couldn’t possibly make things better.
Amos
Amos dug through the soft straw in the roosting box, but he didn’t find an egg. This made the fifth empty box. Yesterday he’d found four empty roosts, and two the day before that. The two hadn’t bothered him much. An empty roost now and then wasn’t unexpected. But four? And then five? He scowled as he looked down the row of wooden roosts. Were the chickens not laying because they were upset about him bringing home that rooster and separating the flock?
He’d closed eighteen of the hens in the barn to hatch chicks, and the firstday the ones outside the barn had carried on as if their tail feathers were on fire. Then the empty roosts followed. Concern churned through his stomach. Either the girls were being cantankerous or he had an egg thief in his midst.
With the basket of eggs cradled in his arms, he made his way out of the chicken house and across the yard. He’d hated leaving church before the closing prayer. Preacher Mead had a way of speaking to the Lord that let everybody know he and his Maker were good friends. Being a witness to the minister’s close relationship with God strengthened Amos’s resolve to draw ever nearer to his Father. But today, knowing there would be eggs waiting in the straw boxes midmorning, he’d hurried out to count eggs.
He stood for a moment, observing the chickens pecking in the yard. The rooster he’d purchased waved its wings, ducked its head, and charged at Amos. He stood as still as a scarecrow and waited until the bird had nearly reached his boots. Then he shouted, “Hah!” Clucking in angry little bursts of sound, the bird whirled and returned to the pullets.
It paraded around the yard with its head high and wings held at a jaunty angle. He’d chosen the bird from a farmer on the other side of town because of its large size and aggressive attitude. He wanted a bird that would protect the flock. But he didn’t like being attacked every time he came near his own chickens. If the obnoxious rooster didn’t settle down some, it might end up in a stew pot when the baby chicks hatched and he could replace it.
He carried the basket of eggs into the barn and put it with the ones collected over the past two days. Tomorrow he’d take his eggs to town to sell. Worry descended as he glanced across the smaller number of eggs. Choosing to set some aside for hatching as well as the lower count from the past days meant he’d have none to take the grocer for a credit on his account. And he needed some grocery items.
The morning scripture played through his memory, and he whispered it. “ ‘Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee.’ ” He sent an apologetic look toward the rafters. “Forgive me, Lord. I’ll try to think less about the number of eggs in the chicken house and more about the One who loves me and will always meet my needs. I trust You.” The prayer revivedhim, and he placed the basket he used to collect eggs upside down over the wagon and left the barn.
As he passed the chickens’ water pans, he noticed one had been dumped. He shook his head. Probably that strutting rooster again. The bird was almost more trouble than it was worth. He headed for the well to bring up the bucket. The dusty walk to and from town this morning had tired his bad leg, and his foot dragged across the ground. The toe of his boot caught on something, nearly sending him on his nose. He stopped to catch his balance and looked down to see what had created the obstacle. A fist-sized rock lay half-hidden in the grass.
With a grunt, he leaned over and picked it up. He started to toss it into the scrubby brush along the foundation of his house, but sunlight fell on a band of amber circling the stone. He froze. The deep gold matched the shimmering strands in the light-brown hair of the girl who’d turned to look at him in church that morning. He hadn’t recognized her at first. With her hair pinned up in a coiled
Amos
Amos dug through the soft straw in the roosting box, but he didn’t find an egg. This made the fifth empty box. Yesterday he’d found four empty roosts, and two the day before that. The two hadn’t bothered him much. An empty roost now and then wasn’t unexpected. But four? And then five? He scowled as he looked down the row of wooden roosts. Were the chickens not laying because they were upset about him bringing home that rooster and separating the flock?
He’d closed eighteen of the hens in the barn to hatch chicks, and the firstday the ones outside the barn had carried on as if their tail feathers were on fire. Then the empty roosts followed. Concern churned through his stomach. Either the girls were being cantankerous or he had an egg thief in his midst.
With the basket of eggs cradled in his arms, he made his way out of the chicken house and across the yard. He’d hated leaving church before the closing prayer. Preacher Mead had a way of speaking to the Lord that let everybody know he and his Maker were good friends. Being a witness to the minister’s close relationship with God strengthened Amos’s resolve to draw ever nearer to his Father. But today, knowing there would be eggs waiting in the straw boxes midmorning, he’d hurried out to count eggs.
He stood for a moment, observing the chickens pecking in the yard. The rooster he’d purchased waved its wings, ducked its head, and charged at Amos. He stood as still as a scarecrow and waited until the bird had nearly reached his boots. Then he shouted, “Hah!” Clucking in angry little bursts of sound, the bird whirled and returned to the pullets.
It paraded around the yard with its head high and wings held at a jaunty angle. He’d chosen the bird from a farmer on the other side of town because of its large size and aggressive attitude. He wanted a bird that would protect the flock. But he didn’t like being attacked every time he came near his own chickens. If the obnoxious rooster didn’t settle down some, it might end up in a stew pot when the baby chicks hatched and he could replace it.
He carried the basket of eggs into the barn and put it with the ones collected over the past two days. Tomorrow he’d take his eggs to town to sell. Worry descended as he glanced across the smaller number of eggs. Choosing to set some aside for hatching as well as the lower count from the past days meant he’d have none to take the grocer for a credit on his account. And he needed some grocery items.
The morning scripture played through his memory, and he whispered it. “ ‘Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee.’ ” He sent an apologetic look toward the rafters. “Forgive me, Lord. I’ll try to think less about the number of eggs in the chicken house and more about the One who loves me and will always meet my needs. I trust You.” The prayer revivedhim, and he placed the basket he used to collect eggs upside down over the wagon and left the barn.
As he passed the chickens’ water pans, he noticed one had been dumped. He shook his head. Probably that strutting rooster again. The bird was almost more trouble than it was worth. He headed for the well to bring up the bucket. The dusty walk to and from town this morning had tired his bad leg, and his foot dragged across the ground. The toe of his boot caught on something, nearly sending him on his nose. He stopped to catch his balance and looked down to see what had created the obstacle. A fist-sized rock lay half-hidden in the grass.
With a grunt, he leaned over and picked it up. He started to toss it into the scrubby brush along the foundation of his house, but sunlight fell on a band of amber circling the stone. He froze. The deep gold matched the shimmering strands in the light-brown hair of the girl who’d turned to look at him in church that morning. He hadn’t recognized her at first. With her hair pinned up in a coiled
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