by Jana Barkley
“Hey, you,” Tasha said, “have you got your pigeon?”
Hank’s face was stone, and Sam railed at the universe she had just been thanking not a moment before.
“Can I release it for you out there?” she asked, smiling and sidling up closer.
Hank turned to Sam, and Tasha noticed her.
“Oh, hi, Sam. I wanted to thank you for letting me steal him away earlier. I don’t know what we would have done without him.”
Sam’s old good-for-any-occasion smile was not forthcoming this time. She congratulated herself for her aplomb; maybe some of Hank was rubbing off on her.
“I’ve got it covered,” he told Tasha.
“Gerard, you’re up!” called the president.
Tasha stepped up to his right side, prepared to walk out with him onto the field as if she belonged there before anyone else. Sam was at a loss, but a burst of anger made her step up after them.
Hank stopped and turned around for her, and Tasha did, too, surprised to see her following them.
“Oh, hon, Hank doesn’t like to fly Gally with a lot of people around. He’ll be right back,” she said, laughing as if it was a joke and she was instructing a silly apprentice who didn’t know better.
Sam stared at Hank. It was not her place to insist on being next to him. She threw him a defiant look, challenging him to do something. His eyes narrowed; then a smile broke open on his weathered face, making her adore him. He burst out laughing, and she couldn’t help herself, either. Tasha spun around in confusion, staring first at Sam and then Hank.
“Only one person,” he said. Still grinning, he stepped back and held out his hand to Sam. “C’mon,” he said with such a conspiratorial air Sam grabbed his hand and they jumped ahead together past Tasha and into the field. Hank didn’t let go as they walked on, and when she started to turn her head to see what was happening behind them, he stopped her.
“Don’t look back,” he said, “or we might have to lose her again.”
His eyes were bright with mischief as he returned her gaze.
“Let’s go fly a falcon, shall we?” Hank dropped her hand and started to remove Gally’s gear.
The president’s bullhorn blasted from behind them as they passed the white marker in the field. “Hank Gerard with Galileo, a twenty-six-year-old passage peregrine.”
They were far enough out in the field for any comments by the spectators to be beyond hearing, but Sam was sure Gally’s age had aroused some curiosity.
Hank stopped and faced into the slight breeze coming from the northeast, and Sam took up her position to his right.
“Let’s see what the old man’s up to today,” he said, oblivious to the large crowd behind them. One of the professional photographers had followed them out, but out of respect for Hank, he had stayed back about twenty feet. Noticing him, Hank waved him over closer. Sam wondered how Tasha must feel to see that after Hank’s ultimatum of only one person in the field with him. She wasn’t going to worry about it, however.
The photographer trotted up with his huge, oversized lens. “Thanks, Hank,” said the man, who was in his mid-thirties. He extended his hand to shake Hank’s. “Never thought I’d get to see this fella fly in the sky trials again, and when they called your name, I had to get some shots.”
“Bob Halloran, this is Sam.”
She shook his hand with a smile.
“Hi, Sam. Last time I saw this bird fly, I was starting out as a professional wildlife photographer.”
“All right, all right,” Hank said, “We all know he’s old, so there’s no guarantees what he’s gonna do today.”
Bob smiled. “I’ll step back about over here, okay?”
Hank nodded and turned back into the wind. A little irritation in his voice was the first sign of any tension she’d seen in him since they’d entered the field. He looked at her quite seriously. “Let’s do this.”
Hank struck the braces and lifted the hood from Gally’s head. The little tiercel was sharp and bobbed his head back and forth as he scanned the horizon in all directions. Watching him, Sam felt the energy build in the sleek, aerial body, from the moment he muted to the explosive rouse that resounded over the silent field. Gally’s feathers slicked down hard, and he turned to stare straight into the wind. There was something more intense about his body language today, something different from when she’d seen Hank fly him at home. We’re just gonna let him play today since we’re not hunting: those had been Hank’s words back then. Today, everything about this little peregrine was wound taut and ready to explode. There was no doubt in Sam’s untrained mind he was ready to chase and kill something at the slightest provocation.
The dark-hooded head, classic hallmark of the peregrine falcon, was no less brilliant and stunning to behold on this aged game hawk. Perhaps a trained falconer could see the signs of the years behind this small bird, but to Sam, watching him in the seconds before he did what only a falcon could do well, he was the most beautiful raptor she had ever beheld.
From Hank’s upheld glove, he took off in a down thrust of wings, slicing the air like a porpoise cuts through waves, effortless and in his element. True to his peregrine nature, Gally climbed in a perfect cone-shaped pattern over them, wasting no time to gain pitch. Sam stepped closer to Hank, who beamed at her.
“What’s he at?” she asked, breathless and craning her neck back.
“‘About nine hundred feet, I’d guess.”
Gally kept circling, as if he were going to stay at this height.
Sam’s worried eyes sought Hank, but he folded his arms and stood still.
“Will he go higher?” she asked.
“Keep watching.”
She did, and after another pass or two in the circle he had been cutting through the air above them, the little tiercel pushed out, enlarging the circle, and started to climb again. Wide-eyed, she turned to Hank, struck by the realization Gally was watching him for cues. Because Hank did nothing, he returned to his climb.
“He was waiting to see what you’d do,” she said, grinning.
Hank smiled large and motioned her to stay with him as he walked forward into the wind about ten feet. All the while, the little falcon kept mounting.
“I can’t see him anymore, Hank.”
“Neither can I.” He turned and stared at her. “What do you think?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’d say he’s at around fifteen hundred feet, by now. Should we release the pigeon?”
“Why ask me?” She couldn’t help an incredulous laugh at the mischief in his face. Her attention fell back to the crowd, and she wondered if they were as expectant as she was.
“Don’t worry about them,” he said. “There’s only us and Gally out here right now. If you were flying this falcon, would you release the pigeon?”
Sam searched the sky and still couldn’t see him.
“Knowing what you’ve told me about him, yeah, I guess I would.”
Without another word, Hank opened the flap to his game bag, and a light-grey flash of feathers escaped. All Sam could do was peer into the endless sky for what she hoped was there. She was not disappointed.
As the pigeon flew away, gaining altitude on its own, a small dark missile fell with such speed from out of nowhere the racer didn’t have a chance. Gally struck the bird from above, but instead of hitting it, he reached out to grab it with his talons. The pigeon and the falcon rolled end over end several times in a spiral somersault before the pigeon lost a few feathers and pulled out. But the tiercel was undaunted and powered up higher and faster than Sam thought possible. The crowd cheered, and she moved closer to Hank. At the top of his upward arc, Gally flipped over like a streak of lightning and dove again. The stunned pigeon stalled and pulled up, mounting up with frantic wing beats in a tight, circular pattern, the falcon in hot pursuit.
Hank was grinning large. “That’s what they call a ringing flight. You getting this, Bob?” he called out over his shoulder.
&nb
sp; “Oh, man,” said the photographer, sounding like he was having the time of his life.
Both pigeon and falcon flew in a tight spiral higher and higher until the pigeon broke free and headed in a straight line for the mountains. Sam’s worried eyes sought Hank’s.
“Will he chase it like Talon did?”
“Maybe, but I’m not gonna give him the chance. Here.” Hank peeled off his glove and handed it to her. “Put it on.”
She was dumbfounded but put on Hank’s glove that was too large for her hand without argument.
Hank reached into his bag and pulled out the portion of quail Gally was to eat and shoved it in her direction.
“Hide it in your glove and stay right there.”
Sam obeyed with shaking hands. In a matter of seconds, Hank had his lure out and was swinging it in large arcs. He gave a single blow on the whistle hanging from a lanyard around his neck, and Sam held her breath, hoping Gally would turn and come back.
She shouldn’t have worried. The little tiercel, now back up to about a thousand feet, turned his head to look for Hank. This simple gesture was more reassuring than Sam could have imagined. Like Hank had been teaching her, it was all about the relationship. Of course Gally would stop in mid chase if Hank called him back. He had no reason not to want to return, because Hank had always made it worth his while.
Gally circled and then came to rest on the lure as Hank laid on the ground. No flashy passes; he just came back to eat because he’d done what Hank had asked. The crowd erupted behind them with shouts and applause, reminding Sam they weren’t alone, and she wished he hadn’t put her out there with him in the spotlight.
“Come here, Sam, right next to me.”
She stepped up, uncertain and shy, remembering about a hundred people were watching them.
“Present him the glove. I want you to call him up.”
Her panicked eyes rounded on him, but stopped when they met his.
“Stop second-guessing yourself, girl,” he said, but the tone of his voice was tender and made her heart race.
“Is this legal? Will you be disqualified?”
“I don’t give a damn. It’s just you, me, and that falcon.”
“Then why did you even bother entering him?” Her smile was incredulous. Gazing at her, his eyes softened. “I thought you knew.”
And then she realized: he had done it for her. She nodded, smiling. “Okay.”
Sam turned and presented the glove to Gally, who had dragged his lure over to them, wondering where his reward was and what was taking so long. She didn’t have a whistle, but she puckered her lips and managed a soft sound as she tapped the glove to show him where his dinner was. For a moment, Gally looked at Hank, who stood motionless by her side, and then at the glove Sam presented to him. He accepted the change of falconer and jumped up to her fist without a second thought.
Hank stood on her right and handed her the jesses, which she threaded through the grommets in Gally’s anklets with awkward fingers. The falcon was an old pro at this routine, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so accepting of her hands near his feet while he was eating. Once Gally was secured to her glove, she took a shaky breath and glanced up at her sponsor.
He stood with his arms crossed, staring at her with a big grin on his face. It made her blush, and when he placed an arm around her shoulders to turn her around for the walk back to the crowd, her face burned even hotter.
“Here’s the hood,” he said, handing it to her without instruction. Sam knew she had to wait for the falcon to finish eating and then rouse. Gally picked each talon meticulously clean as they walked and then shook himself. Sam stopped and Hank followed her lead. When she presented the hood, the little falcon paused to watch her again, then pushed his face into it.
“Pull the long ones,” he said with a chuckle as her fingers fumbled with the braces. She found the right ones, pulled the hood closed with her teeth and free hand, and it was done.
“Do you want him back?”
“No,” he grinned. “You’re doing fine.”
Bob Halloran ran up, excited. “Hank, I got some good shots. You’re gonna have to see these.”
He nodded at the photographer and guided Sam by the elbow as they walked back.
The first person to greet them was Mary Kate, and Hank, no longer angry with her, gave her a big bear hug.
“Now that, sir,” she said, “was worth freezing my butt off for.”
Then the crowd was upon them, or rather, upon Hank. Sam would have been squeezed out of the mass of people except for Gally on her fist. They all wanted to see him up close, and since he was hooded, there was no worry about stressing him out with the press of onlookers. In spite of his dislike for attention, Hank smiled as the compliments rolled in. He even took some time to tell a story from Gally’s younger days.
In a way, it was pleasant to be in this position, able to watch him without discovery. Mary Kate stepped next to her, and they both backed out of the circle of people.
“How’d you like being a part of that?”
“He has a way of pulling these stunts when I don’t see it coming.”
“You did fine, darlin’.”
Hank was still talking, but he noticed her point to Gally on her glove and incline her head toward his truck. The slightest nod let her know to go ahead and put the falcon away in his traveling box. It felt good to know he trusted her. Back at the rig, she cut the fastener holding the telemetry in place around Gally’s ankle, and then backed the tiercel onto his perch. With the door secured, she turned off the telemetry and put it away in its box. She smiled at how comfortable she was getting in Hank’s world, knowing where things went, what he wanted done. But her cloud of doubt returned. It was nothing but a misplaced sense of belonging, she told herself, closing the back of the SUV with determination. The heady ride of this week was almost over. After the banquet tonight, they would all go home, and it would be back to the normal world of schedules and other distractions. It had become too easy to see Hank every day, to look forward to his ever-watching gaze and the reward of his smile.
Well, there was always Chance. She would throw herself into hunting him until she couldn’t, and then she’d see him through the molt until next season if she stayed well enough over the summer. Then maybe her heart wouldn’t ache so much for what she couldn’t dream of having.
She had left Hank surrounded by ecstatic friends and falconers, but as she walked back to where he’d been, the group had dispersed. Then she saw Mary Kate over at her van and headed that way. She’d only gotten a few feet when she felt the ground drop out from under her. It was more than feeling rundown as she had felt before the doctor had prescribed drugs for her anemia. It was as if the blood had drained out of her body, and she had no legs to support her. The feeling made her stop where she was and work to get a deep breath. A light perspiration broke out on her forehead, and she felt thankful for the cool weather. Stopping was enough to help her find some equilibrium while she took stock of herself. A small fear began to gnaw at her. Please let this not be a sign of things to come, she prayed. If she couldn’t walk out in the field with her hawk or run when necessary…
“There you are,” said a voice that had become dear to her.
She turned with a smile to hide her current distress, but she knew he could see into any living thing when he wanted to.
“You need to eat,” he said, half-turning toward the truck while he waited for her to join him.
Of course, he would think of the anemia she had told him about. So, her excuse had been a good one, after all.
“Yes,” she said with animation. She walked up to him with what energy she could muster.
A long arm wrapped itself around her shoulders, and she in turn wrapped hers around his waist as they walked, like she had seen Mary Kate do with him. But she doubted Mary Kate enjoyed it as much as she did. The fear and insecurity of only minutes before when she was grasping for energy to hide the impending signs of her sickness slid aw
ay without another thought. She sighed deeply and leaned into him as they walked, allowing herself to bask in the warmth of his embrace. For a moment, she sensed him react to this expression of intimacy from her—a slight pause midstride on his part, as if he was surprised. His hesitation, however minimal, quickly disappeared, and he held her closer as they made their way back to the truck. Once there, she did not offer to pull away from him, nor did he let go of her. She raised her gaze to his searching blue eyes and felt the world stop. There was no boundary or impediment between them in this precise moment of time, no cancer, no ex-lovers, no lies. His hand reached up to move a tendril of blonde hair that had strayed across her cheek, and she trembled.
Voices close by broke the spell, making them both turn to see Mary Kate headed their way, no doubt wanting to follow them back to the lodge. Sam took a deep breath and turned, as did Hank. Whatever had happened between them was over and it was for the best. In silence she climbed into the passenger seat of his SUV. Though she ached for the warmth of his touch, this was playing with fire, and this kind of blaze could hurt more than just her.
Haggard: A mature, wild hawk, referred to in ancient falconry texts as impossible
to train for falconry
Chapter Thirty-Four
Any notion Sam had about a formal evening banquet was thrown out the window when she arrived in the downstairs dining room of the lodge with Mary Kate. She wore her classic little black dress, the usual fare of the entertainment-oriented functions she had known so well from her business days. Mary Kate told her it was not unusual to see falconers coming into dinner fresh from the field in hunting garb with last-minute entries on their game sheets so they could get their game pins, but both women decided to dress up anyway and enjoy the event in their own way.
“You’re gonna turn heads tonight, girlfriend,” Mary Kate giggled as they stood in the entrance to the room.
“We hardly look like the hunting type,” Sam said, and Mary Kate laughed.
The lodge had gone all out to transform the room’s outdoorsy sportsmen’s atmosphere into a candlelit affair with low lights, creating an ambiance she never would have thought possible for this location. The room probably saw monthly meetings of the Elks Lodge and was the only place for fifty miles around fit to hold a wedding reception when the local kids got married. Still, it was charming, and the lodge made a great effort to entertain the two hundred falconers who had called the place home for a week.