Chapter 21 The Wood Thrush
I lay awake Sunday night, listening to Jake’s quiet snores beside me. Worry is gnawing at my gut. Rolling onto my side, I lose myself in my new favorite pastime: staring at Jake.
I can’t believe he is sleeping next to me, close enough to touch if I dared.
I scan the vague outline of his body under the quilt.
He sleeps in a pair of silky-looking shorts.
So, he isn’t naked right now, but I have vivid pictures of him naked that parade through my head.
I swing between my two current realities: one minute butterflies are drumming against my chest at the worry of starting my new job tomorrow, the next a pulsating heat takes over, making me squirm from Jake’s nearness, making coherent thoughts impossible.
Fortunately, sleep finally comes to save me from the seesaw that is my life.
The moment I drift off, the forest grows and deepens to a dark olive, with sunlight filtering through the layers of leaves and limbs, painting the air mossy gold.
I’m dwarfed by the pillar of trees but feel at home among the giants.
Smiling, I hear whistling just ahead. I pick my way along a barely discernible path, feeling safe and cared for.
There is a shout up in front of me, and a jab of excitement.
Suddenly I’m awake and blinking my eyes open groggily, I then close them softly.
I lie still, wrapped in the cocoon of my dream, until it slowly dawns on me: it’s Monday.
Snuggling a little deeper into the comfort of the quilt, I stretch, thankful again for the comfort of my dream, but it feels different from before. More like it was trying to show me something rather than just taking me away for a moment, a night.
Sitting up, I notice Jake’s empty spot next to me, and I hear sounds coming from the kitchen. Then he pokes his head in the bedroom.
“Oh good. I thought I was going to wake you. Tea is ready, and I have oatmeal, too.”
Forcing a brave smile, I exclaim, “Thanks, but I’m too nervous to eat.”
“Oatmeal will settle your stomach. You need something like that. Now come on, get moving. You will be great. I promise.”
A real smile breaks out on my face, and I glide into the bathroom, feeling pampered and special.
Jake walks me right to Professor Montgomery’s office door. Thank goodness, because Columbia is a maze of buildings, paths and signs. I never would have made it without Jake leading the way.
“It will get easier,” he reassures me, “don’t worry.”
He’s going to work on his thesis in his office today while I’m at my new job and will come back to escort me when my four hours are over.
The sensation of being cared for and protected settles more firmly around my shoulders as we stand outside the door.
The feeling is just as delicious as in my dream, perhaps even more so as my dream has been recurring for years, but in my real life, I’ve never experienced this warmth.
Certainly not from my parents. I think they care for me, but they don’t demonstrate it—that kind of affection is not necessary or appropriate, but boy, it feels nice.
Jake leans down and drops a kiss on my lips. “Good luck. You’ll be fine.”
Walking into the office clutching my pen and notebook, I channel my best Vee, shoulders back, head high.
Clearing my throat, I squeak out, “Hello, Professor, I’m Emma.” Horrified at the tremor in my voice, I fight to keep my eyes raised, trying to smile.
A large man wearing an old plaid suit jacket regards me from behind his desk. He has penetrating, dark eyes. He inclines his head toward a chair in front of his desk and says gruffly, “Sit, sit. Let’s talk.”
He is a hulking presence, but I’m used to my father, uncle, and grandfather, who are of a similar size and seriousness. I sit obediently.
Professor Montgomery is slow and precise in his words and movements. He looks at me with sharp intelligence. His hair is a tousle of gray points sticking out in all directions. He absentmindedly yanks on one of his hair tufts and I realize this is the reason for his unique hairdo.
“I started at Columbia as a young man doing my thesis, just like Jake is doing now. It was a much smaller department back then. And once I completed my thesis, I stayed on. I’ve been teaching ornithology for many years here and always spent the summers and some sabbaticals doing fieldwork.
Those were the best times. But now, my knees and my back, traitors that they are, require that I stay behind, sifting through the nidification research, letting the young ones do the fieldwork.
The dirt, the bugs, and the late nights are for the young, not old men like me. ”
I smile slightly. He looks like he is a sturdy sixty, and I can easily picture him tramping through woods.
I’m thankful I have my trusty notebook. I jot notes down, including the words I don’t understand. Ornithology and nidification both go on the list under “ask Jake.”
Professor Montgomery continues, “One of the long-
running research projects is on the IBWO and that is the Hail Mary of all Hail Marys.”
Looking up in confusion, I glance at my purse to make sure my rosary beads aren’t showing. I add IBWO and Hail Mary to the list. I thought I knew a lot of bird terminology but clearly my bird guide didn’t teach me as much as I thought.
He begins to run out of steam and peers over his glasses at me. “So, who is Emma Jablonski?”
Blushing, I begin haltingly, “I’ve worked in my parents’ bakery my whole life, until recently.
I’ve taken some community college courses and most recently was a personal assistant to a model, but now want to help with .
. .” I pause. “Whatever you need.” I take a deep breath and continue in a rush, “I’m a hard worker and a fast learner—at least that is what others have said.
I may not be as smart as some of your students, but I will try my hardest.”
Professor Montgomery leans back, smiling encouragingly.
“You are already well ahead of those snot-nosed kids. They show up here thinking they can get by on their brains or their parents’ money.
They don’t know the first thing about hard work and diligence.
Not one of them has ever shown up with a notebook and pen.
They aren’t interested in working, not really. ”
A little crack opens in my chest and a bit of warmth from a gentle sun spread through my body.
Professor Montgomery comes from around his desk, and I notice for the first time his rumpled khakis and an untucked shirt.
“The first thing we need to do is input all these field reports into the spreadsheet on the computer. I was doing a few earlier. It’s kind of mindless work, but it must be done.
Here is where I left off. The wood thrush nest observation #23 is the one I just input.
Look at the paper report and you will see how I transferred the information into the spreadsheet.
Make sure the sections match up to what you are inputting and start typing. ”
“Did you say wood thrush?” I ask timidly.
He turns; eyebrows raised. “Yes, wood thrush. Jake said you liked birds. Is there an issue with wood thrushes?”
“No, not at all. I just can’t believe it. I love birds, and the only thing better than a wood thrush would be a kingfisher study.”
Professor Montgomery barks out a laugh. “How refresh-ing. But tell me why the kingfisher?”
“Oh, kingfishers are my favorite, ever since seventh grade. My teacher let us pick a Greek myth to do a report on, and I picked the myth of Halcyon and Ceyx. It was so lovely. Not many people have heard of it, but it is both tragic and romantic.”
“Oh, we are going to get along marvelously.” Professor Montgomery gives me a warm smile. “Halcyon and Ceyx are way better than silly Hercules. Your myth is required reading in my Ornithology 101 course. A lot of my students don’t remember much of the class, but they all remember that story.”
Staring at Professor Montgomery, a smile stretches across my face.
Life is so amazing. I don’t need to ask Jake what ornithologist means, as now I realize it must be someone who studies birds.
Now, I remember that from my guidebook. I’m the luckiest girl alive!
Sitting down, I get to work deciphering the field reports.
I’m deep into double-checking my entries when suddenly there is a soft knock at the door, and Jake’s head pokes through the door.
He whispers, “Hi there, how are you doing? It’s one p.m., so I’m checking to see if you’re ready to head back.”
Peering at my watch, I can’t believe it’s been four hours. I glance over at Professor Montgomery; he’s engrossed in reading something and didn’t hear the knock.
Standing, I announce, “Professor, I’ve completed all the reports from April. I’ll be back tomorrow and can start on May.”
Looking up, he smiles distractedly. “Yes, great. A genuine pleasure.”
Jake steps into the room. “Professor, how are you doing?”
A smile breaks out on his face. “Jake, I didn’t see you there. So nice to see you. Marvelous recommendation. She didn’t look at her phone once and didn’t chatter incessantly like my last assistant. A real keeper, this one is.”
Jake smiles, “Yep, she sure is.”
I grab my coat, and we head out the door. Once we are in the elevator, I start jotting down the directions to get in and out of the building.
“I can’t believe this project,” I blurt out. “It’s so cool. I feel I’m helping those poor birds trying to nest and raise their babies out in the middle of Pennsylvania.”
Jake grins. “Fate, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I have a bunch of words I need help with.” I pull out my notebook. “First, do you have any idea what IBWO means?”
He replies softly, reverently, “Oh, I sure do. It’s an ivory-billed woodpecker, one of those really rare, possibly extinct birds.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of them. John Foster’s book has some-thing about them.”