Darrell J. Wiens is Professor Emeritus of Biology at the University of Northern Iowa, now living and writing short stories in Kansas City, Missouri.  A newcomer, he loves to create stories that involve believable characters engaged in college life, long distance running, coming of age, travels, bicycle touring, biological research, and personal or social issues.  He grew up on a farm near Inman, Kansas.  An award-winning teacher, researcher, and mentor, he is author of 27 scientific papers and 53 research presentations, most co-authored with students from his laboratory.  He is a pacifist Mennonite who enjoys cooking, tinkering with hot rods, bicycling, choral singing and discussions of books and stories. He has previously published two short stories.

Darrell J. Wiens is Professor Emeritus of Biology at the University of Northern Iowa, now living and writing short stories in Kansas City, Missouri.  He grew up on a farm near Inman, Kansas.  An award-winning teacher, researcher, and mentor, he is author of 27 scientific papers and 53 research presentations, most co-authored with students from his laboratory.  He has previously published three short stories.

The Bird

Abigail tamped down her pipe with a nail and relit the vanilla scented cavendish-burley mix, puffing the mellow smoke out both sides of her mouth, eyes fixed on the bird.  The apparently dead fowl lay on the lawn just under her neighbor’s picture window.  “No, Shannon, I don’t know what kind it is.  I think it’s rare though; haven’t seen one like it before.”

            “I heard something hit the window with a bang and I didn’t know what happened, so I just looked around, then out the window.  And there I saw it lying on its side in the grass.  You think it’s dead?  Should I try to pick it up?”  Shannon looked worried; she felt her heart throbbing in her throat.  She looked imploringly at her sympathetic neighbor and then knelt next to the bird.  She started to reach for it.  The bird fluttered its feet and one wing for a split second, evoking a short, intense scream from the girl.  She jumped to her thin bare feet, a thirteen-year-old awkward as a calf on ice, her hands reflexively grabbing Abigail’s arm.

            “It’s okay Shannon.”  She puffed her pipe and rubbed the girl’s shoulder.  “So it’s not dead.  But it might be dying.”  She looked up at the window noting a tiny white feather tuft on the glass.  “I guess it flew into the window seeing a reflection of green trees and blue sky, mistaking it for a passageway through the house; and it must have crashed into the glass head-first.  Does your mom have a bird guidebook?”

            “No, and she’s not home to ask.  But I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have any books like that.”

            “Well, we’ll have to have some pictures to compare with its colors and markings.  C’mon, I have one in my house, and I think it might be one of the finch family because of its short, conical beak.  It’s pretty big for a finch, however…but we can start with that.”  They walked across the grass passing under the old oak standing like a sentinel between the two bungalows.  No fence separated the two lots and Shannon was often in Abigail’s yard short-cutting on her way to school or the nearby convenience store, or playing with the cats that lived among nearby houses.  Abigail didn’t mind.  She lived alone and was usually at her computer working on tedious intellectual property cases.

            The two entered Abigail’s side door, walked through the kitchen and short hallway, and into her library.  She stopped momentarily to scan the shelves and then eyed her Golden Birds of North America paperback on a far-side shelf.  She pulled it down and flipped over to the finch section.

            “That’s it,” cried Shannon, pointing to the picture of a black-over-white bird with a striking red apron on its breast.

            “Okay, I think you found it…looks like it’s a rose-breasted grosbeak.  It’s a male with those bright colors then.  Says it lives in forests or wooded suburban areas, supposedly fairly common though I don’t remember seeing one around here.  Do you remember if it had a thin white crest on the top of its head?”

            “Yes, it did.  I remember that and the big red V under its beak.  Oh, Abby, how can we save it?  I don’t want it to die there by our window.  What can we do?”

            “Well, let me think…ah, let’s just do a search here.  She pulled her pocketed denim frock up to her knees to ease into the chair at her desk and woke her computer.  “We can type in some terms that will help us find something.  Let’s try rescue injured wild bird.”  She typed the terms and return, then clicked on a link.  “Ah, here’s some information…”  She scanned the page.  “So, the first thing is, we have to be careful.  It’s important to wear gloves and not squeeze too hard; and it’s good to put a bird into a box with a lid so it can’t see us…we don’t want to scare it.  Oh, and here’s a number we can call:  WildCare.  Let’s call the number and talk to someone who deals with this.”  Abigail called the number and spoke briefly, explaining what they knew, and then sat listening for a minute.  She thanked the person and put down the phone.  She turned to Shannon.

            “We should watch it to see if it can open its eyes or if it moves again.  If it is alive, we can carefully pick it up and put it into an unwaxed paper bag or a box with a lid to keep it from seeing us—we are very big and scarry to a small bird.  Then we can take it to Wildcare or a humane society where someone can see what’s wrong with it.  It’s probably stunned from crashing its head on the window and may or may not regain consciousness.  If it doesn’t, it’s a, you know… a dead bird.”

            “Oh Abby, it must be alive!  We saw it flutter!”  Shannon’s narrow oval face winced with alarm but evinced a precious compassion as she wiped a tear from her worried eye.  Abigail picked up her pipe and got up.

            “Of course we want it to live, honey, but we can’t change what has happened to it.  We’ll go out and watch it, maybe touch it gently with a glove to see if it responds—I have a pair in my garage, and a paper bag too.”  They walked out and returned to the bird with gloves, bag, and a pair of lawn chairs.  The bird hadn’t moved.  They deployed the chairs and settled down to watch.

            After several minutes of watching, the bird showing no movement, Abigail kicked off her crocks, sat back and sighed.  “Put on a glove and touch it on a foot…gently.”

            “I’m scared; I don’t want to hurt it.”

            “Go ahead, Shannon.  If it responds we know it’s alive and we know what to do now.”

            “Okay, but you should hold my other hand.”  Abigail handed her a glove which hung loosely on her slender hand, and then took her other hand.  Shannon looked at the bird and then at her wise, trusted neighbor.

            “Go ahead, touch its foot, it can’t hurt you.”  And Shannon gingerly touched the small, curled claw.  It did nothing.  She touched it again, giving it a small wiggle.  Nothing.

            Shannon looked at Abigail imploringly.  “Is it dead?”

            “We really don’t know for sure.  A crash into glass in flight would give it quite a stun.  Let’s watch it a little longer.”  And so Shannon took her seat next to Abigail again and the two sat back to wait.

            Deep in thought, Shannon’s eyes drifted from the bird to Abigail’s hand with her pipe, and then to her face.  “Abby, I know you’re a lawyer, but you work mostly at home, and you work a lot.  What do you do exactly?  And do you like your work?  I have to start thinking about what to do with my life…”

            Abigail smiled.  “Well, you still have lots of time to think about that.  You might find something you’re interested in during the next few years.  I didn’t know what I wanted to do until well into law school, and then I found what I wanted.  It’s work that would be dull to most people.  I must read a lot and prepare many letters and forms.  That part is a little like working a puzzle.  And then I do talk to people when I work on their cases.  I like to listen and try to help them.  I always need to do my work very carefully.  I know the laws about people’s rights when they have something they have created through research or study, something that needs to be protected.  Also, I went to school and trained for a long time.”

            “Do you think I should try to become a veterinarian?”

            “Um, that might well be a path to consider.  I can see you do really like animals.  That’s important.  But you will have to like science and do well in your classes in subjects like biology and chemistry.  You must learn how animals’ bodies work.”

            “Yeah, I know.  I think I might try to go that way.  I do love animals.  A lot.”

            “You should maybe try to visit with a veterinarian, you know, get a chance to watch one at work sometime.  You think your mom would help you ask about that, maybe here in town at Paws for Purrs over on Oak Street?”

            “Oh, she probably doesn’t have time to arrange something like that.  She’s been going on dates lately, so she’s way busy.  She won’t even let me get a puppy.”

            “You could just get her permission—then I could try to set something up for you.  Think that would be okay with her?”

            “Oh, that would be awesome!  I’m going to ask her tonight.”

            Just then they turned to see her mother pull into the driveway.  Gracie extracted herself from her tarnished old Taurus wagon slowly, adjusting her stylish navy short skirt and tight white top as she straightened up.  She worked as a salesclerk at Old Navy in the mall, and she was ever attentive about looking good, hair, makeup and nails vigilantly maintained.  But her nervous, sarcastic demeanor contrasted her appearance often.  She criticized her daughter’s carefree style and affinity for animals—slyly, but habitually.  Walking up suspiciously to the pair in the lawn chairs, she noticed the object of their attention.  “So what’s with the dead bird,” she erupted, expression cheerless.

            “It might not be dead!” Shannon replied indignantly.  “It flew into our window and stunned itself, poor thing.  And if it moves or opens its eyes, we’re going to take it to the humane society where someone can help.”  Abigail merely nodded, sensing the mother-daughter tension, of which she was long aware, and not wishing to interpose herself.

            “Well it looks pretty dead to me, and I’m sure it’s filthy, maybe even dangerous to mess with.  You should just put on those gloves and take it to the garbage bin, or better yet, bury it somewhere, somewhere away from here.”  She turned up her nose and pivoted toward the back door.  “I’m going in and I’ll put a frozen pizza in the oven.  You can have that when you’re tired of watching the varmint die slowly.  I’m going out with John at seven and I’ve got to shower and change now.”  She shrugged and walked briskly away.

            Shannon looked at Abigail.   “She doesn’t care.”  She thought for a moment and then jumped out of her chair and ran up to Gracie. “Mom!  Wait a minute!  I want to ask you something.  I think I want to try to become a veterinarian, and Abby says she would help me ask at Paws for Purrs to see if I could follow one around some time, to just watch what they do to see if I can imagine myself doing that for my career.  It wouldn’t cost anything.”  The mother stopped and looked at Abigail, then at Shannon.

            “That place is noisy and as smelly as a hatful of assholes.  Why would you want to be in all that every day?”  She shrugged away her disgust.  “Oh well, I don’t care.  Go if you want.  Just don’t bring anything home.”  She eyed Abigail.  “Do vets make any good money?”

            Abigail relit her pipe, blew out the smoke, and set her eyes earnestly on Gracie.  “They make a living.  They don’t get rich, but they work for the animals and their owners more than for the money.  Shannon loves animals.  It’s not just a passing phase for this girl.  I’ve seen it developing consistently.  If she can do well in school and gain admission to veterinary school someday, she could have a satisfying career.  A chance to visit this clinic and see how things are at her age would be quite informative.  It’s good if you let her give it a look.  I’d be happy to help her arrange it.”

            “She can go.  I appreciate your help.  I’m just, you know, busy, and I don’t need any pets around here to feed and clean up after.”  She turned and tottered up the steps in her navy Macy’s pumps, opening the screen door and pausing in the doorway to slip them off.

            Shannon returned to her chair; her gaze focused back on the bird which remained inanimate.  The light of day then diminished rather suddenly.  Abigail looked up toward the southwest beyond the reach of the oak and noticed that a large thunderhead with its scalloped top high in the sky had just cut off the sun.  She saw that dark clouds extended down from its bulky summit all the way to the horizon behind the houses and trees across the park.  Why hadn’t she noticed this until now?  In fact, other clouds lower in the south and west were moving perceptibly as she watched.  It had all happened more suddenly than she expected it could.  Drama in the Iowa skies sometimes presented with some haste, but this was unveiling abruptly.  When a low roll of thunder arrived at their ears, Shannon too took notice and looked around.  Within that same minute another low peal of thunder followed on, this one a little louder.  It bowled on and on, broadening as it went.  At the end of it the glass pane in the picture window rattled slightly.

            “Abby, is this a storm on its way?”

            “I think so.  I haven’t checked my weather app since this morning, and I don’t have my phone with me.  It seems to be gathering up quickly, doesn’t it?”

            “Should we go in my house and put the TV on the weather channel?” 

            “Let’s wait and watch it a little while.  I’ve always enjoyed watching the sky when the weather changes…one can learn things.  Mother Nature reveals how she works.”

            “But what if it’s a real storm and starts raining hard?  What if it hails?” She glanced at the bird as she asked.

            “We can run inside quickly; it’s just a few steps.” Abigail settled back, crossing her bare feet, and taking in the scene, but Shannon felt unsettled.

            Just after she spoke a gust of cool wind swept through the yard and the oak tree rustled stridently, releasing a whirl of leaves that blew past them.  In the dead calm that followed, a sudden, unnaturally bright flash of light flared all around them, lighting up everything in sight with a brightness nearly defying reality.  Then the explosive boom arrived.  It scared them both up out of the lawn chairs.  The windows in both houses were clattering.  They stood, mouths open, eyes wide.  But they did not miss the simultaneous flutter of wings rising from the grass before them.  The bird flew away, taking its path expertly under the oak’s lowest boughs and then out across the park and out of sight.  Before they could process what had happened, they heard Gracie’s voice from the back porch where she stood wrapped in a bath towel, hair plastered to the sides of her face.

            “Hey you two!  Get inside!  There’s going to be a hailstorm with heavy rain and high winds!”  They ran to the back door and followed Gracie toward the basement door.

            “Mom, the bird flew away when that thunderclap hit!”

            “Get downstairs Shannon!  If I was dead and had wings, I’d come back to life and fly the hell away too.  I’m going to quick turn off the oven and grab my phone.  You two can go down and turn on the TV.  Find the local news station.  John just called to cancel and warn that hail and high winds are on the way.”  As she turned toward the kitchen, they all heard the warning siren in the park start its ominous wail.  That sound always terrified, close as it was.

            The three gathered around the TV in the basement, Shannon fumbling with the remote to find a local channel.  When it came on the meteorologist was standing at a large map pointing to what he identified as a hook, the sign of a probable tornado.  That was over Hudson, a small town five miles to the south.  But he was saying it wasn’t moving and might be dissipating now.  He repeated warning messages from the weather service every minute or two, including the command to take shelter immediately.  Suddenly the screen went blank, and the lights went off.

            “Shit!” screeched Gracie.  “We’ve lost power, and I don’t have a damned radio down here.”  The three felt for the worn-out old couch beside the coffee table, cluttered with cereal bowls, remotes, and teacups.  They sank down, side-by-side onto the slouch couch, Shannon in the middle, bewildered and scared in the dark.  The ominous sound of hailstones hitting the plastic window cover came next.  But these impacts ceased after only a moment.  Then, gradually at first, they heard the wind.  It got louder.  It grew into a moan and settled into an enduring, raging howl.  Gracie went uncharacteristically quiet, her language brain switching from the usual profane pronouncements to silent prayers.  Shannon quivered and sobbed quietly between her mother and beloved neighbor.  Both had an arm around her.  Even the normally unruffled, rational and wise Abigail felt some anxious dread.  They endured in this state for a long time.  The wind did not diminish.  But they eventually surrendered their fears to nervous exhaustion.  Their bodies relaxed incrementally into sleep.

            In the early morning Gracie woke first.  The house was quiet, and the lights had not returned.  But bright beams of sunlight from the window lit up rectangular patches on the carpet.  She pulled her arm from Shannon, stood, and looked around.  “Hey guys, storm’s over.  We slept through it like tired babies.  We’re all clear now.”

            Shannon and Abigail roused slowly upon hearing her declaration.  Shannon yawned and stretched out her arms and legs.  “It’s over?  What a storm!  I’m so glad the bird woke up and flew away!”

            “You got that right, kiddo.  I’m just glad I didn’t mess myself.”

            Abigail stood and walked over to the window.  She couldn’t see much outside, even though the outdoor plastic window cover was gone.  “I believe we slept through a derecho.”

            “A what?” asked Shannon.

            “Yeah, what the hell is a derecho?” Gracie croaked through a deep yawn.

            “It’s a particular kind of rare windstorm,” Abigail went on.  “You get a very strong, straight-line wind that lasts for hours.  Let’s go up and look outside.”  The three climbed the stairs and emerged from the house through the back door.

            They stepped gingerly, all barefoot, down onto the lawn and stood dazed by the sights around them.  A large branch from their maple tree lay over the hood of the Taurus in the driveway.  Smaller branches lay all around.  Abigail turned toward her house where she saw that her old-fashioned clothesline lay prone in the backyard, wires looped and tangled.  Her garage door was gone.  Nowhere in sight, just gone.  Her backyard cherry tree had fallen to horizontal on the grass, root ball basking in bright sunlight.  Standing in the alley was a tricycle with two upended trash bins beside it.  Streetside, across the sidewalk between the two houses, lay another large tree, twisted, broken and prostrate.  Shingles and other debris dotted the street.  Howard, the neighbor from the other side, walked slowly up to the trio on the lawn.  He was in his pajamas and bathrobe.

            “Everybody here okay?” he asked.

            “We’re all okay,” replied Gracie, suddenly realizing she was still wrapped in only a bath towel.  “We have no power, and I can’t go anywhere, of course,” nodding toward her car.  “But nobody was hurt.  You guys okay?”  She clutched the towel, pulling it up over her shoulders.

            “We are all right…didn’t sleep much though, down in our cellar.”             Shannon tugged Abigail’s shoulder.  “Look, Abby!”  She pointed to the oak tree between their houses.  It had lost many leaves, but it was intact, standing tall and strong.  There, perched on a bare branch and now well-lit in the sun was the Rose-breasted Grosbeak.  As her eyes found its bright colors, it fluttered its wings slightly as if to signal an announcement.  Then they all turned to hear its loud clear voice.