Free Love comes softly by Janette Oke Page B

Over and over the scene was repeated. Marty began to think it was a battle to see who would wear out first. Well, it wouldn't be her.
    "Ya dad-blame bird. Hold still," she hissed at him and tried again, getting in a wild swing at the rooster's head.
    With a squawk and a flutter the rooster wrenched free and was gone, flopping and complaining across the yard. Marty looked down at the chopping block and beheld in horror the two small pieces of beak that remained there.
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    "Serves ya right!" she blazed and kicked the pieces off the block into the dirt.
    She headed again for the coop, determined not to be beaten, while one short-beaked rooster still flapped about the farm, screaming out his insults to a dastardly world.
    Marty marched resolutely to the coop and began all over again. After many minutes of chasing and gulping against the flying dust, she finally got what she was after. This fellow was more her size and again she set out for the chopping block. Things still didn't go well there. She stretched him out and reached for the axe, dropped the axe and stretched him out, over and over again. Finally she got inspired and taking the chicken with her, she headed for the house. Into her bedroom she went and took from a drawer the neatly wound roll of store string. Back to the wood shed she went, where she sat down on a block of wood and securely tied the legs of the chicken together. Then she carried him outside and tied the other end of the string to a small tree. Still holding the chicken, she tied another piece of string to his neck and stretching it out firmly tied the second string to another small tree. She then moved the chopping block from the woodshed and placed it in the proper spot beneath the chicken's outstretched neck.
    "There now," she said, with some satisfaction, and taking careful aim she shut her eyes and chopped hard.
    It worked-- but Marty was totally unprepared for the next event, as a wildly flopping chicken covered her unmercifully with spattered blood.
    "Stop thet! Stop thet!" she screamed. "Yer s'pose to be dead, ya-- ya headless dumb thing."
    She took another swing with the axe, relieving the chicken of one wing. Still it flopped and Marty backed up against the shed as she tried to shield her face from the awful onslaught. Finally the chicken lay still, with only an occasional tremor. Marty took her hands from her face.
    "Ya dad-blame bird," she stormed, and wondered momentarily if she dared to pick it up.
    She looked down at her dirty, blood-stained dress. What a mess, and all for a chicken supper.
    Out in the barnyard an indignant short-beaked rooster
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    tried to crow as Marty picked up the sorry mess of blood and feathers and headed for the house.
    All of those feathers had to come off, and then came the disgusting job of cleaning out the innards.
    Somehow she got through it all, and after she had washed the meat in fresh well water and put it in seasonings, she put it on to simmer in savory butter. She decided that she'd best get cleaned up before Clark made his appearance. A bath seemed to be the simplest and quickest way to care for the matter so Marty hauled a tub into her room and supplied it with warm water. When she was clean again she took the disgustingly dirty dress that she had been wearing and put it to soak in the bath water. She'd deal with that tomorrow, she promised herself as she carried the whole mess outside and placed it on a wash table beside the house.
    Feeling refreshed and more herself after her bath, Marty went back to resume her preparations for supper. When Clark and Missie returned, tired but happy from a day spent together, they were greeted by the smell of frying chicken. Clark felt surprise but tried not to show it. Indeed, he was on the verge of asking Marty if she'd had company that day, so sure was he that she must have had help to accomplish such a thing, but he checked his tongue.
    On the way to the barn to milk the cows, he saw the mess by the woodshed. The