Hens and Chickens (35 page)
Authors: Jennifer Wixson
Mike Hobart, who wasn’t always the “shaapest” of suitors, finally figured out where Lila had gone to and why. Half an hour later, he reached his cabin. He saw Lila’s car parked out front, but in the pouring rain failed to notice his father’s matching baby blue pickup.
He burst into the cabin calling Lila’s name. He broke off when he beheld a beaming Lila sitting in front of the hearth, holding hands with—his father! He stopped dead in his tracks. “Dad!” he exclaimed, astonished.
The exultant old man rose from the rocker, pulling a radiant Lila up to her feet by his side. He gave her an affectionate squeeze. “I’ve done the heavy lifting for you, my boy!” Mr. Hobart crowed. “Lila’s said ‘Yes!’ You don’t even need to get down on your knees!”
Hobart shook his head in amazement. He attempted to process his father’s words, but could barely fathom the fact that his father was here, and not in Maple Grove. Fortunately, the glorious look in Lila’s eyes revealed all. “Lila?” he said, wondrously, opening his arms to his beloved.
Mr. Hobart released her, and she flew to him like a chickadee to a pine tree. He embraced her hungrily. “My darling!” he cried, crushing her to his muscular chest and pressing multiple kisses upon her face and hair. “My
darling
!”
She lifted her chin and her eyes begged for the fulfillment of his kiss. Hobart didn’t hesitate. He accepted her offering, claiming her as his own. She
was
his own; his Lila! Was there ever a more perfect name than
Lila
?
And that, my pips, is how our little chick finally came home to roost.
Chapter 33
Conclusion
Since now you know my peculiar position of sacred confidante in the community, you might also suspect the truth: that there have been many different sources for this little tale. All of my sources, however, have since given me permission to share their stories—Lila, especially is hoping that her personal history might help others find the courage to seek and secure happiness despite similar childhood trauma. So let us take a moment and follow this tale to its many happy endings …
While Lila, Mike and his father were making merry in Hobart’s little cabin in the woods, celebrating the couple’s informal engagement, the rain let up on the other side of town and the sun made a bold run at dispersing the remaining thunder clouds on Russell Hill. Wendell Russell had watched from Bud’s place as first the Organic Kidd, then Lila, and then Mike Hobart had sped out of the driveway. Never one to miss an opportunity, he calculated that Rebecca was finally alone, a situation which had been difficult for him to engineer. Wendell ambled hurriedly across the way, pulling his black plastic comb through his hair and returning it to his back pocket.
He rapped quickly on the shed door in his familiar fashion and let himself in. Rebecca was on her hands and knees cleaning up the mud and water from Mike Hobart’s dirty boots. She sat back onto her haunches at the sound of his knock.
“Come in, Wendell!” she called, but he was already poking his head through the inner door.
“Lila gone?” he asked, wiping his feet on the rug and stepping inside the toasty country kitchen.
Rebecca absently dropped the dirty sponge back into the bucket of cleaning water. “Yes! I don’t know
what’s
going on here! Things are getting curiouser and curiouser!”
“Ayuh, thet happens in Sovereign,” Wendell said, chuckling. He reached down and helped Rebecca to her feet. He set the pail to one side, next to the soapstone sink, so that it wouldn’t get knocked over.
“Tinkerbell is dead! Lila’s missing! That organic man was here; my goodness! Would you like some rhubarb sauce? I just made it!”
“Ayuh,” Wendell said, pulling up his usual chair at the table.
Rebecca served him a large helping of the rosy red sauce, and he admired it with obvious enthusiasm. She poured out two cups of tea from the boiling water in the nickel-plated tea kettle that was hot on the cookstove, and set the steaming cups at each of their place settings.
Rebecca sank down with a sigh into her chair across the table from him. She watched with fond satisfaction as the old chicken farmer devoured with gusto the big bowl of her rhubarb sauce. “You know, there
is
something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Wendell,” she said, fingering the handle of her teacup.
“What’s thet?”
“Why is it you never use my name? You call ‘Lila—Lila’ and ‘Mike—Mike’ but I’ve only ever heard you refer to me as ‘yore little friend’?”
Wendell grinned, his charming, gold-toothed grin, and reached across the table, securing her hand from the teacup. “Thet’s ‘cause I was waitin’ ‘til I could call you ‘Mrs. Russell,’” he said. “Think I might?” He winked.
Rebecca, our modest, old-fashioned Rebecca, did not even blush! Instead, she giggled like a schoolgirl. “Oh, I think you might!”
He leaned across the table – she met him halfway – for an affectionate kiss. And then Wendell and Rebecca finished their tea in companionable silence in the kitchen of the old Russell homestead.
Our young lovers, Lila and Mike, were married in June at the Sovereign Union Church. What a crowd we had that day! The entire Hobart clan motored down from Maple Grove in Aroostook County and what with husbands and wives from the seventh generation and children and grandchildren from the eighth generation, the Hobarts filled up most of the pews on
both
sides of the little white church, although it was obvious to all that more of the family selected the bride’s side of the aisle than the groom’s! Poor Lila, who had no family of her own, was overcome when she entered the church in her lovely white gown to discover that Mike’s family was determined to show to Lila and to the world that she was part of
their
family now.
Lila’s side was also represented in the church by steadfast friends such as Ryan MacDonald, Miss Hastings and the Gilpin family. Cora Batterswaith, “Queen Cora,” held court among a little group of Lila’s former coworkers, including Shelly Thompson, who had helped Lila pick out the outfit for her mother to be buried in, and Carl Esler, who had held Lila’s hand through her mother’s funeral service. Queen Cora had been invited because of her single act of kindness to Rebecca that last day at Perkins & Gleeful—she had helped Rebecca carry her things to the car. Joe Kelly, that “tight-fisted twit” (as Miss Hastings still describes Lila’s former boss) was
not
invited.
Lila was walked down the aisle by our old friend Wendell Russell on one side of her, and by her new father on the other. Her handsome, steady hero waited for her at the altar and I’ve never performed a wedding service for a man more in love, nor a more deserving man, than Mike Hobart. Patience, selfless love and a sense of humor had won him his prize.
The wedding service was short and sweet, and the guests decamped to the old Russell homestead, where Rebecca and Maude Gilpin had prepared a wondrous feast for the wedding celebration. Mike’s older brother John gave a toast, officially welcoming Lila to the Hobart family. It was a glorious, joyous day; one that us Sovereign folk won’t soon forget.
A few weeks later, I performed the wedding service for our other
unmarried
lovers, Wendell and Rebecca—a small ceremony at the old Russell homestead. After first paying off the mortgage, Lila gave the deed to the place as a wedding gift to her faithful friend and her new husband, so now Rebecca’s name, her rightful name – Rebecca Russell – is finally recorded at the registry. Like all of us, Lila recognized that Rebecca belonged in Sovereign, in the house that she had brought back to life. Wendell, the old chicken farmer who had once dreamed of bringing the
farm
back to life, suddenly found himself an official proprietor of
The Egg Ladies
. He discovered that he was NOT too old after all to take over Grammie Addie’s operation! Plus he had plenty of help from his devoted wife and the newest egg lady, Amber, whose organic propensities had perhaps instigated the whole Maine adventure.
This summer, Amber has been staying at Bud’s place, to give her parents some privacy during the early days of their marriage. However, a proposed late August visit from Ryan MacDonald is being talked about, so at least one of the three upstairs guest rooms will once again be pressed into service at the old Russell homestead. An excursion to the Maine coast that will include the Gilpins, Miss Hastings, the Russells, Amber, and Ryan MacDonald has been planned during MacDonald’s visit, and this time they have even invited yours truly!
Our
married
lovers, Ralph and Maude Gilpin, celebrated their 53
rd
wedding anniversary in June, at which illustrious event Ralph took care to assure the couple’s guests: “She’s
still
my bride, though!” Gray Gilpin took and passed his hunter’s safety course in July. Despite the Tinkerbell incident, he
will
be deer hunting this fall with the new shotgun his Dad gave him last Christmas. Gray is hoping that his father will return soon from the war in Afghanistan, an event which some of us know for a fact will soon come true and for which Maude Gilpin has prayed every day during the past 10 years. Sometimes – if we have patience, hope and faith – we
are
rewarded with our heart’s desire! But perhaps the imminent return of Bruce Gilpin is fodder for another tale …
The Organic Kidd is still floating loose in our area, although he’s officially stationed in Unity, at the MOGG certification office. He hasn’t shown his devilish face again at the old Russell homestead, however, Lila did receive the official certification for the egg business in the mail not long after Kidd’s
last
momentous visit.
Miss Hastings – the town’s beloved Miss Hastings! – is alive and kicking, along with her pet chicken Matilda. Miss Hastings has planned another trip to the Sovereign Elementary School for this fall – this time Rebecca will accompany her – and has been practicing on her piano the songs the children will be singing during her next “music lesson.”
Mike Hobart’s father, once too proud to accept offers of assistance from his children, is now regularly to be seen squired about Maple Grove in a 1964 Pontiac LeMans by his new daughter-in-law, of whom he is unabashedly proud. In a private moment after the wedding ceremony, Mr. Hobart had given Lila the keys to the old family homestead in Maple Grove, which was in effect giving her not only his home but also his heart. “Sorry, Mikey,” he said, jubilantly; “if ‘whither thou go, I go’ is still in effect, you’re coming home to Maple Grove!”
And that’s how Lila Woodsum – who only six weeks before her wedding had proclaimed that she would need to be taken out of the old Russell homestead in a box! – ended up in Aroostook County, in northern Maine, where she and Mike now abide with her beloved father in the homestead that has housed seven generations of Hobarts. Lila has taken over the marketing of Hobart Farms, the family potato and broccoli business, now run jointly by John and Mike Hobart. Lila and I follow each other on Twitter, and she tweets regularly of her new family’s adventures in Maple Grove. Just a few days ago, in early August, in fact, Lila sent me a Direct Message saying that they were expecting a new addition to the eighth generation of Hobarts!
Those hens and chickens have a way of multiplying, my pips, as time marches along!
Now, have I forgotten anybody?
Ah, yes,
me
!
I was fortunate enough to secure additional itinerant ministry work this spring and early summer with the First Universalist Church of Norway (Maine), which was my Gram’s church. In addition, I also filled the pulpit for their sister church, the West Paris Universalist Church. There I preached about Good versus Evil, and the importance of unconditional, self-less, downright honest
love
.
All three churches, however, are closed for July and August (and since my daughter, Nellie, is spending her summer break touring Australia with a friend), I’ve had plenty of time write down this story—a little tale about hens and chickens; pips and peepers; love, and well,
love
. As I glance out the leaded-glass window of my church office, I see that the goldenrod is about to burst into glorious bloom, signaling that it’s almost time for my annual skedaddle through the field next to my home on the Cross Road.
Some of you might wonder
why
I strip bare-assed naked and trot like Lady Godiva (only without the “hoss”) under the hot August sun through the fuzzy golden blooms. Why, my pips?
I run in the natural state – the state in which God created us – to remind myself that we 21
st
century pips do NOT need to isolate ourselves from the joy that we need to thrive. Our hearts and heads and souls and bodies belong
together
—not cleaved apart like freestone fruit!
I run naked through the goldenrod to show that I’m not powerless! That what
is
doesn’t necessarily have to
be!
And, last (but probably not least) … I run bare-assed naked through the goldenrod to give the good-hearted folks of Sovereign something to talk about!
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