by Syndi Powell
When his oldest niece nodded, Jace jogged across the field, jumped over the downed wire at the end of it, crossed a weed-filled drainage ditch and came out on the lane behind Mrs. Sherman’s car. And then he stopped. A group of people were coming around the corner of his driveway, carrying signs. Jace read I speak for the animals! Save the Elk! and Wildlife Matters!
The meaning slowly sank in. Protesters. Almost two dozen of them. But what were they doing here?
Jace recognized Bunny Chadwick, local octogenarian firecracker, who constantly wrote letters to the editor of the Shelter Creek Sentinel when Jace was in high school. And there was Ed Portman who’d run the Boy Scout troop and made them go on grueling ten-mile hikes during the one year Jace had tried scouting. And Mrs. Sutcliffe, Jace’s seventh grade teacher. Was activism the newest hobby for Shelter Creek retirees?
When Bunny spotted Jace, she raised her hand high in the air. It must have been some kind of cue because the entire group halted. And then they broke into an enthusiastic rendition of the old protest song, “We Shall Overcome.”
Jace’s boots seemed to grow roots.
Mrs. Sherman stepped out of her car and glared at Jace across the sedan roof, her penciled eyebrows touching her hairline.
His heart iced over again. Whatever this situation was, it wasn’t going to help his case with the social worker. Not one bit.
The song ended on a wavering note and the group broke into cheers. Like they were proud of themselves.
How could they be happy when they were probably ruining Jace’s chances of keeping his family together?
Of course, they couldn’t know that. It was just more of his bad luck that they’d showed up here while Mrs. Sherman was on one of her visits.
And what was all this about elk and habitats anyway? When animals crossed his property, he just let them be.
Bunny stepped forward, a big manila envelope in her hand. “Jace Hendricks,” she yelled out as she crossed the distance between them. “We, the members of Habitat Heroes, have been trying to reach you.”
Jace somehow got his legs moving again and took a few steps to meet her. “You have?”
“We have.” She shook a finger at him. “You should be more organized, young man.”
Young. Ha. He was past thirty and had been feeling about ninety lately.
“You’ve got no phone line on this ranch and no one around town knows your cell phone number. What if there was a wildfire? How would anyone reach you to give you a warning?”
Fires were a real danger around here, but Jace had never thought about giving his phone number to anyone aside from Caleb. He glanced at Mrs. Sherman, stomach clenching when he saw that her lips were pressed into a thin line. She probably hadn’t thought about that, either, but thanks to Bunny she sure was thinking about it now.
“We sent you three different letters in the mail. Did you even get them? Did you even open them?”
Guilt tugged on Jace’s conscience. Come to think of it, there had been some mail, but he’d been letting it pile up. He was too tired by the time he got the squabbling kids into bed to do more than crack a beer and drink it slumped in a chair on the rickety porch before falling asleep himself.
Everyone seemed to be waiting for him to say something. He glanced at Mrs. Sherman again. She looked more disappointed in him than ever. “I didn’t see the letters. No.”
Mrs. Sherman reached for her phone and started typing something on it. Probably a note, to remind herself to take the kids away from Jace as soon as possible.
Bunny nodded sagely. “I suspected as much. Well, in this envelope I have a petition. We’ve collected over a hundred signatures, which is about a tenth of the population of Shelter Creek.”
“Signatures? What for?”
“Because you built a fence right across prime tule elk habitat. Your land, Long Valley, is a big part of their range and now they can’t access it.”
“Save the elk!” Someone shouted from the crowd.
“Save the elk! Save the elk!” Others took up the chant.
Bunny turned around and beamed at her disciples and then handed the envelope to Jace. “Here you go. A photocopy of our petition. We’ll be presenting it at the town council meeting Wednesday evening. That’s the day after tomorrow. I suspect you’ll want to be there.”
And with that, she spun on her heel and rejoined her gang of protesters. They turned away, Mrs. Sutcliffe waving and smiling at Jace like she hadn’t just destroyed his hopes. Jace watched them march off down his driveway, Ed leading them in a rousing chant. What do we want? Habitat! When do we want it? Now! The chant faded as the group made their way down the lane to where their cars were probably parked along the main road.
As the usual country quiet settled back in, Jace glanced at the kids, still standing on top of the old tractor. Safe. At least, for now.
Mrs. Sherman cleared her throat. “You don’t check your mail?”
“Not often enough, clearly.” The words were dry as dust in Jace’s mouth.
“Well...” Her voice was careful, brittle, like it might just fragment from her complete disillusionment. “Why don’t you start?” With one last disappointed glance, she got in her sedan and drove away.
Copyright © 2019 by Claire Haiken
ISBN-13: 9781488039904
Their Forever Home
Copyright © 2019 by Cynthia Powell
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