Storm's Refuge

by Nancy M Bell

  Her thought was interrupted by a series of high pitched female screams. She reached the door of the hen house, jumping back as it flew open. Stacey emerged flapping her arms and screeching. Michelle took one look and doubled over with laughter. Stacey was bent over with three hens on her shoulders and another on the back of her head. She beat at them with her hands, which only made the hens scream back at her. The three on her shoulders gave up the fight and jumped down with a flurry of wings and a large amount of chicken complaining. The fourth hen, frantic to get away from the crazy human, flapped her wings and screamed with her feet caught in Stacey’s long hair.

  Michelle controlled her hysteria long enough to shoo the three hens back into the coop and fasten the door. She turned back to Stacey who was still screaming and trying to reach the hen on the back of her head. Amusingly, the hen was upset enough to have deposited a white stream of chicken excrement down the woman’s back. Michelle bit her lip to stop her giggles.

  “Stand still and shut up, will you.” She approached Stacey cautiously.

  “Get it off; get it off. For the love of God, get it off me.”

  The woman stopped screaming and flailing her arms and stood bent over. A tiny bit of guilt blossomed in Michelle when she realized tears were falling from Stacey’s eyes into the snow.

  “Here now, chicken girl, stay put and let me get you loose.”

  Speaking easily and calmly, she captured the bird’s wings and worked the horny feet free from the long blonde hair tangled around them. Finishing the task, she tucked the bird under her arm.

  “There, you’re free. What were you doing in there in the first place?”

  Stacey straightened up, wiping the tears from her face and pushing her hair back. A grimace crossed her face when her fingers encountered the slimy white liquid on the back of her head.

  “Gross. You stupid chicken.” She looked like she was going to start crying all over again.

  “Why were you in there?”

  “I wanted to prove to George I could be helpful here and take care of things while he’s working.”

  Her lower lip trembled, and a look of defeat crossed her face. To her credit, in Michelle’s eyes, she stood straighter, and a look of defiance entered her eyes.

  “You won’t have to worry about the hens. I’m taking them with me. You can tell George that when he gets home.”

  “Where are you going? George said you’d be back this morning, and you two would work things out.”

  “George thought wrong. I’m out of here. The hens are mine and the two horses. He can straighten up with me for the cattle when they go to market.”

  While she spoke, Michelle took the hen back to the coop and set her with the others. Briskly, she pulled the cages from inside a storage shed and started transferring the hens from the building into the wire containers.

  “Michelle, I don’t want to be the cause of a feud between you and your brother. Won’t you at least stay and talk to him?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. This has been coming a long time. He comes home and starts bossing me around. It’s his way or the highway, but where is he when it’s minus forty in March, and the cows are calving. Not here, that’s for sure.”

  She carried the hens to the trailer and placed the containers on the floor in the front. Sliding the divider into place, she went to get her horses. Stacey trailed along behind her with a bewildered look on her face.

  “But where are you going? Can George get a hold of you at Doc’s?”

  The woman was persistent; Michelle would give her that. Ignoring the questions, she led both horses toward the open trailer, throwing the shanks over their withers as they got close. Both mares obligingly walked on, and she closed the gate behind them. Hoping Stacey would get the hint, she opened the truck door to step in.

  “Michelle, don’t leave like this. I’m sorry I made you angry.” The blonde’s voice broke.

  With a sigh, Michelle turned and leaned against the truck. “I’m not mad at you; it’s George. He goes through women like other men change their socks. He comes and goes as he pleases and leaves everyone else to pick up the pieces. I’m tired of cleaning up his messes.”

  “I thought you were mad at me ‘cause Cale and I are friends. We really are just friends.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I acted like I did last night. It’s not your fault. Be careful about your relationship with my brother. Don’t get burned too badly.”

  Michelle swung up into the seat and turned the key in the ignition. Irritation coursed through her as she remembered she still had to collect her clothes from the house. Jumping back down, she slammed the door and headed for the house.

  “I’m just gonna get my clothes. Anything else George can have, or I’ll come get when I find a place of my own.” She flung the words over her shoulder. Stacey trailed along behind her.

  “Can I help you with anything?” The blonde stood in the centre of the kitchen with a lost look on her face. “What should I tell George when he gets back? Where can he reach you?”

  “He’s got my cell. He can call me on it if he needs to.” She took the stairs two at a time while she spoke.

  In short order, Michelle packed everything she needed for the time being and loaded it into her truck. She climbed in and rolled down the window to be polite as Stacey followed on her heels.

  “Tell George I’ll come and pick up Cale’s farm truck later today or tomorrow. You really should go have a shower and get the chicken crap out of your hair.” She allowed a small smile to cross her lips.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Cale’s, over at the old Chetwynd place.”

  She rolled forward and let out the clutch as she spoke. Amusement spiked through her at the astounded expression on Stacey’s face. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, blondie.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The short drive back to Cale’s place gave her some time to think about what needed to be done. There was straw and hay in the pole barn, and she would need to run into the UFA for some feed this afternoon. The neglected appearance of the frame house greeted her critical gaze as the rig rattled to a halt in the yard. Cale’s parents were coming in two days, and the place looked like a pig sty. The peeling paint and the overgrown garden and flower beds would have to wait for spring. It was too cold to do anything about them now. The inside of the place wasn’t much better, she reflected. Once the stock was settled, she would have to get started on the living room and the kitchen for sure. Not to mention making sure there were no resident mice in the largest of the spare rooms upstairs.

  Briskly, Michelle set about sweeping out the chicken house which hadn’t been touched since Mrs. Chetwynd moved to town. She hung the brooder lamps and set the timer on the white light to regulate the hours of artificial daylight needed to keep the hens laying through the short winter days. Scooping the frozen chicken turds out of the nesting boxes sent her into a paroxysm of sneezing, the fine dust rising in the cold air around her. It brought a smile to her lips at the memory of the hen in Stacey’s hair. Be nice, Michelle, she chided mentally. The smile stayed on her face while she lugged the tub of refuse out of the henhouse and to the manure pile.

  Leaving the tub by the pole barn, she threw three bales of straw unto a calf sled and skidded it across the icy ground to the chicken house. Before long, the yellow bedding brightened the small building, and it looked homey and inviting to her critical gaze.

  “C’mon, chicken girls; your new home is ready.”

  The silly hens answered her with contented chuckling and clucks from their wire enclosures. It took another hour to get them settled with their food hopper full and the heated waterer filled and operational. A sense of happiness and satisfaction enveloped her. Sitting on the edge of the nesting box, her gaze tracked the tiny motes of dust floating in the air around her. This is how I always imagined it would be when Rob and I took this place over. It was such a beautiful dream… Living here, raising our kids, watching them play w
here we played when we were that age… This always felt more like home than my own place did. No use crying over spilt milk.

  Banishing the melancholy thoughts, Michelle stood up and left the hens to explore their new home. Clipping the door securely behind her, she crossed the snowy yard and headed to the small barn to tackle the job of getting it ready for the mares. The sun came out from behind the clouds halfway across the open space. She changed direction and approached the trailer instead. Sliding the door open, she caught the lead lines off the horses’ necks as they stepped from the box. She fished in her pocket and produced a horse cookie for each of them before leading them to a corral that was in relatively good repair. The mares came through the gate quietly and Michelle unclipped the lead rope from their halters. Leaving the halters on just in case the corral wasn’t as sturdy as it looked, she looped the shanks around the gate posts and tied them securely. Returning to the trailer, she brought half a bale of hay and threw into the enclosure. The mares surveyed their surroundings and dropped their heads to the feed at their feet.

  Satisfied the horses would be fine, Michelle approached the task waiting in the barn, feeling more settled than she had in a long time. She flicked on the light switch inside the door and was gratified to find it working. Grabbing a pitchfork and the old wheelbarrow standing in the first stall, she went about cleaning the stalls. It took the better part of the afternoon to finish the chore, and the sun was sinking below the western horizon by the time she emerged from the doorway.

  The long rays slanted across the snowy prairie, turning the snow to liquid gold and orange. The remnants of the clouds flying low in the sky picked up subtle hues of salmon, saffron and magenta. A brisk wind whined in the hydro wires and drew her gaze to the north where a large purple and grey cloud bank dominated the view. The afterglow of the sunset provided enough light to make her way to the corral and collect the horses. They danced at her side as the wind picked up and whirled dust devils across the yard.

  The interior of the barn was hushed and quiet after being in the rising wind outside. Michelle put the mares in stalls beside each other, the horses quickly finding the sweet feed in the mangers. Earlier, she put hay in both stalls and made sure the electric water bowls were functional, turning on the heat tape wrapping the pipes. She double latched the stall doors before venturing out into the wind to bring her tack from the trailer. She paused in the doorway to gauge the speed of the approaching storm front. The wall of clouds billowed and moved swiftly across the open prairie on the north side of the coulee.

  Working quicker than she would have liked, Michelle moved her equipment into the tack room in record time. She positioned the last saddle rack and placed her trophy saddle carefully on it. The saddle was protected with a custom made cover embroidered with her name and the year she won high point barrel racer. The year she was on her way to the NFR, and she had to drop out when her dad got sick. Water under the bridge. The boom and rattle of the first fists of the storm hitting the barn sent her hurrying to the door. Fine, wind driven snow silvered in the frosty air. She pulled the door shut, secured it against the wind and then jogged to the trailer and closed all the doors before the wind could catch them and rip them off.

  She slid into the cab of the truck and turned the ignition, there was a good place in the lee of the barn to park the rig where the snow didn’t drift too badly. Quickly accomplishing her task she plowed through the wind and thickening snow to the house. Storm greeted her at the door, and Michelle let her out to do her business. She lingered by the door, knowing the black dog wouldn’t be gone long. Sure enough, a minute later the snow-encrusted dog limped up the step. Shutting the door against the rising wind, she picked up an old towel from a trunk and brushed the worst of the snow off Storm.

  Together they entered the warm kitchen, the puppies scrambling across the linoleum toward them. Their short legs were totally inadequate to hold their fat tummies off the ground. Storm shook herself and lay down on the thick hand-hooked rug by the wood stove, her offspring tumbling behind her on their stubby legs and big paws.

  “They can start on some wet food in a week or so, momma. Give you a break.”

  Michelle spoke to the patient mother while she put fresh wood in the belly of the stove and stirred the embers with a poker. Satisfied the wood would catch, she closed the stove and moved to the window. Heavy snow pelted the glass. It was too cold for the precipitation to be wet, but the dry fine flakes accumulated quickly on the ground. Already, drifts were forming across the lane where it curved to the east. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her cold hands and shivered. It’s a good night to be inside. I wonder when Cale will get home?

  A glance at the clock told her it was five o’clock. It was too early yet for the lengthening days to make much difference to the hours of daylight. Flicking on the radio she sang along:

  “Long and lean in tight blue jeans;

  Is every cowgirl’s dream

  But don’t trust him with your heart;

  ‘Cause he’ll only play the part…”

  She quit singing as she rummaged in the freezer for some stewing beef and added some potatoes, carrots, and onions which she unearthed from the depths of the cold room off the kitchen. The beef was sizzling in a pan, and the water just beginning to boil under the carrots and potatoes when the phone rang. Michelle jumped and pressed a hand to her heart. The howl of the wind and the sound of the snow hitting the house accentuated the fact she was alone. It’s not like you’ve never been alone in a storm before for heaven’s sake, she chided silently. Moving to the desk she plucked the phone from the cradle and answered it.

  “Dr. Benjamin’s.” She hoped she sounded professional.

  “Michelle dear, is that you? It’s Peggy, Cale’s mom.”

  “Umm, yes, hi it’s me.” She silently cursed the stutter in her voice.

  “Is Cale around?”

  “He’s not home yet. I haven’t heard from him all day. The weather looks like it’s settling into blizzard again.”

  “Oh dear, we’ve had so much of it already, and it’s not New Year’s yet.” Laughter tinkled from the phone.

  “Is it snowing where you are yet? Do you want me to ask Cale to call you when he gets in?”

  “No snow yet, but they’re calling for it. Michelle, if you could just give him a message for me, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Benjamin. Just let me get a pen.”

  “Oh my goodness, call me Peggy. Mrs. Benjamin is my mother-in-law.”

  “Okay…Peggy.”

  “Tell Cale that Carson and I will be arriving on the thirtieth. I hate travelling on New Year’s Eve. I’m bringing a big turkey for dinner on the first. Did you want to invite your brother and Stacey to eat with us?”

  The thirtieth…that only left two days to get the house in some sort of shape before Cale’s parents arrived. Her frantic mind barely registered the last bit of the conversation.

  “What time on the thirtieth? Oh, George and Stacey…I don’t know…I’ll have to ask them tomorrow. Do you want me to call and let you know?” Dinner with George and Stacey was not high on the list of things she wanted to do.

  “Not until later in the day, dear. Probably late afternoon. You don’t need to bother calling about Stacey and your brother. The bird is big enough if they can come, and if not, you and Cale can have leftovers for weeks.” The woman’s laugh was pleasant and warm and helped to soothe Michelle’s tangled nerves.

  “I’ll let Cale know you called and when to expect you. I hope Doc is on call while you’re here. I think they traded off Christmas for New Year’s with each other.”

  “Well, if he’s on call, it will give me some time to get to know you better, Michelle. Cale never tells me anything about his private life. That boy is as tight lipped as his father. You can fill me in on all the interesting details of your relationship. Bye for now, sweetie.”

  The woman disconnected before Michelle could get a word out. What relationship? What d
id Cale tell his mother about me?

  Absently, she moved the pan of beef off the burner and turned the heat off under the vegetables. The steam wafted around her as she carried the pot to the sink and strained the water off. Adding some fresh water and setting the pot aside, Michelle retrieved the meat from the fry pan and added it to the carrots and potatoes. Deftly chopping a small onion she dropped it in as well. A quick look through the cupboards rewarded her with a box of cornstarch. In minutes, the stew was bubbling happily on the stove.

  Michelle turned from sliding the batch of biscuits into the oven and caught the sweep of headlights cutting through the darkness of the yard. She frowned at the unexpected surge of happiness racing through her. So Cale is home. Don’t make more of this than it is. Have fun playing house, but remember this isn’t for real. Just ‘til you find a place of your own.

  The fact her hands were trembling when she reached for the dishes to set the table further annoyed her. Get a grip. The plates and cutlery were in place as a blast of cold air announced his arrival a moment before Cale stepped into the warm kitchen.

  “Wow, something smells good. I could get used to this kind of treatment.”

  His smile stopped the breath in her throat. It wasn’t fair the man could look so good with snow-plastered hair and blood on his coat. Unable to control her reaction, Michelle smiled back and moved across the floor to take his coat. She deposited it on top of the washing machine to wait for later. Cale removed his boots and set them by the wood stove. He knelt and stroked Storm’s head. The dog regarded him with adoring eyes. With gentle hands, he unwound the dressing on her leg and examined it carefully.

  “It doesn’t look good, does it?” She hunkered down beside him.

  “It should be healing quicker. The edges aren’t pinking up at all. You might want to start thinking about alternatives.” His warm brown gaze locked on her.

  “Like…?.”