In his hands, the little box began to play.
The young man fell to his knees, and the tears finally came.
CHAPTER 9
Fledgling
She weighed more than he did. That was okay. There was just something about his physique, something about the way he handled himself that really turned her on. Besides, she could tell he was horny.
That was okay, too—so was she.
She got her first glimpse of him high up on the mountain. He seemed a bit disinterested, but she knew how to handle that. She took off, and he soon followed—as she knew he would. The old saying is true: A boy chases a girl, until she catches him.
She stopped, perched comfortably, and called to him, the high, triple-toned question in her voice sending out her best come hither.
“Chk-cher-hoot?”
There! That grabbed his attention. He cocked his ears to pick up the full implication of her siren call.
Yessir, this was one hot chick! But, like all guys, he wasn’t sure if commitment was his thing. He preferred laying back a bit—sending her a rather indifferent reply.
“Ch-hoot, hoot, hoot.”
Indifferent or not, his deep, triple warble stirred her. She had to respond.
“Chk, ch-hoot?”
He cocked his head—her trap had been set.
He lit out in a masculine display, his almost-five-foot wing spread carrying him high on the mountain air currents. She tried to be coy at first then followed, easily keeping pace all the way back to his lair. No etchings or prints to pretend to study, but she wouldn’t have been interested anyway. The prenuptials were over.
“Galen, is that what I think it is?”
“Sure looks like it, Nancy.”
“What are you two talking about? I don’t see anything.”
“Look over there, Edison, up in the pine tree. See it now?”
“Yeah, it just looks like a plain old…”
“No, Bob, it’s not a plain old owl. Look at it, isn’t it magnificent?”
“Little brother, you are looking at as fine a specimen of Bubo virginiensis as I have ever seen.”
“Whobo bubo?”
“Don’t do a Freddie, Bob. It’s a Great Horned Owl, and I’ll bet there’s a nest up there. You normally don’t see them during the daytime.”
The three were walking along the mountain trails, a daily ritual now that they were empty-nesters. They had bid their last, off-to-college farewell, as Tonio had headed to the University of Pennsylvania. For the first time in fifteen years, only three lived in the mountaintop home.
The weather was what the locals called “between”—spells of cold and wind, with sudden and unexpected breaks of warmth—which populated the days between New Year’s and Valentine’s Day. The pattern was just enough to lure the unwary into excessive outdoor activities, which brought about the next day’s muscle aches and sneezes. This meteorological restlessness visited before the late-February, heavy snows that would shut down the outside world until spring.
“It’s nice out. Why don’t we go for a walk?” Nancy’s sense of loss over the departure of that last child was greater than she cared to admit.
“Sure it’s not too cold?” Galen had grumbled. He despised winter weather.
“Come on, some outdoor walking will do that bear body of yours some good.” Edison always sided with Nancy.
His friends had ignored Galen’s low rumble about sensible bears hibernating in this weather, and they pushed him out the door.
Spotting the owl family in the pine tree sparked renewed vitality in the three friends.
“Owls usually lay a clutch of no more than three eggs,” Galen commented. “Even stranger, they don’t lay the eggs at one time, so the owlets are of different ages. I wonder if they’ve hatched yet. I don’t know of any other raptors that produce young in winter.”
“I’ll put some remote audio-video sensors around here,” Edison said. “Maybe we’ll be able to observe them when they become active at night.”
He was already planning where to disperse his array around the tree site, and Nancy thought about the food needs of her new birds.
“Look at that! There are three of them!”
Edison had turned the video monitors on, and the night-vision cameras clearly showed three, puffball-sized owlets, one larger than the others, wriggling and squirming, as the adults carefully placed shredded pieces of prey in their short, flat beaks.
“They look like Tribbles,” Nancy laughed.
“Watch what they do next,” Galen added. “There, see that? They’re branching.”
The biggest one had climbed out of the nest and, like a child with hyperactivity syndrome, was hopping back and forth from one branch to the next. Then, as the three humans watched, a sudden wind gust knocked the owlet off its perch, and it fell into the snow-covered ground below.
Nancy got up instantly, grabbed her coat and boots, and ran to the door.
“Wait, Nancy, don’t go out there,” Edison yelled, as he ran for his own coat. Galen followed more slowly, muttering to himself and shaking his head in disbelief.
She moved as fast as she could down the snow-covered pathway leading to the big pine tree. She turned on her pocket LED flashlight and cast its faint white beam around the base of the tree, until she saw the small depression in the snow and the silver-gray, down-covered baby bird sitting there, not moving. A feather.
Even at its very young age, the bird instinctively knew that movement would attract danger.
“Come on, little one. Let’s put you back up there on a branch. I think you’ll be able to make your way back up from there.”
She scooped up the owlet in her gloved hands and proceeded to place it on as high a branch as she could. Suddenly the air around her became a moving draft across her face. At the same time she felt herself being pushed forward and down into the snow.
“Cover your face!”
She heard the loud screech above her and Edison’s yell of “ow,” as the mother’s taloned claws raked his back. He didn’t move. He held his protective cover, shielding his wife’s body with his own.
Galen picked up a small tree branch and swung it at the owl. It worked; the mother bird flew back up to her nest and waited, as Edison got up from covering Nancy and helped her to her feet.
“Come on, old girl. Let’s get back to the house. What a crazy stunt to pull!”
“Are you hurt, Bob?”
“No, are you?”
“No. I was just trying to put the baby bird back in the tree.”
Galen had been patiently quiet long enough.
“Nancy, owls are raptors—predators. That mama bird would have ripped your face off for trying to help her baby. Besides, she would have cared for it on the ground until it was old enough to fly.”
Nancy stomped back up to the house without speaking. The two men watched her exit. They looked at each other, shrugged, and followed slowly.
The next day brought more silence. Nancy went about her usual activities, but she remained aloof.
The men sat in the living room, fireplace going full blast.
“I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen her like this.”
“Maybe we were too quick to criticize her yesterday. The more I think about it, the more I understand what she did. She was trying to spare that mother owl the same loss that she experienced.”
“The only problem is the bird didn’t know it. That mother owl could and would have done serious damage to her.”
Silence once more.
Nancy opened the door softly and walked quickly down the path to the pine tree. She saw the snow angel where Bob had pushed her down, and she stared up at the green-needled tree. It was after dawn now, so the owls would be sleeping.
A faint rustling from above caused the snow-covered branches to dust her clothes with a powdery coat, as the baby owlet branched back and forth—in daylight!
She stared up at the downy ball, its small facial disc portendi
ng the large creature it one day would become. Its eyes focused on her, taking in her full three-dimensional structure. As she began to speak, its large tympanic membranes picked up every nuance of her voice.
“Tell your mama I was just trying to help you, little one.”
“Chk?”
“Yes, you do understand, don’t you?”
“Chk.”
She felt her eyes watering and dabbed at them before turning and walking back up the trail.
Spring returned to the mountain, and early white Trifolium blooms soon gave way to Jack-in-the Pulpits. Wild raspberry canes began to shoot up and green out. The children had come and gone during Easter holiday, and a certain wistfulness overshadowed the emotional spirit of the friends.
The three elders thought that their adoptees actually preferred leaving to coming home, with maybe Antonio the exception. This was his first year, after all, and the memory of his loss had not yet faded. But soon that too would change, and “home” would become what it had for his brother and sister: an off-campus room serving meals and providing access to friends.
Ben and Miriam and Lem were living nearby, of course, and Lachlan and Diana visited often and shared their news of Faisal. Nancy wondered how Jacob was doing, but according to Diana, not even Fai knew for sure. Jacob seemed to have disappeared this past semester.
“Galen, do you still have any contacts … I mean … anyone who could help find someone?”
She asked in an offhanded manner, trying not to let him or Edison know how concerned she had become.
“Who are we trying to find, dear?” Edison asked cautiously, not wanting to upset her.
Ever since the owl episode, she seemed prickly and more introspective. Time and again she would take off on solitary walks.
“Depends on who it is, Nancy. Anyone we know?”
Galen also watched and waited, as she paused before replying.
“Remember young Jacob, Jacob Geltmacher, the boy who came home with Faisal from Juilliard? Diana says he seems to have disappeared. He didn’t show up for classes after spring break. He didn’t tell anyone he was leaving, either.”
“Maybe he was having academic problems,” Edison interjected.
“No, Faisal said he’d always aced his classes, and his creative film projects were prize winners. Something else must have happened. I wish we could contact his family.”
“What does the school say?”
Galen’s interest was piqued, but he wanted to cover all the public aspects first.
“They can’t or won’t say anything. Faisal went to the registrar’s office and was told in no uncertain terms that the privacy laws forbade them from giving out personal information.”
“Can we contact Faisal? I’d like to get as much as I can from him before calling in the proverbial marines.”
Nancy seemed buoyed by the interest that the two men were showing.
“I’ll call Diana right now and get Faisal’s cell number!”
After the call, she surprised them with some of her butterscotch-chip cookies. She didn’t say so, but they understood: it was a peace offering.
The phone rang that evening.
“Tia Nancy, what’s up?”
“Fai, why didn’t you tell us about Jacob? I thought he was your friend.”
“Wow, Tia, you sure don’t believe in introductory pleasantries.”
Listening on speakerphone, the men suppressed laughs. The former little blind Iraqi boy had turned into an American teenager, complete with city manners.
Edison held up his fingers and started to count silently for Galen, as they waited for the explosion.
“Faisal Fedr-Douglass, you watch your manners! Do you understand?”
“Yes, Tia Nancy,” he replied sheepishly.
“Now, let’s start over again. What happened to Jacob?”
“Tia, you know how Jacob dressed and behaved when he visited Safehaven? Well, this gets complicated. Jacob’s grandparents were rescued from the Nazis and raised by Chasidic families here in the United States. His grandparents, out of love and respect for their adoptive parents, took on their dress, beliefs, and mannerisms. They followed all the Chasidic rules and rituals—shabbos, kasruth, niddah, and mikva. But even though they were fully adopted, they were looked on as bal shuva, not part of what Jacob called the FFB—Frum from Birth. Apparently you actually have to be born into a family to be one, at least that’s what Jacob would say, whenever he started beefing about his family.”
“Fai, that’s not true. A person’s faith has nothing to do with his genetic ancestors. Who told Jacob that hogwash?” Nancy fumed.
Edison looked questioningly at Galen.
“Frum?”
“Think of ‘The Chosen,’” Galen whispered, and the old engineer nodded.
Faisal was getting worked up, too.
“Jacob found out about his status just before starting Juilliard. His parents, according to the beliefs they follow, disapprove of his career path. They told him he was a disgrace and ordered him to drop out and join the family business. I think they deal in diamonds and gold. Naturally Jacob refused. He told me the last thing he wanted to do was squint at precious stones and metals through magnifying glasses for the rest of his life. But his parents made good on their threat. They’ve disowned him and cut off all financial support.”
Galen interrupted. “Did Jacob say whether it was both parents, or just his father that started this head-butting contest?”
“I don’t know, Tio Galen. All I know is he was able to finish his first year because of some small scholarships he had won in high school, but the money ran out. He applied for financial aid, but that’s still pending, so he dropped out of school this semester.”
“Did he go back home?”
Almost sixty years later Galen’s mind echoed his father’s parting words: “Non ho figlio!” I have no son!
“No, Tio Galen, they wouldn’t take him back. He showed up at my apartment a few days ago. He’s staying with me now. He does odd jobs to help out with expenses, but he’s miserable.”
“Faisal, we’re going to wire some money to you for Jacob,” Edison interjected. He looked at his wife and friend, who nodded in agreement.
“I want you to tell Jacob to come to Safehaven. Can you do that?”
The boy was ecstatic. He gave Nancy his bank number and address almost faster than she could copy it down.
“I’ll tell Jacob as soon as he gets back. I think he’s working as a janitor at a nearby soup kitchen. It’ll probably be real late. Do you want him to call you?”
Nancy nearly shouted “of course!” but regained her composure and quietly said yes.
“Thanks everybody. Say goodbye, Akela.”
The seeing-eye, wolf-dog barked twice, and the call ended.
The three sat in the living room, each staring at the evening darkness outside the wall-sized picture window, each wondering about the happy-go-lucky young man they knew as Jacob Geltmacher.
It was close to one o’clock in the morning, when the phone rang. They were still awake, dressed in pajamas and bathrobes, enjoying the last embers of the dying fire.
“Kinda like us,” Edison mused.
“What’s that, little brother?”
Galen had lapsed into bygone memories of his childhood and those final, fateful days with his family.
“What he means, Galen,” Nancy interjected, “is that we are like those embers. I, for one, would want to go out in a blaze of glory, doing some good in my final days. I don’t want to be a never-ending ember, providing nothing in the way of light or heat.”
Galen, continuing to stare at the now-dark hearth, said something that surprised even him.
“Do not go gentle into that good night; rage against the dying of the light.”
Edison had joined in on the last line with his friend then added, “Dylan Thomas said it all, didn’t he?”
Nancy had begun to cry silently, the universal sign of exasperated womanhood.
<
br /> The men stared at her. Something was gnawing at her, something not even her husband could understand. It had started the day she rescued the owlet, but maybe, like those embers, it had been smoldering a long, long time..
Edison finally bit the bullet. He would say the right thing, or he would trigger off a new cascade of anger. Either way, he couldn’t let things stand as they were.
“What’s wrong, honey? I’ve never seen you this way before. Is it anything either of us…” and he looked at Galen for affirmation,” is there anything either of us has said or done, or even not done?”
She stared at them, two men older than she was yet still clueless about some things. But she was no youngster, either. And at that moment she didn’t know whether she wanted to keep crying or snap at them.
My God, I’m too old for menopause, so why the hell am I acting this way?
She took a deep breath.
“When I was young I said I never wanted to get old. Now I’ve gotten old. I couldn’t stop it. We all had a kind of reprieve for fifteen years when the kids came into our lives, but they’re mostly away now, and their adult lives are just beginning. What happens to us?”
“We still have purpose,” Galen interjected. “There’s always something new happening. Case in point is your owl family. The introduction may have been a bit shaky, but I suspect that little bird knows you’re a friend, don’t you?”
He stared at her and she knew that he knew.
“I…”
The ringing phone snapped them out of their introspection.
“Tio Eddie, it’s me … Jacob.”
Edison switched on the speakerphone, and the three heard a flat voice, so different from the ebullient young man they had met a year ago.
“Jacob, we’re going to help you,” Nancy cut in. “We’re wiring money to Faisal’s account. You’re going to use it to buy a train ticket to Philadelphia. We’ll pick you up there.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
He wasn’t used to receiving anything without hidden strings, so he couldn’t help feeling uncertain about why these people—friendly but hardly family—were getting involved.
The Legend of Safehaven Page 17