Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope by Robert Whitlow Read Free Book Online Page A

me.
    “Listen, I’m sorry for creating such a stir last night,” he said.
    I looked past him down the hallway and reminded myself that he’d wanted to come home with me, not someone else. I really wanted the weekend to be a success.
    “It’s a new day,” I answered. “Do you want to help me gather eggs?”
    “Sure.”
    Zach followed me into the kitchen.
    The men in our church blended into society. It fell to the women to broadcast our separation from the world. If fancy dresses were appropriate, we didn’t seem too out of place. However, if pants, shorts, or a bathing suit was the norm, we stood out like the Amish at a Pennsylvania county fair.
    Years before there had been a decision to require women to wear head coverings. For six months, Mama and I kept bandannas pinned to our hair except when bathing or sleeping. Then, for reasons unclear to me, the elder board reversed the requirement. A few families left the church in protest. Mama folded the bandannas and put them in a drawer. I felt relieved. Now my brothers used those bandannas as sweat rags on hot summer days.
    I handed Zach the blue metal egg pail the twins and I had deco-rated with simple portraits of our chickens. Outside, the early morning air was fresh and cool. There weren’t any clouds in the sky. The nice day lightened my mood.
    “Are you afraid of chickens?” I asked as we walked across the yard.
    “No,” he answered, giving me a puzzled look.
    Flip and Ginger trotted up to greet us. We passed the edge of our large garden. The browning tassels of the cornstalks were visible at the far end of the garden. Mama canned vegetables, and much of the food we ate year-round came from our garden. My favorite vegetable was white corn. Daddy planted thirty long rows of corn and spaced it out so we had corn on the cob every night over a four- to five-week period. Nothing tasted better than fresh-picked corn dropped into a pot of boiling water, then transferred directly to the dinner table. Our family could eat two dozen ears at a meal. Mama canned creamed corn, Mexican corn with red and green peppers, and yellow corn for use in other dishes.
    “We’ll have corn on the cob for supper,” I said.
    “It’s my favorite.”
    “Good, we have that in common.”
    We reached the chicken coop.
    “Do you want to wait here?” I asked, putting my hand on the latch.
    “Why?”
    “Have you ever been around a rooster with hens?”
    “No,” he answered, looking more closely into the pen.
    “I’ll protect you,” I said, making a fist.
    I lifted the latch on the gate, and we stepped onto the bare dirt area in front of the coop. Chester, who had been on the back side of the enclosure, came running around with his wings flapping and his head stretched out. He charged Zach, then jumped up in the air with his talons thrust forward. Zach jumped back and crashed into the fence. I waved my hands in front of Chester’s face.
    “Back off!” I yelled.
    The rooster quickly retreated and began scratching the ground, completely ignoring us.
    Zach brushed his hands against the front of his shirt. “So that’s how you learned to hold your ground under pressure. Mr. Carpenter isn’t half as intimidating as Chester. I thought he was going to slash my throat or try to put out my eyes.”
    I laughed. “He’s the greatest bluffer in the county. At least you didn’t scream like a little girl.”
    Keeping his eye on Chester, Zach followed me into the coop. Each hen’s nesting box was marked with a carefully printed card: Juliet, Olivia, Viola, Cressida, Cleopatra, and Lady Macbeth. They clucked loudly at our approach.
    “More Shakespeare?” Zach asked, touching the cards.
    “Yes. Chester is the odd man out. Kyle named him. Before Chester, we had a bigger rooster named Brutus. He really was mean. I had to carry an old broomstick with me when I came into the yard.”
    Zach held the bucket while I reached into the nesting boxes and retrieved the morning supply of eggs. The