Page 51 of Home Body
Rover showed up, too. Early in the morning like this, the herder would leave his girl’s side long enough to herd the sheep, a task he’d been born to do.
“Good morning, my loves!” Dalia hollered at her sheep as she flung open the barn door. “Come on!” Rover went to work, running to the back of the flock and spurring them on. They ran out of the barn, across a patch of grass, and through the open gate that led to their pasture. “Get in there, Sheba,” Dalia prodded as she shoved a hefty ewe past the gate. It’d become a morning ritual for Sheba to hang back, waiting for specialattention from their shepherdess. Rover wasn’t having it and used her snout to tap Sheba’s back legs to get her in.
“Hi Barney,” Dalia greeted the barn cat that darted up and scampered ahead of her. Barney liked this morning ritual.
Rover guarded the open gate, lest someone try to escape, while Dalia strode to the side of the pasture to check on the spring-fed pond that provided the flock’s water. She didn’t know why she always checked the pond; it never disappeared in the eighteen years she’d lived on the farm. But it became a peaceful morning practice that helped calm her world at the start of the day. In the wintertime the pond never completely froze over because of being fed by an underground spring. Still, when it became bitterly cold at the height of the ice-and-snow-laden season, Dalia would sequester her darlings in the barn and haul food and water to them.
The sheep, including Sheba, settled down and munched on grass. Dalia went through the gate and latched it, satisfied her flock was set for the day. Rover’s job done, he went back to the house to lie down by the door, waiting for his girl to show up.
For Dalia, the chickens came next. She went back to the barn to fill a bucket with chicken feed. In the expansive outdoor section of the coop, a frenzy of clucking ensued as she randomly tossed the feed onto the ground. Barney enjoyed sitting on a fencepost observing the goings on. Sometimes Dalia entertained herself by shelling it out in a circle, heart, or infinity sign to watch her fowl friends create formations. Rose often joined her to make her own chicken patterns.
Her bucket empty, she gathered eggs by opening the outdoor flaps that allowed her to reach into the backs of their nests, which were in the clapboard sheltered house where they slept and laid. Careful not to break any, she collected eighteen eggs, a good batch.
The coop door stayed open when she left so her babes could roam the yard during the day. Advertisers were starting to make a big deal out of eggs from “Free Range” chickens. Dalia had never known any other way to do it. At dusk, the chickens would willingly come back to the coop for their supper and while they ate Dalia would close the door to keep them safe for the night. Every now and again she’d have to chase after a rowdy stray who wanted to galavant around, but it was usually an easy task.
Happy with her harvest, she started for the house when Rose came skipping out the door. “Mommy! I saw that cake you made already. It’s pink! My favorite color. It’s beautiful!”
“Thank you, sweetie.” Dalia kissed the top of her daughter’s tangled-hair head. “It’s for a wedding. A couple are getting married this morning.”
They walked as they talked, with Rover at Rose’s side.
“Is it Miss Kenyon?” Rose asked.
“Why, no. What makes you ask if it’s her?”
“You know. She has the dress.”
“Oh, I see. Well, there’s more to getting married than having a wedding dress.”
“Huh. Is her mommy gonna come read to me again?”
“Mrs. O’Brien? I don’t know. We could ask her, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes. Please. I like her.”
“Yes, that’s nice.” Dalia didn’t divulge her true feelings about Kenyon’s mom. She wondered about the striking woman, famous in Michigan because she was the most admired and longest-running newscaster on the most watched news show in the state. There had been countlessTheDetroit Newsand even national magazine articles touting her as a do-gooder for the community. In some ways, Llayne O’Brien seemed too good to be true. In fact, the whole family seemed too good to be true.
Dalia swept the unkind thoughts from her mind as petty insouciance because she couldn’t imagine being in such awhite-bread family. Her family might be unconventional, what with the mixed races, lack of official adoption, and unwed motherhood, but she couldn’t ask for anything better.
“She’s the best storyteller ever.”
Rose recaptured her mother’s attention. “You mean Mrs. O’Brien?”
“Yeah.” Rose paused, thinking. “I mean, ‘cept for you. And Grammy.” The child struggled to make sure she didn’t offend the women she loved.
Dalia opened the door to the kitchen and let Rose and Rover go in first. “That’s good to know, sweetheart. Now, did you feed Rover yet?”
“Not yet. We saw you outside and wanted to see you first.”
“I appreciate that. Now feed your dog.”
Rose had been feeding her pet herself for a year, ever since she became tall enough to reach into the bucket of kibble and ladle out the proper amount. The women kept the boy’s water bowl full from the kitchen sink, which Rose couldn’t reach.
Mamie swept into the room and their day began to swirl. After a hearty breakfast, Dalia changed from her farm chore duds into a nice summer dress and clean bib apron that had “Mama Mamie’s Bakery” embroidered on it. Mamie put on her matching apron; Rose was cleaned up and decked out in her matching little-girl-sized apron; they packed the truck; and away they went anticipating a Saturday filled with a lot of fun and a lot of work at the Farmers’ Market.
But the day didn’t go as Dalia expected. They delivered the pink wedding cake without a hitch. They arrived at their market kiosk in plenty of time to get it nicely set up. The weather was perfect, which lured in a horde of shoppers as soon as they opened.
Regulars like their benefactor Vic Van Natter, president of the bank, mayor, and Mamie’s lifelong friend, were the firstto arrive, which seemed like a welcoming start to the day. Feverishly working away, having reached the groove of smiling, trying not to chat too long so customers wouldn’t have to wait in line, and restocking from the truck as often as necessary, Dalia ran back and forth all morning.
