Back-squeak. Forth-squeak—like a rocking chair on a loose floorboard.
As she looked out across the moonlit vista, she caught a glimpse of motion from the corner of her eye and saw an owl taking flight from the old barn. Likely the squeaking had disturbed its peace. It flew across the roof of the long-empty chicken house, and in that moment, sitting here in the dark, she remembered the night she'd awakened to the sound of Delia's footsteps long after she'd put her to bed, and then panicked when she'd heard the screen door slam.
* * *
Gracie was dreaming about biscuits and sausage gravy when something woke her. Immediately, she was alert and listening. Was it Mama? Stupid question. It was always Mama.
And then she heard footsteps. Sliding steps. It was Mama. Gracie laid there a moment longer, hoping she'd just gone to the bathroom and was on her way back to bed. But when Gracie heard the squeak of the screen door, and then the slam as it went shut, she threw back the covers.
Holy shit! Mama was out of the house! She'd never done this at night before!
Gracie was in a panic as she felt around for her shoes, and then she grabbed a flashlight from the drawer and bolted.
By the time she exited the house, Delia was nowhere in sight. She flashed back to the day she'd found Mama out on the prairie and was already running toward the fence, thinking she couldn't have gone far, when she passed the old chicken house and then stopped and turned around.
The door to the chicken house was open, and it shouldn't have been. Mama had killed all the chickens one day, wringing their necks like they'd done in the old days, because she thought company was coming, and they needed a lot to eat.
Gracie swung the flashlight toward the doorway, caught a glimpse of movement inside, and breathed a quick sigh of relief.
Whatever she was doing in there, at least she wasn't lost.
Gracie didn't want to frighten her, so she started calling out her name and aiming the flashlight toward the ground as she walked, just to make sure she wasn't about to step on a snake.
"Mama! Mama! Where are you?" she called but got no answer. "Delia! Delia, honey! Where are you?" she called again, and then swung the flashlight around the dark interior. She saw her mama all the way at the end of the building, slowly walking along the wall of built-in cubbies, where the hens had always nested.
"Hey, sweetie," Gracie said, as she slowly approached. "What are you doing?"
"Gathering eggs," Delia said. "I need to gather in the eggs."
"Can I help you?" Gracie asked.
When Delia paused, Gracie saw her whole body stiffen. And then Mama ducked her head. "Do I know you?"
Gracie's eyes welled. "Yes, ma'am."
"Well, then," Delia said. "Come on along. But pick up that egg bucket. My hands are full."
"Yes, ma'am," Gracie said, and then leaned over, picked up an imaginary bucket, and moved up beside her, making sure to shine the flashlight in every empty nest, just to make sure it was still empty of critters, too. And so, they went along the wall, with Delia gathering imaginary eggs and putting them in the imaginary bucket, until they ran out of nests.
"Am I through?" Delia asked.
"Yes, you are," Gracie said.
"I'm tired," she said. "I believe I'll sit down a spell," and started to drop where she stood.
"Oh, wait, wait," Gracie cried. "Let's go rest in the house. We can wash the dust off our hands, and I can get us something cold to drink."
"I might like a drink," Delia said.
"Me, too," Gracie said, and slowly cupped her mama's elbow, led her out of the chicken house, and back up the porch, then inside the house.
Delia was covered in dust, but Gracie knew this was not the time of night to be concerned with clean feet and clean sheets. She poured them both a drink of water, and while her mama was drinking, Gracie knelt in front of her mama and began washing her hands and feet as best she could.
"You worked hard today, Mama. It's time to sleep, now," Gracie said, walked Mama back to her bedroom, helped her settle in bed, then leaned over and kissed her forehead.
The skin was soft beneath Gracie's lips, and her mama's breath was warm against her face.
"I love you, Mama. Sleep tight."
"...don't let the mud bugs bite," Delia mumbled.
Gracie smiled. Mama had always said that when she