1. Chastity and Chance
You would recognize her in an instant if you saw her now--she is growing into her mother. Same dirt-blonde hair that likes to string itself into tendrils like Kudzu vine. Rangy limbs that operate in reluctant tandem, like a rowdy team of horse. Soon she will have that same low hanging bosom. Soon enough she will decide if she wishes to smoke Swisher Sweets and weed and hang out with boys who tease her into doing more. There are always two roads, but like you always said to me, the straight and narrow is the one less followed through that yellow wood. It is obvious to me that you never forgave Chastity’s mother for her choices. There were many, many sinners for whom you had genuine compassion but Chastity’s mother was not among those many. When you prayed for her I could see it on your lips: you cursed her at the very same time.
I was dumping the feed sack down and had opened up the top and had the scoop down deep inside. Chastity asked if she could help. I thought, I doubt that very much, but I said, Of course, dear.
Chance came strutting up and shoved the smaller hens aside. He bobbed his head like he was mightier than Pharaoh. He made his cackle, which always sounded to me less like a rooster’s crow and more like a crazy old woman’s imitation.
Chastity laughed. What’s that one’s name, she asked.
That one, I told her, is called Chanticleer. But you can call him Chance.
Chance? She asked. Yes, that’s his nickname.
She got very serious for a moment and then that seriousness melted away and she giggled. She already had her mother’s toothy, tired grin. She said, Chance...I like that. Chance the Chicken.
She scooped some feed out near her feet and then jumped back when Chance and company descended, pecking at her tennies. She danced away from the darting beaks, cackling mightily herself. She did a little jig on her bony ankles.
Be careful, I said, they’ll eat you whole.
Nuh-uh, she said. She eyed me skeptically.
Yes-huh, I said. Hens will eat just about anything, even meat. And roosters, like Chance...why, they’re
even less choosy, since they’re the men.
She looked up at me, her grey eyes hard and glinting.
Chance ruffled his feathers up big and made his old woman’s cackle.
Chastity burst into laughter. She scooped another scoopful and tossed it up high and far, like she was winnowing the grain.
