A/N: Thanks so much for reading!

A Few Days in April

Chapter 3

A dozen baby chickens worked wonders to overcome embarrassment of one child and soften the scolding of another.

Sara and Grissom had reached a comfortable resolution in dealing with their children's inappropriate behavior and setting boundaries for conduct—Bizzy and Eli had rarely required a word of caution—so unlike Ava and Annie. Sara watched as her angelic twins, almost identical little cherubs, held fluffy baby chicks in their hands, cooing and babbling at each other, quick smiles or giggles as they responded to one of the adults.

Eli and the old priest had wandered to the back yard and appeared to be in deep conversation. The girls were absorbed in playing with the baby chickens and Will was happy to be toddling from one adult to another. Talking to one of the neighbor's, Grissom was using one of the children's umbrellas to draw in the gravel.

"Can you believe how beautiful the day is?"

Sara jerked out of daydreaming and turned to Sister Marie. "Yes, it is. I think spring is around us."

The woman laughed; she had been at the farm for years, had known Sara's mother, and had cared for Sara and her children. "Stay for lunch. We have roast beef and potatoes—plenty of it—peas, green beans, mac and cheese, and a canned fruit salad and a fresh green salad. And homemade rolls."

Sara had to laugh. Sunday lunch with the nuns was a long-standing tradition; Sara was always invited by Sister Marie or another one of the nuns who would then announce to the children they would be eating lunch with them. It always created excitement.

"Let me help," Sara said, knowing the most she would be allowed to do was put Will in a highchair.

"Oh, no, dear! We have everything ready!" Sister Marie smiled, turning to the three little girls. "Your mother says you can eat lunch with us! Is everyone hungry?"

This was her family, Sara thought, not just the children, but these women who believed in goodness and kindness and benevolence, who loved with no reservations.

By the time everyone gathered around two long tables, nearly thirty people stood quietly for a blessing of the food. The aroma of yeast rolls filled noses as the priest recited a short prayer and very quickly, platters and bowls were passed from person to person with much talking as plates were filled and food tasted.

While Sara did not eat meat or serve it at her home, she was a liberal vegetarian; her children ate what they wanted with the girls usually eating what she did and Eli ate what his dad ate. Sara knew Grissom loved to eat with the nuns because they always served meat—and the smell of chicken frying could reach their house on the wind which gave him a reason to visit.

Sunday lunch was one time during the week when Sara and Grissom relaxed, enjoyed a meal prepared by others, and knew their children were under watchful and caring eyes. After plates were emptied, desserts were passed—pound cake, berry cobbler, and lemon pie—and disappeared as compliments were given to the cooks.

No one hurried to leave; Sara and several of the women cleaned the tables while others dispersed to the porch, the gardens, or moved to comfortable chairs. Sara's children were looked after; from the kitchen window she saw the priest with Eli and Bizzy and the brief thought crossed her mind as to what they were doing but for months the three had been 'best friends' on Sundays.

She watched for several minutes as the old priest pointed to something and Eli took a posture with one arm stretched in front of his face. Sara moved to get a better look and realized her son had an old fashioned sling-shot in his hands. A shiny can sat on a fence post several yards in front of the trio.

At that moment, she heard an unhappy cry and knew Will was ready for a nap. It took several minutes to fill his cup with milk, another few minutes for him to decide he wanted to stay in the lap of the older woman who held him, and two or three minutes to find Ava and Annie on the porch with their dad. Grissom gave a two-fingered "all is well" sign.

Returning to the kitchen, Sara found Bizzy with Sister Deborah and two others setting up an old domino set. The scoring game played by the nuns had been the first recognition of Bizzy's mathematical abilities when they realized the small child was adding up pips as the tiles were played. They had proceeded to add difficulty to the game with addition, subtraction, and multiplication, before Bizzy had reached school age.

It had taken less than fifteen minutes for her to return to the window—the priest was sitting in the swing, alone, and Eli was not in sight.

She turned to Bizzy, asking, "Do you know where Eli is?"

"He's with Father Joseph—did you see his slingshot? Father Joseph made it! Eli was trying to hit a can with a rock."

Puzzled more than worried, Sara returned to the porch—no Eli. Not wanting to raise an alarm, she returned to the kitchen and picked up the trash bags.

"I'll help," Sister Marie said as she extended her hand.

Sara tied one of the trash bags closed; Sister Marie must be eighty, she thought. The small, delicate size of the nun masked a strong and tough individual with a face that creased from hairline to chin when she smiled. Sara handed her one of the bags.

"I'm looking for Eli—he disappeared a few minutes ago."

"Wasn't he with Father Joseph?" Sister Marie's voice dropped to a whisper as she said, "The old guy needs someone to look after him—and he drives out here every Sunday!"

The two walked to the trash cans and saw no sign of Eli. As Sara turned a slow circle, Sister Marie said, "Let's try the barn—he's probably with the baby chickens."

They had not taken but a few steps when Eli came into view; the two women stopped. Before she could fully process what she was seeing, Sara heard the nun's laughter beginning as a soft chuckle and, seconds later, becoming a full blown snort as she clapped her hands together.

By the time Eli stopped in front of them, Sister Marie was doubled over in laughter; a seldom heard magnificent laugh resounded around the yard and echoed against the barn. The old nun reached for Sara's arm as she straightened up.

In a voice filled with glee, she said, "Oh, dear, oh, dear—Eli!" Her chortles filled the air around them.

Sara was speechless. She could not believe her eyes.

In one hand, his arm outstretched, a smiling Eli held a dead rooster. "I shot him dead with my slingshot!" He proudly announced. "We can have fried chicken tonight!"

Sister Marie's obvious enjoyment of the situation finally revived Sara's ability to speak.

"Eli! What have you done?"

The nun's hand closed on Sara's arm. In a whisper, she said "I've hated that rooster for years!"

"Eli, why did you kill the rooster? You know…"

"But, Mom! I didn't mean to do it—but he just got in the way of my rock! And then he fell over." Eli realized his mother was not happy. "He just walked in front of me!" He tried to explain, "and I wasn't trying to hit him—he—he was running around!"

Sister Marie took the rooster from his hand and started examining the bird. "There's no blood—are you sure you hit him?"

Eli nodded, relieved someone other than his mother was talking to him.

"Oh, Eli!" Sara said again as her hand went to her face. "You shot the rooster!"

Sister Marie was still laughing. "Come with me, Eli. I think your mother needs a few minutes to recover. We'll check this old rooster out and see how he died." She turned to Sara and winked.

Sara was flabbergasted that her child had killed a farm animal; she knew he ate chicken and beef when he and Grissom visited the neighbors, but for him to pick up the dead rooster and proudly show off his kill—she did not know if she wanted to cry or laugh. Well, she thought, Sister Marie had not helped by laughing so heartily.

Suddenly, she was not alone. Grissom and one of the neighbors had heard the laughter of Sister Marie and left the porch. Ava and Annie were chasing each other around her legs.

"What's going on?" Grissom asked when he noticed the distress on Sara's face.

"Eli shot a rooster!"

"What?"

"Father Joseph gave him a slingshot and the first thing he did was shoot the rooster!" Sara said, exasperation edging her answer. "He brought it to us like a trophy—and—and Sister Marie…"

"Laughed?" Grissom said with a chuckle; the look he got from Sara was enough to stifle his laugh. "Why don't you take the girls and I'll—we'll go," he nodded to the neighbor, "We'll go check the—victim. I can't believe Eli killed a rooster with a slingshot."

Sara's expression was enough to send the two men toward the barn.

Taking a hand of each little girl, she sighed and headed into the house to make an announcement about the death of a rooster.

…Much later, in a quiet house, five exhausted children sleeping soundly, Sara stepped out of the shower to find her husband holding a warm towel.

"I thought you might enjoy this after the day you've had," he said with a lopsided smile forming on his mouth.

Softly, Sara laughed as she let him wrap the dryer-heated towel around her. "Only on a Sunday, Gil. First, Ava and her panties in front of everyone—I thought it would be weeks before one of them topped that little stunt!"

Grissom nuzzled the back of her neck as she wrapped a towel around her hair. "It was only a rooster—and one they wanted to get rid of! As Sister Marie said, all her laying hens wanted to be brood instead of lay eggs!"

"I can't believe he killed it with such a small stone!"

Pulling out a small stool, he indicated she should sit while he towel-dried her hair. "Lucky shot—I believe Eli—he couldn't hit a can on the fence post, much less anything moving! That rock hit the carotid and mister rooster never knew what hit him." Leaning over her head, he kissed her forehead and breathed deeply.

Sara was nearly as exhausted as her children but there was an overriding perpetual state of joy. She felt she was caught up in a chaotic but grand adventure; she felted blessed—and loved.

She rose and turned, moving into Grissom's arms. Light blazed in the blue of his eyes.

"Sara," he whispered, pushing his face into her damp hair.

She closed her eyes and put her lips against his neck, feeling the warmth, tasting the heat. Her hands slipped underneath the soft white shirt he wore.

Without a word, he led her into their bedroom where he removed her towel before lowering her to the bed.

"I've wanted you all day," he said, eyes fixed on her face, "even when you were upset about that damn rooster." His eyes laughed before a grin spread across his face.

His smile, his fingers touching her face, tracing the rim of her jaw, her nose, her eyebrow, caused Sara to smile. The adventure continued.

A/N: Yes, a rooster can be killed with a slingshot! Thank you for reading-and a special THANK YOU to those who send comments! Next chapter-soon!