“Sorry?” Elsa resisted an urge to take his hand and draw it away from his face. “I can’t tell you what a relief it is to hear you say all that. It’s one thing to know I’m not well. It’s far worse to not be taken seriously.”
Luke leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “He might not, but I do. We’ll find ways for you to still experience what you love.”
“Why?” The question escaped Elsa before she could measure how it would put him on the spot. But the truth was, she had no idea why Luke seemed to be taking her burden on his shoulders. She didn’t understand why he’d begun referring to them as “we.”
He held her gaze. “Because that’s what I do for the people I care about.”
“Like Tom,” she said. Loyalty was what made this man tick. Anyone would be lucky to have him as a friend.
“Yes, I’m concerned for Tom. But no, it’s not the same.” He took off his homburg and leaned back, turning his gaze to the trees. “I don’t know, Elsa. I’m not finding bird-watching veryrelaxing so far.” He arched one eyebrow at her, and she couldn’t help but laugh.
“Maybe that’s because we haven’t done any yet. I’ve been sharing so much. It’s only fair that now you at least have a chance to tell me why you need to relax in the first place. Then I’ll show you how birding is done.”
Music floated through the trees from a street performer playing the saxophone. Luke stayed quiet as he watched the swaying branches, but she had a feeling he wasn’t listening to the jazz.
“How is your work going?” she prompted. He’d certainly heard enough about hers. “Is your father happy with what you’ve salvaged from the mansion so far?”
He released a controlled sigh. “He’s not happy that I’m the one doing it. And he never will be.” When he turned to face her, his rueful smile tugged her heart. “I’m the wrong son in Dupont & Son. Franklin was supposed to be the one taking over the business. Before the war, I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with it. I was going to design my own buildings, not rip apart and resell someone else’s. I said the salvage business lacked artistry, that it was a scavenger’s game, and I didn’t want to be a vulture. I said a lot of things—vain, prideful things I regret to this day—when I left the US to study in France.”
It was the hitch in his voice that brought a lump to Elsa’s throat.
“Franklin stayed home to help Dad, and I think even my mother was glad I’d gone.”
“Surely, that’s not true,” Elsa insisted.
He held up a hand. “Her home was more peaceful without me there to get into arguments with Dad and Frank. We, all three of us, were to blame, but it only took one of us leaving for her to have harmony again. Then the war started, and I stayed in Europe, and you know the rest of that story. Near the end of the war, Franklin enlisted, too. But he died of the Spanish flu before he even left the country.”
Elsa covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh no. I’m so very sorry.”
A knob shifted behind Luke’s collar. “Yeah. Me too. But my folks took it hardest of all. Franklin was everything they wanted in a son. Since he’s been gone, I’ve stepped in to help in all the ways I know how, but it doesn’t make up for it. It’s been eight years, and I can tell it’s still hard on Dad that I’m not Frank.”
No wonder he hadn’t wanted to say more about Franklin when he’d mentioned his brother during the storm. He had come home from war to a house of mourning, then gave up his own career dreams to work for a father so stuck in grief for the son he’d lost, he didn’t appreciate the one he still had. At least, that’s what Elsa gathered. She thanked Luke for sharing such a personal thing with her, and he insisted it was no more personal than what she’d shared with him. Elsa wasn’t convinced that was true.
“It’s nice that you listened,” he added. “It’s been a while since someone asked.”
“About Franklin? Or about you?”
“Either. Except for my doctor, who is overly concerned with my blood pressure. Speaking of which, ready to tell me what you see up there? I ought to do at least a little actual birding.”
She smiled, comfortable with this familiar territory. “Happy to. The fall migration isn’t as flamboyant as the spring one, and you have to work a little harder since they aren’t singing as much and their plumage has turned more subtle. Look, there’s a magnolia warbler.” She pointed to the little grey-and-yellow bird perched on a branch. His spritely movements seemed to fit with the saxophone music in the background.
“I don’t see it.”
Elsa scootched closer to him, stretching tall from the waist so she could be as near to his vantage point as possible. Luke shifted, draping his arm on the bench behind her so she could move closer still.
“There,” she whispered, pointing to direct his line of sight. Warmth radiated in the one-inch space between her cheek and his. The smell of peppermint intensified. “Do you see it? Watch for a flicker of movement.” She held her breath, then slowly released it, attempting to steady the flicker she felt inside herself.
“I see that.” He angled slightly toward her, apparently looking at something nowhere near the warbler. She leaned out of his way, but he touched her shoulder. “What are they saying? You speak bird as well as dog, don’t you?”
She heard the tease in his voice but couldn’t hope to reply with his fingers still resting near her collar. Then she saw what Luke was referring to and gasped. “Luke! You found the owl!”
“Nope,” he said. “I found some mad little birds fluttering around a branch.”
“Those are blue jays and a tufted titmouse, and they’re saying ‘Scram!’ to an intruder in their territory—Zeus, the Eurasian eagle-owl that escaped from the menagerie a few weeks ago! His feathers are mottled brown, so he’s camouflaged really well up there.” The owl turned his head, and she caught a glimpse of his bright orange eyes. “Oh my goodness, did you see his eyes? What a magnificent bird! Despite everything the menagerie officials predicted, he looks fine and quite natural living free.”
By now, a few passing people paused to peer into the tree, as well. “I see it! Look, Dad!” A young man of perhaps fourteen years passed a pair of binoculars to a mustachioed man wearing a straw hat.
A woman with grey hair turned her tanned face toward the owl, grinning when she spotted him. The strong smell of citronella and camphor surrounded her.
