“Surely there must be something I can do.” As odd as it sounded, she didn’t want to go back to simply sitting on the porch while the others labored around her. She didn’t relish hard work, but it no longer seemed right to expect everyone else to contribute to keeping the plantation running while she read or sewed. “With the new women helping in the garden and doing laundry and working in the house, I find myself free to try something different.”
“Well.” Harriet glanced about the spacious room. Finally, her gaze landed on the basket near the door. She seemed pleased. “You could gather the eggs an’ feed the chickens.”
“Feed the chickens?” What did chickens eat?
“The pigs need their slop, too.”
Slop? The word sounded … smelly.
Natalie squared her shoulders, sending her squeamish thoughts packing. “Very well. If you’ll tell me where to find the chicken feed and the … slop, I will tend the animals.”
Uncertainty flashed in Harriet’s eyes, but she nodded. “The chicken feed is in the grain barn closest to the coop. A few big handfuls ought to do it. Just scatter it on the ground. You can leave the gate open so’s they can run out in the yard once they done eatin’. They help keep the bugs an’ grasshoppers out’a the garden. The slop barrel be just outside the pigpen. Give ’em three or four bucketfuls, but take care not to get it on your clothes.”
The warning reinforced her initial assessment of the word slop.
With the basket in hand, she headed for the barn. When she passed near the quarter, she called to Samuel. He came running.
“I’m going to feed the chickens and the pigs. Would you like to help?”
“Yes, Mama!” He skipped ahead of her to the smallest of the three barns. “I’ve seen Harriet feed the chickens a’fore.”
“Good,” she said, following him into the dim interior. “You can teach me.”
Samuel was already at the bin, peering inside. “Harriet puts the food in her apron and carries it to the chickens.” He looked up to Natalie. “How you gonna carry it, Mama?”
Hmm. She hadn’t realized she needed a vessel to carry the feed in. The weave of the egg basket was too loose to contain the bits of cracked corn and small seeds. A quick inspection of the surrounding area revealed nothing adequate for the task. Looking down at the pale blue skirt of her dress, she shrugged. “I suppose I can put it in my pockets.” Surely that would suffice.
A few minutes later, the pair headed toward the chicken yard, Samuel’s nonstop chatter filling the morning air. At least three dozen full-sized birds hurried toward the gate when they arrived, noisily clucking their welcome. Another group of smaller, scraggly looking chickens hung back, watching.
“Those are the babies,” Samuel said, rushing into the fenced yard as soon as Natalie unlatched the gate. “Ain’t they funny lookin’? Harriet says they don’t lay eggs yet on account of them just hatchin’ not long ago.”
Natalie nodded, pleased to have her wise son along to provide information. She watched him try to catch one of the smaller birds, sending the entire group into a run. The larger chickens clustered around her feet, pecking at the material of her skirt, clucking their impatience.
“They certainly are eager,” she said, setting the basket on the ground. Immediately, several chickens went over to investigate. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small handful of feed and tossed it on the ground around her. “Here you go.”
The group of birds near the basket hurried over to join the others pecking at the food, their beaks snatching the pieces of corn faster than Natalie could have imagined. “My, you are hungry.” She reached into her pocket again, but before she could pull out another handful of food, a large red hen flapped her wings and flew at Natalie.
“Oh!” She whirled out of the way to avoid getting feathers in her face and backed into the open gate. The hem of her skirt snagged on a sharp edge, leaving her stocking-clad ankles exposed. Afraid the soldiers or someone near the barns might see her, she worked to get the material free without tearing it. All the while, cracked corn spilled from her pocket, attracting the chickens.
“Shoo,” she said when they ran under her skirt and between her feet. “Go away.”
Samuel stood watching from a safe distance, a curious look on his face.
When a large black rooster with colorful tail feathers got too close, she flicked her skirt to scare him off. The bird, however, did not appreciate the sudden movement. Instead of running away, he let out a fierce screech, leaped at the skirt, and dug his sharp claws into Natalie’s leg.
With a screech of her own, she sprang forward, the material of her skirt ripping from where it had been snagged. Startled by the commotion, the chickens scurried to the opposite side of the yard while the rooster strutted nearby, making angry noises.
Samuel ran over, his eyes big. “Harriet says we shouldn’t make the rooster mad ’cuz he’s mean.”
This news had come a bit too late.
Lifting the hem of her skirt, she was dismayed to see a trail of blood staining her torn stocking. Tossing a glare in the rooster’s direction, she headed out the gate. “Come, Samuel.”
They exited the chicken yard. Harriet had instructed her to leave the gate open, but Natalie feared the rooster might attack again, so she closed it, securing the latch. After sticking her tongue out at the strutting bird, too late she realized the egg basket lay toppled over on the ground inside. She had yet to gather the eggs.
“Let’s feed the pigs,” she said, putting her hand out to her son, who grasped it. “We’ll come back for the eggs later.”
The pigpen was situated behind the largest barn. A
