Chapter 12 #2
So intent was she on looking up that she didn’t notice the man approaching her until he was a few feet away. “Luke!” she said. “Do you come here often?”
A smile warmed his scarred face. Hands in his pockets, he shook his head. “My doctor prescribed this visit, specifically to bird watch. He said it was relaxing. And you were the one who mentioned The Ramble at twilight as an ideal place for that.”
Ah yes. She’d forgotten she’d said that. Elsa patted the bench. “I like your doctor better than mine already. Believe it or not, I’ve just come from seeing him.”
“You did? Did someone go with you?” He sat on the left side of her. She wondered if he meant to hide the scar on his left cheek.
Elsa waved a mosquito away, then withdrew the small jar of peppermint oil she kept in her handbag to repel the pesky insects.
“Ivy’s busy with a class tonight, and I’d never ask either of my parents.
The last thing I want to do is remind them how defective I am.
” She shook a few drops of oil into her palm. “Want some?”
Luke held out his palm, then rubbed the oil she gave him over his hands and patted some on his neck. “Defective? What kind of a word is that?”
“Sorry. You’re right.” She capped the oil and returned it to her handbag. “I’ve been reading Linus van Tessel’s eugenics materials—those folders we found in his secret office. It’s a term I’ve read a lot lately.”
His face clouded with evident disapproval.
“Eugenics is hogwash. The self-directed evolution in the quest of a ‘perfect human product’? Absolute rubbish. You were made in the image of God, and so was every other person. Once you start reducing people to measurements and heredities, you strip them of their dignity. We aren’t livestock.
We have souls. I don’t buy that eugenics garbage. ”
The muscles between her shoulders relaxed. She peered sideways at him. “Tell me what you really think, why don’t you?”
The lines in his expression eased into the hint of a smile. “Will you tell me what the doctor said?”
She did. The more she shared, the darker his expression became, until a vein throbbed on his temple.
“I’ve met doctors like him before. From what you told me, he wasn’t listening to you.
The army doctors didn’t want to believe soldiers were sick if they couldn’t see the injuries or signs with their own eyes because they wanted the men to keep fighting.
But what was Stanhope’s excuse? If he didn’t know the answers, he ought to have said so, instead of telling you the symptoms are all in your mind. ”
He took a breath and rubbed a hand over his cheeks and jaw. “Sorry. Tom says I can look really scary when I get worked up. He calls it Scary Face.” His lips tilted in a self-deprecating smile.
“Sorry?” Elsa resisted an urge to take his hand and draw it away from his face. “I can’t tell you what a relief it is to hear you say all that. It’s one thing to know I’m not well. It’s far worse to not be taken seriously.”
Luke leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “He might not, but I do. We’ll find ways for you to still experience what you love.”
“Why?” The question escaped Elsa before she could measure how it would put him on the spot. But the truth was, she had no idea why Luke seemed to be taking her burden on his shoulders. She didn’t understand why he’d begun referring to them as “we.”
He held her gaze. “Because that’s what I do for the people I care about.”
“Like Tom,” she said. Loyalty was what made this man tick. Anyone would be lucky to have him as a friend.
“Yes, I’m concerned for Tom. But no, it’s not the same.” He took off his homburg and leaned back, turning his gaze to the trees. “I don’t know, Elsa. I’m not finding bird-watching very relaxing so far.” He arched one eyebrow at her, and she couldn’t help but laugh.
“Maybe that’s because we haven’t done any yet. I’ve been sharing so much. It’s only fair that now you at least have a chance to tell me why you need to relax in the first place. Then I’ll show you how birding is done.”
Music floated through the trees from a street performer playing the saxophone. Luke stayed quiet as he watched the swaying branches, but she had a feeling he wasn’t listening to the jazz.
“How is your work going?” she prompted. He’d certainly heard enough about hers. “Is your father happy with what you’ve salvaged from the mansion so far?”
He released a controlled sigh. “He’s not happy that I’m the one doing it.
And he never will be.” When he turned to face her, his rueful smile tugged her heart.
“I’m the wrong son in Dupont & Son. Franklin was supposed to be the one taking over the business.
Before the war, I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with it.
I was going to design my own buildings, not rip apart and resell someone else’s.
I said the salvage business lacked artistry, that it was a scavenger’s game, and I didn’t want to be a vulture.
I said a lot of things—vain, prideful things I regret to this day—when I left the US to study in France. ”
It was the hitch in his voice that brought a lump to Elsa’s throat.
“Franklin stayed home to help Dad, and I think even my mother was glad I’d gone.”
“Surely, that’s not true,” Elsa insisted.
He held up a hand. “Her home was more peaceful without me there to get into arguments with Dad and Frank. We, all three of us, were to blame, but it only took one of us leaving for her to have harmony again. Then the war started, and I stayed in Europe, and you know the rest of that story. Near the end of the war, Franklin enlisted, too. But he died of the Spanish flu before he even left the country.”
Elsa covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh no. I’m so very sorry.”
A knob shifted behind Luke’s collar. “Yeah. Me too. But my folks took it hardest of all. Franklin was everything they wanted in a son. Since he’s been gone, I’ve stepped in to help in all the ways I know how, but it doesn’t make up for it.
It’s been eight years, and I can tell it’s still hard on Dad that I’m not Frank. ”
No wonder he hadn’t wanted to say more about Franklin when he’d mentioned his brother during the storm.
He had come home from war to a house of mourning, then gave up his own career dreams to work for a father so stuck in grief for the son he’d lost, he didn’t appreciate the one he still had.
At least, that’s what Elsa gathered. She thanked Luke for sharing such a personal thing with her, and he insisted it was no more personal than what she’d shared with him. Elsa wasn’t convinced that was true.
“It’s nice that you listened,” he added. “It’s been a while since someone asked.”
“About Franklin? Or about you?”
“Either. Except for my doctor, who is overly concerned with my blood pressure. Speaking of which, ready to tell me what you see up there? I ought to do at least a little actual birding.”
She smiled, comfortable with this familiar territory.
“Happy to. The fall migration isn’t as flamboyant as the spring one, and you have to work a little harder since they aren’t singing as much and their plumage has turned more subtle.
Look, there’s a magnolia warbler.” She pointed to the little grey-and-yellow bird perched on a branch.
His spritely movements seemed to fit with the saxophone music in the background.
“I don’t see it.”
Elsa scootched closer to him, stretching tall from the waist so she could be as near to his vantage point as possible. Luke shifted, draping his arm on the bench behind her so she could move closer still.
“There,” she whispered, pointing to direct his line of sight.
Warmth radiated in the one-inch space between her cheek and his.
The smell of peppermint intensified. “Do you see it? Watch for a flicker of movement.” She held her breath, then slowly released it, attempting to steady the flicker she felt inside herself.
“I see that.” He angled slightly toward her, apparently looking at something nowhere near the warbler. She leaned out of his way, but he touched her shoulder. “What are they saying? You speak bird as well as dog, don’t you?”
She heard the tease in his voice but couldn’t hope to reply with his fingers still resting near her collar. Then she saw what Luke was referring to and gasped. “Luke! You found the owl!”
“Nope,” he said. “I found some mad little birds fluttering around a branch.”
“Those are blue jays and a tufted titmouse, and they’re saying ‘Scram!’ to an intruder in their territory—Zeus, the Eurasian eagle-owl that escaped from the menagerie a few weeks ago!
His feathers are mottled brown, so he’s camouflaged really well up there.
” The owl turned his head, and she caught a glimpse of his bright orange eyes.
“Oh my goodness, did you see his eyes? What a magnificent bird! Despite everything the menagerie officials predicted, he looks fine and quite natural living free.”
By now, a few passing people paused to peer into the tree, as well. “I see it! Look, Dad!” A young man of perhaps fourteen years passed a pair of binoculars to a mustachioed man wearing a straw hat.
A woman with grey hair turned her tanned face toward the owl, grinning when she spotted him. The strong smell of citronella and camphor surrounded her.
“What’s this? What have you found?” A park official in uniform joined the small cluster of the owl’s admirers, lifting his own binoculars. “There you are,” he muttered. To the people, he said, “You have no idea how wily this bird has been. I can’t believe we haven’t been able to catch him yet.”
Rising from the bench, Elsa introduced herself and learned his name, as well. When Luke stood and shook his hand, the park official flinched at his scars. Luke didn’t seem to mind.
“I’m an ornithologist with the American Museum of Natural History,” she added. “Can you tell me why you’re so keen to capture the owl, Jim?”
He spared her only a glance before fixing his attention on the bird again. “The enclosure is all repaired and waiting for its resident to return.”
“I see.” Elsa spied a mosquito landing on Luke’s back and brushed it off for him. “It would appear the former resident of the menagerie has a new address. One that doesn’t pen him inside a space the size of a bus stop.”
“Let Zeus be free!” the boy said, and the other two nodded their agreement.
“Look, folks.” Jim lifted his hands to quiet them. “That owl may look all right to you now, but our concern is that he may starve to death. All he has known for the last twelve years is that menagerie enclosure. It can’t fly well—”
“And whose fault is that?” the older woman interrupted. “How could he practice when he’s been cooped up for twelve years?”
“Irrelevant,” Jim said. “Menagerie staff have told me Zeus is not a good flier, and he doesn’t know how to hunt.”
“Because his food has been delivered to him for more than a decade,” Luke said. “Correct?”
“I’d like to hear more from the ornithologist.” The man clasped his son’s shoulder and looked at Elsa. “What do you think this owl’s chances are in the wild? Or at least, as wild as Central Park can be?”
A few more people joined their small cluster, spotting the owl with their own exclamations.
“I think—wait a minute, let’s watch.” Elsa focused on Zeus and sensed everyone else do the same.
The predator’s attention was clearly fastened on some kind of prey. In the next moment, he swooped down to the ground, out of sight behind some bushes. Then just as quickly, it emerged again, a rodent in its talons. Landing on the roof of the Ladies Pavilion, the owl swallowed it whole.
The small group cheered for the owl, and Elsa laughed with delight to have witnessed such a hopeful event. “As I was saying,” she said, “the owl deserves a chance to prove that he’ll be all right. He may adjust far better than any of us think.”
Zeus took flight again, disappearing from view within moments.
Elsa turned to Luke. “Wasn’t that fun?”
“Very.” He smiled. “Since nothing can beat it, how about I see you home?” He offered his arm, and she took it. “Come on, chickadee.”
“Is that what I am?” she asked on a laugh, as charmed as she was surprised.
“That’s the kind of bird that bands together against a foe, right?”
Chickadees weren’t the only ones who did that, but she knew what he meant. He remembered Danielle repeating Elsa’s lesson after the storm. Elsa smiled, filling with warmth at this man’s unexpected gentleness and care. “Yes.”
“Then yes, you are my chickadee. And I’ll be yours.” He winked, and she felt lighter than air.