The Hawk: Part Seven

The Hawk: Part Seven

  By Anna Scott Graham

  Copyright 2016 by Anna Scott Graham

  This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, incidents and places are either products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  For my husband. And for my Father.

  Chapter 120

  On average, hawks fly between thirty and fifty miles an hour. Eric wasn’t a typical hawk, but he could attain such speeds, and did so for the first few days in the air. He had considered the length of this sojourn, the longest he had ever undertaken; it might be more than a week of straight flying, which would also be new. Previously his jaunts, even to see his father, had been interspersed with moments of investigation and reflection. Eric had used these trips to observe nature, but now his paintings had little to do with landscapes. As he headed east, his mind was full of those he’d left behind, few thoughts focused on the one waiting for him in Florida.

  After four days, Eric spent much of the fifth resting. He wasn’t sure where he was, but the terrain was mostly flat, probably east Texas, he assumed. All of his sense of direction was strictly instinctual, as was normally the case, which had soothed him. He hadn’t put any additional thought into this journey. This time, Eric allowed, perched in a tall tree, God was firmly in control.

  Eric nodded his head, for that was as close as he could get to a smile. Yet a gentle mirth coursed through him, for now that he was a hawk, and probably halfway to Miami, Eric accepted that every single time he had altered, God had indeed been present. Previously Eric hadn’t been aware of that fact, but now he couldn’t ignore the shield around him. Other birds left him alone. Plenty of food was his for the taking. Even this tree was perfect. Leafy, sturdy branches hid him, also supported his bulk. He was perhaps larger than most hawks, and had been eating well. At that moment, he wasn’t hungry, only weary. Then he let out a cackling caw, which roused smaller birds from nearby trees. He watched them flee, then closed his eyes. He might stay here a day, giving his tired wings a well-earned rest.

  Eric fell asleep, dreaming of his family. In these early days, his thoughts were fully human and all of his experiences were judged in that manner. When he woke, dusk greeted him, as if he’d needed several hours of slumber. He wasn’t hungry, but his human nature told him it was well past dinner time. He peered down, spying several mice scurrying along the dirt. Taking a deep breath, he let them pass. Mice were his favorites, but perhaps a squirrel sometime tomorrow would be his next meal. Before Eric hadn’t liked the taste of squirrel, then he gripped the branch with his left claw. The past rumbled through him, so many memories that were easily recalled within this form. At that moment he could taste the squirrel that had sufficed after his encounter with the falcon, and how quickly that family of mice raced into a structure that was now being displayed somewhere in Sweden. He released another ringing caw, as close to a laugh as he could manage. There he was, somewhere in The South, as nothing more than a bird of prey. And on the European continent images of America drew crowds who probably wondered from where the artist had gained his subjects. From right here, he wanted to say, wishing the future held the time to paint this tree, or the fleeing birds from earlier, or another collection of rodents, who as Eric looked down, were now long gone.

  Had they sensed his presence or simply moved on as he should be doing. He shook his head, then sighed. Seth needed him, why he was sitting in that damn tree? Eric again gripped the branch like he’d found an errant mouse. With one swift move, he could slit its throat, skin it, then devour the still warm carcass. Instead he clutched the tree bark, which was cool now that evening had fallen. What were Lynne and Jane doing, he wondered.

  He’d needed to see his daughter one more time, flying past the nursery window until Renee obliged. How young Jane had appeared, not paying him a whit of attention. Yet Renee had waved Jane’s small hand up and down, and that thought had sent a father on his way. But before Eric could head east, he’d had to visit Marek. And yes, Eric had understood everything his pastor had said, appreciating that man’s send-off. As Eric unclenched the tree branch, he considered God’s due time. How long would Eric need to be in Miami; would he be flying home in cold temperatures, would Lynne have already had….

  Eric closed his eyes, but not from fatigue. The trip east would take no more than ten days in ideal conditions. Coming home in winter was another story, but maybe that was the reason for his previous sojourns in dismal weather, to prepare him for this outing. How bad was Seth’s mental health, Eric then pondered. For how long would Eric have to be away from home?

  He sighed again, which emerged as nearly human. He wouldn’t get to Florida wasting time ruminating about it. Scouting out the ground, he saw nothing resembling dinner. Then he scoffed, which didn’t sound like that of a man, but a rather indignant hawk. God was with him, but he wasn’t going to snap his fingers, putting Eric within hopping distance of Seth’s location. Taking a deep breath, Eric unruffled his wings, then departed from that spot, gazing at stars overhead. He flew as directed; this trip was an exercise in faith unlike any other he’d taken before.

  As the days passed, Lynne waited for Laurie to call. Yet she received only one letter from Miami, that Seth had slipped further into depression. Laurie noted the cause, which Lynne had reread several times, sharing it with the Aherns and Marek. In May, Seth had met an Auschwitz survivor, and that encounter had triggered this lapse into what Laurie described as now one of the lowliest moments of Seth’s life. Yet, Laurie had to admit, Seth also seemed strangely cognizant that this time his life was set for change. It was, Laurie wrote, the only reason that he was still there, wondering from day to day if he would find Seth alive or dead.

  Lynne hadn’t been bothered with Laurie’s honesty, for which he did apologize at the letter’s conclusion. It was better than his old style of correspondence, so much left unsaid. Her slight anxiety arose when considering how long Eric might have to be in Florida, so much to set right. With Renee and Sam, Lynne spoke her heart, how awful for Seth to feel so responsible for an event that had nothing to do with him; he was merely linked to The Holocaust by his religion. Around Marek, Lynne didn’t breach such a notion. She had simply given Marek the letter, telling him to get it back to her later. When he did return it, they only spoke about Jane and the coming baby. Marek didn’t imply anything about Seth Gordon other than he was in Marek’s prayers. As were the rest of them, he’d added with a smile.

  By the middle of July, Lynne assumed Eric had arrived in Florida, although she had no proof. Stanford had called, but thankfully he hadn’t asked to speak to Eric. Lynne learned that the art dealer wasn’t going to Miami, nor would he be coming west, at least not for a while. Lynne then chatted with Agatha, regaling her with Jane’s latest antics as well as assuring her that Lynne’s own health was good. But in Agatha’s knowing tone, Lynne heard concerns pointed toward those in Florida. Agatha mentioned she was taking next week off work at Stanford’s insistence. Not that he was flying anywhere, but that with Laurie gone, Stanford was working long days. Lynne wasn’t surprised; time without Eric seemed to drag, although Lynne slept well enough. But for Stanford, the days must feel stretched. Lynne closed the call, promising to send pictures of Jane to Queens. But a mother would slip a photograph into an envelope, addressing it to the one still in Manhattan.

  Walking away from the mailbox, Lynne heard the rumble of the postman’s truck. She paused as the vehicle came to a stop near her. The postman smiled, getting out of the truck, his hands full of letters that were rubber banded together. Lynne returned to the mailbox, retrieving the card for Stanford. She walked to where the mailman stood. “I’ll trade
you,” she chuckled.

  “Seems that husband of yours has more fans than Mickey Mantle. Sure can’t tell where these are from though. It all looks Greek to me.”

  Lynne laughed. “Right now I think his paintings are in Sweden.” She gazed at the top envelope, then smiled at the mailman. “It’s lovely to know how much they’re being admired.”

  The mailman nodded, then blushed slightly. He stared back at his truck, wiping his forehead with a cloth. “My wife and I saw his exhibit here last summer. He’s really talented.”

  Lynne grinned, then fought a giggle, as the man wouldn’t look at her. At the market she occasionally found people staring at her. Then she sighed. Last summer seemed so far away, perhaps Eric’s absence accentuated that notion. The last two weeks had felt extensive, but for how long would her husband be gone? How many letters would accumulate, she then thought, as the mailman nodded in her direction, but still wouldn’t meet her gaze. He waved, then got into his truck, heading to the next house along his route. Lynne watched him go, then turned for the gate, gripping the packet of mail in her hand.

  Renee stopped by as Lynne and Jane ate an early supper. The women’s chatter wasn’t more than light gossip; Vivian’s relatives were in town and Renee had been introduced to them that afternoon. Vivian was taking the week off from work, but Renee didn’t mind shouldering a few long days. Both she and Sam had noticed how lately time had started to drag….

  Then Renee stopped speaking, but Lynne grasped her hand. “I feel just the same. He’s probably there now. I wonder how long it’ll be before Laurie writes me about this strange hovering hawk.”

  Renee gaped at Lynne, then began to giggle. Jane picked up on it, laughing alongside her aunt. Lynne appreciated their humor, joining in their laughter. “Oh goodness,” Lynne then said. “I mailed a letter to Stanford today, I should write to Laurie too.” Then Lynne sighed. “I haven’t since he wrote me. I wish that letter would’ve come before Eric left. At least he’d have an idea of what the trouble was.”

  “It must be awful,” Renee said, then she sighed. “I wonder if he thought going to Korea would somehow atone for all that.”

  Lynne nodded, having considered the same. Had Seth assumed that by serving his country he could somehow make up for the most atrocious…. Lynne couldn’t even conjure the necessary adjectives. She shivered, then stroked Jane’s face. “Well, at least Laurie knows. And Seth’s new doctors too. And soon enough….” Lynne gazed at Renee. “In the meantime, I’ve got a stack of letters to look over tonight.” Lynne smiled. “Or a few until my eyelids start burning.”

  “How many came today?” Renee asked.

  “My goodness, probably a dozen.” Lynne stood, then stepped out of the kitchen. She returned with the stack, still held in the rubber band, setting the bundle in front of Renee. As Lynne sat down, Renee removed the band, thumbing through the envelopes.

  Lynne watched how Renee tried to make out the names, but they were so foreign. These were probably from Norway; the letter on top had Oslo written in the return address. But Lynne felt no guilt that these notes would never be answered. It was as Marek had told her just last month, that the sentiments had merely needed to be expressed. Amazing that with barely more than Eric’s name and occupation on the envelopes the bulk of the correspondence arrived at all.

  “What’ll you do with them, after you read them, I mean.” Renee set down the letters, then tickled Jane’s chin.

  “I put them in boxes, he might want to see them someday.” Two large boxes were already filled in Eric’s study. Lynne had more, but once they were full, she wasn’t sure about saving additional mail. “Those I can read are truly beautiful, the sentiments I mean.” She inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. “It’s like he’s still here, but in so many different voices.”

  Renee nodded, then sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Lynne had wept too, some of the messages so poignant. It was probably good that she only could make out about half of the correspondence. Yet even the most heartbreaking notes lifted her; how marvelous was it that Eric’s work done on this property could arouse deeply held memories from miles and miles away. Then Lynne trembled. Eric would again do that very task, but not with canvas and oils. Had he reached Seth yet, was he aware of how much pain that man carried within?

  Lynne gazed at the stack of mail, slightly askew in the center of the table. Renee had placed them there because right afterwards she had freed Jane from the high chair, not wishing to have messy hands reaching for valuable post. Lynne smiled as Jane babbled, although some words were clear; no was starting to overtake Mama in Jane’s budding vocabulary. Sometimes she called for Da-Da, but without Eric’s presence, that word was being replaced. Lynne went to the sink for a rag, then wiped Jane’s face and hands. Then she sat down, gazing at one letter, the handwriting large and stark.

  She picked it up, carefully opening it. The handwriting was smaller than on the envelope, but just as clearly presented; Lynne felt the writer had wanted to make sure their thoughts weren’t mistaken. Lynne read slowly, but chatters from her daughter caught her attention. Yet Renee was quiet as Lynne peered toward those ladies. Renee’s opaque eyes were wide, like stoplights flashing.

  Lynne returned to the note, giving it her full attention. Then Lynne set down the paper, gazing at it. Then she stared at Renee, who lips twitched. “Well?” Renee asked. “What’d they say?”

  “She asked about Marek.” Lynne’s voice quivered. “She….” Lynne picked up the note, then turned it to the back. “She signed it Mrs. Henrichsen.” Then Lynne retrieved the envelope. “A Mrs. Gunnar Henrichsen from Oslo wants to know who was the man holding the little girl.” Now Lynne gazed at her daughter, happy in Renee’s grasp. “She wants to know if Jane’s his child.”

  “She say anything else?” Renee reached for the note and Lynne handed it to her. Renee scanned it front and back, then returned it to Lynne. “Her English is good, her penmanship too. Or maybe she had someone write it for her. My goodness, how mysterious.” Renee smiled briefly, then caressed Jane’s head. Then she met Lynne’s anxious eyes. “Are you gonna tell Marek?”

  Lynne nodded. “I will, but I can’t imagine he knows someone in Oslo. He just told me he’s not good with Scandinavian languages.”

  “Well, maybe it’s someone he knew in Britain. Hmmmm….” Renee paused, then shook her head. “It’s certainly gonna make a good story to tell Sam. And speaking of my husband….” Renee stood, then kissed Jane’s cheek. “I better be on my way. Need to be at work early tomorrow. I’ll be opening the office until Vivian gets back.”

  “Is she off all week?” Lynne asked absently, staring at the letter on the table.

  “Yup. Her niece’s family doesn’t visit often. Not sure what they’re gonna do unless they take some day trips. If nothing else this makes up for when she filled in for me when Sam was sick.” Renee smiled, then gave Jane to her mother. “I hate being beholden to someone. Now we’ll be even.”

  “Even, uh-huh.” Lynne nodded, but her attention was still on that note. Then she glanced at the telephone. As soon as Renee left, Lynne would call Marek. He probably wouldn’t come over that night, but maybe tomorrow Lynne would take Jane to St. Matthew’s and….

  “Earth to Lynne,” Renee said, tapping Lynne’s shoulder. “Lynne?”

  “Oh sorry, just thinking about the letter.” Lynne smiled, then she sighed. “Yes, you go home. You can tell Sam I was about as far away as my husband is right now.”

  Lynne expected Renee to cluck. Instead Renee placed her palm against Lynne’s cheek. “Maybe this is God’s way of giving you something else to consider. That painting sure gave Mrs. Henrichsen food for thought.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Now Lynne smiled. “But will it keep me up tonight thinking about it?”

  “I hope not. It’s not gonna bother Jane one iota, and when she wakes, you’ll hear about that.” Renee chuckled, then kissed both mother and daughter. “Let me know what Marek says, and if La
urie gets in touch.” Renee collected her handbag. “Call me tomorrow night regardless.”

  “Will do.” Lynne smiled, then walked Renee to the door. “Give Sam my love, as well as the latest.”

  Renee nodded, but right before she opened the door, she glanced back to the table. Then she met Lynne’s gaze. Jane giggled as the women nodded, unusually muted goodbyes shared between them.

  Chapter 121