Dishonoring Jack

Chapter Six

Laurie only howled at her, again ramming his horns against the gate, but Jack glared at him, safely separated. Though she threatened, Jack was too soft-hearted to send any of these goats to the market. She struggled enough when the time came to sell their kids.

Giving one last affectionate pet to Woodrow, Jack left the barnyard and headed towards the chicken coop. Jack's animals had become family to her in the absence of human companionship, and if Jack's house were in any better state, she had no doubt she would let them share the space.

Jack opened the door to the chicken coop, reaching into the chicken's nests and pulling out the mottled assortment of brown and white eggs. She slipped them into apron, hoping she would be conscientious enough to remember to remove them before they all cracked. Jack counted each of her chickens--there should be twenty three, but today she only found twenty two. She glanced into the pen and looked at each familiar face with their beady eyes and ruffled feathers.

"Martha?" Jack called, searching for her favorite chicken who appeared to be missing. Jack's heart quailed when she couldn't find the one-legged Rhode Island Red, the cream of the crop. When the chicken's leg had been lost to an unfortunate accident with the fence "Martha!"

She turned and exited the coup, her eyes scouring the nearby plains for the chicken. "She only had one leg. How far could she go?"

But as isolated as Jack and the Bookers were from the rest of the Irvington, she knew it was all too possible that a hawk or fox or raccoon had found the escaped fowl who could not run as quickly as her sisters. Still, Jack refused to give up. She raced to the garden and searched the bushes furiously.

"Martha? Martha, where are you!"

A squawk interrupted Jack and she craned her neck back to find the source. The one-legged bird had somehow managed to climb to the uttermost branch of a huge tree by her house. Martha perched on the branch with her one lag, cawing into the air with gusto.

"You wicked bird!" Jack cried, lifting her fist against the vile creature.

Jack eyed the bird, her hands on her hips, and debated whether the old poplar would sustain her weight so she could rescue the miscreant. Well, there's no getting around it, Jack mused. I'm climbing this tree to fetch a chicken. Jack hefted her skirts and reached for the lowest branch, pulling herself up. It hadn't been long since Jack had played with her young nieces in trees much like this, and Jack's skill at clambering to the top had not deteriorated with age. She climbed higher in the poplar, the eggs jostling in her apron as she pulled herself limb by limb. As she neared the top, she gritted her teeth as the tree swayed in the soft breeze.

"Martha, you get down here!" she cried, leaning against the willowy trunk of the tree and grasping for the chicken. She caught Martha's one remaining leg and the chicken squawked, flapping her wings and pecking at Jack's unprotected hand.

"Excuse me, Miss, is everything alright?"

The sudden voice shocked Jack and she nearly lost her grasp on the tree as she jerked around to find its source. A man stood at the foot of the tree with a crooked grin on his face, watching Jack grapple with the one-legged chicken. His hair was long and black, tied at the nape of his neck, and his skin was gold in the sun. Jack felt the immediate mortification of her precarious position, and all of the embarrassment of the stranger finding her here.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" Jack cried, climbing down the tree a few branches so she could find solid ground. "Why are you trespassing on my property?"

The man crossed his arms and gazed up at her with one dark eyebrow raised, obviously amused, and Jack's consternation escalated. Her mind raced as she considered how she could defend herself. Were she in her house, she could fetch her shotgun and teach the man something about trespassing, but as it was, there was little she could do from the tree. And then she remembered--the eggs.