The Apprentice

by Jana Barkley

  “It’s a good plan,” Hank commented. “The idea is the apprentice gets more experience with more birds. What do you think?”

  He wasn’t looking at her, but she could tell he was interested in what she would say.

  Sam didn’t know what lay ahead for her past the spring and summer months. If she released Chance in the spring, she’d be without a hawk until the fall. Could she stand life without Chance this summer?

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well,” he said after a short pause, “you should know me well enough by now to know I don’t adhere to hard-and-fast rules when it comes to falconry birds.” He smiled. “There’s lots to learn from taking a bird through the molt and picking him up the next season to hunt again.”

  “I suppose you’re not going to give me your opinion on what’s best in my situation until I tell you what I want to do.”

  “Nope.” He was grinning.

  “I’d like to keep him, Hank.”

  “I think that’s a very good idea,” he said as he slowed down to read a road sign and turned onto a dirt road leading east into the low-lying hills.

  “Good red tails are like fine wines. They get better with age.”

  Sam was intrigued, and she could tell he enjoyed sparking her curiosity.

  “You’ve seen how that rascal hunts.”

  Sam agreed. “So, it only gets better from here on out?”

  “That’s the idea. The molt starts in mid to late spring. The birds will start dropping feathers then and be done growing their new ones in the fall. Because he’s a wild bird, and a first-year passage hawk at that, he might not do a full molt, but he’ll do enough to be ready to fly again.

  “But you also need to think about the type of falconry you want to practice down the line. When they turn general class, a lot of apprentices just toss the red tail out the door and get a Harris hawk ʼcause they’re easier to train and be social with.”

  “Remo makes it look easy.”

  He grinned. “They can challenge you in different ways. Too damned smart, sometimes. Then there’s always the accipiters,” he added.

  “Goshawks?” Sam was incredulous.

  “Or Coopers hawks, or sharpies.” He was having fun with her.

  “I don’t think I’m ready for those hawks yet.”

  “Yet,” he repeated, smiling at her, “is the correct attitude. I’m willing to bet you’d be a great austringer.” He turned his attention back to the road. “But fly what’s fun for you.”

  Sam was quiet for a while, watching the scenery. It would be lovely to make plans past her apprenticeship. If she got that far. Usually she’d stop her wandering thoughts at this point. It hurt too much to plan when there was a possibility of not seeing those dreams come to fruition, like her growing feelings for the man next to her. But what the hell, she could let a little of her steely control go for this weekend. When she saw herself moving on to fly a different type of falconry bird, the first image that came to mind was Gally. There were so many species of falcon and hybrids of those varieties; she would have plenty to choose from. And, she thought, looking over at Hank to reassure herself, she had a sponsor who could teach her how to fly whatever she chose.

  He caught her smiling at him. Her expression seemed to surprise him, and he smiled back. It was then she knew he was still trying to understand her, to get inside her head, just as he would with a new game hawk. She shook her head mirthfully.

  “What’s going on in that mind of yours?” He glanced sideways at her as they pulled up to a group of vehicles.

  “Talk to me more about falcons,” she said, teasing him with all the implications her statement could carry.

  He laughed outright, the sound of his voice utterly charming. “Well, you’re in the perfect place for us to do that. C’mon.”

  When he wasn’t locked down, when his expression was natural and spontaneous, Hank looked like a young man. Sam wondered at the changes in him and thanked the universe he had chosen to share this side of himself with her. What had beaten this wonderful side of his nature into hiding? It was buried treasure, and she would revel in the warmth of it and nurture and encourage it for as long as she could.

  Throw up: The hawk or falcons sudden rise and hesitation mid-air after missing its quarry

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Spectators lined the edge of a flat plain set to be the staging area for the competition. Sam followed Hank to an open vantage point. The sky felt huge here and made the mountains framing the valley miniscule by comparison. The peaks were covered in pristine white snow, but the low-level flat where they stood was white, dusty dirt. Remnants of snow still clung here and there to a stray sage bush, making her wonder how much snow had fallen and melted away under the sun’s warming rays.

  Holding hooded falcons on their gloves, several men assembled to their right. One waved to Hank.

  “Hold on a second,” he said, and walked off to see what they wanted.

  Sam searched the crowd for familiar faces. Joe Terry, Tasha’s apprentice, stood a little way off, hands in pockets, hanging out on his own. Like her, he didn’t know many people, yet. Hank was still talking with the other falconers, so she turned and walked Joe’s way.

  “Hi, Joe.”

  He was surprised, but gave her a warm smile, as if glad to see someone he knew.

  “Hey, Sam, how’s it going?”

  “Have you been to one of these before?” she asked, referring to the lure flying demonstration.

  “I’m just a first-year apprentice.”

  She leaned over and whispered in a conspiratorial voice, “So am I.”

  He laughed. In some ways he reminded her of her son, which made her feel a natural connection with him.

  “Have you been back out with your red tail since you caught that jack?”

  “No. Maybe this afternoon. She should be at weight then.”

  Sam wondered if Tasha was there somewhere. As Joe’s sponsor, she’d be the one to talk with him about lure flying, much as Hank planned to teach her. Neither of the Marshalls was around, as far as she could tell.

  “Have you seen lure flying before?” Facing the field, he stole a glance at her.

  “Only when Hank has flown his peregrine,” she said. “He wants me to see this today. Probably like Tasha wants you here, too.”

  Joe shrugged. “Tasha’s not feeling well, and Grant had to go hunting.”

  Well, she already knew how much hunting Grant’s bird was doing. So, Joe had come on his own because he wanted to see it. Good for him. Sam searched for Hank and found him still engaged, but he caught her gaze. Something passed between them in that exchange. He excused himself and headed her way.

  “They seem to be short a judge, but I told them I had other demands on my time,” he said, leaning down to speak with Sam. He searched her face as if to say, what’s going on here?

  “Have you met Joe?”

  Hank turned to the young man, who grew shy, reminding Sam Hank had a reputation in the community. At first, Sam was afraid he’d put his gruff veneer back on, but he surprised her by extending his hand to the young man.

  “I’m Hank.” He shook the surprised boy’s hand and stood between the two of them.

  “On your own today?” He asked the question as if it was unimportant, but Sam knew Hank rarely spoke unless his words held meaning. Still, he kept his voice and demeanor casual. She wondered if he had any kids of his own.

  Joe nodded yes to his question and glanced up at Hank.

  Hank shoved his hands in his front pockets and stared toward where they were getting ready to fly a falcon to the lure. “Well, Sam’s here to learn about lure flying,” he said, rolling his head her way with a hint of amusement. “She tells me she likes falcons.”

  “So do I,” said Joe, with the avid appreciation of the newcomer. “I didn’t want to miss this.”

  Hank explained the rules to them: each falconer was supposed to have his bird make at least twenty passes to the swinging lu
re. There were many different types and sizes of falcons and a lot of hybrids. As each contestant stepped up, Hank talked to Joe and Sam about the bird and its breeder and commented on the falcon’s performance. He was the best person to do it, for he had been in this sport longer than most other people there. He knew the breeders and had flown almost every type of bird. Despite his many years of experience, Hank’s enthusiasm for the falcons was undiminished, eclipsed only by young Joe’s eager questions as he grew more comfortable around Hank. Watching him take this nervous apprentice in hand as he threw her a smile every now and again touched Sam. She could think of no man she respected more than Hank Gerard.

  “Now, this is the bird to watch,” Hank said after all but one of the falconers was left to take his turn. He pointed to a tiny falcon, a hybrid of a peregrine and a merlin, called a perlin. The perlin was a little larger than a merlin, but it sported the coloration of a peregrine falcon. “This rascal is gonna be fast.”

  She saw the falconer take the hood off the falcon, like Hank had done with Gally. The usual ritual of rousing feathers and muting occurred with this little bird, too, and then he was off in a mini-explosion of wing strokes, flapping upward and around in a circle. His falconer drew out the lure but held it behind him, waiting for the falcon to get to an acceptable height, and then out he swung it in concentric circles. The little hybrid turned and dove with electric speed, whizzing past the crowd and his falconer, who slipped the lure away from his pass just in time and continued to swing it in a circle. As the falcon reached the zenith of its arc upward, it turned with renewed energy for another attack, passing by even faster. The crowd made approving noises with each lightning pass.

  “Watch how he lets the bird get closer and closer to the lure. Toward the end, he’ll have the falcon reaching out with his feet to grab it. Look—see there,” said Hank. He was enjoying this as much as they were.

  The falconer called out, “Is that twenty? I lost count.”

  The crowd laughed. Sam was impressed with the dexterity he needed to keep the lure away from the little falcon, whose passes increased in speed.

  “Twenty-two,” called one of the judges.

  The falconer shot the lure out in a straight line for the final pass, and the falcon snagged it out of his hands. The falcon and lure descended to the ground, and the crowd applauded enthusiastically. After watching Hank do the same thing with Gally, Sam was familiar with the falconer calling the bird up to his fist for a food reward. She let Hank take a moment to explain all of this to Joe. She tried to imagine doing something like this in the future, but would fate be kind and give her the time and strength to learn it? The man who had flown the perlin was mopping his brow, even though the weather was cold. It was a skill and exercise demanding precise timing and plenty of energy. In spite of her misgivings, though, it called to her, and she wanted to learn how to do it.

  She was lost in her thoughts until she noticed Hank watching her, his eyes thoughtful. He shook Joe’s hand to say goodbye and turned to her.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “That would be quite a skill to learn.”

  “You could do it.” There was no doubt at all in his voice, and his reassurance warmed her.

  “Those smaller falcons are great for hunting little birds. That’s something you might want to consider since you live in the Bay Area. Pheasant and duck slips are getting to be nonexistent with all the development there. Makes it pretty hard to fly the larger falcons without driving forever to get to enough open, undisturbed land.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  The perlin had been the last entrant in the competition, so they got back into Hank’s SUV for the ride back.

  “Thanks for doing what you did for Joe. He looked pretty lost out there.”

  “Seems like a good kid.”

  “Reminds me of my son, in a way.”

  He regarded her with interest. “How old is he?”

  “Jason’s twenty two, and so not into this kind of thing.” She smiled as she thought of her business-minded son.

  They were back out on the dirt road, heading toward the highway. “When his dad and I split up a few years ago, he threw himself into school. He loves playing with numbers and the market.”

  “Never could wrap my mind around that stuff,” Hank commented, and turned to see her reaction. “Nothing against your son, it’s just I’m happier working with my hands. I’d lose my mind in an office job.”

  “What kind of work do you do, Hank?”

  He shrugged. “Woodworking, cabinets, custom shelves. Stuff like that.”

  “You have your own business?”

  “Yep. I like to set my own hours.”

  He looked over at her. “What about you?”

  “Oh, I’m retired.” She laughed at his reaction. “I worked for a radio station in San Francisco for twenty-odd years doing marketing and PR.”

  He seemed impressed. “I bet you were good at it.”

  She stared out the window at the approaching highway. “I guess I was. It doesn’t hold interest for me anymore. I’m not the same person I was then.”

  They reached the end of the dirt road, where it met the highway. They would need to turn right to head back to the lodge, but Hank stopped for a moment, contemplating something. “I have an errand I wanted to run farther up the road. Would it bother you if we took care of it now? Save me another trip out this way?”

  He didn’t look at her, as if he was worried about her response.

  “Sure. I’ve got nowhere else to be.” She said it with a soft laugh and loved the way his face relaxed when she did.

  “Okay, then.” He made it sound like he’d decided on something important, when all they were doing was turning north instead of south.

  Fistbound: A hawk that will not leave the glove to pursue its quarry

  Chapter Thirty

  Sam turned and settled sideways in her seat. “So what about you? Do you have any kids?”

  Hank grinned and didn’t say anything for a moment, making Sam wonder if she should have asked. But they seemed to be getting closer as friends, so in her mind, the question was fair. They’d been talking about her son.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. A daughter.”

  Sam raised her eyebrows with interest. “So…what’s her name? Where does she live?”

  He wore the same smile, letting her know his daughter was a pleasant topic. “Deena’s about your son’s age—nineteen. She lives back in Wyoming with her mother. That’s where I’m from.”

  No wonder he looked like a cowboy. She saw him glance at her to see what her reaction was. “Her mom and I hooked up as kids out there, but we didn’t marry. It was a short-lived thing. I was too much into the birds, even then.” He checked to see if she was still interested. Looking a little self-conscious, he continued. “I guess I wasn’t much of the fatherly type. Didn’t even know I had a daughter until her mom called me up out here in California when Deena was six.”

  “It must have been a shock.”

  He nodded. “I tried to see her as much as I could. Her mom married someone else who took good care of her, too. She was out here last summer for a couple of weeks. Sounds like she wants to get married.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said. But she’s a good kid. Seems to have her head on her shoulders right. No thanks to me.”

  “I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Hank. At least she wants to see you.”

  He shrugged. “She likes falconry. That should make her mother nuts.”

  They both laughed.

  The highway climbed an uphill grade, and as the SUV crested the rise, below them was a valley of such beauty Sam exclaimed and earned a curious smile from him.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

  A river wound through the sage plain, its water nurturing a stand of oaks near its edge. Green grasses flourished along its banks, a marked contrast to the dry sage flats on the border. Snow-covered mountains in the
distance laid an unimaginable backdrop to this idyllic scene, and Sam leaned forward to take in more of the view.

  Hank slowed down as the descending road leveled off into the heart of the picturesque valley. A long dirt drive opened up on their left, and Sam was pleased to see he was turning onto it, for it would take them into the prettiest part of the valley. A beat-up tin mailbox stood on the corner bordering the drive, along with a realtor’s sign that had seen better days. Ahead, the dirt road wound on through a stand of trees, and farther up stood a ranch house with a barn and other outbuildings.

  Hank’s face was inscrutable. He took in the scenery left and right, in no hurry to travel quickly up the driveway. As they pulled up into the yard of the private home, Sam had the strangest sensation. She seemed to recognize the place from somewhere.

  “Is this your errand?”

  He nodded and parked the SUV.

  She got out of the vehicle when he did, watching him for some clue as to what was going on. It was a lovely home. She faced the main house, half expecting someone to come out and say hello, but no one did. And then she understood why. The house was vacant. You could see it in the empty picture windows overlooking the river valley they had driven through.

  Hank wore a quizzical smile. He motioned with his head for her to join him, and she did, a million questions racing through her mind.

  He walked up to the large, old-fashioned barn. It had been well kept, in spite of its turn-of-the-century style. He laid hold of one of the front sliding doors, and with a little effort, he opened it up, letting a wash of afternoon sunshine cast its amber haze through the opening.

  “I hope you know these people,” she said.

  He turned and gave her a crooked smile. But that was all. Okay, she thought, pushing her hands into her coat pockets, she’d follow along. She was happier now in his company than she’d ever been before, and she didn’t want to break the spell by returning to the rest of the world.

  “What do you think?” he asked, stepping up next to her as they both looked around.