hill.
He should have shot the blasted things, but he hadn’t had the heart to do it. He saw them from atop the hill slinking away, each with a chicken in their mouth. He’d fired off a shot to scare them off, and they’d ran, but never dropping the hens.
He didn’t need to lose two of his best egg layers. Now they’d be shy over a dozen eggs by the end of the week. He’d had to go to the deep freeze in back of the pole barn and dip into the deer meat he’d put there for winter just days ago. Being frozen, and having no convenient microwave to thaw it out, dinner was way behind schedule.
He looked over to Zeke, playing with the kittens, having barely touched the stew. He noticed Jake spitting something into his napkin, and he just shook his head. Josh, having consumed too many cookies, lay on the couch holding his stomach, no intention of eating his dinner. Sam, the ever obedient son, ate it and tried to make a positive comment about the food. Still, Thomas knew it was only his way of trying to be an example for the rest. His cooking really was that bad.
Little Eli’s head was down on the table, spoon still in his hand, and his eyes closed, as he was already fast asleep atop Sam’s lap. Dan was the only one who actually ate the stew, and had even asked for seconds. But he was a teenager in the middle of a growth spurt and Thomas was sure he’d eat three-day old-porridge and moldy cheese if he had to, and not complain.
“So, why is everyone so quiet tonight?” Thomas asked, pushing the food around the bowl with his spoon.
The boys all looked at each other, and finally Dan spoke up. “Why are you so mean to Ms. DeMitri, Pa? She seems like a really nice lady.”
“Yeah,” said Josh, looking up and still holding his stomach. “She brought me cookies.”
“Cookies that not only gave you a stomach ache, but kept you from eating your supper,” Thomas reminded him.
“Why don’t we ever have cookies?” asked Zeke, batting at a kitten playfully, and pulling his hand away quickly.
“Cookies are no good for you,” Thomas said, polishing off his stew.
“Neither is whiskey,” mumbled Jake without looking up.
“What did you say?” Thomas said, looking up sharply.
“Nothin’,” the boy answered, but it wasn’t to Thomas’s liking. He got to his feet and every eye was on him. Jake looked up, challenge in his eye. He was obviously still mad that Thomas had given him extra chores to do, and the worse ones at that, for throwing the rock at Angeline.
“I don’t like your tone, son. If you’ve got something to say, then say it so I can hear it, or don’t even bother.”
Jake jumped up, his chair falling over in the process. “We all know you have bottles of whiskey hidden everywhere. How come you can drink but we can’t eat candy or cookies?”
“Jake!” Sam blurted out. Zeke looked up, grabbing his kitten and holding it close to his chest.
“Is that how you all feel?” Thomas asked, seeing the fear in Jake’s eyes.
It wasn’t a secret that after Brianne died and he’d found Fawn cheating on him, he’d taken to drinking. He’d never once hit or harmed his children in any way, even when he was drunk. But he had argued violently with Fawn and even thrown things around the cabin in front of the kids. Lord knows he’d been so angry with her at times, the dark thought of actually killing her crossed his mind. But he hadn’t harmed her, and had no part in her murder.
Someone obviously broke into his desk and took his gun the night she’d been shot. It still puzzled him. If someone was trying to frame him, why had they hid the murder weapon?
“We used to eat cookies when Mom was alive,” Sam pointed out.
Thomas knew they were right. He hadn’t had the time to attempt anything like baking, with trying to raise his family, attending to the chores, and refurbishing the cars. He thought he could handle raising the kids alone, but maybe he couldn’t after all.
Fawn was supposed to have
He should have shot the blasted things, but he hadn’t had the heart to do it. He saw them from atop the hill slinking away, each with a chicken in their mouth. He’d fired off a shot to scare them off, and they’d ran, but never dropping the hens.
He didn’t need to lose two of his best egg layers. Now they’d be shy over a dozen eggs by the end of the week. He’d had to go to the deep freeze in back of the pole barn and dip into the deer meat he’d put there for winter just days ago. Being frozen, and having no convenient microwave to thaw it out, dinner was way behind schedule.
He looked over to Zeke, playing with the kittens, having barely touched the stew. He noticed Jake spitting something into his napkin, and he just shook his head. Josh, having consumed too many cookies, lay on the couch holding his stomach, no intention of eating his dinner. Sam, the ever obedient son, ate it and tried to make a positive comment about the food. Still, Thomas knew it was only his way of trying to be an example for the rest. His cooking really was that bad.
Little Eli’s head was down on the table, spoon still in his hand, and his eyes closed, as he was already fast asleep atop Sam’s lap. Dan was the only one who actually ate the stew, and had even asked for seconds. But he was a teenager in the middle of a growth spurt and Thomas was sure he’d eat three-day old-porridge and moldy cheese if he had to, and not complain.
“So, why is everyone so quiet tonight?” Thomas asked, pushing the food around the bowl with his spoon.
The boys all looked at each other, and finally Dan spoke up. “Why are you so mean to Ms. DeMitri, Pa? She seems like a really nice lady.”
“Yeah,” said Josh, looking up and still holding his stomach. “She brought me cookies.”
“Cookies that not only gave you a stomach ache, but kept you from eating your supper,” Thomas reminded him.
“Why don’t we ever have cookies?” asked Zeke, batting at a kitten playfully, and pulling his hand away quickly.
“Cookies are no good for you,” Thomas said, polishing off his stew.
“Neither is whiskey,” mumbled Jake without looking up.
“What did you say?” Thomas said, looking up sharply.
“Nothin’,” the boy answered, but it wasn’t to Thomas’s liking. He got to his feet and every eye was on him. Jake looked up, challenge in his eye. He was obviously still mad that Thomas had given him extra chores to do, and the worse ones at that, for throwing the rock at Angeline.
“I don’t like your tone, son. If you’ve got something to say, then say it so I can hear it, or don’t even bother.”
Jake jumped up, his chair falling over in the process. “We all know you have bottles of whiskey hidden everywhere. How come you can drink but we can’t eat candy or cookies?”
“Jake!” Sam blurted out. Zeke looked up, grabbing his kitten and holding it close to his chest.
“Is that how you all feel?” Thomas asked, seeing the fear in Jake’s eyes.
It wasn’t a secret that after Brianne died and he’d found Fawn cheating on him, he’d taken to drinking. He’d never once hit or harmed his children in any way, even when he was drunk. But he had argued violently with Fawn and even thrown things around the cabin in front of the kids. Lord knows he’d been so angry with her at times, the dark thought of actually killing her crossed his mind. But he hadn’t harmed her, and had no part in her murder.
Someone obviously broke into his desk and took his gun the night she’d been shot. It still puzzled him. If someone was trying to frame him, why had they hid the murder weapon?
“We used to eat cookies when Mom was alive,” Sam pointed out.
Thomas knew they were right. He hadn’t had the time to attempt anything like baking, with trying to raise his family, attending to the chores, and refurbishing the cars. He thought he could handle raising the kids alone, but maybe he couldn’t after all.
Fawn was supposed to have
Similar Books
