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The train ride home was a fast one, most commuters having left the island earlier in the afternoon, and Godfrey was able to have a seat to himself for the entire ride to the small station at Saint Timothée.
It was dusk when he arrived and finding the train station mostly deserted, he wandered outside, hoping to find someone he knew so that he could get a lift home. As luck would have it Madame Boutin was just getting into the Boutin’s black and beige Ford Hack. The Boutin family lived just three miles from the Leducs and Godfrey whistled to catch her attention.
“Godfrey? Is that you?”
“Hey, Madame Boutin,” he answered, jogging towards her.
The portly woman smiled as he approached. “It is you.”
“The one and only.”
In the driver’s seat was her son, Gabriel. They’d gone to school together - though he was several years older - and Godfrey greeted him with a nod.
“Godfrey.”
“Gabriel.”
“Can we give you a ride?”
“Yes, please,” the young man answered gratefully, tossing his briefcase into the bed of the truck and climbing in after it.
Gabriel waited until Godfrey was seated securely between a straw bale and an apple crate before cranking the engine and climbing back into the driver’s seat. A minute later they were roaring down the wide dirt road towards Saint Timothée.
- 4 -
Saturdays were chore days at the Leduc household. There was laundry to be done. There were floors to be scrubbed, rugs to be beaten, cows to be milked, eggs to be collected, chickens to be slaughtered...
While Godfrey usually preferred to do milking, Delphina had won that right in a coin toss and so, on this particular Saturday morning, Godfrey found himself in the chicken coop instead of in the stables, a freshly sharpened butcher’s knife in his hand. Walking slowly through the hazy, feather-filled coop, his eyes moved along the rows of clucking hens, searching out the largest and fattest among them. When the young man had found the one he wanted, he grabbed it forcefully by the neck and carried it outside. Unfortunately the chicken’s squawking and flapping grew so intense that before Godfrey could reach the chopping block, he was forced to release it.
Maudite poule.
The bird, finding itself free once more, darted to a corner of the pen where it began to pick at the various bits of cornmeal strewn about the ground. Taking the net that hung on the wall of the coop, Godfrey took two steps towards the fowl and brought the net down over it. The hen resumed its flapping and squawking, but Godfrey simply waited for it to tire itself out and when it had done so, he removed it from the net, lay it on the chopping block, and severed its head in one fell swoop.
“Godfrey?”
It was Rosa. Wide-eyed and as white as chalk. He hadn’t heard her approach.
“It’s alright, Rosa.”
“What…what…what did you do? Why…why does that chicken…you hurt her real bad, Godfrey.”
The young man struggled to answer as he set down the knife he was holding.
“I…I…Rosa, it’s just…”
Her face became fearful as she took a step closer and gained a better view and Godfrey moved quickly to cover the bird’s severed neck.
“It’s alright, Rosa. Go on inside and find maman. She’ll want your help with the floors.”
The little girl nodded, but remained fixed to where she stood, her face still wearing a look of shock as she stared at the chopping block and the body of the limp hen.
Godfrey grinned sympathetically. A dead animal was a lot for a six year old to process. “This is our supper for tonight, Rosa. Have you never seen maman or papa slaughter a hen?”
The little girl shook her head.
“Well, that’s how it’s done. It’s really quick and so they don’t feel too much pain. Just a little bit and then it’s over.”
The little girl nodded slowly, her eyes moving back and forth between her brother and the dead hen.
“Come on,” said Godfrey, climbing out of the pen and wrapping an arm around his younger sister. “Let’s go inside and get you some lemonade.”