15
The Awful, Terrible Something
When Cornelia woke the next morning, it was warmer still. Instead of cooling things off, the night seemed to have made the air even stickier. It was hot, it was humid, and not at all pleasant in the shed, she knew. But in about ten more hours they would be celebrating Mother’s birthday, the secret would be out, and then she could put her mind on the Screaming Cyclone and the rest of summer.
She had thought she wanted to ride in the very first car with her hands up over her head, but maybe it would be more fun riding in the very last seat. She tried to imagine how she felt on a roller coaster when it whipped around a corner, jerking her to one side, then whipped the other way. How it raced around a curve, clanked along to the top of a rise, and then plunged, everyone screaming, down the other side.
Did she want to sit alone or would she go with Deeter? If she didn’t sit with him, the attendant might put someone else in beside her, someone who would cry or grab hold of her arm or something. She’d better ride with Deeter. Maybe they could buy ten tickets and ride five times in the first car and five times in the last, just to see what was scariest.
She pulled on the same shorts and tank top she had worn the day before, then remembered it was Mother’s birthday and chose a green and yellow set. She even brushed her hair and put a white and yellow scrunchie around her ponytail.
Her father was just leaving for the office when she came downstairs.
“If it rains this afternoon, it will probably break the heat,” he said, and then he whispered, “We’ll give Mother our gifts right after dinner, okay? Everything all set?”
“We’re ready!” Cornelia said.
He winked. “Good job!” he said. “Very good job! I never thought you could do it.”
It was wonderful to see that the night had passed without anything happening to the chicken. All morning the children practiced for the evening’s performance. Mindy did her chicken dance while Charles, his ankle in an Ace bandage, turned the little crank on the music box. Cornelia took a brown grocery sack and made a chicken headdress for Mindy to wear while she danced. The only one they didn’t let practice was No-Name, because they wanted her to be hungry when it was time for her act.
After lunch, while Deeter remained in the camp, Cornelia, Charles, and Mindy tried to be as helpful as possible at home. Cornelia made the beds, Charles took out the garbage, and Mindy cleaned her fingernails.
They slipped over to the shed one more time to make sure that No-Name was safe and to give Deeter a rest break. He came back to the shed in a fresh T-shirt and pants that looked as though they had stretched with each wearing. If they hung any lower, Cornelia thought, he could use them for boots.
“You and your mom are invited to the party after dinner,” Cornelia told him. “We should be through about seven, and we want you to come over for ice cream and cake. I’ll help you bring the chicken and all our stuff.”
“Boy, I wish the party was right now. I wish we didn’t have to worry about this chicken one more minute!” said Charles.
“So do I,” said Cornelia. “Do you realize we haven’t been to the pool or a movie once since school was out? But it’s been fun...sort of. Right now I have to go home and make a birthday cake. Mom’s going to the beauty parlor, and I want to surprise her when she gets back.”
“I’ll sit over here with Deeter,” said Charles.
“You will not! You’ve got to put up the decorations, and Mindy’s got to set the table. I can’t do everything myself,” Cornelia said. She turned to Deeter. “We’ll see you tonight. Thank you, Deeter! And please don’t let anything happen to No-Name.”
“I’m not letting this chicken out of my sight,” Deeter told her.
At home, Mother glanced out the window before she left, and took her umbrella from the closet. “I hope I get back before it pours,” she said. “That’s the recipe for rain, all right. Either wash the car or get a perm, and it rains.”
When her car was out of the driveway, the three children flew about getting things ready. Cornelia put the best cloth on the table, then left it for Charles and Mindy to set with the good china dishes while she prepared the cake mix and got it in the oven.
While the cake was cooling, they got out the box of party decorations and began twisting the long crepe paper streamers, taping them from the light fixture to the walls.
When the cake had been frosted, Cornelia, Charles, and Mindy all stood at the counter licking the bowl.
“Look how dark the sky’s getting,” Charles said, pointing out the window.
Cornelia stepped out onto the back porch. It wasn’t any cooler, but a breeze had picked up and it felt delicious on her arms and legs. It wasn’t long before the breeze became a wind, and then a light rain began to fall.
“If Mom doesn’t get back soon, she’s really going to get wet,” Cornelia mused, as they hurriedly washed the dishes.
A car door slammed just then and Mother came through the front door.
“Cornelia? Charles?” she called. “There aren’t any windows open, are there? I think we’re in for a real storm.”
“We’ll check,” Cornelia told her and ran upstairs as the rain began coming down in torrents. When all the windows were checked, Cornelia stood out on the back porch with Charles and Mindy, watching hail bounce off the porch steps.
“What do you think that sounds like in the shed?” Charles wondered. “Deeter must think there’s a machine gun on the roof.”
“Just so it doesn’t upset No-Name,” said Cornelia.
“Dee-ter!” called Mrs. Delaney from next door. “Dee-ter! Come inside.”
At that moment another car door slammed, and there were heavy footsteps on the gravel driveway. The front door slammed next, and from inside the house, Father yelled, “Helen! Cornelia! I think we’d better get to the basement. Get Charles and Mindy, and hurry!”
The next thing Charles knew, his dad had him by the arm and was steering him through the back door and toward the basement. He collided with Mindy and felt Cornelia’s knee bump his back as she and Mother hurried down the stairs behind him.
“Is it a tornado?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but that wind is like nothing I ever felt before,” Father said.
Mindy began to cry.
“We’re okay, sweetheart,” her father said. “I was listening to the news on the way home, and there’s a tornado watch on for the area. It doesn’t mean there is one—it just means that conditions are right for one. All this hot air meeting a cold front.”
They usually couldn’t hear the wind when they were in the basement, but this time they could.
“Gracious!” said Mother, sitting down on the floor while Mindy crawled onto her lap. “A birthday storm! Isn’t this exciting!”
Cornelia knew from experience that when something bad was about to happen, Mother tried to make an adventure out of it. Booster shots from the doctor; a trip to the dentist—she always planned something nice to do on the way home. Isn’t this exciting? just meant that Mother was scared too. From outside came the sound of breaking limbs and shutters banging.
“I hope we don’t lose a tree,” Father said.
They could hear the pelting of rain and the hail hitting the side of the house, striking the roof, and reverberating down the chimney.
“Well,” said Mother. “At least the hot spell’s over.”
It seemed about seven or eight minutes before the hail gradually grew fainter, along with the wind. And finally there was just the light pit-a-pat of rain, and then even that stopped.
“Now! That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Mother said to Mindy, getting to her feet.
They followed Father upstairs. When he opened the kitchen door, Cornelia held her breath, because she half expected to see the kitchen roof caved in, and the birthday cake and decorations in shambles.
Except for some leaves sticking to the window glass outside, however, everything was as they had left it, and the r
efrigerator was still humming. They opened the back door and stepped onto the porch. And then they gasped.
There was an old tree down in the Hoovers’ backyard and branches and twigs were strewn in every direction. Roots stuck up out of the ground, and Mr. and Mrs. Hoover themselves were coming down their back steps, shaking their heads.
“Well, at least it didn’t hit the house,” Mr. Hoover called over. “I just phoned the weather bureau, and they said there weren’t any tornadoes touching down, but I told ’em if one didn’t touch down in my back yard, it was the spittin’ image of one—half a tornado, anyway.”
But Father was staring out over their own yard.
“Looks like it went right through here—you can see where some other trees are down back in the woods. And look there! We lost a limb off our beech tree.”
But Cornelia and Charles were staring beyond the beech tree where they should have been able to see the roof of the Delaney’s shed. All they could see was a tent draped over the high limb of a tree.
Cornelia grabbed Charles’s arm. Deeter! The last she had seen of him, he was guarding the chicken. At that same moment they heard Mrs. Delaney frantically calling: “Deeter! Deeter!”
“Marjorie?” Father called. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, but where’s Deeter?” Mrs. Delaney cried. “He never made it into the house. I hope he was with you!”
They all made their way across the limbs and branches toward the camp in the Delaneys’ yard, but once it came into view, they stopped and stared. The chairs were overturned, the tent was up in a tree, and as for the shed, the roof was gone, one wall was gone, the door hung on a single hinge, and all around the entire yard—all over the soggy grass—were hundreds of little white feathers.
16
The Big Day
This was too much. Cornelia broke into tears. But Mrs. Delaney was frantic.
“Dee-ter!” she screamed, yanking up fallen tree branches as though her boy might be beneath one. “Deeter!”
“Deeter!” Father boomed.
It was Mindy, though, who saw him first.
“Deeter!” she cried, and everyone turned.
Deeter Delaney was crawling out from under his back porch, his face dirty, his hair disheveled, wearing only his shirt and underwear. His baggy pants had, one might say, gone with the wind.
But Deeter was too dazed to notice. His mother rushed over and swooped him close in her arms. When she realized at last that he was standing there in his underpants, she picked up the first thing she could find, a rain-soaked tablecloth which had been hanging on the clothesline, and wrapped it around him.
Cornelia was so glad to see Deeter—so happy she would not have to go her whole life remembering that Deeter had given his life for a chicken—that she too rushed over and gave him a hug.
Deeter, who had been dazed before, stood absolutely stupefied now. When Cornelia whispered, “I’m sorry about No-Name, but I’m glad you’re alive,” however, he suddenly came to his senses.
“Where is she?” he whispered back. “I tried to save her, Cornelia, but the last I saw of her, she was flying through the air.”
“Look,” said Cornelia sadly, and pointed to the white feathers scattered all over the yard. Even if they found No-Name alive, she knew, the hen would look awful without her feathers. Out on the farm Grandma would say, “A chicken looking that bad is only good for the stew pot.”
At that moment there was another noise, a familiar noise, a welcome noise—a gentle cluck, cluck, cluck. Across the cluttered yard came a cockeyed, crooked-legged, crusty-combed chicken, minus a feather or two.
Cornelia, Charles, Mindy, and Deeter all whirled around.
“No-Name!” cried Mindy.
“She’s alive!” screamed Cornelia and Deeter.
“She’s come back home to roost!” yelped Charles.
“Then what...?” said Cornelia, staring at all the feathers.
“That’s what was left of my pillow,” said Deeter, and suddenly all four children began to laugh.
Father scooped the dirty white hen up in his arms and carried her over to Mother. “For you!” he said. “To remind you of the farm.”
“What?” cried Mother, staring.
“Happy birthday!” said Father, laughing. And suddenly everyone was laughing.
“Oh, Tom!” Mother said. “You would think of something like this. Why...why, this is the goofiest-looking chicken I ever saw!” She threw back her head and laughed some more. “Where did you get her?”
“One of my customers was selling his poultry business and gave her to me last week,” Father said.
“What? But...where have you been keeping her all this time?” asked Mother.
“Now that,” said Father, “is a long story. I’ll let Cornelia tell you.”
“But not now,” said Cornelia. “This isn’t just a chicken, Mom, it’s a special chicken.” And while Deeter went inside for his trousers, Cornelia and Charles hurried to the shed, relieved to find the cooler still there.
As the grown-ups continued inspecting their yards, Cornelia and Charles, Mindy, and Deeter cleared a space in the walnut grove and brought out the things they would need for their show. When everything was ready, they called to their parents and all the adults came over, Mr. and Mrs. Hoover too.
“What’s this?” asked Father.
“Anyone can give a live chicken,” Cornelia told him, “but this is a performing chicken!”
“You don’t say!” said Father, surprised.
“Wonderful!” said Mother. “Let the show begin.”
Mindy put on the chicken headdress as Charles began turning the handle on the music box. The cockeyed chicken, in a little red cape and a yellow hat, began to peck at the grain, the umbrella began to turn, the fishes began to swim, and Mindy started her famous chicken dance, flapping her elbows up and down, poking her neck in and out, and making little clucking noises in her throat.
“Why, that chicken ought to be in a circus!” said Mrs. Hoover.
“Living next door to these kids is a circus!” said Mr. Hoover.
Dum...dee...dum went the music box. Peck...peck...peck went the chicken. Stomp...stomp...stomp went Mindy, flapping her arms and dancing behind No-Name, as Cornelia and Deeter joined in, poking their heads in and out and hopping first on one foot, then the other, in time to the music.
Then Father joined in, flapping his arms up and down too and hopping about the circle. He made a sound in his throat so much like a rooster that No-Name stopped pecking and looked at him curiously. Mother laughed loudly and clapped her hands.
Finally the grain was gone, the chicken stopped pecking, the umbrella stopped turning, the fishes stopped swimming, and Charles cranked the music box slower and slower until the song ended on a final thunk.
“Well, the carton of coconuts was fun, Tom, and the canoe was even better, but I think this chicken is the craziest present yet!” Mother said, delighted with her gift. She turned to Cornelia and Charles. “So what’s the chicken’s name?”
“It doesn’t have one,” said Charles. “We’ve been calling her No-Name, so you could name her yourself.”
“What about ‘Country Fried’?” said Mr. Hoover.
“What about ‘Colonel Sanders’?” suggested Deeter’s mom.
“Or ‘Chicken Nuggets’?” said Father, laughing.
“Nobody’s going to eat this chicken,” said Mother. “She needs a name all her own.”
“Debacle,” said Cornelia.
“What?” said Mother.
“Debacle. After all that’s happened,” Cornelia said, laughing.
“The Great Chicken, Debacle,” said Deeter.
“Perfect,” said Mother. “Debacle it is.” She turned to her neighbors. “Cornelia made me a birthday cake, and you are all invited over for cake and ice cream around seven. We won’t even think about cleaning up our yards till tomorrow.”
“Oh, no,” said Cornelia. “Not tomorrow.”
“Not a chance,” said Charles.
“Never, never, never!” said Mindy.
“Why not?” asked their father.
Cornelia leaned over and thrust her face in his. “Because tomorrow you are taking us to Starlight Park,” she said.
“To ride the merry-go-round!” cried Mindy.
“And the Red Devil,” said Charles.
“And the Mad Hornet!” said Deeter.
“As many rides as we want!” Cornelia finished, already feeling her hands on the metal bar, her lips stretched thin over her teeth, and her hair blowing in the wind.
“Aha!” cried Mother. “So that was the bargain!”
This time Father didn’t groan. He didn’t moan.
“I guess I can clean up the yard any time,” he said. “You’ve got it. Starlight Park, it is.”
Cut-cut-cut-cudacket! said Debacle. And laid another egg.
Phyllis Reynolds Naylor, The Great Chicken Debacle
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