A Tiny Piece of Sky by Shawn K. Stout

Author:Shawn K. Stout
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2015-12-21T16:00:00+00:00

27

AS PERHAPS YOU GUESSED, it wasn’t all right.

Frankie and Amy dragged the box of birds into the kitchen. They heaved the crate onto the butcher-block counter, and just in time, too. Although the chickens were young and each weighed just under two pounds, two pounds multiplied by a dozen chickens equaled aching, tired arms that found it difficult to hold anything one second longer.

“Thought you run off,” Seaweed said to Amy, “been gone so long.” He was on a ladder, looking at the fan mounted in the wall, which had stopped running.

Amy wiped the sweat from her face with her apron and scowled at him.

“Better get four of those birds chopped up and into the pots for stock,” said Mr. Washington, filling a stockpot with water from the tap. “Two into the oven for roasting. And the rest in the freezer to keep. Mr. Stannum be wanting us to make some things on the menu for him to taste. To make sure we doin’ right. Then I got a list as long as my arm of other things he want done today.” He turned to Julie, who was twisting dough into loaves of bread and laying them on the counter near Frankie and Amy. “How you coming on the bread?”

Julie, whose nose and cheeks were dusted with white flour, said, “I’ve got four loaves ready to go into the oven and enough dough for about a dozen dinner rolls rising over here.” She nodded in the direction of the tall metal shelves alongside the butcher-block counter. “Plus half a dozen fruit pies for the freezer.”

“That good.” Mr. Washington nodded. “That real good.”

Amy twisted the string of her apron around her fingers, causing her nail beds to lose some of their color. “Sorry to say I can’t do none of that yet, Mr. Washington.”

He shut off the spigot. “What you mean?”

Amy pulled off the top layer of parchment and held up a chicken by its limp neck. Its head was gone, but everything else seemed to be in place, including the feathers and feet.

“Oh no, no, no. That ain’t no good, girl. That won’t do, I say.” Mr. Washington left the stockpot in the bottom of the sink and gripped the edge of counter.

“The order got all messed up. Mr. Hoffman said we have to wait one more day if we want ’em clean,” Amy explained. She looked at Frankie and then took the rest of the chickens out of the crate and laid them on the counter. “Look. They all like that. All of ’em.”

“Can’t you just clean them here?” offered Frankie.

“Clean ’em here?” said Seaweed, climbing down the ladder to have a closer look at the birds. “Do you know what kind of stink and mess cleanin’ chickens is? Especially when we got the rest of the menu to get ready for in this place? You ever cleaned a chicken?”

Frankie gave it a moment’s thought. “Sure have,” she said, trying to sound as confident as Elizabeth. “All the time.”

This was, of course, a pure lie.

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