they didn’t want to do was lay other eggs.
She saw her dad pulling a small crate to the edge of the run.
‘I’ve separated her from the others, love, but she’s pulled out some of her chest feathers to line her nest. Gave me a right pecking, she did, when I had to move her.’
‘Which one is it?’ She bent low and peered through the gaps in the crate at Daphne. ‘Oh, Daph, my poor love.’ She looked up at her dad. ‘That’s not like her. She’s not aggressive – none of them are.’
‘No, but if she thinks I’m going to harm her little ’uns . . .’ He sighed. ‘She was warm and so I’ve given her water. It’s important she stays hydrated. There were a few eggs under her, Hitch. Have you been collecting as regularly as you should?’ he asked softly.
‘I think so, maybe missed once or twice while I was, erm, while I was . . .’ She struggled to think of how to phrase her preoccupation.
‘While you took a shine to that London chap?’
‘Yes.’ She bit the inside of her cheek. The idea that her girls might have suffered because of something she might have done or not done was more than she could stand.
‘It can just happen, love, whether you collect regular or not,’ he said, smiling at her, her sweet dad. ‘Trouble is, it can be contagious – one broody hen can lead to two and then three, and they sit on all the eggs and stop laying, and then they’re not layers, not paying their keep, and they’re just costing us time and money.’ He shook his head.
‘That won’t happen.’ She tried to hide her note of panic, knowing the consequence for a chicken that did not lay. ‘Daphne’s smart. She’ll figure it out, get back on track.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ He winked at her.
‘Poor little thing, it’s not much to ask, is it? To be allowed to have a little one of your own, to live in your own house and to be a mum, especially when that’s all we ask of her, to lay eggs.’
‘It’s the nature of it, darlin’.’ He patted the crate. ‘Was he nice then, that London chap?’
Hitch nodded. ‘He was. Really nice.’
‘Might he come back again?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. He works for a kind of bank, he’s busy and he’s far away.’
‘Well, even people who work in kind of banks and live far away need holidays!’
His attempt to cheer her had the opposite effect. She felt her tears pool.
‘I liked him, Pops.’
‘I could tell – you carried the scent of joy with you, and it was lovely. Well, if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.’ He walked over and ruffled the top of her hair, like he had when she was a child.
‘Do you think Jonathan might come home soon?’ She sniffed. On top of everything else, she missed her brother, wishing he were here and cursing the moment she had asked the question, knowing that to put her brother’s absence in her dad’s mind was unfair.
What is wrong with you, Thomasina?
Her dad took his time in replying, letting his eyes sweep across the land over which he was king. ‘I don’t know. I think he’s happy and he likes life in the sunshine, and who knows – maybe there’ll be nothing for him to come home to?’
‘Please don’t say that!’ She cursed the tears that fell, crying for several reasons.
‘Truth is, I’ve had an enquiry, a very generous enquiry, via a lawyer chap in Bristol. He phoned me yesterday. As I’ve said, I have to think of all the options.’
‘Them bloody Buttermores, chucking their money at us – well, we are not for sale! We are not!’ she hissed, balling her fingers into fists.
‘We might not have any choice, my little love,’ he offered solemnly. ‘Besides, we don’t know it’s the Buttermores.’
‘Who else would it be?’ She stared at the crate in which her little hen clucked forlornly. ‘I feel like everything’s unravelling, Pops, and I don’t know what to do.’
‘You’ll be fine, and we’ll be fine, you’ll see.’ He pulled her into his arms and held her close – her dad, the only man in the world she trusted to tell her the truth and to treat her right. Unbidden, an image of Grayson rose in her mind and her tears fell afresh.
Plunging the large serving spoon into the hotpot casserole, she heard the satisfying crack of crisped golden potatoes on top of the rich meat and gravy as she heaped a portion on to the plate, alongside buttered peas and hot steamed cabbage.
‘Smells good.’ Her dad smacked his lips. ‘Where’s Emery? Not like him to be late for supper.’
Her mum shrugged. ‘No matter, his plate’ll keep in the warming oven.’ She lifted her own cutlery in readiness for her food. Hitch placed the bowls in front of her parents and went back to the range to serve her own.