Dear Readers,
A few of you asked me about Tom from the last chapter. Where did he come from? Remember the charge on the sheep and the boy from the stable, the one Gordy kissed in chapter seven, that's Tom.
Thank you for all your encouragement, suggestions, close readings, and critiques.
Chapter 10, Gone a Hunting
"Come to the table, Danny." Nanny stood solid before him.
Prize looked at her and recalled where he was. He looked down at the worn rug. Too much. He pulled the shirt closer. He clutched the winter quilt closer. Too much.
"Do ye want yer tea here?" Prize nodded. "I'll bring it in. Dress yer self, Danny."
The dawn illuminated the top of the wall next to the hearth above the picture of the boy and dog. Prize reached for the mended shirt and pulled it over his head. The work trousers Tom brought for him lay folded on the bench. He moved quickly dressing under the quilt. He didn't want Nanny to see him naked. The tea warmed him. The heat radiated up from his stomach. It pushed back the cold from his dreams. It meant that Tom was coming to call him Danny and smile and clap him on the shoulder and take him out to feed the chickens and hunt for eggs. That was his job, the chickens. Tom brought him a pan of feed from the barn and Prize sat on a milking stool and scattered the food. He didn't make Prize go into the barn not after that first time.
He tried to do what Tom said, to go into the shadowed barn and get the feed. Tom put his arm around his shoulders and walked him to the door, chatting about where the best places to hunt for eggs. Prize froze. Damp straw. The pony looked at him over the stall rail with its one blue eye and flicked at a fly. It landed on the sleeve of his coat sluggish with cold. It rubbed its front legs over its eyes and Prize vomited up his tea and bread on his work boots. Black spots danced across his eyes. He burned and froze at the same time. Tom caught him before he fell in the mess and helped him to sit near the rough fence.
"There now, Danny. Set here a moment whilst I fetch a little water."
Tom left him and the world tipped. Tom with his wide grin and wide shoulders and big laugh. Prize grabbed the rail to keep from falling along the ground to be swallowed by the barn with its straw and flies and the horrors they brought back. Now Tom handed the pan to him and he fed the chickens and there was no talk of going into the barn. When Tom stood close, the flies didn't crawl.
Prize sat on the low milking stool and scattered food on the bare dirt. The chickens started strutting up the moment he sat down. White, brown, some barred, red, a lone black all eyed him and scratched at the dirt and pecked the grain. The rooster, resplendent in green-black and honey-brown watched from his lookout atop a weathered fence post, carmine comb at attention. Prize tossed some grain near the post to lure him down. Chanticleer, so Prize called him, distained the advance and held his guard.
"He'll nay come down, Danny. He's a right tough harem master watching his girls. Come with me, I've something for you to see." Tom took the pan and threw the contents out, scattering Chanticleer's girls.
Prize followed him to the chicken house. Three eggs rested in the litter filled box. A nervous brown hen fluffed her feathers, making her twice her usual size. "Listen, Danny. They're hatching." The brown eggs moved slightly. Chirps soft and distant, an eggshell away from the world. And Prize watched an egg break from the inside. The sun rolled across the sky as the chicks pushed free.
Each chick emerged wet and near exhaustion from its toils and Prize marveled at each one. The effort exerted by something so small. Hercules never faced such a task. Prize picked up a black chick, the last to break free, and held it in the palm of his hand. It looked up at him with a quizzical eye and pecked at the pad at the base of his thumb. It vibrated. Prize cupped his hand over the top to keep it from falling and the chick grew quiet.
"Some'in, ain't it." Tom stood behind him. Prize looked up over his shoulder. "Some'in." Tom dropped his hand on Prize's neck.
"To see something no one else's ever seen." Prize smiled at the astonished look on Tom's face.
"Ah, Danny, it's a chick. There's two more." He indicated with a nod of his head. Tom hunkered down next to Prize as if changing his elevation might make things clearer. "I'm the first to see this one. It's from a story, Tom. The Sultan offered his favorite daughter to any man who could show him something no one had ever seen. A poor man brought him an egg. It hatched and the man married and became rich."
Tom laughed at the pure joy of such a conception. His eyes carried the laugh and sparkled with the idea and that Prize had such thoughts. With his laughter, Prize's shoulders dropped and squared and the knot that jumped to his neck at the first touch loosened. He lowered his cupped hands and the black chick darted across the dirt and under the wing of the hen.
"You might be its mam, Danny. It's as black as your hair." Tom stood and touched the jet hair above Prize's ear. "Nanny's got bread and honey for our tea." He removed his hand and turned before Prize had time to react to the touch.
Prize followed him to the kitchen and removed his boots at the door. A place waited for him at the table. He stopped. William slurped his tea. Prize began to pass through the warm room. Tom scraped his chair on the brick floor. Nanny lifted the plate and cup from the table and sighed as Prize took them and went to the hearth.
"Will ye walk with me to the smith's, Danny? The harrow is beyond my skill for repair." Tom raised an eyebrow as he stood in the doorway.
"More like a reason to grab a pint." Nanny's voice in the kitchen behind him. "I don't think Daniel's up for a long walk."
"I'll tote the harrow, Nanny. Danny'll be fine."
"And how's he to carry ye home after yer sodden with drink?"
"Leave it be, Betty. A trip to the smith's won't hurt." William tugged at her apron strings to punctuate his meaning.
