Page 3 of Her Gentle Protector
While creeping up to the side of the barn, she noticed the chicken house and was surprised to find it simply sitting open in the yard. She at least would have expected it to be surrounded by wire or something.
As she moved deeper into the ranch, Midge noticed the towering silhouette of the main house, its windows dark and lifeless. She knew that somewhere inside, the occupants slept, unaware of the desperate soul who trespassed on their land. It sent shivers down her spine, but she couldn’t afford to think about that now.
A quiet rustling caught Midge’s ear, drawing her gaze towards the nearby chicken coop. Hope flickered within her chest, propelling her forward.
The darkness was both her ally and her enemy, hiding her from prying eyes yet making it difficult to see the path before her. She reminded herself that this was for her family, for the mouths that depended on her to fill them.
“Stay focused, Midge,” she whispered to herself as she reached the chicken coop, her breath leaving a faint fog in the night air. “This is for Abilene and Olive... and for Peter and Pet...” Continuing to recite her siblings’ names, she made her way to the side of the coop.
Midge stepped cautiously towards the coop, her gaze darting back and forth. The structure had a long rectangular shape with sturdy wire mesh covering its front. She peered through the wire of the chicken coop, admiring the solid construction and neat arrangement. A small box was set off to the side, with a standard door that was secured by a hasp and padlock.
Clenching her teeth, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the bent wire hanger she had been using to practice lockpicking. Her fingers had bled from honing the skill over the past weeks until she could almost do it without thinking. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to stay calm and applied the makeshift tool to the lock on the door of the coop.
“Please, let this work,” she murmured, her breath hitching as she slipped the wire into the lock. Her hands shook slightly, but she knew she had done this countless times before. All those hours spent practicing were about to pay off.
“Come on, you stubborn thing,” she muttered through gritted teeth, her fingers working deftly to manipulate the lock. Midge could feel the familiar resistance, then the satisfying click of the tumblers falling into place. She exhaled a shaky breath as the lock disengaged, a wave of relief washing over her.
With a satisfying click, it opened.
“Thank you,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. She opened the door to the chicken coop, careful not to make a sound. With trembling hands, she reached inside the coop, her fingers brushing against the soft feathers of the hens. The warmth radiating from their bodies was a stark contrast to the humid night air, and it made her hesitate for just a moment. She could hear their gentle breathing, their small hearts beating rapidly within their chests.
“Sorry, girls,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But my family needs you.”
Her fingers explored the coop, searching for the perfect hen legs. She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes, not when her siblings’ survival depended on it. Her heart ached at the thought of taking one of these creatures away from its home, but what choice did she have? Midge shook her head, pushing aside her guilt. This was about her family, and nothing else mattered.
“Alright,” she murmured, her focus entirely on the task at hand. Her fingers danced over the hens, feeling the weight of each bird until she found the one that seemed perfect—a plump hen, its body full and rounded beneath her touch. “You’ll do.”
Her hand wrapped around the chicken’s body with a delicate firmness as she cupped her other hand over its wings. She snuggled the chicken close to her chest, its heart rate increasing with every passing second. She gently turned it upside down to not startle the other chickens which were cooing around the henhouse. With her other hand, she opened the burlap sack she had brought along, ensuring it was ready to receive its new occupant.
The hen squirmed slightly, but Midge’s grip remained firm. Once the chicken was safely tucked inside, she tightened the drawstring of the sack, securing it as best she could. A pang of guilt shot through her, but she pushed it down, reminding herself of the hungry faces waiting for her back home.
“Forgive me,” she breathed, her heart heavy with the weight of her actions. As she turned to leave the coop, a single tear slid down her cheek. She knew that this was just the beginning, and the road ahead would be fraught with hardships. But for now, at least, she had done what she had set out to do.
“Thank you,” she whispered once more, before slipping back into the darkness, clutching the burlap sack tightly against her chest, her thoughts consumed by the family she was fighting so hard to protect.
As Midge approached the small, dilapidated house, she breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t been followed. She’d clean the chicken and put it in a pan on the stove. The children could eat once they woke up in the morning.
They would eat. They would be warm.
And that was enough.
Chapter Two
August 1873
Baxter Hartman squinted under the blazing sun, sweat dripping from his brow as he surveyed the family ranch on the outskirts of Flat River. He ambled across the dusty acres, his back ramrod-straight and hands swollen from a lifetime of hard labor. Piercing blue eyes narrowed when he noticed the chickens scurrying about, their clucks and flutters disrupting the otherwise peaceful afternoon.
“Annamae!” he bellowed; hands cupped around his mouth. The screen door creaked open, and his sister appeared, her long, blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders. She shaded her eyes with a slender hand, trying to discern what had riled her brother.
“What cha hollering for, Baxter? Can’t you see I’m busy?” Annamae’s voice held a hint of irritation, but she knew better than to ignore her brother when he was in one of his moods.
“Your chickens are out again,” Baxter growled, his boots crunching on the dry earth as he strode towards the coop. “And I reckon we’re missing another hen.”
“Can’t be,” Annamae protested, following him, her bare feet kicking up dust as she hurried to catch up to his long strides. “I lock ‘em up every evening, just like you told me to.”
“Then how come they’re always roaming, come morning?”
“Like I said, can’t be,” Annamae repeated stubbornly. “I latch that door tight, so tight even a coyote couldn’t sneak in.”
