Katerina's Wish Page 7

  “I bought chickens,” I said simply.

  “You what?” Momma said.

  “Chickens?” Papa said.

  I nodded and hurried to explain everything before I lost my courage. When I finished, there was silence at the table for a long moment. I kept my eyes on my empty plate, not daring to look at my parents.

  “Well, where are they?” Papa said at last.

  Mark rose from the table and returned a moment later with the crate. He set it on the floor and everyone gathered around as he lifted off the lid.

  All of a sudden, Papa began to laugh.

  Momma frowned at him. “What is the matter with you?” she said, but he only laughed harder. It was a long moment before the laughter quieted enough for him to speak.

  “You remember, Trina, when your sisters made wishes and you would not?”

  “I wished for plum dumplings,” Aneshka said.

  “And I wished for hair ribbons,” Holena said.

  Papa nodded, still chuckling, “And Trina wouldn’t wish, but I did, remember? I said I’d wish for a farm. And here it is—a garden and livestock of our very own. Our little farm here in America. You should have wished, Trina, but since you wouldn’t, it looks like I got the third wish instead!”

  Chapter 7

  I GAPED AT my father in disbelief. Had my wish come true, only to leave us stuck in the mining camp?

  “You and your foolish nonsense,” Momma snapped at Papa. Then she turned to me. “What were you thinking, Trina? Chickens? Where on earth are we going to keep them?”

  “I thought we could keep them behind the house,” I said. “They will be old enough to start laying eggs in a few weeks. I just wanted to help us save money to get our farm,” I said.

  “And just how are we supposed to fence or house them?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” I admitted. The truth was, I hadn’t really thought of any of it.

  “There is always scrap wood in the mine dump,” Mark said, surprising everyone. “We could probably dig up enough to make a chicken coop.”

  “And when will you have time for that?” Momma asked. “You boys work too hard now as it is.”

  “But we are going to need the extra food if we get laid off at the mine,” Mark pointed out. “I think it’s a lucky thing that Trina found that farm and got these chickens.” He smiled at me, and I blushed so suddenly I could not hide it. All I could do was smile back, grateful for his support. Then I caught my mother’s eye and my smile quickly faded.

  “I know I shouldn’t have spent the money without permission, Momma. But please let me try. If it doesn’t work out, we could still butcher and eat the se chickens. I got all three for less than a whole chicken from Mr. Johnson’s store.”

  Momma was watching the little hens scrabble and peck around the crate as Aneshka dropped bits of bread in to them. She sighed. “You do have an eye for a bargain, I suppose, but your head is so full of dreams. You get that from your father.”

  “Can we keep them then?” Aneshka asked.

  Momma looked to Papa for his decision.

  “If you can house them and feed them, Trina, you can keep them,” Papa said.

  I nodded. “They can eat kitchen scraps. And grasshoppers down by the creek.”

  “But do not do such a thing again without permission,” Papa warned.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “And the first time they start costing us money instead of saving it, they go in the pot,” Momma added.

  That evening Aneshka and Holena herded the chickens around the small yard, but since we had no house for them, the chickens spent the night in the kitchen in their crate.

  The next morning I woke to someone quietly calling my name through the open window. The rest of my family was still asleep, so I slipped outside to see Mark measuring out space and writing down his measurements on a scrap of wood.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead. I’m getting started on your henhouse.” “So early?”

  “I only have today off, and I’ll have to sleep this afternoon before going back on the night shift tonight, so I thought I’d better get started. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t know where to begin,” I admitted.

  “Then you’re lucky you have me,” he said, grinning. He looked like his old self, with his hair flopping over his forehead, and I couldn’t help grinning back.

  “So I am,” I said. “What are we doing first?”

  He picked up a stick and scratched out a square on the ground. “This is where we will build it,” he said. “And here is what we’ll need.” He took a scrap of newspaper from his pocket, on which he had written a list of materials.

  “Can we really get all this from the mine dump?” It wasn’t a long list, but it was more than I imagined we could get for free. As far as I could tell, the stingy mine owners wouldn’t let anything go for free if they could charge us for it.

  “Let’s go find out,” Mark said.

  “But—won’t we get in trouble?”

  Mark shook his head. “It’s trash. No one will even notice. It all gets buried and forgotten under the mine tailings in a matter of days.”

  My family was still asleep, so I set off with Mark, up the hill toward the mine.

  The slanting rays of the rising sun softened and brightened the drab houses and dirt lanes of the camp, but they could do nothing to alter the ugliness of the mine. As we approached, the hoist and the gaping shaft stood out as starkly as ever, surrounded by tangles of steel cable and grimy coal cars. I could never shake the sense of dread that came over me near the shaft. The thought of descending into the darkness, with all those tons of earth looming over me, made my insides knot. I stepped closer to Mark, glad for the warmth of his presence.

  “Over there,” he said, pointing. An enormous pile of dirt and crushed rock trailed down the slope toward the creek. The pile was streaked gray, brown, and sulfur yellow from loads brought up from different levels of the mine, and the entire mass seemed to be creeping relentlessly down the slope. On the front edge of the pile, trash and debris had been dumped and was being swallowed up by the advance of the dirt and rock.

  We climbed down the slope to inspect the tangled debris. Splintered beams and boards, frayed loops of rusting cable, broken gears, and empty liquor bottles lay scattered on the ground or sticking out of the loose tailings. The whole pile smelled of coal, engine grease, and rot. I couldn’t help wrinkling my nose, but Mark was grinning cheerfully.

  “It may take us some time, but there’s a lot here, if we don’t mind getting our hands dirty. And the more we find, the less we have to buy.”

  “Then let’s get started,” I said.

  Searching through the rubbish was hard work, and my hands were soon scratched and bruised, but with every new discovery of something useful, my spirits soared. It was like a treasure hunt, even if our treasure was really just trash. We soon had a pile of wood in a variety of ragtag sizes and shapes, but all were serviceable. After all, the chickens didn’t care if they had a fancy house or not, as long as they had a place to roost.

  “We need a fence, too,” Mark said as we worked. “That will be the most difficult part.”

  “I didn’t think of that when I got them,” I admitted. “Is there any way we could make do without a fence?”

  “Well, I suppose if you want them visiting your neighbors and roosting wherever they please,” he said. “But if you want them to set in your henhouse, you better keep them there. Besides, there are too many stray dogs in camp to let them wander.”

  “How do you know so much about chickens?” I asked.

  “When we were in Bohemia we had chickens. Collecting the eggs was one of my chores, so I got to know our biddies pretty well.”

  “You had a cow and chickens in Bohemia? Were you farmers?”

  “More or less,” he said, prying a board loose from the soil and throwing it onto the pile.

&
nbsp; “And you gave that up to come here? To work in a mine?”

  “We didn’t really give up much. We didn’t own the land or the crops. It was more like they owned us. And Papa was already a miner. More than once he left home for the mines all winter when the harvest was poor. So, after my mother died, Papa heard about the better wages here and we came. He believed Karel and I would have a better future.”

  I knew that land was scarce in Bohemia, and most of it was owned by wealthy families. The peasants who worked the estates were often no better off than beggars, but I couldn’t see how working the coal mines here was any better. I said as much, but Mark laughed.

  “You weren’t farmers in Bohemia, were you.”

  “What does that have to do with it?”

  “Farming’s hard, miserable work, Trina. You spend your days out in the heat all summer and in the cold all winter. And you never get paid. When a crop fails, the farmer goes hungry. When you run out of money here, the store will extend you credit so you can still eat.”

  “But you’ll never get out of here that way. You’re always in debt to the company,” I protested.

  Mark shrugged. “Where is there to go? We’ve got jobs here, and a house.”

  “But you don’t own anything. It’s not yours.”

  “You bought chickens. And you’ll own your chicken coop, and your garden.”

  “But don’t you want more?”

  He shrugged again and tossed a board onto our growing pile. “Sure I do. But a farm isn’t more. I never want to go back to farming. What about you?”

  “My father wants a farm, and I think that would be a fine place for Aneshka and Holena to grow up. I think it would be better for you, too. Your papa doesn’t mind farming, I think. He’s been happy working in my garden.”

  Mark laughed. “There’s a lot more to having a farm than a little kitchen garden. My papa can’t swing a scythe anymore, and I don’t ever want to either.”

  “Better than swinging a pick,” I insisted.

  He shook his head. “The way I see it, the biggest difference between farming and mining is just in what you’re shoveling. And at least in the mine, you’re getting paid to shovel it.”

  Mark was turned away from me, tugging at a timber that was stuck fast, so I scowled at his back. I was annoyed by his opinions, but he was doing me a big favor building my henhouse, so I held my tongue. I began gathering nails that we could reuse.

  “Help me with this, will you? Something is holding it down,” he said a few minutes later. He was still trying to pull the same timber out of the tailings. Using a bent piece of tin roofing, I scooped away at the dirt that held the end of the beam. Soon we could see why it would not come free. A crossbeam was still nailed to its end at right angles, and the second beam jutted downward into the heap of tailings and trash.

  “Get at the corner and pull,” Mark said, pointing toward the intersection where the two timbers formed an L. I did as he instructed, and together we heaved and pulled but they still would not come free.

  “Maybe we should leave this one,” I said.

  “No, the se are good, sturdy beams. They will be worth the trouble. I wonder what is still holding them.” He lifted and pulled on his end again.

  “Look,” I said, pointing at what I had seen as he pulled. The timber he held was not the only thing that had moved. The dirt and trash around it had lifted and flexed as well. “Do that again,” I said. Once again, the ground shifted across a wide area. I stepped into the L of the boards and cleared away the dirt in the area that had moved. Strands of wire appeared in the ground, but I couldn’t tell what they were. Once some of the dirt was removed from the wire, I took hold of the wood again.

  “Let’s try it again now,” I said.

  Together we heaved and tugged, and suddenly the soil gave way and the wood came free. I staggered back a few steps and sat down hard. Mark looked at me, his eyes glinting with mischief.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I nodded. “It just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

  He turned back to the timbers, his shoulders shaking.

  “Are you laughing at me?” I demanded, getting to my feet. I tried to sound indignant, but my own laughter was starting to rise as well.

  He shook his head, but a little chuckle broke out of him as he did.

  “Yes, you are!” I said.

  He shook his head again. “I’m not. I’m laughing because—look at what was holding us back.”

  I looked to where he was pointing. Attached to the L of timbers were strips of wire mesh fencing, the kind the mine used to hold back loose rock, but also the kind used to fence in chickens! I stared, open-mouthed. We had pulled loose about four feet of it, and more had disappeared under the tailings.

  “How much do you think there is?” I asked.

  “Let’s dig it out and see, shall we?” he said.

  We set to digging and pulling on the rusty fencing. When at last we had it free, we had enough to enclose a small chicken yard.

  “I can’t believe it!” I said, looking at it after we had it neatly rolled and added to our pile.

  “I can,” Mark said, grinning at me.

  “You can?”

  He nodded. “Because I think you, Trina Prochazkova, are the luckiest person alive. All you have to do is wish for something and it appears.”

  Chapter 8

  MY MOUTH FELL open as what he said washed over me. Lucky things were still happening to me! If he was right, my wish wasn’t complete. Hope filled me—the chickens and garden weren’t the fulfillment of my wish—finding this wire proved that! And that meant we were still on our way to a real farm. I just had to keep trying and hoping and believing! I smiled at Mark, feeling happier than ever.

  He smiled back. “We should get these things back to your house,” he said, and I agreed.

  By the time we arrived at my house with our first load of supplies, my family was awake. A work crew was soon assembled to bring the remaining boards and timbers to the house and start building. Old Jan and Karel joined us with hammers and saws, ready to start construction. I was eager to help build, but Momma called me inside.

  “If you are going to have all these men working for you through their day off, you are going to have to feed them,” she said.

  “But I want to help them build,” I protested. After all, the coop was for my chickens.

  Momma shook her head. “You can help by making sure these men are taken care of,” she said, and ushered me into the kitchen. We set to work cooking and baking as if it were a holiday. I supposed it was only fair. I did need to show my appreciation. But I still could not resist sneaking to the back door whenever I had a moment, just to take a peek at the progress. At first not much seemed to be happening, but when I stepped outside at noon to announce that dinner was ready, I was amazed to see a little square house there, lacking only part of the roof and a door. It was an odd-looking structure, made as it was from ramshackle bits of wood, the grime of mine tailings still clinging to some of them. To me, though, it was as good as a palace—or at least a palace for chickens.

  “What do you think?” Mark said, pushing his hair back off his forehead as we inspected his morning’s work.

  “I think it’s wonderful!” I said. “I am lucky to have such good friends!”

  He grinned wider. “Come look.” He grasped my hand and pulled me toward the little building. Standing on tiptoe, I could look over the wall through the missing portion of the roof. He stood beside me and pointed.

  “You see, I put in five nesting boxes, in case you get more chickens.”

  “Oh, I plan to!” I said. “I’m going to let some of the eggs hatch so that I will have a whole flock!”

  He gave me a quizzical look, then burst out laughing.

  “What?” I asked, already feeling the color in my cheeks, though I didn’t know why.

  “You may have your farm, Trina, but that hasn’t made you a farmer just yet. If you plan to hatch c
hicks, you’re going to need a rooster.”

  I stared at him for a long moment. When I finally realized what he meant, the blood flooded into my cheeks.

  Mark tried to straighten his mouth into a serious expression, but the laughter kept bubbling out, despite his efforts.

  I turned abruptly back to the house, feeling every inch the fool. “Dinner is ready,” I said, a little more shrilly than I had intended. “I have to go put it on the table.”

  “But you do like my nesting boxes, don’t you?” he called after me.

  I nodded, too embarrassed to look at him.

  “Come inside when you’ve washed up,” I said, and fled into the kitchen.

  Momma and I had outdone ourselves cooking, or so the men said as they took big helpings of stew, dumplings, and potatoes.

  “Trina should get a cow, too,” Karel said, as he spread a knife-full of lard on a thick slice of bread. “A little butter and this meal would be a perfect feast.”

  “Don’t go putting any more ideas in that girl’s head,” Momma said, but she didn’t sound angry. In fact, she sounded a little amused, and that gave me hope. If my chickens supplied us with fresh eggs and saved us money, maybe I could find a way to get a rooster, or at least a few more hens. But since I couldn’t take more money, I needed to gain Momma’s approval first so I could do it with permission.

  My hope rose even higher at the end of the meal when the men finished their coffee to go back to work. Momma smiled in my direction. “You may go out and help them finish, Trina. Aneshka and Holena can wash the dishes.”

  I went outside with my heart singing. Papa and Old Jan were fashioning a roof for the henhouse, so I helped Mark dig holes and place the mismatched posts for the short fence. When the posts were in place, we stretched the precious chicken wire across them, and I held it tight while Mark nailed it to the posts. I was intent on my work and did not notice that Papa and Old Jan had finished and left us alone in the back until we had the last bit of wire nailed into place. I stepped back and looked at our work, then exclaimed in surprise.