Page 4 of Her Gentle Protector
“Yet here they are,” Baxter replied, gesturing to the scattered birds pecking at the parched ground. Waving his arms, he herded the chickens back towards the coop. “Open the fence, Annamae.”
“It’s not my fault. Maybe somebody else is letting them out.”
“Who’d do that?” Baxter asked, skepticism etched on his weathered face. “Ain’t nobody else around but us.”
She ran ahead to open the gate and then stopped, looking at her brother. “The gate is still latched. So, how did they escape?”
“Don’t ask me silly questions, Annie. Just open the darn door.” He pushed the chickens into the fenced area and motioned Annamae to close the gate behind him.
“Baxter!” Annamae pointed to the side near the tree. “Look.”
She swung open the rusty gate and ran into the chickens’ coop, her bare feet pounding against the ground. Baxter squawked angrily at her from the corner. But he was too late—the chickens were already spilling out through the opening, flapping their wings in delight as they scrambled away to freedom.
“Annamae! Look what you... what in the blue blazes?” he huffed, as he watched a fat hen push her way through the fence and join her companions on the other side. “When did that hole appear in the fence?”
Annamae gently shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t think it was there yesterday.”
“Were the chickens loose when you fed them yesterday?”
“Not that I noticed.”
“I wonder who cut the fence then.”
“Maybe the chickens have tinsnips,” she offered, her tone teasing.
“What makes you say a fool thing like that?”
“Because there is a pair of snips on the other side of the fence.”
Baxter ran his hand down his face. “I’ll get those.”
“Or maybe somebody’s stealing from us.”
“Stealing? From us?” he scoffed. “Now you’re talking nonsense.” As he eyed the chickens, his heart quickened with an uncomfortable suspicion.
“Fine then,” Annamae sighed, turning on her heel. “I’ll double-check the latch tonight. Make sure it’s extra secure.”
“See that you do,” Baxter muttered, his mind racing with unspoken thoughts. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss, that perhaps someone was indeed stealing from them. But who? And why?
“Annamae,” he called after his sister as she turned to leave. “How often have the chickens been out when you go to feed them?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Think, Annamae.”
His sister started rubbing her head. “I can’t think when you are grumpy. Stop yelling at me.”
“I’m not yelling at you,” he said, raising his voice. He bent down to pick up the tinsnips and flipped them over in his hand. The snips looked new, and he didn’t think it belonged to any of their hands.
“What’s going on?” Baxter looked up to see his brother Rex walking toward them.
“He’s yelling at me again,” Annamae said, rubbing her head.
“You need to stop that, Bax,” Rex warned him.
Annamae had suffered from scarlatina and nearly died. She didn’t like loud noises, confrontations, or difficult situations. The brothers tried to be aware of her needs, but they were...brothers.
There were five brothers and two sisters in the Hartman family.
