“Soon as you’re done, we’ll go shut the chicken house door, ’kay?” Good thing she had the dog to talk to; she wasn’t liking her own inner conversation. Mad was on the slippery slope to frantic fear, at the moment the two jockeying for first place.

Lord, what do I do next? I am praying, my heart is crying out to You. Are You there? Or am I choosing to worry instead of trust? I don’t want to do that but where is Fred? Where can he be? She ignored the tears that blurred her vision and the fire that gripped her throat.

What to do? An inner suggestion reminded her what needed to be done next. Close the chicken house door so that nothing could get in to destroy them. There were plenty of predators who had managed that through the years. But Fred had spent much time and money animal-proofing the henhouse. Since the house was under the trees, she took a flashlight along. “Come on, Spook. We can at least make sure the chores are done.” She stopped at the barn and dumped grain into the steers’ boxes. Both were waiting patiently. Now some for Addy’s pony. A soft nicker welcomed her. Every night Fred brushed both Magic, the pony, and Smoky, the donkey.

“Sorry, not tonight.” She handed each of them one of the biscuits Fred kept near the grain bin.

Spook ran ahead of her and waited at the closed main door to the chicken coop.

“Spook, you know you don’t go in there.”

Spook looked over his shoulder and pawed at the door.

“Stop that, you silly dog, you’ll scare the flock.” Hmm, the latch wasn’t on. Fred always left the latch in place. She pulled open the door and Spook squeezed through, whimpering. “Shh, you’re going to cause a riot.” She stepped into the dark house. The chickens were scolding for being disturbed.

Spook whimpered and whined.

The beam caught the dark figure lying flat on the floor, Spook nosing at his hand.

“Fred!” Ginny almost dropped the flashlight when she knelt beside him. “Fred, honey, wake up! Fred!” Her wail set Spook to howling. She felt Fred’s neck for a pulse. Nothing. No breath. His hand was stiffening. Oh Lord, how long has he been like this? Call 911. She whipped out her cell and obeyed the voice, answering the questions the dispatcher asked without really thinking. She couldn’t think.

“Ginny, this is Georgia, hang on, honey. They are on their way. You said you were down in the chicken house?”

“Yes.”

“We have an ETA of nine minutes. When you hear the siren, go outside and wave your flashlight. Turn right off the drive, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t keep the emergency line tied up. Just a moment.” She clicked off. Moments later, Ginny’s cell rang. She thumbed it on.

“Georgia. Maybelle is manning dispatch for me. Oh, Ginny, I am so sorry. Have you notified Sam yet?”

“No. I just called 911.” She hiccupped a sob. “Georgia, I think he has been gone for quite a while.”