“Linen napkins?” Pulling on his sweater, Peter gave his wife a puzzled look.
“I want everything to be just perfect,” Rosemary said, folding the last one and smoothing the tablecloth.
Peter chuckled. “We never used cloth napkins at breakfast when the girls lived at home.”
“This Easter is the first holiday everyone is able to be with us,” Rosemary reminded him. “We’re going to show all the family in-laws that gracious living is possible away from the city.”
Buttoning his jacket, Peter kissed her on the cheek and headed out to do chores. As she bustled around the kitchen, Rosemary thought back ...
She and Peter had been blessed with three daughters. The girls had loved farm life, each participating in 4-H and showing livestock.
Both had fallen in love while away at college, Dorrie with an aspiring physician, Karla with a software developer and Alyson with an accountant. Naturally, Rosemary and Peter had hoped that at least one child would marry a man who’d be willing to take over the farm eventually. That wish hadn’t been fulfilled, however, they both knew their daughters’ happiness came first.
Now, the girls and their families lived in different cities, and opportunities for reunions were few and far between. Their husbands were always cordial, but Rosemary didn’t know them well enough to be truly comfortable in their company.
Everybody had arrived last night. This morning, Rosemary was determined to overwhelm them with country-style hospitality. There’d be omelets for the adults, and French toast strips and maple syrup for the three little ones. A succulent ham awaited its turn in the oven for the noon meal.
Peter strode in from chores, ice glittering on his shoulders. “Getting slick out—it’s still sleeting.”
“How are the new chicks?” Rosemary asked, feeling a twinge of concern.
“All fifty are still alive and peeping. They’ll be okay ... if the power stays on.”
Hurrying to finish breakfast preparations while Peter cleaned up, Rosemary scowled at the gloomy sky outside.
Dorrie strolled into the kitchen with her husband and two children. Alyson and her husband and Karla and Matt and the baby soon came downstairs to join them. Rosemary scurried around her warm, wonderful smelling kitchen, so happy to have the girls home yet still unsure what to say to her sons-in-law. None of them had a country background and she felt awkward in attempting to initiate any conversation.
She was adding bacon to the omelet mixture when the lights flickered and went out.
Rosemary tried her best to smile. “Ice on the lines,” she said. Turning to her daughters, she advised. “You better put sweaters on the kids.”
Alyson jumped up. “I’ll get the wood stove started. Everything will be fine.”
Shaking her head, Rosemary thought about the newly hatched babies in the chicken house. Without the heat lamps on, they’d quickly freeze to death.
Peter appeared, reached for his coat ... and hesitated. Rosemary realized her husband wasn’t going to suggest the only method of saving the chicks. He knew how much the reunion and all her careful planning meant to her.
Then she recalled the wisdom her mother had shared on their wedding day, advice that had come in handy more than once during nearly thirty years of marriage: “Remember, dear, you’re not only marrying a farmer, you’re also marrying the land and the livestock. Always think of it as a package deal.”
Rosemary nodded to Peter, and then grinned at the grandchildren. “Guess what?” she announced. “We’re having ‘company’ for breakfast!”
The omelets ended up as a big casserole cooked on top of the wood stove. The grandchildren helped their mothers toast bread in the family room fireplace.
That adventure, however, was nothing compared with the excitement of watching fifty peeping yellow balls of fluff peck at feed in a makeshift pen in the kitchen!
Warm and well fed, the curious chicks were soon hopping over improvised barriers to make a break for freedom. The grandchildren shrieked in glee with each attempted escape. Even Rosemary chuckled when Alyson’s husband sprawled on his belly to recapture a fugitive behind the refrigerator.
When the power had been finally restored, and order along with it, the ice had been completely broken ... both outside the sprawling farmhouse and within. Easter dinner—a little later than planned—was accompanied by happy chatter and lots of laughter.
Afterward, as Rosemary surveyed the newly scrubbed kitchen floor, Peter put a hand on her shoulder. “Satisfied, honey? I know things didn’t turn out quite like you planned.”
She leaned against her husband and sighed. “Mother used to say that children, like chickens, always come home to roost. But, next Easter, let’s hope only chocolate bunnies provide the excitement!”
THE END