“You too,” Jo said in unison with Gabe.
They watched the deputy climb into his patrol car and drive away, Little Bear sending him off with a running flurry of barks.
When he was fully out of sight, Gabe said, “I have to go home. I’m going to kick Lacey in the ass back to Saint Louis.”
“Don’t make her mad! She’ll do something worse.”
“I won’t. But if I go home, she’ll leave.”
“That’s why she did this. I really can’t believe you’re related to that scheming woman!”
Gabe walked away. “I want to find Ursa before I go.”
Jo followed him to the back of the house. “The last time this happened, she didn’t go far. But that was at night.”
They looked around the grassy field calling Ursa’s name, but not too loud in case the deputy had stopped at the Nash cabin on his way out. Following a trail of broken stems, they came to the far edge of the field, a slope that dropped down into forest. They searched for a little while, but the sun was setting and they didn’t have a flashlight.
Standing at the back door, Gabe looked out at the darkening field. “She’s hunkered down somewhere. She’ll come back at night to make sure the sheriff’s car is gone.”
They cooked the pasta but didn’t eat much. And they didn’t cut the pie. At ten, they lit a fire in the pit behind the house to signal Ursa to come home. They sat in lawn chairs, waiting, too worried to say much. At ten thirty, Gabe said, “Either she’s lost or she’s not coming back. Which do you think?”
“She trusted me enough to come back twice before, but she’s so smart, it’s hard to believe she’s lost. She would know to follow Turkey Creek to get back here, and the moon is bright enough to see by.”
“I have a theory about that.” He stood and faced the prairie. “After she ran out the back door, she probably went straight north through the tall grass to keep the house between her and the sheriff. If she went down that slope back there, she would come to Guthrie Creek.” Pointing eastward he said, “Turkey Creek splits off around this hill. If she crossed Guthrie on her way out and came back in the dark, she might not see Turkey Creek split off. She would follow the wrong creek trying to find us.”
“You’re right. Where they split, Turkey Creek is full of vegetation. It hardly looks like a creek.”
“Did she know the lay of the land back there?”
“I don’t think she did. She stuck pretty close to the house and shed.”
He stared out at the dark field, rubbing his beard.
“I bet this reminds you of the day Lacey left you in the woods,” Jo said.
He looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected her to make that connection. “That’s exactly what I’m remembering,” he said. “Do you have a good flashlight? I want to walk down Guthrie and try to find her.”
Jo dug through her supplies and found a headlamp for him and a regular flashlight for herself. They called Little Bear and urged him to follow, hoping he might hear or smell Ursa.
Having spent many childhood days roaming the Kinney property, Gabe knew the easiest way down the hill to Guthrie Creek. They intermittently called for Ursa as they walked. The going was slow in the dark creek bed, and they stumbled often on roots and rocks. Little Bear was enjoying the excursion, often running off into the dark forest to explore but always returning.
“If she walked this long, she would have known she was off course. She would have turned around,” Jo said after about forty minutes of searching.
“I know. Should we go back?”
“I’m going a little farther. I can’t give up yet.”
He nodded and stayed at her side. “Ursa, it’s Jo! Come out!” she called. After another fifteen minutes, they decided to turn around. Jo was trying not to cry.
Gabe spontaneously put his arms around her. “It’s okay,” he said. “She’s smart. She’ll be okay.” His shirt had dried since he’d been at the stream with Ursa, but he still smelled of creek water and wet sand and minnows. Jo closed her eyes and submerged herself in the comfort of his unexpected intimacy. He pressed closer. He seemed to need her, too.
Little Bear ran barking down the creek in the direction of the Kinney property. Jo and Gabe pulled apart and ran after him. The dog’s barking abruptly stopped ahead, and as they rounded a bend, their lights fell on Ursa kneeling in the creek bed, hugging Little Bear. “Jo!” she said. She splashed through a shallow pool and fell against Jo’s body, a sob bursting from her. “Are the police going to take me?”
“He’s gone,” Gabe said.
Ursa transferred her arms to his waist.
“Where were you? How did we pass without you hearing us?” he asked.
“I got lost!” she said. “I tried to find that one trail that goes up to the road, but I never saw it. It was dark and everything looked different! I turned around and walked a long time, but I still couldn’t find it.”
“Then you turned around again,” he said.
Ursa nodded, wiping her hands over dirty streaks of tears on her cheeks.
“She was southwest of us when we went northeast looking for her,” he said.
“You were smart to follow the creek,” Jo told her. “But you followed the wrong creek. This is Guthrie Creek, not Turkey Creek.”
“That’s why everything looked different,” Gabe said.
“I was scared,” Ursa said, new tears falling. “I thought I would never see you again.”
Gabe crouched. “Get on my back. I’ll carry you for a while.” Ursa clambered onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck. He gripped her legs and stood.
“Am I too heavy?” she asked.
“Is that little stone fly on my back saying something, Jo?”
“I thought I heard it squeak,” Jo said.
“Gabe and I found a stone fly larva today,” Ursa said. “They eat detritus.”
“Good word,” Jo said.
“I learned that word today. It’s gunky stuff that’s made of rotten plants and animals.”
“Sounds delicious,” Jo said.
“Did you eat the pie?”
“Nope. We were waiting for you.”
When they arrived at Kinney Cottage, Gabe lowered Ursa to the ground near his truck. “I have to go,” he said. He took off the headlamp and handed it to Jo. “I have to make sure Lacey packs her bags tonight.”
“I think she called the police,” Ursa said.
“I think so, too.” He turned to Jo. “Make sure Ursa stays out of sight. Don’t take her on the road to look at nests for a while.”
“I’m not working Turkey Creek tomorrow.”
“Good.” He half turned to his truck. “I guess I’ll see you . . .”
“When?”
“I don’t know. We have to make sure this blows over.”
Jo moved toward him. She thought they would embrace again. But he climbed into his truck and drove away.
18
The next day, Jo let Ursa stay in bed a few extra hours to make up for missed sleep. But that put her further behind in nest monitoring after the rain day. They had to work late to catch up as much as possible, arriving at Turkey Creek Road after sunset, too late to catch Gabe at his Monday evening egg sale. “Can we stop at Gabe’s?” Ursa asked.
“We can’t. Lacey might be there.”
“I could sneak in and see if her car is there.”
“We aren’t doing any more sneaking.”
They had a similar conversation the next day, and the day after that one. Three days and no word from Gabe. Jo regretted that she hadn’t asked him if he had a cell phone. But mostly she was glad they didn’t talk via text. For some reason, she couldn’t imagine communicating with him that way.
The next morning, Jo let Ursa sleep until first light. “Is it raining?” she asked when she opened her eyes and saw gray light.
“I let you sleep a little later. We’re starting on Turkey Creek Road.”
“I like when we do that.” She sat at the kitchen table and sleepily ate a waffle.
Usually they left the house in quiet darkness. But when they began on Turkey Creek Road, they were greeted by a full dawn chorus, the riotous song of birds defending territories after a long night. As always, they fed Little Bear behind the house before they drove away. “You missed the first nest,” Ursa said, pointing out the window at the orange flag.
“I’m going to park between the nests we have to monitor. We’ll walk the road and do some nest searching first.”
Early morning was a great time to look for nests. After a long night, nestlings were hungry and their parents visited them often, sometimes leading Jo straight to the nest. She stopped the car about a quarter mile past Gabe’s driveway and pulled off the road into the weeds. Ursa put on the cheap spare binoculars Jo let her use and hopped out of the car. She stared longingly in the direction of Gabe’s house. “Can we see Gabe today?”
“We may see him very soon,” Jo said. “It’s Thursday. He sells eggs in the morning.”
“Unless he’s sick again,” Ursa said.
Jo didn’t admit that was part of the reason she was working near his house on egg morning. She wanted to make sure he was okay.