A Good Hen by T.G. Roettiger

 

You’re wondering about that? That old jar, yeah, that’s somethin’ I got years ago…

I remember the spring that my hen Molly went broody. I was 10 and Liza was 14. Liza was my cousin. Our dads was brothers. She was also my best friend when I was not in school, on account of we were the youngest in our families and there weren’t no one else nearby. Our farmhouses was right close by, just a patch of grass in between. Our families owned 2000 acres each and the houses was in the middle of all that.  That was pretty common in those days in Wisconsin. People had to come a long way to get to us.

When I was 8, my parents give me three laying hens. They told me that I had to learn to take care of them. It would teach me responsibility and how to be a man. I liked the idea. I had never had anything truly my own. Everything I had ever had before was kind of shared and my brothers and cousins could take it from me whenever they wanted. Not that that they could not take the hens, but something told me that they wouldn’t. They was mine and I didn’t need to be afraid of anyone taking them. Dad and I built a coop beside the barn.

Now, Molly was one of my best hens. She was a gold-laced Wyandotte. The Wyandottes are a big, hearty breed that can make it through the winter on their own, no need for a heated coop, like Leghorns need. Even by Wyandotte standards Molly was a big girl. And she knew how to use her size.

By the time Molly come along, I had a pretty good flock with two roosters. The rooster fought with each ‘n other, but it was Molly they really feared.  More than once, one of those roosters took a beak upside the head. I once found my big buff Brahma rooster out cold. Thought he was dead at first. He recovered, but he never again had any truck with Molly.

It was with other hens though, that Molly truly unleashed her wrath. Now, my coop was pretty small, so the roosting bars was fairly close to the nest boxes. Once Molly went broody, she defended her territory, and if anyone, especially another hen, tried to roost in front of her nest box, she would knock them off. Sometimes, when they fell, they would bust their necks. More than once, I came out in the morning to find a stiff hen with a broken neck on the coop floor in front of Molly’s box. That’s how she came to be called Murderous Molly.

That was also the spring that Uncle Billy came to live with Liza’s family. I am not sure of the exact relation of Uncle Billy, but something in my memory says he weren’t a real uncle or even a blood relative. It wasn’t uncommon for families to take in a hired man and have him live with the family and kids would take to callin’ him uncle. They didn’t really need the help, but for some reason, Liza’s mother felt she had to take him in. Maybe he was some kind of relation. Anyway, he slept in the old pantry off the back of Liza’s house.  I kind of got the impression the other adults were not entirely happy he was there. They always seemed to treat him like a stray dog that smelled bad. Us kids weren’t too keen on him either. Anyway, he was there that spring.

It was also that spring Liza started wearing dresses. Not all the time, just when she wasn’t doing chores or other work on the farm. She was also “doing her hair” as girls like to say. Before this she used to dress pretty much like us boys and her hair was always in two big braids that were thick enough to use for anchor lines, had they been a lot longer.

Those braids was always catching on something when we were out in the woodlot, which was one of our most favorite places to go. We’d get back from an afternoon in the woodlot and Liza would always get an earful from her mother an account of all the sticks in her braids.

Now, Billy seemed to really take to Liza. What Liza’s dad thought about, I can’t say except that he didn’t seem to have much time for Billy. But I did notice that Billy didn’t come near Liza when her parents were around. He was always smoothing her dress for her and making sure she looked real pretty, like the proper young lady he said she was. I admit, I was a bit jealous cause by the time we got to summer, Liza was spending a lot of her free time (which ain’t much when you’re a Wisconsin farm kid) with Uncle Billy. I was too young to suss things out. All I knew is it made me feel like I had lost my summer friend.

Even when we did do things together, it just didn’t feel the same. She kept pointing out that I was younger than her and that there was a lot I didn’t yet understand. I told her to explain it to me. She said I was just too young and would have to wait. That vexed me. I got angry and said some mean things to her. I still regret that.

That summer went on and just kept getting hotter and hotter. The rain had been good, so we didn’t fear for the crops and the creek kept flowing so we had water for the stock. But the nights was so hot that you’d sweat in your sleep, even with every window in the house open.

Well, one day we had a full afternoon off. My parents and Liza’s parents went into town together, trusting my older brothers and cousins, and I guess Uncle Billy, to hold the place together.

Now, our place had a tractor path that led from the houses and barns, along the creek, to the woodlot. It was about half a mile to the woodlot. When me and Liza used to go out there together, it seemed like such a long way off. But the woodlot was our enchanted land and we went there as often as we could.

Anyway, on this day, having the afternoon off, I had been out fishing the creek. Not having any luck, I decided to head home. Along the tractor path, I ran into Liza and Uncle Billy.

I asked them where they was going and they said the woodlot. Liza said Uncle Billy had found a special place. I asked if I could come too. Liza said I was too little and Uncle Billy promised to show me when I was older. So, they went off and I kept on home.

I wondered what “special place” Uncle Billy could have found. Liza and I had covered every inch of that woodlot a hundred times. If there was a special place, we seen it. And if I was old enough to go there with Liza, why couldn’t I go with her and Uncle Billy? I wasn’t happy, and my thoughts weren’t kind.

By the time I got home, the adults were back.  I got the sense something wasn’t right. My Dad ran up and grabbed me by both shoulders. He asked if Liza was with me. I told him about how I had seen her and Uncle Billy heading for the woodlot. I saw Liza’s mom drop her head. She looked ill. Dad got a look on his face that I hope I never see again. Then he looked at Liza’s dad. They didn’t say a word, but Liza’s mom and mine shooed all of us into the house while Dad and Liza’s dad headed down the tractor path.

That night, dinner was late. Mom mentioned something about my Dad and Liza’s Dad having a talk with Uncle Billy. No one said a word, not because we were told not to talk, but we could feel that we shouldn’t. Afterward, we was all sent straight to bed.

After that night, I don’t think I ever saw Liza happy again. She didn’t seem to want to do anything. She just stood around and didn’t seem to notice the world, like a cow with the fever. Our parents was all real quiet. They seemed angry. I found it best to do my chores and tend my chickens and stay out of the way.

For his part, we didn’t see Uncle Billy much anymore. He was still at my cousins’ house, but he didn’t come out much. I heard he ate in his room.

One day I was out cleaning the coop and I saw Liza. She didn’t seem to be doing anything in particular, which was pretty much how she was most of the time by then. I decided to try once more to get my friend back.

She was sitting on a stump between our houses. It had been a big maple, but got hit by lightning and my dad and hers had cut it up for firewood. I sat down next to her, but I didn’t say anything for a long time. I wanted to put my arm around her, like she did to me when my cat got hit by a car. For some reason, maybe I was just a coward, I couldn’t do it. So, I just kept sitting.

Finally, I couldn’t take anymore and I said the only thing I could: “I want you to be my friend again.”

I heard her take a deep breath. She turned to face me. The look in her eyes still haunts me.

“Stop being such a baby,” she said. “Don’t ask about things you don’t understand. I am tired of dealing with stupid babies who don’t understand anything.”

Then she got up and went back to her house. I watched her go. She didn’t look back. It was the last time I ever spoke to Liza.

After that I was sure of two things: I had lost my friend forever and Uncle Billy was responsible. Didn’t know the what or the how, yet I knew it down to my bones. I know it is not right to seek revenge. Still, I came up with a plan. I just hoped that it would fall on the justice side of revenge. Or at least a reckoning.

That night, after everyone was asleep, I got up and went outside. The moon was full, so I had no problem making my way to the coop. I opened the door slowly. I heard a few of the birds shift on the roosts. The moonlight didn’t get too far into the coop, but I knew my way around.

I felt my way along the boxes until I got to Molly’s box. She was there. I stroked her neck and she purred to me. I picked her up and headed outside. She perched on my arm like a falconer’s hawk. She was a good bird. And she had a job to do.

I went across the yard to Liza’s house. I moved along the wall as quietly as I could until I got to the old pantry. The window was open, like I knew it would be on account of the night being warm. I raised my arm up to the sill of the open window. Molly stepped onto the sill in perfect silence. She knew what to do. I went back home.

That night I lay awake in bed. I was listening, but didn’t hear nothin’.

In the morning, I was out earlier than usual. I had left the coop open and wanted to make sure Molly was back or grab her before anyone saw she was out. But as I tried to sneak out the door, I ran right into my dad as he was coming in. Why he was out so early, I couldn’t guess. I hoped he wouldn’t ask me why I was out early as I weren’t a very good liar. We stood and stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, Dad turned and looked toward Liza’s House. “You left your coop open last night. You best go check on your chickens. Then get back inside. And stay in.”          

I squeezed past my dad and made my way to the coop. I stepped inside, I saw that Molly was back in her box. I felt a weight lifted off me and hurried back to the house.

Everyone was in our front room, except my dad and Liza’s. Us kids weren’t saying much, but we knew something was up. Liza sat in a corner chair staring at the floor between her feet. No one went near her. Somehow, it didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

Liza’s mom and mine were in the kitchen talking in low tones over cups of cold coffee. We weren’t supposed to go in there, so I set on the floor near the entry to the kitchen. I caught a few pieces of their conversation: “…must have come through the window…powerful…right through his skull…one eye gone…torn…not found…never heard a sound…should have never…not here… but had to help…a mistake…at least it’s over…but Liza…”

About then, I heard one of the tractors start up. I went to the window and saw one of the smaller tractors with a high-side wagon heading down the path toward the woodlot. My dad was driving and Liza’s was standing in the wagon.  

About then, Mom came out of the kitchen. She came to the window and watched the tractor for a second. She glanced back at Liza’s mom in the kitchen and gave a slight nod. Then she turned back to us kids and told us all to get out and get on with our chores. She grabbed me by the arm as I was leaving and told me I had to hay the stock as Dad was going to be gone for a while.

I went to the barn to feed out hay. I was a bit vexed cause the bale hooks weren’t hanging where they should be. They was nice ones. Grandpa had made them of steel, real sharp, with oak handles. They made it easy to grab the bales and toss them over the fence. But they was gone, so I just carried the bales by hand. I always hated the way the twine cut into my hands. Never got used to that.

The rest of the day was a blur. People just doing and saying only what was absolutely necessary and asking no questions. That evening as we started our chores, I saw my Dad throwing bales with the hooks. He saw me and stopped.

I told him how I couldn’t find the hooks this morning. He looked down at the hooks in his hands, turned them side to side. He said Liza’s dad had borrowed them for a spell. He turned to look at Liza’s house and I saw his face get pale. He swallowed hard. We didn’t speak any more. I went out to collect eggs and tend my chickens.

The sun was mostly set and the hens were all roosting, except Molly. I collected eggs from all the boxes before reaching under Molly to get her eggs. Like I said, she could peck hard, so I always saved her for last. When I got around to Molly, I found something in her box that told me all I needed to know. I’ve kept it ever since.

***

We never did see Uncle Billy again. I thought, hoped really, that with him gone, Liza and me would be friends again. But it didn’t go that way. She just stayed sad. I guess some changes can’t be undone. Eventually people gave up trying to talk to her. Some of the kids at school got real mean with her. I tried to stop them, but she just yelled at me to mind my own business and stay out of things that didn’t concern me. So, I guess I stopped trying too.

One day, must have been about a year later, Liza was gone. No one much talked about it. I don’t rightly know if anyone knew where she went. She could have been sent somewhere; I suppose. I’ve heard about such things. But, she was just gone.

Liza’s father kept up the farm, but her mother was never the same. Sometimes things just don’t ever come right again. That was the lesson I learned.

Anyway, that’s the story of how I come to have a jar with human eye in it. Like I said, Molly was a good hen.

T.G. Roettiger

Image: The face of a very angry looking white chicken from Pixabay.com. Beady eyes and a red comb.