Chapter Seven

When Kate called Artie Best that evening about coming out first thing in the morning, he had hemmed and hawed and wouldn’t commit. He cited the need to do chores. He told her he didn’t want to interfere with the routine of the wild birds and exotic parrots in his care. He mentioned them by name, Kate noticed, as though they were people: Bebe, Captain Crackers, Sapphire, and Bluebelle. Kate tried not to pressure him; after all, such late notice could certainly be an inconvenience. But finally they agreed to meet at eleven o’clock.

The timing delighted Bonnie because it allowed her to sleep in a bit after her trip and the excitement of the day before. It also gave them plenty of time to scout around for more bird activity—or lack thereof.

They took Bonnie’s car again. Bonnie wanted to be able to get around in the area during the Sparrowpalooza Weekend when Kate wouldn’t be with her, so she had driven from Texas. Kate promised to keep her eyes and ears open, since she didn’t have to concentrate on the road. They left just before ten and drove slowly along Pine Ridge Road toward Best Acres Line Road. Every now and then, Bonnie would stop, roll down the windows, or actually hop out and stand along the side of the road, and say, “Be still. Look. Listen. Record your thoughts, note your findings.”

Bonnie had laid out the best way to approach their admittedly unscientific survey of the local wildlife. They would make a note of every bird they saw while driving. Every mile, they’d get out and walk a short distance away from the road to get a better sampling.

Autumn was arriving in stages in Tennessee now, tingeing the tips of the leaves with color. Here and there, a brilliant blaze of orange or red burst forth along a branch. Sometimes the color overtook an entire bush.

The crisp morning air invigorated Kate. It enlivened all her senses just as Bonnie’s company sparked her thought processes. Her former teacher’s zest for the task at hand and the chance to stretch her mind and discover new things challenged Kate in ways that lifted her heart.

Kate glanced down at the notepad Bonnie had given her to document her observations. The page had only a few notations.

“There still aren’t many birds out today, are there?”

“More than there were yesterday, by my count.” Bonnie tapped the end of her pen down the list on her own notebook. “But still nowhere near the numbers we should encounter this time of year. I suppose the time of day could be a factor. Birds tend to be more active in the early morning and evening when they need to find food, and they stay tucked away more in hours in between like now.”

“Like now?” Kate looked at her watch. “I got so caught up in our data gathering that I lost all track of time. Mr. Best was hard enough to pin down to an appointment. We’d better not risk annoying him by keeping him waiting.”

They hopped in the car and hurried down the road. When they reached Best Acres, the steel gate across the drive stood wide open. The truck they’d seen Artie driving in the field the day before sat in the drive with a cloud of dust still settling around the tires. As they drove in, a wiry fellow leaped out from behind the steering wheel of the battered, faded red truck.

“You’re early,” he grouched. “Got you down in my record book for eleven.”

They were actually a few minutes late, but Kate didn’t see the point of arguing. She got out of the car and approached him with a genuine smile. “We really appreciate your letting us come out to see whatever birds you have here today.”

He eyed her warily.

Artie was a few inches shorter than she, and Kate knew from stories she’d heard that he was also about fifteen years her junior. But meeting him now, it wasn’t vanity that led Kate to believe that most people would consider them close to the same age. She chalked that up to his spending so much time out in the elements.

He then launched into what Kate assumed was the speech he gave everyone who visited his birds, speaking slowly in the thick accent typical of the rural Tennessee region.

“Welcome to Best Acres Bird Sanctuary. You can stay as long as you like, but we ask that you don’t leave nothin’ but your footprints and don’t take nothin’ but a memory. Oh, and you can take some photos if you want.”

“Thank you.” Kate gave his hand a warm, sincere shake. “We’re really happy you could make time for us today.”

He shook her hand but continued with his prepared speech. “There’s a box on the front porch for donations and comment cards, if you feel so moved to leave either on your way out.”

“We’re thrilled to be able to see your sanctuary, Mr. Best.” Bonnie said sweetly. “I’m a bird lover myself and will be happy to donate to the cause before we go.”

“I thank you, ladies.” He gave a sort of bobbing bow to Bonnie, then took a step back and did the same to Kate.

Kate clasped her hands in front of her and took a few steps down the drive to get a good look at the two-story farmhouse. It was in better shape than she would have expected, having seen Artie. The paint was fresh and white, and the shutters were a glossy hunter green. The natural stone chimney had no cracks or crumbles. Along the roof over the front porch, intricate gingerbread scrollwork gave the place the appearance of a sweet country home, fit for any happy family.

But the man in front of them didn’t seem happy at all. He hardly looked at them as he shuffled toward two large black barns with hunter-green trim. “I always start the tour in the bird barns over here.”

The two women followed behind, and Bonnie asked, “Do you give many tours, Mr. Best?”

“More than I’d like,” he grumbled without a backward glance, then, as if he thought better of his rudeness, he added, “I do appreciate your callin’ before coming out, Mrs. Hanlon.”

“That’s a new policy, isn’t it, Mr. Best?” Kate had dressed for bird-watching, so she moved easily along the rutted drive in her tennis shoes and jeans. “Having people call ahead?”

“It’s on account of them birders we expect next week.” He led the way without so much as a glance over his shoulder. The sun shone down on his head, highlighting the silver threads among the chestnut-brown waves. “Don’t want them birders thinking they can come trampin’ up and down wherever they take a notion to out here. And if too many folks try to come by, I may just close my wildlife sanctuary for the week. I sure don’t need the hassle.”

Kate and Bonnie shared an apprehensive look. While Kate knew better than to assume that all bird-watchers would be as respectful and conscientious about the land as Bonnie, she wondered if Artie was overstating the problem a bit.

“If it’s birds you want to know about, then I likely have the answers.” He pulled open the door of the smaller of the two barns.

“I don’t doubt that,” Bonnie said as she stepped inside. “Kate tells me you’re something of a local legend, ornithologically speaking.”

“You lost me there, ma’am.”

“You know your birds,” Bonnie simplified.

“That I do,” he said with a squinty-eyed look before he added in a gruff mumble, “I also know what ornithological means.”

“Oh, I...you said—”

“I don’t know why anyone would call me a local legend. I don’t mess much with people, exceptin’ those interested in birds, so I don’t see how I’d rate bein’ a legend to anyone.” He held his hand up to tell them to stay where they were before he disappeared just inside the dark barn. From the shadows, he kept talking over the sound of his heavy boots kicking through straw. “I’ve just been takin’ in sick and wounded birds—and now and then ones that just plain lost their way—for twenty years now.”

“You’ve lived out here for twenty years?” Kate asked, trying to understand the surroundings. While the house might have been built in the 1930s or ’40s, it looked as if it had been freshly updated.

“I’ve lived out here all my life. Forty-five years. This was my grandfather’s house. He built it after...” He appeared in the open doorway again and paused to rub his unshaved cheek as though he needed to choose his words carefully. He reached over and flipped a switch; on came three bare lightbulbs set along the crossbeams of the barn. “Grandpa moved us out here after he decided that Pine Ridge had got too big for us to live comfortable in.”

“I’m sure you live quite comfortably out here,” Bonnie said.

“I like it fine enough.” He extended his arm like a maître d’ showing diners to their table in a fine restaurant. “What matters is how my birds like it.”

They walked down the straw-covered pathway between large open pens covered in chicken wire from floor to ceiling.

“Out here, I got wild birds. I keep my exotic ones in the house. I got the exotic ones when the authorities in Pine Ridge raided an illegal operation a few years back. They didn’t know what to do, so they took ’em to an animal-rescue place in town.”

He fell quiet for a moment.

Kate skimmed the lofty beams and the huge pens, where she could hear the sound of wings and birds screeching but couldn’t see them in the dim light. “Exotic? You mean, parrots or...”

“Yeah. Parrots.” He turned and went to a bucket hanging from the chicken wire of one pen. “Then the animal rescue passed ’em on to me. Made sense to bring ’em here, since I got a captive bird wildlife permit.”

“Then you’re precisely the man I want to talk to about the goings on regarding the birds in this area,” Bonnie said.

“If it’s about them umbies, I don’t know a thing.” He reached into the bucket and took a handful of coarse corn and gray and white sunflower seeds. He let much of it sift through his fingers before he closed them into a fist. He lifted his head and looked the women square in the eyes. “That’s the truth.”

There was something unsettling in his response. Not threatening but hardly reassuring.

In spite of the hardness of his words, Kate softened a little. In all her years as a minister’s wife, she’d never stopped finding new ways to follow the directive of Jesus Christ: “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did it for me.”

It didn’t take years of dealing with people to see that Artie was a lonely man who probably felt like an outsider.

“We really just came out here to see what we could learn about the native and migratory birds in the area,” Kate assured him.

“All right, then. I’ll tell you whatever I can.” He tossed the feed into the pen. A large bird flapped its expansive wings but didn’t go after the food. Artie stuffed his hands deep into his overall pockets and kept his eyes fixed on the dark cage. “And I’ll show you what birds I’ve got, startin’ in here.”

“Thank you,” Kate said.

“I ain’t told you anything yet. Better save your thanks for when you see if I can actually help or not,” he muttered.

As he moved through the dimly lit barn, telling them about each of his feathered charges, his shoulders began to lift. He held his head higher. It was as if he had slipped into a new, more confident persona. He stopped in front of the largest pen.

Kate pointed out the rough-hewn wooden sign above it to Bonnie. They both smiled at the childishly square lettering burned into it that read Hoot Owl Hospital.

“That sign’s from a scout troop.” Artie didn’t take his eyes from the bird moving cautiously around in the back part of the pen. “I get stuff like that all the time.”

Every time after that when Bonnie deferred to his expertise, complimented him on his knowledge, or praised his handling of the birds and their environment, it showed in his eyes, his posture, and his words. He described the process of taking in wounded birds, nursing them back to health, then releasing them into the wild.

He showed them the wild birds that lived at the sanctuary full-time and would never be released. He said he used those birds to help educate kids, a job he clearly found vital to the future welfare of the creatures.

“These days, most injuries come from interaction with the human element: bein’ hit by a car, swallowin’ some garbage.” His expression clouded with anger. His shoulders tensed. He balled his hands into fists, then frowned and shook off his reaction. “That’s what happened to these here.”

He introduced them to a screech owl, a red-tailed hawk, and a turkey vulture. He took the women outside to see the towering aviary connected to the barn. He showed them the series of levers and pulleys that allowed him to open the doors from the pens to that aviary, slowly reintroducing the healing bird to nature with a minimum of human contact.

He told them that he worked at this every day of the year, rain or shine, summer and winter. He took no vacations and always looked forward to the day when the injured birds flew free again. Kate could tell that he loved his charges and put their welfare above his own comfort.

He didn’t leave the barn until the ladies had exited and he’d made one last sweep for any problems in Hoot Owl Hospital.

“Do you think we should ask him now if he’s noticed fewer birds around his property?” Bonnie whispered as they waited in the doorway for him to check the pens and turn off the lights.

“Let’s wait until he finishes the tour. I’d like to get a good look around and don’t want to risk upsetting him, since the birds seem to be missing primarily in this area,” Kate said.

She peered back into the barn, trying to figure out this crusty man who didn’t seem to seek out human contact but took extra care to make sure his newest patient, the vulture, had everything it needed.

“Good thinking. Besides, if he volunteers some information, it could better validate my data.” Bonnie took a few steps into the midday sun, then turned to watch him alongside Kate.

Next Artie took them to the supply barn, explaining that he liked people to see what it took to care for the birds. He also stored birdhouses and feeders in there so that visitors could see what he recommended they put up around their own homes.

“You certainly know what it takes to attract indigenous birds, Mr. Best,” Bonnie said as she examined the various styles of birdhouses.

“I didn’t say nothin’ about attractin’ nothin’,” he answered hastily. “I just try to educate folks on what kind of habitat they should try to maintain around their homes.”

“Is that why you have all this birdseed?” Kate pointed to several large pallets of seed stacked shoulder high all along the inside wall of the barn.

“I stockpile against a harsh winter.” He quickly flipped a burlap covering over the stack.

The birdseed was clearly more than just a stockpile if just referring to it put his guard up like that, almost as if to protect it from outsiders. Kate kept her eyes fixed on the man’s face.

“I was just reading about Joanie’s Ark,” she said, “and all the seed they sell in the fall to raise money. I guess I thought you might be storing it for them.”

“I ain’t affiliated with that place,” he snapped. He faced the stacks of seed for a moment, then turned suddenly and started toward the barn door. “That’s all there is to see. Let’s keep movin’.”

His reaction troubled Kate, but she couldn’t imagine why anyone would be defensive over bags of birdseed.

Bonnie gave her a furtive glance that showed she felt the same way. They moved outdoors, through what was essentially the back door of the barn, and had to shade their eyes from the bright sun. Bonnie lowered her head to say to Kate softly, “I’m having second thoughts about asking this man about the lack of birds around here. What do you think?”

Kate looked back at Artie. She wasn’t sure what to think.

He closed the barn door, wiggled the handle to make sure it caught, started to walk away, then paused and gave Bonnie and Kate a hard look. Suddenly he turned again, pulled something shiny from his pocket, and then began fidgeting with the latch.

Kate couldn’t help trying to figure out what he was up to—he was acting so suspicious. Before she could get a clear view, though, the sharp slam of a car door coming from around the other side of the barn, near the gate, startled her. Bonnie jumped and grabbed Kate’s arm at the unexpected sound.

Artie marched by, his lower lip pushed out as he muttered, “Maybe now you’ll have a whole new ’preciation of why I had to tack up that ‘call before comin’ by’ sign, Mrs. Hanlon.”