The Road to Love by Linda Ford Page B

dragged her after her, ignoring the gulping sobs. “Mary, stop crying. I need your help.” She struggled against Mary’s resistance all the way to the pen before she released the child. “I’ll go inside and toss out the peelings. Maybe they’ll come on their own. If they don’t you’ll have to chase them this direction.” She tossed out a few scraps as she called, “Here chick, chick, chick.”
    Mary hadn’t moved. “Mary, do as I ask.”
    â€œMomma,” Mary wailed. “What if they chase me?”
    Kate sighed. “Chickens don’t chase you. They run from you. You know that. Now go.”
    Mary stared at her, her mouth tight, her eyes so wide Kate feared they might explode from their sockets. She snorted. Now she was getting as fanciful as her daughter. “Mary, go.”
    Sobbing so hard her whole body quacked, Mary ran toward the cottonwood where most of the chickens clustered.
    â€œAnd stop crying,” Kate called after her. She had no time and little sympathy to spare over such silliness.
    In the end, all Mary had to do was walk around the birds while Kate tossed out scraps. The chickens dashed for the food. Some, intelligent creatures that they were, ran full bore into the fence, squawking and shedding a flurry of feathers. “Mary, chase them around to the gate.”
    The child hesitated, gave Kate a look fit to boil turpentine then obeyed.
    A few minutes later, the chickens all safely inside, Kate latched the gate securely. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
    â€œI hate chickens,” Mary muttered, and stomped off.
    Dougie sauntered out of the barn. He would have enjoyed chasing the chickens in, although he tended to overdo it and have them running in frantic circles. “Where have you been, young man?” For some reason she couldn’t keep the sharpness from her voice. It seemed she always had too many things to do, too little time for it, and a mountain of needs. And now she had a man to feed. She took a deep breath. Now she didn’t have to try and do it all, at least for a few days. Hatcher would put the seed in. She could relax and think about other things. Like supper, which was probably burning.
    Half listening to Dougie describe the little farm he and Tommy had constructed in the back of the barn, she dashed for the house to rescue the meal.
    As she and Dougie hurried into the house together, she saw the huge tear in his overalls and skidded to a stop. “Douglas Bradshaw, what have you done to your overalls?”
    He sidled away, trying to cover the hole with his hand.
    â€œNow I have to mend them. I repeat, what were you doing?”
    â€œNothin’, Momma.”
    â€œNothin’ doesn’t tear your clothes.”
    â€œMe and Tommy were playing. That’s all.” He continued to back away.
    Kate felt anger boiling inside her, felt it flush her cheeks, saw wariness in Dougie’s face, knew he heard it, sensed it and feared it. She took a deep breath. She would not explode. She fled to the kitchen. Her hand shaking, she grabbed a pot holder and lifted the pot lids without noting if the contents boiled or not. She turned away from the stove. Shaken, she leaned on the table. For weeks she’d felt ready to explode. Too much to do. A sense of the world caving in on her. But not until now had she lost control. She hated that her child had been on the receiving end. Oh God , she cried silently. Help me. I do not want to feel this burning frustration. I do not want to punish my children for it. They don’t deserve it.
    A verse came to mind. Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee .
    She sucked in air and the power of God’s promise. I trust You, God. You sent me a man to put in the crop. I know You will meet my other needs, too.
    The panic subsided. She would manage with God’s help and Hatcher to put in the crop. She