Where the Forest Meets the Stars(14)

“I think it is,” Jo said.
“Maybe Little Bear will go there.”
“Egg Man probably wouldn’t like that. He has chickens and cats.”
“Why do you call him Egg Man when his name is Gabriel?”
“Because buying eggs is how I know him.”
“I thought he was nice.”
“I never said he wasn’t.”
Jo drove to the farthest nest to make sure the dog didn’t catch up, turning around at the western end of the road and stopping at the first piece of flagging tape. She took out the data from the folder marked TURKEY CREEK ROAD and showed the page to Ursa. “This is called a nest log. I have one for every nest I find, and each one gets a number. This one is TC10, which means it’s the tenth nest I’ve found in my Turkey Creek Road study site. At the top of the log, I record information about where and when I found the nest, and on these lines underneath I record what I see each time I monitor it. The nest had two eggs in it the day I found it and four the next time. The last time I visited, it still had four, and I noted that I flushed the female off the nest.”
“Will the babies be hatched yet?”
“It’s too early. The female incubates for around twelve days.”
“Incubates means she keeps them warm?”
“That’s right. Let’s see how she’s doing.” They left the car, and Jo showed Ursa how she marked instructions on a piece of orange flagging that would direct her to the nest. “INBU is the code for indigo bunting, the main bird I study, and this is the date I found it. The other numbers and letters say the nest is four meters to the south-southwest, and it’s about a meter and a half off the ground.”
“Where? I want to see it!”
“You will. Follow me.” As they pushed through wet roadside weeds, the buntings remained silent. Not a good sign. They should be chirping alarm notes. Jo’s suspicions were verified when she saw the wrecked nest.
“What happened to it?” Ursa said.
“You have to figure that out, like a detective who looks at clues to solve a crime. Sometimes inexperienced birds build a weak nest that falls down. If the nest wasn’t constructed well, rainy weather like we had today could have made it fall.”
“Is that what happened?”
“From the clues I see, I don’t think so.”
“What are the clues?”
“First of all, I remember this nest was sturdy. Second, I see no eggs on the ground. Third, the parents are completely gone from the territory, which means this probably happened before the rain hit. And the biggest clue is how much the nest is torn apart. I’m guessing a raccoon pulled it down. If a snake or crow had gotten the eggs, there probably wouldn’t be that much damage.”
“The raccoon ate the eggs?”
“Whatever tore up the nest ate the eggs. On some nests I set up cameras so I know for sure what predator did it.”
“Why didn’t you have a camera for this one?”
“I can’t put cameras on them all. Cameras are expensive. Let’s go to the next nest.”
“Will they all be eaten by that stupid raccoon?” Ursa asked as they walked back to the car.
“I doubt it. But my hypothesis is that buntings will have lower nesting success in human-made edges, along roads or crop fields, than they do in natural edges, like next to a stream or where a big tree has fallen. Have you ever heard the word hypothesis ?”
“Yes, but people from Hetrayeh use a different word.” She crawled into the back seat. “I had a hypothesis about you today.”
“Did you? What was it?”
“If you didn’t bring the police back again, you never would.”
She’d articulated a hypothesis with remarkable competence. And with too damn much confidence. Jo twisted around to look at her. “What does that mean? You think your hypothesis is proven and you’re staying with me?”
“Just until the five miracles.”
“We both know that can’t happen. You have to go home tonight. Shaw—my advisor—will be here in a few hours, and I’ll be in trouble if he finds out you’ve been living on the Kinney property for two days.”
“Don’t tell him.”
“How am I supposed to explain a girl sleeping at my house?”
“I’ll sleep somewhere else.”
“You will. At home. That’s why we’re out here. You’ll show me where you live, and I’ll bring you to the door. I’ll tell whoever takes care of you that I’m going to check on you every day. And I will check on you. I promise I will.”
The girl’s brown eyes swamped with tears. “You lied? You didn’t really want to show me your bird nests?”
“I did. But afterward you have to go home. My advisor will—”
“Go ahead, take me to every house, and the people will say they don’t know me!”
“You have to go home!”
“I promise I’ll go home when I see the miracles. I promise!”
“Ursa . . .”
“You’re the only nice person I know! Please!” She sobbed, her face almost purple.
Jo opened the rear door, unbuckled the girl’s seat belt, and held the child in her arms, the first time a head pressed against her bony chest. But the girl didn’t notice what was missing. She tightened her grip on Jo and cried harder.
“I’m sorry,” Jo said, “I really am, but you must see I’m in an impossible situation. I could get in trouble for letting you stay with me.”
Ursa pulled out of her arms and dragged the back of her hand across her runny nose. “Can we see another nest? Please?”