Hens and Chickens (12 page)

“Hen pen, my ass,” said Kidd. “I heard she’s a young
chick
. I should’ve known you’d be onto her like a guinea hen onto a tick, Hobart. You never did miss an opportunity.”

Hobart let the cooler door drop with a
whoosh
. “I think the only opportunity for me with Lila is …”

“Lila?!” Kidd interrupted. He whistled through a mouthful of white teeth, which he never hesitated to show off. “Hey, we’re on a first name basis, are we? Good job, buddy!”

“… the only opportunity is to help her rebuild the hen house and pens,” Hobart calmly continued. “It’s a long time since anybody raised chickens at the old Russell Place.  By the way, Tom, she’s interested in becoming certified organic.”

Kidd fingered his fainéant black goatee. “Hey … maybe I should drop by?” he mused, almost to himself.

“Maybe you should,” said Hobart. “In fact, I told Lila if I saw you I’d point you in that direction. She wants to know what it takes to sell organic eggs.”

“Well, I’m not used to taking pointers from you, Hobart – especially about women – but you could be onto something this time if all I hear about your friend Lila is true. Pretty hot, is she?”

Hobart winced. “She’s pretty, anyway,” he admitted lamely, beginning to feel uncomfortable. “Why don’t you go see for yourself? Her name is Lila Woodsum.”

Tom Kidd slapped Hobart on the back. “Hey, buddy, you’re the man!”

Hobart moved away from Kidd and toward the cash register, where Ralph Gilpin was warily eyeing the two men. Hobart thought his old friend and former employer looked as though he expected a dog fight to break out at any moment. Tom Kidd queued up behind Hobart with a single can of cold beer.

“What’s the best time for me to drop by?” Kidd asked, as he carelessly flipped through a selection of candy bars at the counter. 

“Lila’s around most days,” Hobart replied, opening his wallet to pay for the milk. Hobart should have let it go at that, but the guy on the white horse couldn’t resist affixing a note of warning. “So am I,” he added, with a meaningful look at Ralph Gilpin that stopped the old shopkeeper’s open mouth.

“Hey, thanks for the heads-up, buddy. I’ll be sure to drop by at night!”

Mike Hobart mentally kicked himself.
Dammit! Now, I’ve let the wolf in the door!

Hobart exited Gilpin’s without uttering the biting response to the Organic Kidd that was perched on his lips. Lila would have to fight her own battles—plus she had never said she wanted him to protect her in the first place. It wasn’t his job. He had said he would help her rebuild the chicken house, and that’s what he was going to do.

Unless … But, no. It was no good speculating on what hadn’t happened, might not happen.

Hobart’s philosophy was that life – and love – would take their natural course. He just hoped that in Lila’s case that natural course wasn’t like the course of water—taking the lowest route.

Hobart alerted Lila that he had seen Tom Kidd, and that the MOGG certification “go-to guy” would be stopping by imminently to see her. But Tom Kidd knew how to play his cards better than that. He knew that he could make more of an impression with Lila if he didn’t make an appearance TOO soon. Kidd also was pretty sure that longer he waited the more likely he was to catch her
without
her carpenter-bodyguard.

As the Organic Kidd had calculated, Lila noticed his absence more than she might have been impressed by his presence. In fact, as the week progressed, Lila was beginning to think that she had met everyone in Sovereign and most of the neighboring towns BUT the Organic Kidd!

Word about the sale of the old Russell homestead and
The Egg Ladies
had spread via the local grapevine like news of an open house at which free coffee and donuts would be handed out. Neighbors, relatives of neighbors, friends of relatives of neighbors and the just plain curious stopped in daily to introduce themselves, offer assistance and see how the work progressed. Ma Jean sent up homemade pie from the restaurant by way of various couriers on a regular basis; the entire board of selectmen visited (as well as the planning board); and the code enforcement officer (who was also the fire chief) and his wife came by to say “hello” and put the rubber stamp on Wendell’s re-wiring of the hen pen. And Miss Hastings, who no longer drove and had in fact sold Lila her 1964 Pontiac LeMans, telephoned at least once a day. “Dahrrrling, I don’t want to bother you,” she said to Lila. “But if you get lonely, you know where we live! Matilda and I LOVE your tweets about
The Egg Ladies
!”

On Thursday afternoon, Ralph Gilpin, whom Lila had met upon her arrival in town and several times since at the general store, motored up Russell Hill to formally introduce his wife. Gilpin looked like a pole-bean next to his amply-endowed wife, Maude, and the couple instantly reminded Lila of the child’s nursery rhyme:
“Jack Spratt could eat no fat and his wife could eat
no lean.”
Ralph and Maude arrived when Lila and Mike were knee-deep in removing old soiled sawdust from the hen pen.

Without even waiting to see the state of the house or kitchen, a horrified Maude Gilpin issued an invitation to Lila for dinner on Saturday night. “You need some good food to put some meat on those bones!” she cried. “You, too, Sweetie,” she added, including Hobart in the invitation.   

“I don’t want to impose,” Lila said; “but I’m starving, so I won’t refuse. Thanks.”

“She can’t cook,” explained Mike, leaning on his shovel. “So ‘til her friend gets here, she’s living on nuts and yogurt.”

“Heavens!” exclaimed Maud, to whom the thought of going a day without a piece of homemade pie was a tragedy. “We’ll fix you right up with a welcome basket, Sweetie! Trudy Gorse mentioned to me just yesterday that she’d met you, and that the Welcome Wagon Committee ought to put something together for you BUT I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to cook a single thing since I saw Trudy, except the roast chicken and biscuits I cooked for supper last night, of course, and the custard I baked with duck eggs for Ralph’s dessert last night, too.”

Lila was so overwhelmed by Maud and her culinary accomplishments that she hardly knew how to respond. “You make custard with—duck eggs?” she said, in wonderment.

“Only ‘til ya git yer egg business off the ground,” Ralph interjected, squeezing his wife’s fat hand fondly. “Then – I project – my Maude’s gonna be yer best customer!”

Maude beamed proudly, as her husband steered her out of the hen pen toward the car. “See you Saturday, kids!” she called, with a friendly wave.  

It was late Friday afternoon before Tom Kidd finally stopped in to see Lila. He had cruised the Russell Hill Road several times earlier in the week, but each time he had spotted Mike Hobart’s blue truck parked territorially in the yard. This time, however, Lila was left undefended.

“Hey, hey—whaddaya say? I’m Tom Kidd,” he said, by way of an introduction when Lila answered the knock at the shed door.

Lila, however, who had glanced out the kitchen window prior to answering the knock, needed no introduction from him. Mike Hobart’s casual description of the Organic Kidd, combined with his gentle warning, had helped her form a pretty accurate picture in her mind of Tom Kidd. She recognized the type of man he was instantly. “Lila Woodsum,” she replied, hesitating momentarily, unsure as to whether or not she wanted to shake hands with him.

Kidd, quick to pick up on her hesitation – and suspecting Hobart had warned this slim pretty creature to beware of him – boldly stuck out his hand, and Lila had no choice but to shake it.

Lila unconsciously compared the organic farmer’s soft, supple hands with those of the sturdy carpenter’s. And unfortunately for Kidd, there was no comparison.
Why, his hands are more like a pampered woman’s than a farmer’s!

Lila tugged away from his handshake, and the Organic Kidd took the opportunity to step over the faded green doorsill into the shed.

“Hobart said you’re interested in having a certified organic egg business,” Kidd continued, pulling a sheaf of white papers from under his arm. “I brought you some info and the MOGG grower application – mind if we sit down and go over ‘em?” The Organic Kidd flashed his notorious dimpled smirk, which, framed by his pencil-thin mustache was always successful with the ladies, whether they be eight or 82.

Lila, however, noted that the “spontaneous” smile did not reach Tom Kidd’s brown eyes. Instead of being open and honest, his eyes were narrowed with keen observation and speculation. Lila suspected she was being carefully played by this dark stranger, a pawn on a chessboard that promoted the self-aggrandizement of the Organic Kidd.

“Mind if we sit down and go over these?” he repeated, gesturing toward the kitchen table, which was visible through the open connecting door.  

Normally, Lila would have risen up in rage at his arrogance; however, something in his aggressive action combined with the dark threat of his predatory visage, triggered a terrifying flashback to her childhood. Suddenly, she was an eight-year-old again, cowering beneath her bedclothes in her solitary, isolated bedroom. The color drained from her face. Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead, and she felt as though she was going to faint. She retreated into her kitchen and clasped the back of a wooden chair to steady herself.

Not now!
she silently beseeched herself.
Please … not now!

“Hey – are you OK?” asked Kidd, concerned, following her into the kitchen. He didn’t want her to topple over on him; might be bad for the organic certification business!

“Um—sorry, give me a minute,” Lila said. She sank into the solid oak chair, and covered her face with her hands. Unwanted, icky memories overwhelmed her like a bad movie that kept playing inside her head.
Omigod; make it stop!
 

Tom Kidd set his papers on the table atop a pile of chicken magazines. “Hey – why don’t I give you some time to check these out,” he said, suddenly anxious to make his escape. “I’ll stop by in a week or so to see if you’ve got any questions. It’s all pretty straight-forward – really.”

Kidd’s cheap aftershave permeated the kitchen and almost overpowered Lila. She put her head on the table.
I will not faint!

“The papers are right there,” the Organic Kid said, inching toward the shed; “on the table.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, from inside folded arms.

“See you later,” he called, from the shed door stoop. “Hope you’re feeling better real soon!”

“Uh-huh,” said Lila.

Moments later Tom Kidd scooted into his truck. He switched on the ignition and reached for his half-drunk can of beer.

Jesus! Hobart’s got a wacko on his hands with THAT chick!
 he thought, taking a long draught from the bitter beverage.
No wonder he didn’t try to discourage me!

Lila lay as she was, head on the table, and listened with intense relief as Kidd roared off down the hill. Despite the damp April breeze that blew up the hill, she left both the kitchen and shed doors open a full 15 minutes after his hasty departure. The refreshing air swept through the room – cleaning out his stench – and gradually restoring her to her normal senses. She lifted her head from her arms and surveyed the old farm kitchen; finding comfort in the worn, wide pine floor and honesty in the solid thickness of the 6X6 hand-hewn beams that supported the second story. Here was truth! Here was goodness! Here was peace, safety, security! Here were ALL the elements from Lila’s childhood that—
that she had always longed for and never had!

“That went well,” she said aloud, recovering herself. “What kind of self-respecting villain would run away just when the damsel in distress was about to capitulate?!”

Unwittingly, Lila pictured an episode from
The Perils of Pauline
, in which poor Pauline was tied to a railroad track as a chugging steam engine loomed large. The top-hatted villain rubbed his hands together in glee as Pauline wriggled helplessly trying to free herself.

Lila recalled, with some embarrassment, her pert question to Mike Hobart that second day in Miss Hastings’ shed: “You’re not one of those guys that go around rescuing damsels in distress, are you?”

“I could be,” he had admitted.

I could be.

Lila smiled somewhat sadly at the sweet memory.
Alas!
she thought.
There are some situations from which Pauline has to rescue herself!

Chapter 12

Lila’s Conundrum

“Omigod; I wonder if this is a DATE?” Lila said aloud, as she prepared for the Saturday night supper engagement with Maude and Ralph Gilpin—and Mike Hobart. “What a silly thing to worry about!”

Lila found herself wandering around the house for the better part of an hour in the late afternoon wondering whether or not the event with the carpenter could actually be construed as an official date. True, each of them had received a casual invitation from Maude, however, after the Gilpins departed Mike Hobart had gallantly offered to pick Lila up in his truck and escort her to the Gilpin’s home, which was situated on the other side of town.

“It certainly wouldn’t make the ‘date’ cut by Boston standards,” Lila said to herself, as she checked her hair in the bathroom mirror. She pushed her bangs to the left, then, dissatisfied, moved the shiny hair to the opposite side. But … things were different in Sovereign, and what was a casual night out in Boston might be a date in Maine. “I think once they get you in their truck up here it’s a date,” she instructed her mirror image; “either that, or you’re a dog.”

In the fervor of her anticipation, she accidentally knocked over an uncapped bottle of herbal shampoo sitting on the vanity top and the scent of rosemary and lavender wafted through the bathroom. Lila cleaned up the mess, and confronted herself again in the mirror. “Get it together, Lila!” she instructed her reflection. She bent closer to check her pearly white teeth. “Good to go.”

When she stepped back from the mirror Lila realized she was wearing the exact same skinny-leg jeans and oversized wool sweater she had been wearing the day she had walked out of Joe Kelly’s office and into liberty. Now, however, thanks to weeks of physical labor and a lack of fast-food restaurants, her formerly skin-tight jeans drooped slackly from her thin hips, and the heavy black sweater swallowed her figure as completely as the whale swallowed Jonah. “I’ve got to do better than THIS or people WILL think I’m his dog!” she exclaimed.