Where the Forest Meets the Star - Glendy Vanderah Page 0,16
human-made edges, along roads or crop fields, than they do in natural edges, like next to a stream or where a big tree has fallen. Have you ever heard the word hypothesis?”
“Yes, but people from Hetrayeh use a different word.” She crawled into the back seat. “I had a hypothesis about you today.”
“Did you? What was it?”
“If you didn’t bring the police back again, you never would.”
She’d articulated a hypothesis with remarkable competence. And with too damn much confidence. Jo twisted around to look at her. “What does that mean? You think your hypothesis is proven and you’re staying with me?”
“Just until the five miracles.”
“We both know that can’t happen. You have to go home tonight. Shaw—my advisor—will be here in a few hours, and I’ll be in trouble if he finds out you’ve been living on the Kinney property for two days.”
“Don’t tell him.”
“How am I supposed to explain a girl sleeping at my house?”
“I’ll sleep somewhere else.”
“You will. At home. That’s why we’re out here. You’ll show me where you live, and I’ll bring you to the door. I’ll tell whoever takes care of you that I’m going to check on you every day. And I will check on you. I promise I will.”
The girl’s brown eyes swamped with tears. “You lied? You didn’t really want to show me your bird nests?”
“I did. But afterward you have to go home. My advisor will—”
“Go ahead, take me to every house, and the people will say they don’t know me!”
“You have to go home!”
“I promise I’ll go home when I see the miracles. I promise!”
“Ursa . . .”
“You’re the only nice person I know! Please!” She sobbed, her face almost purple.
Jo opened the rear door, unbuckled the girl’s seat belt, and held the child in her arms, the first time a head pressed against her bony chest. But the girl didn’t notice what was missing. She tightened her grip on Jo and cried harder.
“I’m sorry,” Jo said, “I really am, but you must see I’m in an impossible situation. I could get in trouble for letting you stay with me.”
Ursa pulled out of her arms and dragged the back of her hand across her runny nose. “Can we see another nest? Please?”
“There are four more, and you can see them all. But afterward you have to go home.”
She wouldn’t agree. Most obstinate child in the universe. Jo drove on. Other than a flush in her cheeks, the girl had completely recovered from her cry by the time Jo parked at the next orange flag. “I hope the raccoon didn’t get the eggs,” Ursa said.
“It should be babies. They would have hatched within the last day.”
Ursa jumped out and read the text on the flag tied to a sycamore sapling. “It’s an indigo bunting nest that’s seven meters northeast and one meter off the ground.”
“Good. Now we’ll find northeast with my compass.” Jo showed her how to use the compass and sent her in the correct direction. As Ursa approached the nest, the parent birds began to call in alarm. “Do you hear those loud, abrupt chirps? That’s what indigo buntings do when you get too close to their nest.” The agitated male balanced on a milkweed plant, his sapphire feathers lit by a setting sun that had finally emerged from fleeing rain clouds. “The male is right there in front of you. Do you see him?”
“He’s blue!” Ursa said. “He’s all different colors of blue!”
Her excitement was intense and real. But if she was from that road or any other nearby road, she would have seen that bird before. Buntings were common on Southern Illinois roadsides.
“I see the nest!” Ursa said. “Can I look inside?”
“Go ahead.”
Ursa parted belly-high weeds and peered into the nest. “Oh my god!” she said. “Oh my god!”
“They hatched?”
“Yes! They’re really little and pink! They’re opening their beaks at me!”
“They’re hungry. Their parents had trouble finding insects for them in the rain today.” Jo looked at the four newly hatched buntings. “We have to leave them alone. Do you hear how upset the parents are?”
Ursa couldn’t take her eyes off the tiny birds. “This is a miracle! This is it, the first miracle!”
“Haven’t you ever seen baby birds in a nest?”
“How could I have? I’m from a planet that doesn’t have baby birds and nests.”
“Let’s go,” Jo said. “Their parents need to feed them while there’s still light.”
When they got to the car, Jo asked, “Was that really the first indigo bunting you’ve seen?”