Rules of Protection(37)

Hank nodded. “Our Muscovy duck had laid some eggs in the hollow last year, but they never hatched. Didn’t think to check this year. Guess they laid some more and those hatched.”

“Where’s their mother? Shouldn’t she be around here somewhere?”

“She’s in the pond,” Hank said. “Can’t you hear her sloshing around in the water and calling them? She’s trying to get them to come out of the tree. Jake, grab one of those five-gallon buckets in the barn and a ladder. We’ll climb up and see if there are more in the nest.”

While Jake got the ladder and bucket, two more yellow ducklings jumped out of the nest, bounced off the ground, and were now resting in Hank’s large hands. Their tiny heads poked out through his fingers and they peeped relentlessly. Jake leaned the ladder against the tree and climbed up. He came back down with six more ducklings.

The four ducklings we held reunited with their siblings inside the bucket by clumping together on one side. “Now what?” I asked.

“Now, we put them in a brooder box with a heat lamp,” Hank said. “It’ll keep them warm and safe from predators.”

“What about the momma duck? Are you going to catch her?”

“Why would I do that?” Hank asked, looking at me strangely.

“How are they going to suckle?”

Hank and Jake looked at each other with astonishment and then chuckled. “Emily, ducks don’t have nipples,” Jake said.

“Or lips,” Hank mumbled under his breath with a smirk.

I was confused. “Then why do the babies go under the momma’s wings?”

“To get warm,” Jake answered, trying not to laugh again.

My cheeks warmed. How was I supposed to know? It’s not like I was raised on a farm.

Hank led us to the brooder box and opened the lid. There were two sides to the brooder, and one side already overflowed with colorful chicks. Huddled near the heat lamp, they all began peeping once disturbed. Hank plucked up a white chick and placed it gently in my palm.

One peek and I melted. “Aww,” I said, cooing to the chick with the fluffy head. “It’s so cute.” Then it shit in my hand. “Ew, gross. Take this nasty thing.”

Jake grabbed it and placed it back with the others. He didn’t laugh this time, but the shit-eating grin on his face told me he wanted to. I rinsed off my hand with the nearby hose while Jake put the ducklings into the other side of the brooder box and turned on their heat lamp. Hank gave them food and water, which the ducklings walked through and made a mess of within about thirty seconds.

“Well, kiddos, dinner should be close to ready,” Hank said, looking at his watch. “Let’s wash up and eat. We’ll work on the well pump more tomorrow, Jake.”

As soon as we went inside, I stepped into the bathroom and washed my hands with soap. Twice. Then I headed to the kitchen. “Floss, can I help with anything?”

“Do you cook, dear?”

“Does boiling water or using a microwave count? I’m willing to learn, but my mom wasn’t able to…uh…well, she wasn’t around.”

“Everything is about ready, but tomorrow I’ll get you to help me with dinner.”

“Sounds good.” I sat next to Jake.

“Oh, and Emily, Junior called to say he was bringing over some clothes for you that belonged to his daughter. He’s going to drop them off in the morning.”

Jake gave Floss a look, but I couldn’t grasp the meaning behind it and let it go. He probably wondered the same thing I did. How did Junior know I needed extra clothes?

“That’s sweet of him,” I said, taking a sip of iced tea. “What about you, Jake? Don’t you need to go into town and buy a few things? You have fewer clothes than I do.”

“I can pick up some things later.”

“Actually,” Floss interrupted. “You have clothes you left up in the attic, Jake.” She smiled at me. “Every time Jake came in for a visit, he’d leave an article behind. I collected them in a box. Good thing, huh?”

“Yep, good thing.” Jake smiled at her. “I’ll go up and pull the box down first thing in the morning.”

Minutes later, Floss had dinner on the table. She put ears of corn on each of our plates and went to tell Hank dinner was ready. He was still in the bathroom washing up. I inspected the corn, but my stomach rolled with a wave of nausea.

“Jake, I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I don’t think I can eat it after what you told me about the dead bodies,” I whispered. “I’d always wonder if it came from the same field.”

“My aunt and uncle grow their own corn,” he whispered back. “You’re safe. No dead bodies.”

I sighed with relief. “Thank God.”

Hank and Floss joined us at the table, and we passed around the platters of food. When Jake handed me a platter of golden fried balls, I paused. They resembled hush puppies, but I wasn’t sure about eating them.

“What are these?”

“Fish balls,” Hank said, dipping one in tartar sauce and taking a bite.

“Seriously? I didn’t know fish had—”

Jake clamped his hand over my mouth and politely excused us before dragging me away from the table. In the living room, he glared at me with exasperation. “What’s your problem?”