Sisters in the Wind(55)
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Every birthday was celebrated the same way at Hoppy Farm. Missus baked whatever cake you wanted and made sure to have your favorite ice cream flavor too. You also got to choose what to have for dinner.
“Here you go, Birthday Girl.” Missus fixed my plate and set it before me. Getting served first, instead of waiting for the serving bowls and platters to make their way around the table, was another treat on your special day. Missus did it for pregnant Emily every night, but at a birthday dinner someone else received the extra-special treatment.
After a silent grace, everyone watched me take a first bite. Since by then I sat in the middle of the row of girls, everyone had a clear view. I didn’t have to fake my enthusiasm for the succulent roasted chicken. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted in my life.
“What’d I tell you about our chickens.” Mister’s saying was so familiar that everyone joined him.
“Hoppy chickens are happy chickens and happy chickens taste better.”
“It’s truer than true,” he said. “I swear that fresh air, exercise, and the best-quality feed make our chickens grow happy, strong, and plump.”
Roasted chicken was served so often that the Hoppys had purchased a small commercial rotisserie oven that cooked a dozen birds at a time. Each was as juicy and perfectly seasoned as the rest.
Mister continued raving about his chickens. “Once we bought a plucker—a defeathering machine—they tasted even better. You know why, Lucy?”
I shook my head and kept chewing.
“Plucking chickens by hand is not pleasant. Made people gloomy. I’m sure their mood dulled the flavor of the bird.” He looked around the table for supporters of his theory. “Right?”
“Trust me,” Missus said, “no one wanted that chore. It always went to the two newest arrivals. Even Jennifer did her fair share.”
I turned to the younger Missus. “You were here as a foster kid?”
I hadn’t known her origin story and had assumed she was Allen’s childhood sweetheart. She belonged to the farm as if she’d lived her entire life there.
“Yes. I was thirteen. After my first night, I never wanted to leave,” Jennifer replied in her delicate, lilting voice that contrasted with her sturdiness.
I remembered feeling similarly about Miss Lonnie’s.
After the meal, Jennifer cleared the plates. Missus lit sixteen candles on the double-chocolate cake before she placed it in front of me. Everyone sang “Happy Birthday,” except they changed it to “Hoppy Birthday.” It was corny, but I felt my eyes get watery anyway.
“Make a wish!” It was a chorus around the table.
I wish Devery were here.
Everyone cheered as I blew out the candles.
While Missus sliced the cake, Mister got the chocolate-chip ice cream out of the freezer and Jennifer brought a stack of dessert plates and clean forks and spoons. Again, I was served first and then Emily.
The devil’s food cake was a rich, dark chocolate. The homemade chocolate frosting was so sweet that my teeth ached after the first bite.
“How does baby like the cake?” Missus asked a beaming Emily.
“Baby likes,” she replied.
I didn’t have to look at Tonya to know she was rolling her eyes. Although my roommate was what my dad would’ve called “rough around the edges,” she was also what Mister called “a good egg.”
Missus gave me a birthday card signed by all five Hoppys with a hundred-dollar bill inside. I also received a card signed by the other seven teens. Diego announced that the three boys would clean their own bathroom next time as their gift to me. It was the best gift.
Tonya spoke for the girls minus Joy. “We sort of like you more than we hate washing dishes, so there you have it. You’re off dish duty tonight. Happy birthday.”
“Hoppy birthday,” Mister corrected.
Joy gifted me a free tattoo. Her tattoos and assorted piercings gave the impression she was a tough girl. It was what I had thought about her my first month at the farm. She was, in fact, thoughtful, intelligent, and a big softie. She’d done a great job on her own, so I started thinking about what I wanted her to do. I already had a Devery tattoo, the connected C and D at my wrist. Maybe something for Stacy, like a book or a ship on a big wave. Or just her name.
Since I didn’t need to stay in the kitchen for cleanup, I grabbed my book and sat in the front-porch library. The earlier rain had cooled the day enough for me to open the row of double-hung windows that ran the length of the front porch. I sat in the overstuffed chair, smiling as a pleasant breeze traveled through the library.
I looked up at the gentle knock in the doorway.
“Um … Come in?” For some reason, people treated the library as if it were my private reading room. I didn’t mind, but I always kept the door open whenever I went there. After I’d reorganized the shelves, I’d encouraged everyone to check out books. I had hauled two reading chairs into the space, along with a side table and lamp. Sure, I had spent my own money on a package of soft white light bulbs that worked with a three-way lamp, but it wasn’t like marking my territory.
Boyd entered the library with one hand behind his back. He wore clean jeans and a light blue T-shirt. I caught a faint floral scent, then the familiar citrus-and-cedar soap from the guys’ bathroom. His blush showed up, even in the soft glow of the reading lamp.