Before Leta could fully grasp how the time had passed, she was
in the kitchen mid-Saturday afternoon, frying eggs and boiling peas. As she and
her new husband ate scrambled eggs for breakfast, she had hoped for something
different for lunch, but this was all they had. For supper, she decided, they
would have something different. Cleaning the filthy, food encrusted skittle had
been a chore, but she managed. And they had fresh butter that she had churned
from the milk they had retrieved from Curtis’s two cows first thing that
morning.
This was not how she anticipated spending the first full day
of her marriage to Curtis, but he was a chicken farmer, and working with
livestock was a twenty-four-hour-a-day responsibility. After celebrating their
marriage long into the night at a nearby bar, she was still not at her best.
The morning coffee helped, and as she thought about it, the exertion she and
her husband had done all morning, probably helped, also. But she was fairly
tired and hungry.
That’s why she didn’t object to having eggs for lunch as well
as breakfast. After all, Curtis raised chickens, and they had not been to the
market yet. And they had gathered nearly 150 eggs that morning. This and a
dozen other farm chores occupied their entire morning and early afternoon. Not
only did they milk the cows, gather eggs and feed the 200 hens, but also while they
were feeding the hens, the rooster escaped and it took them nearly an hour
together to corner the bird and get it back. Curtis had received several
scratches and bites on his arm that Leta washed at the outdoor well and dressed
with the cleanest pillow case she could find in the linen closet. They also
separated the cream from the milk and churned a batch of butter.
There was such a paternal quality in how he showed her how to
milk the cows and operate the butter churn that Leta didn’t have the heart to
tell him that she was experienced in such activities. After all, she had grown
up with several uncles as farmers and a very handy mother. He seemed impressed
that she learned the chores so quickly.
Much of their time was spent repairing a section of the wire
around the coop. Leta handed him tools and held parts in place while secured
them. During this hard work, he talked about his dreams for the farm, now that
he had her, how they would build another coop to double their number of hens,
add another cow and sell their milk and butter, perhaps add a few goats and
then make cheese. He liked cheese. By the end of the summer, he was certain he
could have electricity installed in the house.
If Leta had any say, however, they would have electricity by
the end of the month followed by indoor plumbing. She had no intention of
fighting the elements several times a day to use the outhouse. Living
rustically was fine for a single man, but not a woman as elegant as she was.
Besides, she wanted to bring her grandchildren for a visit, and neither Don nor
his cousin Connie would be comfortable in such a coarse environment.
The sun was high in the sky when they finished with the fence,
and Curtis announced that he was famished.
“How’s about some eggs and peas?” he asked.
“Peas?”
“They’re about ready to be picked, and my Madeline used to cook
‘em with fresh buttermilk. Delicious.”
So there she was, cooking their lunch while Curtis rested on
the back stoop with a large glass of water.
Once their lunch was ready, she called him to the table, and
he joined her.
At first there was silence. Both were quite hungry after their
morning exertion, and just as she was about to speak, Curtis shared his plans
for the afternoon:
“I figured that I could show you were some of the wild berry
bushes were, and you could get us some berries and make a pie for supper,” he
said. “While you were doing that, I’d lay out the plot for the new coop. A’
course the garden needs some tending, and as you could see yerself, there’s
more peas ready to be picked, as well as carrots and turnips.”
“But, Curtis,” she said, “first, we need to go to the market.”
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