It was a nice change from Mike and all of his expensive, hard-edged friends back in New York. Declan found himself really liking Ro’s easy-going ways. They were both working hard, but it felt relaxing, like they were connecting with the farm instead of using it.
“What made you interested in farming?”
Ro shrugged. “I guess I’ve always liked the idea of feeding people.” He smiled a bit bashfully. “I love my bison form because there are legends that bison were given to the people to feed them. They’re usually a symbol of abundance, strength, stability, and blessing.”
“That’s soooo cool.” A bison shifter! It so totally fit Ro, now that he knew. He wished he could see him shift, but that didn’t seem appropriate to ask. “Do all of the animals have meanings like that? Is that what all of those carvings are?”
“That’s right. They’re usually for protection or blessing.”
“What’s a hummingbird?”
Ro tilted his head to the side. “Hummingbirds have a lot of meanings, like many of the animals. They’re often messengers, but they’re warriors, too. They’re affectionate and playful. They represent timelessness and infinity, sometimes. But most often they represent energy or vitality. I can see that being a good animal for you.”
Declan gave a little skip. “Ooh, I love that! I can’t shift, but Geir calls me his hummingbird.”
Ro laughed. “You met him two days ago and you already have a nickname?”
“Well, kind of. He said I was like a hummingbird, so I decided it was my nickname. Now I just have to get him to use it.”
Ro threw back his head and laughed.
“Hey, if you see a hummingbird, could you show me? I want to hear them hum.”
“Wait, you’ve never seen one?”
“I’ve seen pictures! I mean, there aren’t a lot of hummingbirds in the city.”
“You are too much,” Ro said, as he finally stopped laughing. He said it with affection, though, not the way that people usually said that to him. “We have a feeder I can show you later. Just put in some sugar water and they’ll flock to it.”
“Oh, we are definitely getting one of those for the cabin.”
They went back to harvesting blueberries and Declan let himself enjoy the warm sun and good company. Ro went back to explaining his plans for the farm, mixing in stories about the gandayah or Drum Dancers. They were tiny nature spirits who helped respectful Iroquois farmers with their crops.
As Ro launched into another story, Declan looked down to see a small, brown hand reaching across his sheet to snatch a handful of blueberries. A naked child with tangled hair, perhaps three or four years old, danced away.
“A thief!” Ro exclaimed dramatically, chasing after the giggling girl, the pink backpack clutched in one meaty hand. His booming voice was playful. “No one steals my blueberries!”
“Uncle Ro! No!” she squealed. It took Declan only a moment to realize that this was the kitten, May. Shifters had to be the coolest thing ever.
Ro scooped her into his arms. “Now I’ve got you! And the price of these blueberries is wearing one beautiful dress.”
She giggled again. “No dress!”
“Oh, but it’s the most beautiful dress. It has beads on it and ruffles.”
“No dress!”
“Hmmm…” he considered. “It sounds like you don’t want to be a person today, so you don’t want any blueberries. That’s really too bad, because they’re awfully tasty.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Just the dress. No shoes.”
“Just the dress and underwear,” Ro negotiated. “And then I’ll give you your pail.”
That seemed to be agreeable.
As Declan watched the two of them together, he started to realize just how bad New York had been for him. He didn’t want a child, necessarily, or at least not yet. But he wanted that closeness, that sense of community and family.
All of Mike’s friends were too busy being rich and impressive, the “right” kind of socially powerful gay men, to do something as simple as chase around a preschooler in a blueberry patch. He certainly didn’t have any family to speak of. The closest he’d come to having a community was the teen center where he volunteered, but the kids who came to his art classes changed every week.
Declan was more than happy to run around the farm and roll around on his knees, though. He caught and tickled the “blueberry thief” at least a dozen times, alternating the monster role with “Uncle Ro.” It made the harvesting take at least twice as long, but he was laughing and grinning the whole time.
Eventually, May wandered off to play with her pail, while they continued working. She carefully picked a few berries to put inside, then nestled them in handfuls of grass and pretty rocks. After she added each one, she came back to show him. He praised and cooed over each one.
They finished another row while she smushed the blueberries on the rocks, staining them blue and using them like paint. She must have felt the adult eyes on her, because she looked up at them and grinned, holding up two of her sticky rocks. They each pretended to eat the cookies, much to her delight.
May’s white, frilly dress was soon stained with dark juice and dirt, and Declan was all sweaty. All in all, a fantastic day. A long day, though.
“Ugh,” Declan groaned as he reached the end of the next row and stretched. “I’m exhausted. How does she have so much energy?”
May was carefully arranging small rocks in a circle and putting a blueberry on top of each one. The berries kept rolling off and she nibbled her tongue in concentration.
Ro shook his head, looking at her fondly. “I have no idea. Ready to break for lunch?”
“So ready.”
“Sounds good. We’ll eat and then I can show you around a bit more.” He turned and raised his voice. “Come on, May! Say goodbye to your friends. Declan’s going to help us make sandwiches.”
She thought for a moment, then waved to her pile of rocks. “Bye-bye.” The look she gave Declan was dubious, though. “Do you know how to make sammiches?”
Chapter 9
Geir
Geir watched the spotted fawn as it walked carefully across the clearing. Another followed behind it, and then the doe. He’d known, just by their age, that they were natural deer instead of People. Usually he could watch them for hours.
He shifted uncomfortably on his stiff legs. All three heads came up, pinning him with steady eyes, and then darting away.
Geir moved into a new position, bending his knees a little more. He was sitting on one of the rocks he often favored. He had settled here for days, sometimes, noticing time only when the sun rose and fell, when his clothing became damp with rain or dew.
Time, he had found, was endless. Flowing around him like a river around a pebble. He had long since stopped measuring it. Or even noticing its passage.
He stretched out his shoulders, not quite comfortable. Maybe he should sit below the tree. Or walk again through the forest.
When would Declan be back?
And how had time, his unnoticed companion, become so unpredictably vexing?
Geir had started bread dough this morning when Declan left. He was pleased to discover that the yeast in his refrigerator was still alive, though a bit slow to start. Manufactured yeast was a miracle.