A Miracle for Maggie by Stephen Eaton Hume

Author:Stephen Eaton Hume
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV000000
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2000-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

“Ain’t no leash, mister,” said the hairy-chested man, who wasn’t wearing a shirt. “Three dollars doesn’t get you a leash. Gets you a dog.”

“I ought to box your ears,” Banting said.

He led the terrier back to the lab with his necktie. He didn’t care about the tie, anyway. He wasn’t a fancy dresser.

Seven

Chester, Nova Scotia

March 1921

It was six in the morning. The wind blew in gusts from the sea. The weathervane, a copper whale, turned and cried softly on the roof above Maggie’s head. She felt safe under the comforter Mrs. Claggett had made.

She wanted to lie in bed forever. But she had to get up and feed the chickens before going to school.

All night the fog had rolled in from the Atlantic Ocean. It had swept in over Mahone Bay and over the islands that lay scattered in the bay. It had floated in over the sailboats in Front Harbour, over Water Street and Pleasant Street, over Back Harbour, and over the farms and houses in the village of Chester.

Maggie jumped out of bed and pulled on her clothes. She cleaned her teeth with tooth powder, dragged a hairbrush through her long blond hair, and tied her hair into two braids, then looked at herself in the mirror. She believed she had grown another inch overnight. She was almost as tall as her father.

Putting on an overcoat, Maggie wrapped a scarf around her neck and went outside down the back steps. She filled a basket with millet and crushed oyster shells. The oyster shells would help make the eggshells strong. She peered inside the wooden barrel at the corner of the house where Mrs. Claggett caught the rain for drinking and hair washing. The ice was thin on the surface of the water.

She couldn’t see the sunrise because of the fog. But she could make out the tall pines in the hills behind her house.

It had been less than six months since Nick’s death. Life wouldn’t be the same. He had been her best friend. But some things never changed. She still did her homework before going to bed. She still wanted to be a doctor. And she still did her chores in the morning before school.

When she reached the chicken coop, she opened the creaky wooden door and began scattering the feed and shells around the yard. The chickens, a breed known as Plymouth Rock, clucked and gathered around her. She liked her chickens. She liked the way they always looked puzzled, as if everything was a mystery.

A rooster stretched and beat the air with its wings. Maggie found a stick and poked through the thin film of ice in the water trough. She didn’t mind the hard work of feeding the chickens or cleaning out the hen house. It was all for a good cause. The chickens provided eggs and meat.

If there was one thing she didn’t like, it was slipping her hand under the hens and feeling for eggs in the straw. This morning, as usual, the hens pecked at her hands and made a fuss, leaving red marks on her skin.

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