Easter Sunday, March 27, 2016, continued

Dwight stared down at the four maps he had spread out on the ground, muttering to himself about patterns, and quadrants, and where the missing hen's eggs had been found. Mose tugged Jim and Pam over to the maps and they all crowded around. Pam held Joey, and Jim absent-mindedly picked up Liesel when she bumped into his leg.

"Do you know where she is? Do you?" Mose asked Jim, tapping him on the arm.

Jim looked over at Mose and shifted Liesel to the side Mose was on, hoping her presence between them would help Mose keep his distance. Instead, Liesel turned her gummy smile at her uncle, resulting in him inching even closer. Jim made up his mind to ignore Mose's shadowing and answered, "I'm not really an expert at this..."

"I knew it!" Dwight exclaimed triumphantly.

"But it seems like there are a lot of eggs over here on this side of the house." Jim pointed to a clear cluster of eggs marked on the map. "Is there anything special over there that would attract a hen?"

Dwight looked disappointed that Jim had come up with something. "There are only two rooms on that side, Mose's bedroom and an extra room where Angela keeps some of her things."

"Those are the only two rooms with kitty doors, too," said Mose proudly. "Any time the cats want to come in or out, they have to come through my room."

"Or Angela's spare room," corrected Pam. Mose looked hurt by her comment.

"Could a hen fit through a kitty door?" asked Jim. When he woke up this morning, he certainly hadn't anticipated asking that question today. Or ever, really.

"Theoretically," answered Dwight. "The width of an average hen is about five inches and the width of a kitty door is..." he looked at Mose.

"Ours aren't standard," answered Mose. "About eight inches."

"Maybe we should we look at the kitty doors to see if it looks like Chicken Jane's been going in and out," Pam suggested.

"Yeah, that sounds good," agreed Jim. He was sort of hoping they could avoid actually going into the inner sanctum of the farmhouse.

Dwight sniffed. "Waste of time. We'll investigate the rooms for scat. But Angela would have noticed if Chicken Jane had gone into her storage room. We'll check Mose's room first."

"Yeah, c'mon, Jim and Pam! Come see my room!" Mose said eagerly, seemingly untroubled by Dwight's implication that he wouldn't have noticed a hen taking up residence in his bedroom. He looked over to where the girls were playing and yelled, "Laura, come see my room!" Then he scampered up the porch steps and into the house.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jim and Pam stood in Mose's bedroom, each holding an infant, watching Mose and the three older girls playing with some of Mose's sculptures. They were interesting conglomerations of whittled wood, goose and chicken feathers, small animal bones, and wire, artfully arranged and shellacked. Jim knew that feathers and bones weren't exactly at the top of Pam's approved toy list for Laura, but he wasn't surprised when she whispered, "When at Schrute Farms, do as the Schrutes do." Not to be outdone, Jim whispered back, "What happens at Schrute Farms, stays at Schrute Farms." Pam flashed a smile.

It had been fairly clear to Jim almost immediately that the missing hen hadn't been in Mose's room -- it was sparsely decorated and extremely clean. Dwight was nevertheless conducting a comprehensive investigation starting with the kitty flap and moving clockwise around the room. Every once in a while he would stop and write furiously on his clipboard or, finding someone in his path, impatiently gesture for them to move aside.

Meanwhile, Jim and Pam looked around the room. The only decorations, beyond Mose's sculptures, were photographs and children's drawings on the walls. When he noticed their interest, Mose jumped up from playing and proudly showed off his family: Granmutter Schrute, a fierce looking matriarch who, strangely, seemed to resemble Angela; Granvater Schrute who looked like he never ruled a roost in his life; Mose's parents and Dwight's parents; and many aunts, uncles, and cousins with odd names and even odder Schrute-like qualities. The picture frames themselves were perhaps earlier, more utilitarian versions of Mose's sculptures; the plain wooden frames were adorned with hay, feathers, and little pictures of beets.

Jim and Pam went on to look at the children's drawings, such a normal sight in any house with children. This wall depicted more livestock, cats, and root vegetables than an average art wall, but it was sweet that Mose chose to display his nieces' artwork. Jim noticed a few drawings on another wall; he smiled to see them labeled "Mose" and "Dwight," imagining a time when Mose and Dwight were young boys running around the farm instead of grown men running the farm.

His thoughts were interrupted by Mose saying, "If Laura wants to draw something, I'll put it up on the wall."

Laura and Heike overheard and squealed with delight. Dwight, however, who had finally finished with his examination of the room, declared, "That wall is for Schrutes!"

Mose looked at Dwight defiantly. "She can be an honorary Schrute. Besides, it's my wall. I can put up anything I want on it."

"Fine," Dwight said. "But she's not an official Schrute, and if the bizarre subject matter of her drawing gives you nightmares, don't come crying to me." He looked around at everyone and announced, "I've finished my investigation. There is no sign that Chicken Jane has ever been in this room. Let's move on to Angela's spare room."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mose had excused himself to check on Easter dinner; although it was still early, the smell of ham was already wafting through the farmhouse. Laura had gone off to see Heike's and Greta's rooms, so only Jim and Pam were left to investigate Angela's room with Dwight.

Dwight stood with his hand on the door handle and looked sternly at Jim and Pam. "It's just as well that Mose and the children left. Angela doesn't like anyone to go into her extra room. The only reason we're going in is to rule out Chicken Jane being there. Don't wander around poking your noses into everything."

"Nope. Wouldn't dream of it," said Jim. He was actually trying to decide between looking straight ahead to avoid seeing anything at all and taking in every strange detail to discuss later with Pam.

Dwight opened the door and stepped a few paces into the room, then stopped. His arms dropped to his sides, and the clipboard and pen he'd been holding clattered to the floor. Jim and Pam stepped inside the room as well, looking around to see what had prompted Dwight's reaction. The grain scattered around the floor would have been indication enough that some sort of animal had been here, but the sight of a hen sitting on a roost made it rather obvious that Angela had been well aware that her favorite chicken was absent from the hen house.

"Chicken Jane, I presume?" asked Jim.

"I don't understand it," said Dwight, looking confused. "Why would Angela have Chicken Jane in here?"

"I'm sure if Angela hid the hen in here, she had a really good reason, Dwight," Pam said comfortingly.

"Do you think so?" Dwight said. "You're probably right. Or maybe Mose put Chicken Jane in here, so I would think it was Angela! Or maybe they're in on it together, like that time they plotted to plant Red Ace hybrid beets in the west field!" He looked wildly at Jim. "The Chioggias had always done so well there!"

Jim looked at Pam in dismay, wondering exactly how they had gotten mixed up in Schrute family politics. "I don't know, Dwight. Mose seemed to be searching pretty seriously. I'm sure there's no reason to suspect foul play," he said, raising his eyebrows at Pam. He was rewarded by her smile at the pun, which fortunately seemed lost on Dwight.

Dwight nodded and said with conviction, "Then we'll wait for Angela to come home, and we'll ask her to explain herself." He stared off into space for a moment and then suddenly looked at Jim and Pam. "There's something she can't explain!" he said, pointing to a bag propped against the wall. "That's organic chicken feed! Do you know how much that costs?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Later, Dwight sat on the front porch of Schrute Farms in a big, green rocking chair, holding Chicken Jane on his lap and rocking slowly back and forth. He had hardly said a thing since finding the hen in Angela's spare room. Mose and the three older girls were engaged in a game of ‘goose tag,' the rules of which were beyond Jim's comprehension, but somehow well within Laura's. Liesel and Joey had both been put down for a morning nap in Liesel's room, which Jim had been glad to see looked like a normal baby's room, except for the ancient cribs with ‘Dwight' and ‘Mose' carved into the headboards.

Jim and Pam stood out of Dwight's hearing, discussing the other things they'd seen in Angela's room besides Chicken Jane: a rack of clothes with off-season outfits, complete with matching hats above and what looked like little plastic doll shoes below; a vast collection of crosses; a pillow embroidered with the words "In Heaven, the beets are outnumbered only by the cats;" and an entire shelf of a bookcase devoted to Bibles. All in all, it was much more normal than Jim had expected.

Everyone was awaiting Angela's imminent arrival. Jim and Pam had tried to go home to avoid seeing an awkward confrontation, but Dwight wouldn't hear of it.

"No, you're staying," he had said. "She'll be surprised to see you, so she'll have no time to make up an excuse for holding Chicken Jane in her room."

Just then, Pam nudged Jim and indicated the dirt road with her chin. "Here she comes." Jim turned to see Angela's sturdy little car making its way toward the farmhouse, Angela peering through the windshield at the unfamiliar car in the drive. She pulled her car up behind Jim's car and got out. Meanwhile, Dwight and Mose had noticed Angela's arrival as well. The four adults converged upon her.

"Angela, I hope you have an explanation for this." Dwight held Chicken Jane out in front of him.

Angela looked frostily at Dwight. "That's a chicken, Dwight."

"But why was she in your spare room?" demanded Dwight, inching closer to tower over her.

She looked up at him, not giving an inch. "Why were you in my spare room?" she asked.

"We were looking for the missing hen," Dwight sputtered. "It was Jim's idea!"

Angela turned her attention to Jim, whose eyes widened; he felt fixed in position by her glare. It was hard not to feel like he had done something wrong, even though he knew he hadn't. "Nope. Dwight asked us here for what we thought was an Easter egg hunt."

"True Christians don't give Easter egg hunts," Angela chastised primly. "Colored Easter eggs are like little dyed graven images. Good morning, Pam," she said, turning suddenly to Pam.

"Good morning, Angela." Pam looked over at Dwight, who seemed deflated and unable to continue his line of questioning. ‘You know, Dwight only asked us here to help because he knew Chicken Jane was your favorite hen and he wanted to find her for you."

Jim was proud of Pam for sticking up for Dwight to Angela. He was also glad, because that meant he didn't have to do it; being too nice to Dwight was still something he'd rather avoid.

Angela, however, was not impressed with Pam's little speech nor Dwight's consideration of her feelings. "Then why was he going to let Mose kill Chicken Jane for Easter dinner?" she cried.

"I would never!" declared Mose among a chorus of ‘What?'s.

"Don't be ridiculous, Angela. I wouldn't let Mose kill Chicken Jane," said Dwight. "Look how well she's been laying!" He indicated the basket of eggs sitting on the ground near the porch steps.

The relieved expression that momentarily swept Angela's face was replaced with a look of anger when she seemed to realize the hen's only safeguard was a high egg production.

Mose seemed just as angered by Dwight's approach. He said, "She's one of my favorites, too, Angela. I wouldn't have cooked her without checking with you."

Angela rounded on Mose and took a few steps forward until she was right in front of him. Jim wasn't sure how she gave the illusion of having the height advantage. "You liar! I know you were going to kill her -- I heard you! You called her ‘Dead Hen Walking'!"

"She was a dead hen walking," Mose protested, almost in tears. "She died on Monday, but I revived her with CPR, one of Granmutter Schrute's remedies."

"You gave CPR to a chicken?" asked Jim, wondering how that would work.

Mose and Dwight both looked at Jim like he was an idiot, then looked at each other and shook their heads. Dwight set Jim straight: "What else would you use the Chicken Pounding Remedy on if not a chicken?" Dwight gave a mocking laugh.

"Oh," said Jim, "that CPR."

Angela had received the news with a sob, grasping Mose's hands in hers. "She died? And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you. Besides, you know Granmutter's remedies don't always last long. Dead Hen Walking may not have much time left."

"I was never taught any of the remedies, but Mose learned them all at Granmutter's knee," Dwight explained proudly to Jim and Pam.

"The left one," Mose clarified.

"Oh, of course," Dwight agreed. "Granmutter's right knee was deformed. Nobody wanted to learn anything there."

Jim put his hand over his mouth to try to hide his amusement and raised his eyebrows at Pam, who was also having trouble keeping a straight face. The bizarre nature of Schrute Farms seemed unending.

Angela had let go of Mose's hands and crossed her arms in front of her. She looked around, red-faced but defiant. "I assumed Mose was going to kill Chicken Jane for Easter dinner, so I lured her into my room with better feed than she usually gets. I see now I didn't have anything to worry about." She addressed Mose directly, softening a bit. "I'm sorry, Cousin Mose, to have doubted you. Your life-saving heroics were an Easter miracle."

"That's all right, Angela. I'm just glad DHW has been safe."

"Hear, hear!" said Jim. "And now, I think we should wake Joey up from his nap and get going."

"Don't be silly," said Angela. "You'll stay for Easter dinner. Heike will be very pleased."

Pam glanced over at Jim. He shrugged slightly; there was probably little point in trying to decline.

"That sounds nice. Thank you, Angela," said Pam.

"Good, that's settled. Mose is a very good cook. He always makes something that I'll like, and there's probably something for meat-eaters like you, Jim."

"Thanks, Angela," Jim said. He wasn't sure how much of an insult Angela had meant for that to be, but it didn't matter. At this point, they had committed to Easter dinner; the only option was to get through it as painlessly as possible. He turned to Mose. "It smelled good. Ham?"

Mose nodded nervously, while Dwight smiled widely and said, "It ought to be good. Real fresh, too. And huge. There'll be plenty for everyone, and leftovers for days. Plus, we're testing out a theory that the meanest pig makes for the sweetest ham." He looked at Jim and Pam. "Let me know if you think this ham is extra sweet."

Jim had noticed a dawning look of horror come over Angela's face as Dwight was talking. Angela suddenly turned and walked toward the barn, slowly at first, and then faster until she was running stiffly in her Easter outfit and good shoes, finally slowing down and stopping at a fenced-in area near the barn. She looked over the fence, calling, "George Pig! George Pig! Heeeeeere, George Pig!"

"Oh," said Dwight, flatly. "I forgot about that." He explained to Jim, "George Pig was Angela's favorite swine. She may not take this well."

By the pig pen, Angela raised her tormented voice again. "George Piiiiiiig!" She looked back toward the farmhouse and her anguished face turned to one of red-hot fury. "Mose Karl Schrute!"

Mose bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, a study of nerves and fear. Dwight looked at him calmly and said, "You'd better run." Dwight's words were like the pulling of a trigger; Mose took off, flying away from the house and the barn. Angela kicked off her shoes and started after him, passing Dwight, Pam, and Jim in less time than Jim would have imagined possible. Apparently, hell hath no fury like a woman whose favorite pig has been killed for Easter dinner.

Dwight looked cheerfully at Jim and Pam. "We should go on in and relax a bit. They'll be a while."