her heart skipped a beat. It swooped over the ostrich pens and for a moment blocked the sun, casting a hulking shadow.
Tearing her eyes from the plane, Jenna saw spindly-legged birds bolt from under the canopies and run awkwardly to the far end of the enclosure. The plane’s shadow followed, causing birds to bump into fences and one another. Then the plane made a right turn and headed for a low rise Jenna thought probably marked the edge of her property.
She held her breath and waited for the sound of a crash. Nothing.
“Mom,” Andee called from the doorway.
“I’ll be there in a minute, honey.”
At the fence, she had no idea what she should do to settle the agitated flock. Thankfully, before she could come up with a plan, they calmed themselves and wandered back to the shade.
Since she hadn’t heard a boom, Jenna assumed the plane must have landed. She had no idea she’d bought property near an airport. That very notion unnerved her.
“Mommy, are the ostriches okay?” Andee asked, appearing at her side.
“I think so.” Turning to go into the house, Jenna muttered, “That plane shouldn’t have flown so low.”
She watched her daughter carefully after that close encounter with the small plane.
She knew neighbors on base had discussed Andrew’s plane crash around their kids. And even though Andrew had been gone too much to be a hands-on dad, their little girl had always tagged after him when he was home. And he’d taken her to see his plane. Flying had been his life. He’d even bought her picture books of planes.
But since Andrew had come and gone so often, Jenna was aware that Andee hadn’t yet fully comprehend his death.
Up to now they’d only casually mentioned that Andrew was in heaven. But Andee was a bright child and Jenna’s mom had said there would be an appropriate opening to discuss what death meant.
This wasn’t the time, though, Jenna decided.
To distract them both, she toured Andee through the rest of the four-bedroom, two-bath house while two of the movers set up their beds.
The wood floors in the living room needed waxing, Jenna noted. And hot as it was, Jenna couldn’t imagine ever needing the beautiful old fireplace at one end of the room. But when she expressed that thought, the youngest of the three movers laughed.
“Nights in the desert can be brutally cold. I grew up in New Mexico,” he added as if to prove his point.
The kitchen was outdated but clean, its cupboards painted a sea-foam green. Jenna imagined she’d like them better in white. But she also knew it’d take time to put her stamp on the place.
After the movers left, she dug out the linens to make up Andee’s bed.
She wished she’d thought to note the call letters painted on the underside of that plane. Even if there was an airport in the vicinity, the plane had flown dangerously low. If the pilot had violated some local flight ordinance, she should report the incident.
The plane could belong to a local rancher. She knew it wasn’t uncommon for ranch owners to fly private aircraft. If that was the case, perhaps he—or she—would respond to a neighborly request to not swoop so low over her pens.
Martin’s ranch manager might shed some light on the matter. Where was he? He obviously didn’t live on-site. Later she would sit and read Martin’s notes. It would suit her if the helper only worked part-time. She hadn’t factored in the cost of hired help.
“There, Andee, your bedroom looks put together. Would you like to help me make up my bed?”
“Mommy, I wish there wasn’t a bathroom between our bedrooms. You’re too far away,” she said as she scooped up Cubby Bear.
“Honey, you’ll be fine sleeping in here. We’ll leave both connecting doors open. You’ll have your animals and dolls to keep you company.”
Andee’s shoulders slumped.
Jenna worried about how clingy she’d become since the funeral. “Tell you what. I need to phone Auntie Melody to let her know we arrived. Would you like to talk to her a minute?”
“No, it’s okay.” Andee wrapped her arms tightly around her much-loved bear and trailed her mother into her bedroom.
Jenna made her bed, then sat on it and punched her sister’s speed-dial number on her cell phone. She kept the call brief, putting a rosy spin on everything. She might have broken down if she’d heard the hint of an “I told you so.”
“Our next step,” she told Andee after ending the call, “is lining kitchen cabinets with the pretty contact paper I brought. Do you want to help peel the backing off after I measure and cut?”
“I guess so. Can we eat first? I’m hungry.”
“Sure. I’ll fix cheese sandwiches from stuff in the cooler and slice an apple for dessert. Tomorrow we’ll find a store and shop to fill our refrigerator.”
“Mommy, why isn’t our house near other houses like where we used to live?”
“This is a ranch and we need more land to raise birds as big as the ostriches.”
“Where are houses with other kids?”
That question stopped Jenna. She cleared her throat. “Soon we’ll hunt up the school where you’ll go in September. And I saw a park on the map the Realtor gave me. I’ll bet kids play there.”
That seemed to satisfy Andee, but it made Jenna wonder why she hadn’t given more thought to how isolated they’d actually be living here.
No, we’ll be fine. Pioneer women survived in much more isolated conditions.
They ate a light lunch, then lined the cupboards, a chore that took most of the afternoon. “Andee,” Jenna said as she pressed down the last piece of contact paper, “I need to look over Mr. Martin’s notes on how to care for ostriches. While I do that, why don’t you color?”
The girl ran to her room and came straight back with two picture books.
Jenna understood that Andee didn’t want to be out of her sight given that she’d left the child with her grandparents for a week after the funeral while she’d visited the ostrich farm in Georgia.
A farm, she might add, that looked much more prosperous than this one.
Then they’d moved in with Rob and Melody, and Jenna had hoped things would settle.
Stifling a sigh, she opened the envelope and started to read.
There were instructions about gathering eggs every other day and choosing some to put in incubators for hatching, similar instructions to those she’d gotten from the Georgia couple. She knew that eggs not sold to a wholesaler stayed in the incubators for forty-two days.
It seemed straightforward. It was as she’d told Melody: raising ostriches wasn’t difficult.
Oscar
