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“Daddy?”
His face softened at the sight of her. “Yes, baby?”
“Are we gonna go shopping yet?” she asked in a soft whine.
Shopping. Christmas Eve. Dusk. All these realities hit him like a bucket of cold water dumped down his back. How could he have forgotten the outing? It was always this way with him. He’d get so caught up in his work he’d lose track of time and anything else that was on his calendar.
His daughter’s eyes were filled with childish expectation and longing and Maggie’s admonitions played again in his mind. He swung his head around to look out the window. It was only four o’clock but already the sky was dark. A few flakes floated in the dim light outside the door, but nothing to be worried about. He had to make good on his promise. If he hurried, they’d be in town and back before too late.
“Why, sure, honey,” he replied, jostling her hair, sending the elastic flying. “Just give me a minute to close things up here.” He looked again at the old man, who had already reached out to grab his hat.
“I best be going,” he told Harris. “It’s Christmas and looks like you’ve got an evening planned.”
“We do. Heck of a night to hit the roads, though, isn’t it. Can I drop you somewhere?”
“No, sir. Thank you but I’ll find my own way.”
“But didn’t you say you walked here?”
“I did. But don’t pay me mind. My friends live a short way down the road.”
“But the closest house is a long walk through the woods. I insist. Let me drive you.”
Lijah shook his head and began heading toward the door. “I been sitting here all day. My legs’ll enjoy the stretch. Thanks again for tending to my bird. I’ll stop by tomorrow, if you don’t mind. Just to see how she is.” Before leaving, he bent his snowy white head and smiled warmly at Marion. “Merry Christmas to you, little missy.”
Marion smiled shyly and ducked behind her father’s legs.
“We’ll talk again. I’d like to go to that nest,” Harris said.
Lijah nodded, then left, quietly closing the door behind him.
Harris stared after him a moment. The man left a lingering impression. With a sigh, he peeked out the window at the smattering of faint snowflakes dancing in the gray-blue afternoon. Placing his arm around his daughter’s slim shoulders, he bent close to her ear.
“Will you look at that?” he asked. “It’s been a long time since I last saw snow for Christmas right here in South Carolina. In fact,” he said, squeezing her close, “I’ll bet this is the first time you’ve seen snow at all. Guess it’ll help ol’ Santa.”
“You told me there’s no such thing as Santa.”
His brows rose. “I did, huh?”
She nodded her head.
Even though he never encouraged belief in such things as fairies, Santa and the Easter Bunny, he believed firmly in the magic and beauty found in the wilds of nature and human nature alike. Life was full of hard realities, like people putting buckshot into an eagle for sport. And though he was dog-tired and hungry, at least for tonight he’d do what he could to keep the magic alive.
Harris felt blinded by the fluorescent lights as he strolled into the Wal-Mart store with Marion in tow. There was so much stuff everywhere. Who could need so many things? Bright red bows, gold tinsel and moving Santas seemed to jump out at him from the shelves. Compared to the silence of the woods, the loud and persistent Christmas music was grating to his ears. He squeezed his daughter’s hand and fought the urge to walk faster through the aisles. Other shoppers racing through the store brushed clumsily as they passed in a buying frenzy. He couldn’t wait to get back outdoors.
“Daddy, I’m thirsty.” Marion’s face peeked out from the hood of her pink parka, a hand-me-down from one of Maggie’s girls. It was too small; Marion’s shoulders were squeezed and the cuffs were inching up her forearms. He thought of buying her a new coat, since they were already here, then thought again. Money was tight and it wasn’t cold for that long in South Carolina. He figured this parka would make do awhile longer.
“You had a drink before we left the house and another at the gas station. You can’t be thirsty again.”
“But I am. Can I have some of that?” she asked, pointing to some icy blue swirling mixture for sale at the snack bar.
“Maybe later.”
Marion dragged tiredly on his arm and whined, “I’m thirsty now, Daddy.”
Her tone was insistent, drawing his attention from the aisles of toys. On closer inspection her face appeared flushed and her eyes glassy. Come to think of it, she’d downed those glasses of juice this morning as if she were dying of thirst. He wondered if she could be coming down with something.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, bending over to speak gently. “Let’s pick out your present first and then, if you feel up to it, we’ll go someplace real special for our Christmas Eve dinner. You can get anything you want then. How’s that sound?”
“Okay,” she replied with lackluster, casting a final longing glance at the drink machine.
It was his fault they’d had such a late start, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. He’d hoped she might be a little excited by their special outing instead of dragging her feet and complaining. When they reached the doll section, he spread out his arm grandly and said with the enthusiasm of a carnival barker, “Look, Marion! Have you ever seen so many dolls in one place? And you can pick any which one you want for Christmas. Go on! Any one at all.”
Marion let go of his hand and shuffled close to the row of dolls, staring dully at them with her arms dropped to her sides. There was no squeal of delight or so much as an ooh of anticipation.
He sighed and lowered himself to her level. “What’s wrong, honey?”
She shrugged.
“But you said you wanted a doll for Christmas.”
She shook her head no.
“Oh,” he replied, perplexed. Then, regrouping, “Well, that’s okay. You don’t have to get one.”
At least he hadn’t gone out and bought one, he thought to himself. Kids changed their minds all the time, didn’t they? “There are lots of toys here. Games, stuffed animals, sports stuff…Hey, how about a bike?”
She turned to look at him, her eyes forlorn. “Daddy, you know what I want for Christmas.”
On her pale, thin face he saw the yearning of a lonely child. It near broke his heart. Marion wasn’t by nature a whiner or a complainer. In fact, she rarely asked for anything for herself. He wrapped his arm around her and rested her against his knee as he racked his brain for what to say.
“Honey, you know I can’t get you your mama for Christmas. We talked about this. That’s just silly.”
“No, it isn’t silly.” Her lower lip shot out in a pout.
“I know, I’m sorry. Why don’t you pick out a doll that looks like Mama? Won’t that be fine? Look at those over there. They’re very pretty, just like her.”
When she looked up at him with those large, trusting blue eyes, she looked so much like her mother that his heart wrenched. He kissed her tender cheek. “Go on, now.”
With a resigned sigh, Marion turned and looked again at the row of dolls. After some thought, she raised her arm and pointed toward a Barbie doll dressed in a neon pink ball gown littered with colored glitter. Harris thought it was the gaudiest doll on the shelf—and sadly appropriate. Fannie did like bright colors. He shifted his weight and reached for the chosen Barbie doll.
“That’s a fine choice, honey! It’s real pretty. What are you going to call her?” He held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t name the doll Fannie after her mother.
Marion scrunched her face in deliberation, then announced, “Lulu.”
He smiled. “Perfect. Now, you stay put and have fun looking at these dolls while I go buy her,” he told her. “Don’t go anywhere. Promise? Daddy’ll be right back. Okay?”
When she nodded he hurried to the checkout line with the Barbie doll in his hands. He wasn’t the only one doing last-minute shopping, but only two checkout registers were open so the lines were long. He took his place, all the while anxiously looking over his shoulder to keep an eye on Marion in the toy aisle. The line seemed to move to the same slow pace of “White Christmas” blaring from the speakers. He longed for the quiet peace of his home in the woods and tapped his fingers on the box. Nearing the counter, he picked through the selections of last-minute Christmas items: decorated sugar cookies, a plush red Christmas stocking filled with candy, a small stuffed reindeer and wrapping paper with ribbon. When at last it was his turn, he set his parcels on the belt, pulled a few bills from the worn leather wallet and gave them to the cashier. He fingered the remaining bills in his wallet, mentally tallying up the bill and figuring the cost of dinner.
It was times like these he wondered if he’d made the right choice to dedicate his life to saving birds. Most biologists connected with wildlife conservation understood from the get-go that the job required long hours and endless dedication. They loved their work, couldn’t imagine doing anything else, but the job took its toll on their personal lives, not to mention their bankbooks. He sighed. Putting his wallet back into his pocket, he knew his answer would be yes.
When he looked up again, he saw a minor commotion over at the toy aisle. A few people were bending over something on the floor.
“Marion!” he blurted out, and took off at a run. He pushed through the small cluster of people to find his daughter lying on the floor ashen-faced with her eyes rolled back, jerking uncontrollably. His heart rate zoomed. Kneeling, he scooped his little girl in his arms and began loosening her hood and jacket with shaky fingers.
“She just fell down, like she fainted!” an elderly woman exclaimed. “I saw her.”
A slight trickle of blood oozed from her mouth. Had she bitten her tongue? He tried to wedge open her mouth but her teeth were clamped tight. His mind fought through a horrifying panic as he tried to diagnose Marion’s problem. Epilepsy? Fever? He felt choked and his hands shook. This wasn’t some hawk or an eagle. This was his daughter and he didn’t know what to do.
He looked up at the wall of onlookers, eyes wild, and shouted, “Will someone call an ambulance?”
Accipiters: The Woodland Darters.Accipiters are agile, determined hunters. Their shorter, rounder wings and long tails are adapted for the quick bursts of speed and weaving through branches and brush needed to hunt other birds. Accipiters include sharp-shinned hawks, Cooper’s hawks and goshawks.
3
Harris never realized how mere weeks could change an entire life. In less than a month’s time, his hard-won routine was turned upside down. There were times that he could almost hear the gods laughing at his hubris for believing he’d had everything in control.
Still, he was lucky. He knew that, too. Things could always be worse, had been worse.
He stood in the main room of the small Cape Cod house watching his daughter as she lay peacefully on the sofa. She was enveloped in a cocoon of pillows and wrapped in an old yellow-and-brown afghan. Clutched to her chest was the ever-present doll, Gaudy Lulu. Marion’s blue eyes, fringed with pale lashes, stared fixedly at the cartoons on the television. Her wispy blond hair curled behind gently pointed ears that protruded a tad too far. A smattering of faint freckles bloomed over an upturned nose.
To look at her now, she appeared like any other normal five-year-old girl watching television.
But she wasn’t.
Marion had juvenile diabetes.
Diabetes. He still couldn’t reconcile it in his mind. When the doctor had given him the diagnosis that night in the hospital, he’d felt the floor open up to swallow him. He’d stood staring back at the doctor, mouth agape. Of all the possibilities that had spun madly in his worry-crazed mind while pacing in the hospital waiting room, diabetes had never occurred to him. Sure, he knew a little about the disease. Diabetes meant there was too much sugar in the body. People with diabetes needed insulin. But these were adult people, not little children. Not five-year-olds who had never had a serious illness before.
But later, once he began reading about the disease, he recognized all the symptoms that had been there all along if only he’d really paid attention. The excessive thirst, increased urination, weight loss, irritability—they were all warning signs of Type 1 diabetes, the rarest and most severe form of the disease.
That was when the guilt set in. A gnawing, insidious, ever-present self-loathing that he could have let her condition get so bad that her sugar dropped low enough to cause convulsions. He felt like the world’s worst and most pathetic father.
Only he didn’t have time for guilt. Living with diabetes was all-consuming. Nothing was easy. He couldn’t even make Marion a snack without worrying about what calories she was taking in and watching for reactions. For the first time since becoming a father, Harris was afraid to take care of his own child.
He looked again at his daughter curled up on the couch watching TV. How sweet and innocent she appeared. And how deceiving it was. He shook his head, took a deep breath and braced himself for what was coming.
“Marion? It’s time to do the test.”
Instantly, all sweetness fled from her face as she jackknifed her knees to her chest, locking her arms tight around them. “No!” she shouted.
“Come on, honey. You know we’ve got to do this.”
“No!”
Harris released a ragged sigh. So, it was going to be another fight. As he walked toward her, she backed up against the armrest and cowered in the corner of the sofa, her hands up, nails out, to ward him off. She looked just like one of the wild, terrified birds when he reached to grab them—all glaring eyes and talons ready to attack.
As with his birds, he moved toward her in slow strides, murmuring assurances in low tones. Then, swiftly, he grabbed hold. Marion reacted instantly, shrieking and kicking at him as viciously as any wild bird.
“No! I don’t wanna. No, no, no!”
Her screams ricocheted from the walls to reverberate in his head. She was an amazingly strong child for such a skinny thing—and wily. When he tried to pick her up, her legs sprang straight out and she began kicking and pummeling with bunched fists even as she began sliding from the sofa.
“What in heaven’s name is going on in here?”
Harris recognized Maggie’s voice over the shrieks. So did Marion. She paused for just a second, then renewed her fight with even more vigor. He tightened his grip as she tried to wriggle away.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he said to his daughter as he hoisted her back up onto the sofa.
“It sounds like you’re committing bloody murder in here,” said Maggie, entering the house.
“That’d be easier than this,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ve got to prick her finger for a blood sample. Ouch! Marion, stop kicking me.”
Maggie chuckled and came forward. “It might help if you took off her shoes.”
“Be my guest.”
Maggie reached out and, with the same skill she employed with birds, quickly took hold of Marion’s feet and in seconds had both shoes removed. She kept her grip on Marion’s legs. This seemed to make Marion even madder and she tried all the harder to kick and wiggle her way free, her face turning beet red.
“Lord, she’s stronger than a great horned owl.”
“She bites like one, too. Quick, grab hold of her left hand.”
Once Maggie took hold of her hand, Marion’s screams heightened in pitch to near hysteria.
“She’s holding her breath. Quick!”
Harris wiped the sweat from his brow with his elbow, took aim, quickly pricked the finger, then with split-second timing, dabbed the test strip against the bright red drop of blood on her fingertip.
“Got it,” he said with triumph.
The fight seemed to flee from Marion’s little body as she exhaled a defiant cry, then slumped, defeated and sobbing, against the pillows.
“There’s got to be an easier way,” Maggie said, checking her arm for bruises.
“If there is, I’d like to know what it is.” He reached over to pat his daughter’s head but she slapped his hand away.
“I hate you!” she cried, scrambling from the sofa and running off to her bedroom like someone escaping an inquisition.
Harris ran his hand through his hair when the bedroom door slammed shut between them.
Maggie raised her eyes to heaven. “How often do you have to do this?”
“I have to check the blood sugar six times a day, then I get to give her a shot of insulin three times a day. At least. That’s six to nine pokes with a needle each day.”
“Lord have mercy.”
“Yeah. Mercy on me. She tried being brave at first, now it’s just total war.”
