The Rescue (2 page)

“I’m staying at the inn.”

Luke smiled and Will realized it was the first time he had seen him smile. “Good. You can make sure the bird survives.”

As Will and Luke got bird feed and water set up for the pigeon in the empty stall, Rose brought the horse into the barn and handed the reins to Luke. “Would you take off Flash’s bridle and harness and check his feet? Rub down his legs.”

“Mom, this is Will Stoltz. He’s staying in the guest house.”

Rose smiled. “I remember. We’ve been expecting you.”

“He saved a bird.” Luke told her the whole story about the bird, then took Flash down the aisle to the cross ties. When he took the bridle off and went into the tack room, Rose turned to Will. “I haven’t seen him look so pleased in quite some time.”

“He was a fine helper to me. Very interested in birds.”

“Your mother said you’re going to start a wild bird rescue center in Stoney Ridge.”

“That’s right. I’ve got a location rented and hope to open the doors soon. I just need to get some medical supplies, flight cages, start spreading the word . . . and then wait . . . for a storm during migration or a man-made or natural disaster . . . and voilà! Birds in distress.”

She smiled. “Well, one thing at a time.”

“When my mother was staying here, there was an eagle aerie. Any chance the eagles are still here?”

“They are! They had one eaglet but it died. You’ll see the eagles at dawn and dusk, circling the creek for fish. Their nest is up high, in a tree above the creek. The size of a small barn.”

Will grinned. “If they’re still here, I suspect you’ll see another eaglet or two in the clutch next year. Maybe three, the year after that.”

“Really? Oh, I hope so. Mr. and Mrs. Eagle are the reason we named the farm ‘The Inn at Eagle Hill.’ ”

“If they’re still here, it means they like it.”

As they walked out into the light, he asked, “Rose, do you ever happen to see Jackie Colombo, a vet? I met her here, that time when Luke scaled the tree and the eagle tried to dive-bomb him.”

Rose stopped. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Jackie in quite some time. We haven’t had need of a vet for a while. I could call the vet’s office and find out if she’s still there.”

“No, no. That’s not necessary.”

“Hank Lapp might know. He gets around town. You could ask him the next time he drops by. I’ll introduce you.”

“No need. We’ve met.” Will remembered Hank Lapp. Who could ever forget him? He was a dead ringer for the wild-eyed scientist in
Back
to the Future
. Hank might be his best shot at knowing where Jackie had gone, but the thought of listening to Hank ramble on, from one subject to another, was discouraging. Where had Jackie gone? What had happened to her?

But one cheerful thought occurred to him. He had saved his first patient. A pigeon.

Will walked into the guest flat at Eagle Hill and lay down on the spindle bed for just a moment, planning to unpack before he went to bed. The next thing he knew, a rooster crowed loudly. His eyes flew open as he tried to remember where he was before a wave of sleep pulled him back under. A moment later, the sun was streaming through the window and the sound of two little boys, calling out to each other in Penn Dutch, woke him a second time. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, as a knock came on the door. He opened it to find a bespectacled teenaged girl at the door, holding a breakfast tray. She had a vaguely anxious air. “Were you still asleep?” She seemed mystified that anyone could sleep past seven.

Will looked down at his rumpled clothes. “No. Yes. I was, but I didn’t mean to oversleep.”

He caught a whiff of rich coffee and wondered what else was under the red checkered napkin. He opened the door widely so the girl could come through. She set the breakfast tray on the small table in the kitchen.

“What smells so good?”

“My mother always makes new guests her blueberry cornbread.”

She pulled off the red checkered cloth and Will’s eyes went wide. There was freshly squeezed orange juice, a carafe of coffee, scrambled eggs, thick cut bacon, crispy fried potatoes, and a large chunk of sweet cornbread sprinkled with blueberries. Enough food to last him for the day.

“You can leave the tray outside your door when you’re done. I’ll pick it up before I leave for school.”

“Hey, thanks. I’m Will Stoltz, by the way.”

“I know.”

“Who are you?”

“Mim.” She turned at the door. “Mom said you were wondering about the lady vet. She got hurt in an accident and had to leave the vet clinic at Stoney Ridge.”

Will’s head jerked up. “What kind of accident?”

“Something was wrong with her hand. I saw her in town one day when her hand was all bandaged up. Maybe a horse stepped on it.” She wiggled her hands. “I asked her what she was going to do about her doctoring with a banged-up hand and she said, for now, she was thinking about Plan B.” Mim spun around and slipped out the door.

Will sat down at the table, a little shaken. Massively disappointed. He ate a few bites of the eggs, his mind stuck on Jackie.
Fool,
he said to himself.
I’m such a fool.
He hadn’t been honest with himself about how much of his decision to move to Stoney Ridge was influenced by his attraction to Jackie Colombo. She was a beautiful girl who shared his love for animals. Even birds!

As he chewed on a bite of smoky, crisp bacon, he smiled, a little wryly. Being here was his Plan B.

Will knew all about Plan Bs. His life had been set on course by his father, Charles Stoltz, for as long as he could remember: an Ivy League college, medical school, internship, and a specialization in neuroscience. And everything was on track, on schedule with Plan A, until Will’s last semester of college.

In an act of complete stupidity that some might call passive-aggressive defiance, Will had gotten himself suspended from school. It was the worst time in Will’s life, and also the best.

His father “volunteered” him to be an intern for a game commissioner, and Will found himself exiled at Windmill Farm,
home to an Amish family, babysitting a falcon couple and protecting them from overeager bird lovers. That spring had a profound effect on Will. Instead of medical school, Will chose vet school. And now, instead of accepting a comfortable, safe position at an established vet clinic, Will chose to start up a nonprofit wild bird rescue center.

He glanced at his watch. Nearly eight. He wolfed down the last few bites of the blueberry cornbread. His first day at the center and he was already running late.

Will expected the center to have a slow start—in fact, he even hoped it would be slow. He spent long days cleaning, scrubbing the walls and floors, giving it a fresh coat of paint, contacting vendors for equipment and medical supplies and waiting for things to be delivered. Plus he still needed to look for donors. He was planning to apply for grants but the center would rely on donations.

After the tedious work of setting up the center, Will was pleasantly surprised when he received a call to rescue an injured snowy owl. He had a cardboard sign up in the center’s window, but that was as much publicity as he’d had time to create. When he reached the farm where the owl was found, he discovered it had a broken wing. He took it back to the center and placed a splint on the wing, grateful he’d received a shipment of small flight cages that morning. When he realized he didn’t have food supplies for an owl, he thought of the barn at Eagle Hill and asked Luke Schrock to catch mice to feed the owl. He paid him a nickel a mouse.

Eleven-year-old Luke appeared at the center each afternoon, as soon as school let out, claiming he wanted to check on the pigeon. The pigeon was ready for release within a week’s time, so Will and Luke went out to the ridge behind Eagle Hill late one afternoon and opened the cage. The bird hopped about a moment, pecked at the ground, then stilled and cocked its head when it heard the cooing sound of another pigeon. It flew leisurely away and disappeared behind the ridge.

Pleased with themselves, Will and Luke sat on a rock to watch the sunset.

“Look,” Luke said, pointing to bulky stick nests, high in a tree.

“Well, how about that,” Will said, filled with awe. “It’s a rookery. Those nests are great blue heron nests.” It occurred to him that Blue
Lake Pond wasn’t far away, not as the crow flies. Fish was the favorite food of herons; that tree was a perfect site for a breeding colony.

“Don’t they migrate?”

“Most birds do migrate, but the ones that can survive on berries or nuts often stay put during winter. Herons will usually stick around as long as creeks and ponds don’t freeze over.” Will stretched out his legs. “Luke, how would you like to help me with the Audubon Christmas Bird Count this December?”

Luke hesitated. “On Christmas Day?”

Will grinned. “No. I wouldn’t do that to you. During a few weeks in December and January, volunteers help to count up the birds and collect data for scientists to use.”

“Why do they need to count the number of birds?”

“The count began way back in 1900. Holiday hunts used to be a popular pastime—but hunters left piles of bird and animal carcasses littered across the country. So the National Audubon Society protested holiday hunts with the first Christmas Bird Count. Today, the Count helps scientists understand how birds react to short-term weather events. They use the data to predict bird population and behavior.”

“Why do they need to predict stuff?”

“Well, birds and insects are the first part of the ecosystem. If a species is in trouble, it will eventually head up the food chain to reach humans. Imagine a world without honey from bees, for example.” Will watched the smaller eagle, the male, return with a fish in those powerful claws and soar back to its gigantic nest made of sticks, lined with grass and moss. Amazing, just amazing.

Luke’s eyes were on Will. “You need to explain all that Bird Count stuff to my mom,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “If she says I can go, I guess I could.” He rose and started down the hill, Will following behind.

Luke’s curiosity about birds pleased Will. Earlier today, Rose had brought breakfast to the guest flat and said she hoped Luke wasn’t a nuisance for him. Will assured her that Luke was helping him fix up the center and he was good company.

Rose confessed she’d been worried about her son—he’d been getting into trouble at school lately and starting fights with older boys. “It seems as if he doesn’t care about anything. But he does love birds.”

Will knew, from his mother’s friendship with Rose, that Luke’s father had died the year before. The boy reminded him of himself at that age: bright, capable, a quick trigger temper, and sorely needing a man’s attention. Luke, he thought, could go down the wrong path pretty easily, just as he had. But his love of birds might keep him on the right track, as it had for Will. Birds had called him back and set him straight.

Will found an apartment within walking distance to the center, but it wouldn’t be available until the first of January. Rose assured him he’d be welcome to stay in the guest flat through December and gave him a weekly rate. It was overly generous, but he knew she was grateful for the attention he was giving Luke. When he described the Christmas Bird Count to her, explaining that he wanted to take Luke with him, she practically hugged him.