CHAPTER 46

“Now, Charles, be careful,” Grandma hollered out the window as Daddy pushed Charlotte in the wheelbarrow, heading toward the orchard. “She’s just home from the hospital a week. If that thing tips over . . .” But even Grandma’s worries couldn’t overshadow the happiness that seemed to glow from that wheelbarrow.

I sat on the porch steps watching Daddy zip through the orchard and listening to Charlotte laugh when they scared a rabbit trying to nap in the nook of a tree. I worked hard to plant it all in my memory—the warm heat on the porch step, a dove cooing somewhere in the fields, that look on my sissy’s face—I needed to store it all deep down.

I was so caught up in cementing my memories, I was surprised when Granddaddy sat next to me. “That’s a sight for sore eyes, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

Granddaddy leaned closer to me, like he was going to tell me a secret, even though we were the only two people on the porch. “Just heard an interesting story.”

I turned to him. “What?”

“This here story was about a certain girl who had a lamb she loved a lot—but when her daddy gave her the money she earned from raising it, she took that money and put it smack-dab in that coffee can on the counter. Did I hear that right?”

My eyes stung a bit at the mention of Buster, but I took a deep breath and nodded. “You heard right.”

“What made you do that, honey? It was your money.”

I nodded. “I know that money was my money, Granddaddy. But I also know the piggy bank money is for . . . our farm.”

Granddaddy’s eyes sparkled. “You’re something else, Pixie.”

I leaned against him, and together we listened to the sweet sound of Charlotte’s and Daddy’s laughter.

But I was also trying to figure something out.

By the time I spoke, I had to clear my throat so my words could be heard over my emotion. “Granddaddy, do you remember when you told me every day’s a lesson in beginnings and endings—the circle of life thing?”

He nodded. “Sure do.”

“You said life was funny that way—but I said life was downright mean.”

He turned to face me. “Reckon I remember that too.” Then, smiling, he added, “Still think that?”

“I don’t know. I still don’t like endings. But sometimes . . . if I focus on the beginnings enough, I can start to see life’s not so mean after all—at least not all the time.”

Granddaddy nodded slow, and I could tell he was really thinking about what I said. Finally, he spoke. “I get that. It’s natural to not like endings—especially the life-changing ones. It’s okay to be sad about what we’ve lost—as long as we don’t get so caught up in our feelings for the ending that we forget to look for the new beginning. And we know that to do that, we have to—”

“Push on,” I said.

He winked. “Push on.”

At that, the screen door squeaked open, and I looked up to see Grandma holding the egg basket. “Pixie, could you fetch me some more eggs? I’m making angel food cake.”

Since I knew angel food cake was Charlotte’s favorite dessert—and maybe one of mine too—I didn’t even mind visiting the hens for a second time that day. I headed to the henhouse, where Ricky was finishing up the new addition with the hatchery, which meant a rooster would be joining us soon.

“Looks good,” I told him as he sanded down the new section of the coop.

He smiled. “And it sure sounds good out there in the orchard. So glad Charlotte’s home.”

I nodded. “It’s the best.” He followed me into the henhouse, where the rest of his tools were sitting by another new row of nesting boxes. “Any word from Miss Beany—or Bill?”

“Miss Beany—or Adelaide.”

I giggled and shook my head. I just couldn’t think of my teacher having a boyfriend—or a first name.

Ricky grinned and went on. “Adelaide sent us a telegram saying she made it to New York City just fine. Promised they’d both be back where they belong soon.”

It was so hot in there, sweat was beading up on Ricky’s forehead. And the smell of the hens was even worse when warmed by the summer heat. Still, right then I felt a cool happiness inside that didn’t seem to belong in the stinky henhouse. I think Ricky felt it too.

“Is there a party in here?”

Charlotte stood at the doorway, leaning on her crutches.

Seeing her back where she belonged, the smile on my face got bigger. “You can’t tell me you honest-to-goodness missed this, can you?”

I wasn’t sure if her eyes were sparkling due to tears or just plain being happy when she answered, “You have no idea how much.”

I started to tell her I had a pretty good idea, but before I could say anything, my sissy walked over to Teacher, leaned against the nesting box for support, and balanced herself so she could let go of her crutches. And right there, in that special way that only she could, she put one firm hand on Teacher’s head and reached under that old hen with her other hand, grabbing the egg like no day had passed with her not being able to do that very thing.

And while I’m pretty sure neither of us would forget all the painful days that had passed since she last stood there with me like that, it didn’t really matter.

All that really mattered was that we were, indeed, back where we belonged. Where we planned to stay—with that mean old hen and all.

The good Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise.