Authors: Michele Paige Holmes
Maddie ran ahead, leaving Tara to bring their feast. “Mommy thinks it’s fun to play in the rain.”
“I’m
not
your mommy,” Tara grumbled. She reached the play structure and handed everything up to Maddie, who’d already scaled the side. Tara moved more slowly, taking care not to snag her pants on any rough pieces of wood.
She arrived at the top and ducked under the canvas roof, only to find that Maddie had climbed down the opposite side.
“What are you doing?” Tara called to her. “I thought we were eating up here.”
“Look at the birds!” Maddie shouted. She squatted in the grass behind the sandbox and beneath the big tree that grew next to it. “A whole nest of them—look.”
Tara stared down at the nest and the three bald baby birds peeping loudly. Following a straight line up from the ground, into the high limbs of the tree, she thought she could tell where the nest had fallen from—probably in last night’s wind.
“Where is their mommy?” Maddie asked. “Will she come back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” Tara said, though she was doubtful. The nest appeared to be pretty battered. Maybe something worse had happened to the bird who’d made it. “Don’t touch them,” she called to Maddie. “Come back up here, and we can watch for her.”
Maddie stayed beside the nest a minute more then climbed up to the play loft again. Tara got busy passing out the Oreos and pouring water in the miniature cups.
“Come, mommy bird, come,” Maddie chanted as she kept her eyes glued to the nest below.
“Maybe she’ll only come if we’re quiet,” Tara suggested.
Maddie nodded and brought a finger to her lips. “Shh,” she said, as if Tara had been the one making all the noise. She pressed her face between the wood slats, staring at the nest below.
Tara ate an Oreo then leaned her head back against the railing and closed her eyes, enjoying the cool breeze and fresh air. Times like this, it was easy to understand why Jane liked being outside so much. All this open space gave Tara a sense of freedom and something almost akin to peace. The worries that had seemed so omnipresent in the big city all but vanished in the quiet and beauty of Bainbridge.
“She’s not coming,” Maddie whispered after what might have been a whole two minutes.
So much for peace.
“We haven’t been quiet long enough,” Tara said, opening one eye to look at her.
“What if the mommy bird doesn’t know where her nest is?” Maddie asked.
“She knows,” Tara said. S
mart bird, staying away from all that whining.
“No. She doesn’t.” Maddie shook her head. “We have to tell her.”
“I don’t speak bird,” Tara said.
“Me neither.” Maddie’s brow furrowed so deeply that Tara had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She had to admit that kids were amusing, especially Maddie, the way she took everything so literally.
“We could pray,” Maddie offered. “And ask Heavenly Father to help us talk to the mommy bird.”
“I don’t know,” Tara said. “It’s the middle of the day. He’s probably kind of busy right now.” She picked up an Oreo and held it out to Maddie. “Let’s have our tea party.” From watching Jane, she had learned the highly effective parenting technique
distraction
. With Allison it had worked every single time.
Unlike Allie, Maddie didn’t fall for it. She knelt on the floor of the playhouse, folded her arms, bowed her head, and began to pray. Tara sat across from her, feeling awkward, as Maddie pled for the mommy to find her baby birds.
No sooner had Maddie whispered, “Amen,” then she jumped up, a joyous look on her face.
“I know what’s wrong. I wasn’t
loud
enough,” she announced.
“Huh?” Tara frowned. “I don’t follow.”
“It’s okay,” Maddie said. “I can be loud, and we’re up high—” Her mouth opened in a little gasp and her eyes widened—“Just like King Benjamin. We learned about him in Primary. I have a tower like his.”
“No clue what you’re talking about,” Tara said, but Maddie had already run out from under the canvas, onto the bridge that connected the play fort to the swings. She flung her arms wide.
“Mommy bird! Come get your babies.” Her shouts carried across the yard. Tara was pretty certain that if
any
birds were nearby, they wouldn’t be for long.
“Under the big tree. By the sandbox,” Maddie yelled. “Oh, mommy bird!”
“I think you’re scaring the babies,” Tara called to her.
You’re scaring me, kid.
“But this is what the king did when he wanted the people to hear him. He stood on his tower and talked loud. For
three
days. We played that in Primary. David got to stand on the chair instead of me.”
Tough luck.
Tara decided to employ another parenting tactic she’d learned from Jane—
ignoring
. After all, what did she care that Maddie was acting a little weird? She was finally entertaining herself, and that was all that mattered. Tara decided she’d run in the house and grab a book to read on the patio.
She’d no sooner crawled out from beneath the shelter of the canvas when a cold, fat raindrop hit her forehead. Another splashed onto the bridge of her nose before she’d had a chance to retreat.
“Time to go in,” she announced, gathering up the Oreos and dishes.
“Mommy bird, mommy bird.” Maddie’s voice took on an urgent note.
Tara peered down at the nest. One of the baby birds had ceased to chirp and sat quite still.
“Will it die?” Maddie asked.
“I don’t know,” Tara said. “But
you
might get sick if we don’t get inside before it starts pouring.” She held her hand out. “Come on.”
Maddie turned away and pressed her face between the wooden slats of the railing again. “I can’t leave them.”
“I can.” Tara climbed down the ladder and ran across the yard to the patio. Once sheltered from the rain, she turned and saw that Maddie remained right where she’d left her—on the bridge and getting soaked.
“This one’s all Jane’s,” Tara muttered as she entered the house. Her own limited parenting tactics had run dry, and she had no problem calling in the expert. Tara deposited the remains of the tea party on the kitchen table then went to Jane’s room and discovered she was asleep.
Of course.
Tara stood in the open doorway of Jane’s beautifully decorated bedroom, debating what to do. Jane was curled on her side in the middle of the king-sized bed and looked small and vulnerable all by herself. Tara knew Jane hadn’t slept well last night, but on the other hand, it was
her
responsibility to deal with her child.
Tara glanced out the window at the pouring rain. Part of her—like ninety percent—was ready to let Maddie stay outside and get hypothermia. But another part, small though that might be, thought of Jane and the added worry she’d have if her daughter were sick.
Last night Tara had overheard Jane talking to Peter on the computer. She’d envied the love and concern in their voices, the way they laughed easily, the plans they made for their future together. But she hadn’t envied the worry in Jane’s voice or the tears she’d seen fall when Jane laid her head on the desk and wept at the end of the call.
Knowing she couldn’t add to that burden, Tara reluctantly left the bedroom and returned to the backyard.
“Madison!” She tried for the tone of voice she’d heard Jane use with her daughter exactly twice during the past few weeks. “Come in this house right now.”
Maddie paused for a moment, stared at Tara, then shook her head. “Not until the mommy bird comes.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tara called. “You’ve got to come inside and get dry.”
“Mommy bird.” Maddie acted as though she hadn’t heard her.
Tara looked up at the angry sky and swore. Then she ran out to the swing set, climbed the ladder partway, and grabbed Maddie’s arm. “You’ll get a chill if you stay out here, and then your mom will be upset with us both.”
Maddie turned, and Tara saw that, in addition to the rain, tears were dripping down her cheeks. “We can’t let them die.”
Tara leaned to the side and stared down at the nest. The baby birds were silent now—and unmoving. “I think they’re already dead,” she said as gently as possible.
“No!” Maddie ran to the side and swung herself over before Tara could stop her. With all the agility of an active five-year-old and the passion of a tender heart, she descended in seconds, dropping to the ground beside the nest.
“Don’t die, birdies. Please don’t die.” Eyes pleading, she looked at Tara. “Help them—
please
.”
With a half-sigh, half-groan, Tara climbed down. Grassy, muddy water squished around her Jimmy Choo sandals with each step as she made her way over to Maddie, squatting beside the nest. Tara broke a twig from the nearby bushes then bent over and used it to touch the birds, trying to determine if they were alive.
The first bird was stiff enough that it fell over when she poked at it.
Definitely dead.
“Nooooo,” Maddie wailed.
The second’s eyes were open and unmoving. “I’m sorry, Maddie,” Tara said.
The little girl was now near hysterics. “Is-is tha-at one . . .”
Tara reached the twig out once more then paused, offering a silent prayer—of sorts—of her own.
God, if You’re really there, please give Maddie a break and let this bird be alive.
The third baby bird let out a pathetic little cheep when the twig touched it.
“Oh!” Maddie cried and stretched out her hand to pick it up.
“No,” Tara said, her own hand stopping Maddie. “We shouldn’t touch it. We should just—just—”
What?
Maddie raised two solemn eyes to hers. “What would Jesus do?” she asked. “Would He leave a little bird alone in the rain?”
It was on the tip of Tara’s tongue to say that she wasn’t Jesus and had no aspirations to be, but she couldn’t seem to say the caustic words. She knew that it was partly the hopeful smile Maddie bestowed upon her, but there was something else too. Some other force held her here in the mud and cold and rain, messing up her hair, ruining her shoes.
I can’t say stuff like that anymore
, she realized with a sort of bewilderment.
Because I know about Jesus. I know who He was and what He did. Who He
is.
She’d used both God’s name and His Son’s in common conversation for as long as she could remember. But Maddie’s question made her think. She couldn’t brush it off because she
knew
what Jesus would do. For the past few weeks she’d been reading about the many things He had done. And somehow, that knowledge translated to responsibility. For her language and attitude. And—
For this bird
.
Tara threw the stick aside and, gritting her teeth, picked up the wet, slimy, disgusting nest. Walking as fast as she dared, she returned to the patio and set the nest on a chair, safely out of the rain.
“It’s too cold out here for the bird. And she’s hungry. Plus she’s sad sitting next to her dead sisters.” Maddie stepped toward the chair, hands outstretched.
“
Really
,” Tara said. But she picked up the nest before Maddie could and took it inside the house. “As if I wasn’t doing enough already. Now I’ve got to play veterinarian.”
Once inside, she set the nest on a piece of newspaper on the floor.
“Find a box,” Tara ordered. “And some tissues.” Maddie scrambled off to do her bidding.
Sure. Now she obeys.
Tara tore a paper towel from the dispenser and used it to remove the one, live bird from the nest. She held it carefully, doing her best to wipe the rain from its almost nonexistent feathers. A hint of compassion stirred in her soul as she stared at its tiny eyes. The poor thing really was cold. And no doubt terrified too.
“I’ll bet she’s hungry,” Maddie said as she entered the kitchen, the pink box from her Easter shoes in hand. “We have good worms in our yard. Want me to go find some?”
“No. Go change your clothes. Then we’ll worry about feeding the bird.”
“Her name is Fran.”
“Wonderful. Go change your clothes.” Tara placed the bird on the pile of toilet paper in the box. As soon as she set it down, its pitiful cheeping began again. Ignoring it, she went to her room to change her own soaked clothes and to have a moment of silence to mourn her shoes.
After removing the drenched, muddy, grass-stained sandals, Tara sat on the bed and tried to wipe them off, but the damage seemed pretty permanent—and thorough. Her favorite and funky Phyllis-printed leather wedges were officially dead.
Another $375 down the drain. Could have rented a penthouse for what living here is costing me in clothes and shoes.
She placed the shoes in the box with far more care than she’d carried Maddie’s precious nest.
Feeling frustrated and sad, Tara stared at the floor of the closet for a few moments then finally decided that her other pair of Jimmy Choos—cosmic snakeskin platform pumps—would have to do as a substitute for now. There was no way she could afford to buy new shoes—good ones, anyway—until she was working again.
By the time she returned to the kitchen, Maddie was there peering over the box, probably breathing on the bird, she was so close. Tara was about to tell her to back off so she wouldn’t catch some bird disease when she saw Jane, looking tousled and sleepy, already pulling Maddie away.
“Nice nap?” Tara asked in not the nicest tone.
“Yes,” Jane said. “Though I see I missed the excitement.”
Tara shrugged. “I don’t know what to do with it now. I’m sorry, but I draw the line at digging for worms.”
“You don’t have to,” Jane said. “Mix a little ground beef with some cottage cheese and a little bit of dirt. Warm it just a little—to room temperature—and I’ll feed the bird.”
“How do you know—never mind.” Tara waved off her own question.
Jane answered anyway. “When you spend as much time as I do working outdoors, you’re bound to come across a baby bird or two.”
“Have any of them made—” She stopped, watching Maddie from the corner of her eye.
“None,” Jane said sadly. “But we have to try, you know?”
Tara watched Maddie’s sweetly hopeful expression as she leaned across the table, singing to the bird. “I know.”