An Unlikely Rancher

When she returned with the remaining bags, Andee was sitting at the kitchen table snuggling Cubby Bear. She’d gone back into her shell.

As Jenna stored the things she’d bought, she contemplated checking in town to see if the school or library offered summer classes for kids. Swimming, maybe, or little theater.

Before Andrew’s investigation, Andee and her former school friends had loved to dress up and play make-believe.

As if associating with Colonel Wood’s daughter would somehow rub off on their kids.

After she folded the last empty bag, Jenna got down plates and opened the bread. In the middle of spreading peanut butter, Andee suddenly said, “Can Daddy see us here in our new place?”

Jenna fumbled the knife and it clattered against the plate. “See us how?”

“My Sunday school teacher said Daddy could look down and see me from heaven. She said heaven is up above the clouds. Here, there aren’t many clouds.” Andee’s little face crinkled, worry plain in her eyes.

Jenna carried their plates and the jar of jam to the table. Sitting, she slowly spread strawberry jam on the slices of bread that weren’t covered with peanut butter. Still struggling in her own mind, she cut one sandwich in two and slid it across to Andee.

She’d had a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that Andrew had flown extensively in war zones and returned in one piece, only to die practically in his own backyard in a senseless, controversial accident.

She couldn’t—wouldn’t burden Andee with her own uncertainties.

“Heaven is a huge place, and it’s...everywhere. Do you remember when we drove a long way from home to see a rocket launch?”

Andee nodded. “It went up and up and up, and disappeared.”

“That’s right, the rocket went all the way to the moon, but it still didn’t reach heaven. Do you remember how Grandma said he’s with you every time you think about him?”

“Uh-huh.” Andee stared at her sandwich a moment longer. “Do we get milk to drink?” she asked, placing her bear in an empty chair before she picked up half of her sandwich and took a bite.

More than happy to change the subject, Jenna jumped up, took down glasses and poured each of them a glass of milk.

“What was that bad man doing here before Beezer came to visit?”

Jenna swallowed what she was chewing, then chased it with milk. “I don’t think he’s bad, Andee. He wasn’t happy. He worked for the man I bought the ranch from, but he wanted me to pay him more for doing the job he’d been doing. I didn’t—don’t think that’s right. I told him no.”

“So is that why he got mad and left? What if he comes back?”

“Don’t you worry, okay? Mr. Winkleman thinks I can’t do without his help. Tomorrow, we’ll go into town and find someone else.

“If you’re finished with your sandwich, let’s stack these plates in the sink and go see what he was doing with the ostriches. I’ll bet it’s something you and I can handle.”

“Okay.” Andee slid off her chair and carried her plate to the counter. She went back and collected Cubby Bear, then waited for her mom by the kitchen door.

Jenna took off her earrings, tied back her hair, got out one of three pairs of work gloves she’d bought and led the way to the pens.

“I saw Mr. Winkleman set down this plastic bag when he came out of the shed. Shall we see what’s in it?”

Andee trudged not so enthusiastically after her mom. She held her bear tight to her chest.

“Oh,” Jenna exclaimed, “the bag is filled with ostrich feathers.”

Peering into the bag, Andee asked, “Do the feathers fall off?”

“Some do. Mr. Martin used to only take the feathers during molting season—when they fall off—so we don’t have to hurt the birds to get them. The sale of feathers is one thing that makes raising ostriches profitable. That means, what pays us money,” she added because she saw Andee open her mouth.

Instead the girl asked, “Who wants feathers? What good are they?” She picked one out of the bag and studied it. “It’s big.”

“Ostrich feathers are the only feathers that naturally absorb dust instead of pushing it away. Hmm, I wonder if my feather duster is ostrich... I remember an article I read said some car manufactures like ostrich feathers for the final dusting before they paint a car.

“Stay with the bag for a minute, Andee. I’ll go inside and get his notes.”

“Will you come right back?”

“Yes, silly. And I’ll leave the door open so you can see me.”

Andee nodded.

Because Andee acted so uneasy, Jenna whipped into the kitchen and grabbed up the folder of notes. She was out of breath after running back. “Okay, so that didn’t take long, did it? But, sweetheart, I can’t have you worrying any time I’m out of sight. You used to go out to play catch or to ride Brittany’s bike.”

“At our old house there wasn’t so much nothing,” Andee said, sweeping her arm in an arc that encompassed the desert land beyond the ranch.

“That’s the difference between city living and country living.” Jenna knelt and opened the folder of notes.

“What does it say about the feathers, Mommy?”

“It says the ostrich feathers are soft because the birds don’t fly. They use their feathers to warm them on cold nights and to shade the chicks we’ll return to the pens.”

“So, taking the feathers really doesn’t hurt them?”

“No. It’s like cutting our fingernails and toenails. The loose feathers can safely be plucked.” Jenna gazed through the fence at the tall, gangly birds. “We’ll have to blindfold them, though, to help keep them calm.”

“My teacher used one at Tessa’s birthday party when we pinned the tail on the donkey.”

“The very same... Maybe I was too hasty in firing Mr. Winkleman,” Jenna muttered. “I suspect there’s an art to plucking feathers.”

“Is that the blindfold?” Andee asked, pointing to what looked like a black silk scarf draped over the doorknob of the small shed.

“Sharp eyes. I didn’t notice it hanging there.” Rising, Jenna walked over and picked the item up. “I bet you’re right, Andee. This is soft. It’s folded and sewn so it can be tied.”

“I’m not big enough to help.”

“No, you’re not.” Hauling in a deep breath, Jenna slowly let it out. “I sank all of our money into this operation. I need to buck up and do this.”

Just as she made the proclamation, the same airplane she’d seen and complained about to Flynn Sutton appeared over the row of hills and climbed slowly and noisily as it passed over the ostrich pens like a giant predator. As before, the birds ran in circles when the plane momentarily blocked the sun.

Squinting, Andee tipped her head back. “Is that Mr. Flynn? Do you think Beezer is with him?”

Jenna, who’d held her breath as she’d watched her flock scatter in disarray, didn’t answer until Andee pressed her again. “I don’t think it’s his plane, sweetheart. And Flynn is his first name. Anyway, I doubt his dog flies with him.”

“Why not?”