On Saturday, Stanford arranged for Agatha’s return. She would work as Stanford needed, and he reiterated his desire to continue paying her full wages. He said nothing to her about Laurie, Seth, or Eric. Nor did Stanford call Rose. After speaking to Agatha, Stanford spent the rest of the weekend with his father, only returning to the apartment for slumber. Yet he slept poorly, Laurie’s words about Eric’s expected homecoming not giving Stanford any peace. It wasn’t merely how Laurie’s phrased it, but his tone, that while yes, Eric was on his way, his condition was an unknown. And that Lynne’s well-being was imperative. Well, of course it was, Stanford fumed to himself in the middle of the night. Yet, Stanford felt utterly alone. Seth wasn’t even heading north, but to Israel! Stanford woke late on Monday, although he was still weary. Agatha arrived promptly at seven, but not even her delicious coffee soothed Stanford’s ragged soul.
Seth and Tovah left Miami later that day, their first stop being Rome, from where they would fly onto Tel Aviv. Seth and Laurie had again spoken over the weekend, although Laurie made no mention of his talk with Stanford. The cousins only discussed Seth’s one-way travel plans, no return ticket having been purchased. To Laurie, Seth sounded exuberant. To Seth, Laurie seemed pensive. They promised to keep in touch and while Laurie wouldn’t call Seth when Eric returned, he would send a letter as soon as that occurred.
In Norway, two women were curious if one piece of post had reached its destination. Sigrun was outwardly the more concerned, but Klaudia fretted to herself, usually late at night, sitting at her kitchen table. Sometimes a ghost loitered across from her, but often she was alone with her thoughts, which were stormy. Upon reflection, she wasn’t sure if writing to Marek had been for the best, although her message could be ascribed in more than one manner. She had agreed to continue their correspondence, for she did enjoy using Polish. And that over the years, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. She hadn’t elaborated what those thoughts were, other than admitting she had named her son after a man thought dead. And she had signed the note Love, Klaudia. By Wednesday, Sigrun was certain the letter must have arrived. Klaudia assumed the same, but even if it had, she might not hear anything for a month. The Christmas rush would delay the mail, and that was if Marek answered in a timely manner.
Neither woman considered the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, but with only a week remaining, it was all Sam pondered when he wasn’t mulling over Eric’s return or fatherhood. Paul had warmed to the Impala, riding in the front seat, admiring such a fancy vehicle. When the Aherns went out together, Paul sat in the back, buckled next to Ann. Sam had decided to sell the Bel Air next spring; that would give Eric plenty of time to finish the painting, although when he thought about that, Sam became nervous. He wasn’t sure why, for his life was fairly settled. Paul seemed to have suffered no ill effects from the station wagon’s brief intrusion, while Ann was losing her shyness. She had Laurie wrapped around her finger, and with Helene, Ann was as boisterous as any other child. Vivian had visited the children several times and would spend Thanksgiving with the Aherns. Lynne wanted that holiday celebrated at Renee and Sam’s house, and if she and Laurie missed the festivities, there was always next year.
Renee considered that possibility, and had spoken about it with Marek. He was also invited to the Aherns next week, but like Laurie, Marek would skip out if needed. Renee had studied the weather reports for the southern half of the country. It was fortunate that Eric wasn’t flying north, and even if he stopped for a few days’ rest, in all likelihood he would land in the Snyders’ backyard perhaps as early as that weekend. Depending on how hard was the transformation, there was a small chance Eric could attend Thanksgiving dinner, however he might feel as Renee did, passing on the main course. The Canfields were also spending that day with the Aherns, and Fran was bringing several dishes. If Eric was up to it, there would be plenty to choose from besides turkey.
Caramel slices were on the menu, but Marek would make them next week, dropping them off at the Aherns if he was required elsewhere. The last two weeks had seemed long to the pastor, wondering how Klaudia had reacted to his letter, as well as waiting for Seth’s discharge from the hospital. Marek was also aware of Stanford’s ultimatum, which had pained Marek, but he understood it. Laurie did too, now that he’d had a few days to consider it, then speak about it with someone other than Lynne. Marek had been a listening ear for that man, and had asked Laurie to keep him updated once Eric returned. Laurie never inquired about Marek’s past, but he always stood next to Lynne at St. Matthew’s, usually with Jane in his arms. Marek blessed them both, praying for God’s peace for Laurie and his partner. Marek had no idea if the men would reconcile, although he hoped that was God’s will for them. Yet for now, Laurie’s role at the Snyders’ was valuable, and Marek thanked God for his mysterious but all knowing hand in each of their lives.
Lynne felt Marek’s prayers all around her, Jane, and the baby. She recalled how at this time last year the Aherns were hoping to adopt Robbie, how the Canfields were still coping with tremendous loss, how the whole world was still slightly on edge what with nuclear missile strikes having just been averted. But mostly Lynne considered how precious was it that Eric was present for Thanksgiving after two straight years of suffering through his absence. She didn’t know if he would be home by next Thursday, it was certainly feasible. But even if he was, he might not be up to sharing the afternoon with so many others. It wasn’t only that Vivian and the Canfields were in the dark, as well as Paul and Ann, but that Eric would need the security of home. Lynne would happily spend that day in their house, perhaps with just Laurie and possibly Marek for company. As Wednesday turned to Thursday, Lynne also considered what Marek was anticipating. She was the only one privy to his hopes, and finally on Friday morning, while Laurie was in the shower, Lynne called her pastor. “Good morning,” she said after Marek answered. “How are you?”
“I was just going to ring you. The mail arrived early today and a letter from Oslo is sitting on my kitchen table.”
“Really? Oh Marek, oh my goodness!” Lynne felt giddy, then she laughed out loud. “Have you opened it?”
“Yes.”
Lynne inhaled, then had a soft sigh. “Is the news, well, good?”
“It’s not bad. It’s….” Marek paused. “I suppose Laurie is there.”
“He’s taking a shower, that’s why I called now.” Lynne gazed at Jane, who sat in her tall seat eating toast. “It’s wonderful having him here, but I do miss our chats.”
Marek chuckled. “I wholeheartedly concur on both points. Hmmm. Perhaps it’s time I shared some of my past with Mr. Abrams.”
Lynne tapped her foot. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, actually. Laurie and I have had little time to speak, although he’s been very forthright with me. Let’s see, it’s nearly nine now. What if I come over in an hour? I’ll bring some cold cuts for lunch and….”
“And I’ll start a pie as soon as Laurie comes downstairs. That sounds lovely, oh Marek!” Lynne blinked away tears. “What shall I say to him in the meantime?”
“Just that a pastor needed some time with one of his favorite families, as well as a slice or two of your delicious pie.” Marek chuckled. “To be honest, I’ve wanted to share this with him, the Aherns too. But it might be a while before time permits me to say more to Sam and Renee than what a beautiful family they have.”
“Yes, we may all be very busy soon enough. All right, we’ll see you in about an hour. Any special requests?”
“Bake whatever Laurie prefers. He’ll be left with the spoils.”
“Fortunately for you, he’s quite fond of sweet potato.”
“Well, blessings for us all. See you at ten.”
“See you then.” Lynne giggled as she closed the call. Then she checked the clock again; a single crust waited in the refrigerator. She could have a pie in the oven by the time Marek arrived, and it would be done and mostly cooled once lunch was eaten. And depending on what Marek and
Laurie discussed, Marek might be persuaded to stay for supper. Lynne would ponder that while she made pie filling.
While Lynne baked, a hawk studied his surroundings. The landscape was dominated by a large body of water, many trees, some still with leaves. The weather hadn’t been cold, and the hawk hadn’t stopped for rest until yesterday. His mate was waiting, and while another full moon stood between them and the arrival of their child, the hawk wanted to get home. Yet, sleep was necessary, for the remaining days would be spent in much cooler temperatures. The hawk was happy for this quiet place, a few woodland creatures scurrying about. He would eat his fill, spend one more night in this tree, then head off in the morning.
Two young boys had skipped school that morning, and while Luke Richardson worried they might get caught, Hiram Bellevue was certain no one would notice. Luke had wanted a chance to shoot Hiram’s gun, which Hiram had gotten for his birthday a few months ago. Hiram was eleven, a whole year older than Luke. But Luke was tall for his age, and as an oldest child, he possessed an air of authority. Hiram was the youngest in his family, the only one still living at home.
As they ambled along the shore, Luke took a deep breath; it smelled somewhat stagnant, but then Caddo Lake was more like a bayou. Tall trees grew in the middle of the shallow water, which at times was covered in algae or lily pads. The scent reminded Luke of home, for his house wasn’t far, and he’d been careful to stay away from the road, not wishing to be seen. If his father caught him skipping school, Luke wouldn’t be able to sit for a week.
He pushed sand-colored hair from his eyes, then tugged on the front of his coveralls. Hiram was dressed similarly, but his brown hair was cut short, his dark eyes full of mischief. Luke’s eyes were the same color as all his sisters, as blue as the Texas sky, what his grandmother said. The Richardsons lived on the Texas-Louisiana border, but as if a tall wall separated the states, Luke never felt anything but Texan.
Hiram led the way, but didn’t walk fast, for it was just noon, and they couldn’t head back until after school let out. Neither Luke nor Hiram had considered that their teacher would do more than mark their absences. The boys would forge notes over the weekend, then attend on Monday with no one aware. Well, someone might know, but Luke had been so excited to shoot the rifle, it was worth the risk.
He didn’t know what kind of gun it was, but it was more than a BB gun, all he’d used up to that day. His father didn’t think Luke was old enough, and his mother certainly wasn’t interested in Luke messing around with guns. But he was ten already, how much longer was he supposed to wait? Luke tapped his foot while Hiram inspected their position. Luke wasn’t sure what they might shoot, maybe just taking shots at cypress trees. As Hiram pointed to one about twenty feet away, Luke squinted. “I don’t see anything,” he whispered.
“Look up high, way high. There’s a hawk up there!” Hiram kept his voice low, but his eyes twinkled. “Can you imagine shooting a hawk?”
As Hiram spoke, Luke shivered, having spotted the bird, which was perched on one of the highest branches. “You can’t shoot a hawk, that’s, that’s….” It wasn’t illegal, but certainly wrong. “I just wanna shoot a squirrel.”
“A squirrel, humph. I didn’t cut school to shoot no damn squirrels.”
When the boys were alone, Hiram often swore, but then so did Hiram’s daddy. Then Luke stared at his friend; Luke had no wish to shoot such a majestic bird, and his stomach ached thinking about it. “C’mon Hiram, let’s find something else.”
“Nope. I’m gonna shoot him. And you’re gonna watch me.”
“No I’m not. I’m going home.”
Luke turned around, then he was whipped back, Hiram with a firm grip on Luke’s left arm. “You ain’t going nowhere. Now sit right down or you won’t get to use my rifle.”
“I don’t wanna shoot anything.” Luke didn’t care if Hiram called him a sissy. And if Hiram told the other boys about this, then Luke would squeal about them skipping school. Then Luke sighed. His daddy was right. Ten was too young to be handling guns, eleven was too. Hiram had the rifle nestled against his shoulder, and he was taking aim for the upper branches of the cypress. But Luke shrugged. “You’re too far from here. And if you go out in the open, he’ll see you.”
“Who’ll see me?”
“The hawk, that’s who.” Again Luke squinted. While the bird was far away, the way it sat on the branch was like it was king of Caddo Lake. “You put that gun down Hiram. Let’s go find some squirrels.”
“To hell with you.” Hiram lowered the gun, then took cautious steps toward the cypress. He shaded his eyes with his hand, staring at where the hawk still perched. “I’m gonna shoot that damn bird, then take it home and….”
“No you’re not!” Luke ran toward Hiram, waving his arms as he did so. “Go on, you hear? Git now, and I mean it. Go before he….”
“Shut up Luke, shut up!” Quickly Hiram pointed, taking a shot. It pinged off the tree, making birds fly away as bark ricocheted in the air. Those pieces fell to the ground, but Luke could still see the hawk, although now it stared at the boys. Those black eyes seemed to pierce Luke’s soul.
“It’s mad now Hiram, you made it mad. It’s gonna come after us and….”
“Not unless I kill it first.” Hiram took aim, then pulled the trigger. Again he hit the tree. “Damnit,” he shouted, running toward the cypress. “I’m gonna get that goddamned bird….”
Luke didn’t move, mesmerized by the hawk, which acted like its life wasn’t in danger. But Hiram wasn’t that bad of a shot. If that bird didn’t fly off now…. “Git, you hear me? He’s gonna….”
Hiram had stopped running, was again aiming for the upper branches of the cypress. “You think you’re so special, huh?” he yelled at the hawk. “Well, you just never met me. I’m Hiram Bellevue and I’m gonna kill you!”
That time the shot rang out with chilling alacrity. The squawk that followed was at first shrill, then agonizingly long, like the bird was screaming. Luke put his hands over his ears, then looked up, seeing Hiram doing the same, the gun lying on the ground. Both boys faced each other, Hiram’s eyes wide, Luke’s mouth open. Then Luke ran to where Hiram stood, leaving a foot between them. “Where’d you hit him?” Luke murmured.
“I, I dunno. I never saw it fall. Did you see it fall?”
Luke shook his head. He had closed his eyes as soon as the shriek began, and he didn’t open them until the caw had died away. Was the hawk dead? Luke took a few steps, then heard what sounded like a whimper. “Oh Hiram, we gotta get outta here!”
Hiram nodded, grabbed the rifle, then took one look back. “I didn’t see no feathers. If I’d hit it, there shoulda been lots of feathers.”
Luke didn’t want to turn around, but he did, slowly peering at where the hawk would have fallen out of the tree. Or maybe it had been in flight and had landed in the lake. “Maybe it was taking off, maybe it fell in the water.”
“Did you hear it fall in the water?”
“No.” Luke shivered. “It’s gotta be dead. C’mon Hiram, we gotta go home.”
“But school’s not out yet.”
Luke paused, but kept his back to the cypress. “We’ll go to McKinney’s barn. We can hide out there.”
“Yeah, okay.” Hiram seemed to tremble, which for a moment made Luke feel better. But as they started running, Luke peeked over his shoulder. Hiram had hit that bird, but where had it fallen?
The boys stayed in the barn until what felt like the middle of the afternoon. Hiram hid the gun in an abandoned outhouse, where he had stored it overnight in preparation for this outing. But now Luke didn’t want to touch a gun, nor did he wish to step foot near the lake. If his father wanted to go fishing that weekend, Luke would have to make up an excuse.
As they reached the main road, no traffic passed. Luke and Hiram stared at each other, then they split up, Luke going north while Hiram went west. It took Luke five minutes to reach his house, but as soon as he did, his heart pounded in his chest. H
is daddy’s truck was parked out front, but Walt was never home this early from work. Had someone called him about Luke not being in school?
Luke’s father was a welder and the family just had the one vehicle. Luke and his sister Tilda would sit in the back while Esther and Gail sat in the front with their parents. But Luke’s daddy was never home until nearly suppertime. Taking a deep breath, Luke slowly approached his house. Best to get swatted now than right before bedtime.
As Luke reached the front porch, he heard his mother crying. Now the boy shook in fear. Then his father cleared his throat, turning up the television. Luke crept up the porch steps, then crouched beneath the front window. Poking his head up, he could just make out his mother sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, but she was covering her face with her hands. Seven-year-old Tilda sat on their mother’s left, while four-year-old Esther sat on her right. Gail was in their father’s arms, but she was only two, and didn’t seem to understand what was happening.
What had happened, Luke wondered, for it wasn’t good. He itched to know, then watched as his father patted his mother’s shoulder. Luke’s mother removed her hands from her face, then turned to face her husband. Again Luke wanted to be sick; her cheeks were splotchy, her eyes red. Then he gazed again at Tilda. She was crying too.
“What happened?” Luke shouted, standing in front of the window. “What’s wrong?”
With swift steps, Walt reached the front door, swinging it wide open. “Where’ve you been?”
“Uh, I was….” Luke swallowed hard, then gazed at his bare feet. “Me and Hiram, we were….”
“President Kennedy’s dead!” Tilda had joined those on the porch. Streaks marred her cheeks, her short light brown hair tousled. “He got shot in Dallas, someone shot our president!”
“What?” Luke looked at his father for confirmation. “Why?”
Walt shook his head, then motioned toward the door. “C’mon, get in the house. What’d you say, you and Hiram Bellevue were doing what?”
Luke followed his dad, Tilda already having gone inside. Gail started babbling as Esther now sat on their mother’s lap. Luke stared at her, she seemed so sad. “Mama, you okay?” he asked.
Dora Richardson shook her head. “No honey, it’s a terrible day.”
“Not so terrible,” Walt muttered.
Dora gave her husband a sharp stare. “Don’t say that!”
Luke noticed that exchange, then he approached his mother. “Mama, is he really dead?”
She nodded, then smoothed down Luke’s hair. “He is, someone murdered him.” Dora glanced at Walt as she spoke, then she caressed Luke’s face. “Who could’ve done something so horrible?”
Luke had no idea, then he felt dizzy. “Mama, did you say he was murdered?”
“Yes I did. Someone shot him, and Governor Connally too. He’s still alive, thank the lord, but why would someone do something so crazy, so mean? Oh my goodness, why?”
Dora began crying again, which made Esther cry. Tears welled in Luke’s eyes, mostly for his mother’s sorrow, and for…. “I dunno Mama. I sure don’t know.”
Then Luke’s legs buckled. He squatted, then landed on his knees, putting his head on his mother’s lap. Now he wept, wondering as his mother did why someone had killed their president, there in Texas of all places? Dallas was just a few hours west and Luke wondered when it had happened. He looked up, Tilda standing close. “When?” he asked her.
“Lunchtime,” she said. Then her eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t ask Luke where he’d been.
“Listen, you kids go outside. Luke, take your sister.” Walt put Gail on the floor. “Tilda, you mind Esther. Don’t go any farther than my truck, you hear? Until they find who did it, I don’t want you kids any further than my pick-up!”
“Yes Daddy.” Luke and Tilda spoke first, Esther’s small voice an echo behind them. Luke carried Gail as far as the porch, then put her down, holding her hand as they took the stairs. Tilda and Esther were right behind them.
All four sat on the bottom step, Tilda beside Luke. “Where were you today?” she whispered.
“Nowhere.”
“Tell me.” Tilda looked back to the house, then pointed her finger in the middle of Luke’s chest. “Tell me or I’ll….”
“You hush.” Now Luke turned around, but the door was closed. Then he faced his sister. “Me and Hiram were at the lake. He shot a….”
“A what?”
“Nothing. He didn’t shoot nothing.” Luke stood, then stared at the house. He could hear his mother, she still sounded sad. “You think someone really did it?”
“Of course they did. They let us outta school early. I walked home with Mary Duncan, she wanted to know where you were.”
“Oh no.” Luke shook his head, for Mary Duncan was a blabbermouth. “What’d you tell her?”
“I said you were home sick. She didn’t believe me, ’cause then she said Hiram wasn’t in class either.”
Luke scuffed his feet in the dirt. “Well shoot.” He crossed his arms over his chest, then stared into the sky. Then he found Tilda’s gaze on him. “What’re you looking at?”
“You went hunting with Hiram, didn’t ya?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did so.” She stood from the porch, then approached him, pointing her finger in between his hands, which were still guarding his chest. “What’d ya shoot?”
“Nothing, I didn’t shoot nothing.”
“What about Hiram?”
“Be quiet Tilda.” Luke scowled, but his stomach hurt so badly, he thought he’d be sick. If Tilda was right, the president had been killed at the same time Hiram was aiming at that…. “I’m going inside. I wanna hear what the newsman says.”
“Daddy told us to stay out here. Luke, Luke!”
Ignoring his sister, Luke marched past Esther and Gail, who had remained on the step. Just as Luke reached the front door, his mother burst into tears. Luke peered through the window, finding her on her feet, wrapped tightly against his father. He rarely saw that kind of affection shared between them, and he stared as his daddy stroked his mother’s head. Immediately Luke squatted, then sat right beside the window. He could hear his father telling his mother to hush, that it would be all right. But Luke knew that wasn’t the truth. Nothing in their lives would ever be the same.
_______________
Liner Notes
I started this novel in October 2013; at the time, I assumed I’d be penning another short story, the form I had been working in for much of that year. However, at over three-quarters completed, The Hawk currently stands at well over 600,000 words. Never before have I embarked upon such a large project.
Over the last few years, other than poems for NaPoWriMo, I have written nothing else. Quilting has overtaken some of my free time, as has caring for my family; recently I have become a grandmother. I have also nursed my father through the end of his life, which fell upon the heels of my first grandchild’s arrival. Now with time to write and revise, I have chosen to share this behemoth in a beta-type manner. Part Nine will most likely be released in summer, but please bear with this author while grandchildren, fabrics, and a new familial normal take precedence. In the meantime, thank you for joining me on this journey, which is a search for my Father as well as Eric’s. As this is a novel in progress, comments concerning this tale are welcome and can be sent to annascottgraham at gmail dot com.
About the Author
Anna Scott Graham was born in 1966 in Northern California. A mother and grandmother, she lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, some hummingbirds, and numerous quilts.
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