Swan Song Read Free Page B

to come by at afternoon nap time, and Fray was on the bank, covered in snoozing goslings, with a male standing guard nearby. It reminded me of the swans that used to summer here.”
    Becky’s mouth formed an O. “I love swans! They’re so beautiful. Did they raise babies here?”
    “Indeed they did for many years. George and Laura, we called them. They were excellent parents, and they managed to keep a few of their cygnets from becoming lunch for the snapping turtles each year. Once they managed to get seven to adulthood. Then in November, the kids would leave in twos and threes, and after a few more weeks of rest, George and Laura would take off for open water, too. Usually, they go to the Connecticut River. One year, though, the earthen dam at the far end of the pond had to be repaired, and State officials relocated the swan family to another pond. After that, George and Laura—and we think a few of the kids—stopped nesting here. They prefer the other place, but they cruise through in the spring and fall for a day or two.”
    The feeding frenzy continued as I eased the car away from the bank and turned up to Spring Street and the waiting songbirds at the other end of the marsh. Minutes later, I introduced Duane and Becky to the little cadre of chickadees, titmice, nuthatches, finches and my special favorite, a cardinal I called Pip, that came to my whistle and feasted on the sunflower seeds and cracked nuts we poured at the edge of the plowed sidewalk. We backed off a few yards to give the birds space.
    “Why do you feed the birds here, Kate? Can’t you just put out bird feeders at The Birches? Seems as if it would be a lot simpler,” Becky asked, clutching the collar of her hooded parka around her cheeks to cut the icy wind.
    “It would be,” I agreed, “but the condo association has a ban on bird feeding. I can’t blame them, because the seeds attract rodents. So I picked out this spot. It’s on my way to work, and when pedestrians and dog walkers come down the sidewalk, the birds can just hop up onto the fence and into the bushes.” I indicated the split rail fencing and the shrubs on the marsh side of the walk.
    Duane pointed to a large, globular nest hanging low over the fence. “Which bird lives in that?”
    I laughed as a plump gray squirrel hopped along the top rail of the fence and dropped among the birds on the ground to stuff his cheeks with nuts. “No bird. It’s the winter residence of that outrageous fur ball over there. He’s figured out how to stay warm, sleep late, and get room service courtesy of Emma and me. The birds don’t seem bothered, so what the heck. Everybody’s got to make a living.”
    “I guess he had a good realtor,” Duane joked. “Location, location, location, right?”
    I nodded and looked at my watch. “Time to get moving. I really appreciate your helping me today. It makes it less of a chore when I have company. I don’t know about you, but this wind is making me hope May has the coffee brewing at the office.”
    “Yeah,” Duane agreed. “Some hot chocolate will really hit the spot this morning.” Reluctantly, he and Becky turned their backs on the feeding birds and headed back up the sidewalk to where my car sat idling in the handy parking lot of a local insurance agency. Becky couldn’t resist trying to stuff a handful of snow down Duane’s collar, and he retaliated with a soft snowball, both of them laughing like the kids they still were from my distinctly middle-aged perspective.
     
    By the time we’d made our way to the Law Barn on Old Main Street, which housed Mack Realty and Romantic Nights Publishing on separate floors, we were more than ready for the hot beverages May had prepared for us.
    “Here you go,” she said, handing Duane and Becky their hot chocolate, “and hot coffee is coming right up.”
    After murmuring hasty but heartfelt thanks, the two young people scurried to their respective desks, Becky’s in the main floor lobby and