| “Only by going alone in silence, without baggage,
can one truly get into the heart of the wilderness.”
—John Muir
Thursday, 9 a.m.
During the long drive north, Poe perched on Mayhem’s thigh, his gaze transfixed out the passenger window as the world sailed by. Sulking would not work in his favor this time. Jacy Lee asked for help with his granddaughter, and Mayhem could never refuse such a simple request. The trip would work two-fold. Not only could he aid a dear family friend, but he’d heard rumors about a particularly nasty hunt.
The White Mountain region of New Hampshire blossomed with color. Deep purple lupines speckled open fields, wildflowers bursting with burnt orange, gold, and vibrant reds—an ideal spot to teach a feisty feline important life lessons. The one obstacle was Poe. They’d been driving for almost three hours, and Poe acted uninterested. After his mother’s final departure, he hadn’t shown the least bit of enthusiasm for much of anything. In truth, he and Poe both carried scars from that fateful night, tearing him up in ways he never thought possible.
In front of the log cabin in Jackson, rich cedar and pine wafted through the vents, the ruralness of the area conjuring fond memories of his and Kimi’s weekend trips. After sliding the shifter into park, he stroked Poe’s sleek feathered back. “We’re here, buddy.”
Sloughing off Dad’s loving touch, Poe soldiered to the passenger seat. Bill lowered to his chest feathers, he peered up at Mayhem, his dark eyes full of sorrow and pain.
“I understand your malaise. I truly do. However, sometimes in life we need to swallow our emotions and forge ahead. I thought you’d be happy about this trip.”
Poe cocked his head, as if to say, “Seriously?”
Food rewards worked wonders for motivation. Thus, Mayhem reached into the pocket of his leather blazer and withdrew a Ziploc baggie of seedless black cherries, one of Poe’s favorite treats. “Would you like one before we head inside?”
From two fingers he dangled a cherry by the stem, and Poe inched closer, his gaze volleying between Dad and the fruity bribe. Stupid, he was not. Poe also understood the implications of accepting. If he indulged, the petulant behavior would need to cease. Black cherries, however, were almost impossible to resist. Gingerly, Poe leaned in, gobbling the cherry off its stem.
“Care for another?”
This time, Poe did not hesitate, fruit juices dripping out the edges of his bill.
“There’s my good boy,” he crooned, stroking his feathery crown. “They’re really quite succulent. Wouldn’t you agree?” He offered one more. That, too, disappeared down his gullet. “Please preen your plumage before we proceed.”
No one understood good grooming habits better than Poe. Cleanliness ran through his DNA. At birth, crow hatchlings defecated into fecal sacs—Mother Nature’s diapers used by many birds. Some species instructed their young to defecate over the rim of the nest, but that act alone might attract predators. Much more efficient to carry the membranous sacs away. If one were to stumble across a crow nest—highly unlikely for various reasons—they’d find an odorless, spotless, and bacteria-free zone.
Parked out front of the cabin, Mayhem adjusted the rearview mirror to check the long, dirt driveway framed in tall pines, ash, and maple trees, masking the log cabin from the main drag. “They’ll be here any minute. If you hope to gain the upper hand, I suggest we enter first. Unless you wish to extend an olive branch and begin on common ground?”
Poe leaped on to Mayhem’s forearm. A clear message that he wouldn’t dream of going easy on Shawnee.
“All right, then.” When he opened the driver’s door, Poe snatched the baggie off his lap and took flight. Mayhem chuckled under his breath. Little rascal. From the backseat he lifted out the covered dish filled with food to honor his loving wife—a Chippewa tradition practiced for a solid year after the passing of a spouse.
A mustiness rode the stagnant air inside the cabin. No one had been back since his beloved departed eleven months ago. Holding open the door, Poe soared inside and circled the natural wood ceiling, flew up the open staircase, and cleared the second floor.
Two car doors slammed out front as Mayhem slid open the living room window. Neither Jacy Lee nor Shawnee noticed him. Both locked in a verbal disagreement.
“I don’t understand why you can’t stay with me, Shicheii.”
Jacy Lee palmed the side of his granddaughter’s fair-skinned cheek, cherry-red streaks glimmering in the sunlight, her long, raven hair halfway down her back. “Mourning Dove, you know why.”
“Yeah, yeah, Poe’s attuned to his environment.” She swatted at the air as if erasing her remark. “Big deal. He hates me, Shicheii. Like deep hatred, down to his hollow bones. If you leave me alone with him, there’s no telling what he’ll do.” Overly dramatic, she flung out her hands. “What if he kills me in my sleep?”
“Come now, child.” Jacy Lee stroked her upper arm, trying to soothe her. “Paranoia is not a good look on you.”
“But—”
Jacy Lee silenced her with one flash of his palm, and his granddaughter relented, dropped her chin, and followed him into the cabin like a lost puppy.
Perched on the kitchen table, Poe stood with his wings opened wide, his dark eyes glaring straight at Shawnee.
Halfway into the living room, she stopped dead, her gaze connecting with Mayhem while jabbing her head at Poe. “What’s that about?”
“Intimidation tactic would be my guess.” He extended a hand to his lifelong friend. “Nice to see you, Jacy Lee. Shall we head out?”
Eyes wide, Shawnee flung out her hands. “Wait—”
Mayhem raised his fedora, smoothed back a strand of hair that had fallen loose from his braid. “Is there a problem?”
“Yeah, there’s a problem. Your freakshow over there wants me dead, and you know it.”
Snickering inside, he forced down a grin. “Regardless of how long we stay, that is unlikely to change, I’m afraid. You did knock him out of mid-air, after all.”
Shawnee’s stiff shoulders collapsed. “I’ve told you a bazillion times that was an accident.”
“I understand that, however, it’s in Poe’s nature to hold a grudge. One cannot change their true character. The instinct’s been implanted in his kind for millennia.”
Jacy Lee leaned aside, hushed, “Perhaps we should let them reacquaint for a while before we head out.”
Rocking back on his heels, he could barely comprehend his old friend’s hesitancy. “If the rumors are true, you do understand that time is of the essence?”
“I do, Cheveyo.”
With an exaggerated exhale, he relented. “All right. I suppose a few minutes won’t set us back too far.”
“I’m starving,” Shawnee whined. “Maybe we could all have breakfast together before you split?” Without waiting for a response, she darted for the door. “I’ll grab the groceries from the backseat.”
The moment she left the cabin, Poe relaxed his wings.
“Good boy.” Mayhem crooned, ruffling his chest feathers. “You are cognizant of the fact that holding an impressive stance all weekend will drain your body of energy, are you not? I realize you want to make a bold statement, but I’d be remiss if I neglected to mention, by presence alone, you already have the upper hand. Thus, the stance is a bit over the top. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Poe’s wings slumped forward.
Jacy Lee slapping a frying pan on the stove perked up Poe’s mood, and he leaped off the table, fluttering down to the kitchen island. Like many animals—wild or domestic—crows viewed food as love. Humans often felt the same.
We feasted at celebrations. We feasted at ceremonials. We feasted at funerals. It’s a trait shared throughout the natural world. Food’s the great equalizer. Nothing spelled love quite like a homecooked meal.
Both arms stuffed with grocery bags, Shawnee poked her head in the doorway. “Mr. M, you better get out here. Something’s goin’ down.”
When Mayhem hustled on to the porch, an emerging sea of black flapped toward the cabin. “Oh, my. Jacy Lee,” he called out as Poe flew to his shoulder-perch, talons gripped tight to his leather-clad shoulder. This magnificent display proved the rumor mill was, in fact, correct. “Your training will have to wait, child.” Jacy Lee ran a gentle palm down his granddaughter’s hair. “We have work to do.”
|
