Crow Talk: A Novel - Hardcover

Garvin, Eileen

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0593473884 ISBN 13: 9780593473887

Verlag: Dutton, 2024

Inhaltsangabe

Nationally bestselling author of The Music of Bees Eileen Garvin returns with a moving story of hope, healing, and unexpected friendship set amidst the wild natural beauty of the Pacific Northwest.

Frankie O’Neill and Anne Ryan would seem to have nothing in common. Frankie is a lonely ornithologist struggling to salvage her dissertation on the spotted owl following a rift with her advisor. Anne is an Irish musician far from home and family, raising her five-year-old son, Aiden, who refuses to speak.

At Beauty Bay, a community of summer homes nestled on the shores of June Lake, in the remote foothills of Mount Adams, it’s off-season with most houses shuttered for the fall. But Frankie, adrift, returns to the rundown caretaker’s cottage that has been in the hardworking O'Neill family for generations—a beloved place and a constant reminder of the family she has lost. And Anne, in the wake of a tragedy that has disrupted her career and silenced her music, has fled to the neighboring house, a showy summer home owned by her husband's wealthy family.

When Frankie finds an injured baby crow in the forest, little does she realize that the charming bird will bring all three lost souls—Frankie, Anne, and Aiden—together on a journey toward hope, healing, and rediscovering joy. Crow Talk is an achingly beautiful story of love, grief, friendship, and the healing power of nature in the darkest of times.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Eileen Garvin is the author of the national bestselling novel The Music of Bees and the acclaimed memoir How to Be a Sister. Born and raised in Washington State, she lives in Oregon.

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1

Nesting Sites

Where a bird determines to locate her nest is the key concern in establishing home territory. Oftentimes the nesting site may be inspired by natural boundaries-such as field, fen, shrub steppe, pond, or lake.

-G. Gordon's Field Guide to the Birds of the Pacific Northwest

$4

Mary Frances O'Neill was a young woman of many firsts. First in her graduate school class in the University of Washington's avian biology program, she was almost certain to graduate with honors. She was also the first female student in the history of Hood River Valley High School to earn a full ride to UW for academics and not sports. She was the first member of her family to complete a bachelor's degree, let alone a master of science. And she was also the first woman in the history of the family-O'Neill on her father's side and Healan on her mother's-to reach the advanced age of twenty-six without becoming a mother. This last, it should be noted, was not an accomplishment universally admired by her kin, many of whom wanted nothing more for her than a marriage with a nice local boy and a steady job at the county.

On this September day in 1998, Mary Frances, who almost everyone called Frankie, was not thinking about her academic, professional, or romantic future. She was focused entirely on getting to June Lake, where she hadn't been in more than a year.

The truck puttered along the Old BZ Highway north of the Columbia River, hugging the banks of the White Salmon River as it twisted and turned its way through the great dark woods. It was a difficult road, but Frankie knew it by heart-every curve and corner, each patch of rough pavement, and all the road signs, which grew fewer as the highway climbed up into the remote corner of the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. Here was the bridge at Husum Falls where flashing white water tumbled over the double drop into the river. There was the wide gray face of the dam that held back the once-wild flow of the White Salmon River. She knew which shoulders would be crowded with kayakers shuttling the whitewater run and which would be thick with fishermen casting from the sloping banks for fall steelhead. Then came fields stretching out on either side of the highway giving way to thickening woods as the road climbed toward the little jewel of an alpine lake tucked high in the forest at the foot of Mount Adams. Frankie cracked the window and listened to the rush of the river and the crash of the falls as she crossed the bridge. A kingfisher keened along the riverbank and a Steller's jay chattered a machine-gun reply. She'd driven this road countless times over the decades with her parents, her brother, her grandparents, and her cousins. This solo trip was a rarity and one she'd been looking forward to for months-clutching it like a lifeline, if she was being honest.

Her thoughts drifted as the trees flashed by, and she forced herself to think of practical concerns-the checklist of supplies she'd brought for her trip, the potential change in the weather during this transitional month of September, and the hour of sunset, which was the most important question of the day. Like most people who frequented June Lake, the O'Neill family never ran the boat after dark. Driving at night was to risk running aground in unseen shallows or colliding with old deadhead logs-remnants from the forest's timber heyday-that could surface unexpectedly. And even in summer, the weather could change quickly on the lake. Since the boat was the only way to reach the family cottage, it was a key consideration. Frankie glanced at her watch and at the sun now far above the west shoulder of the mountain. She had plenty of time. The knot of anxiety in her chest loosened a bit, and she leaned back against the cracked leather seat.

Traffic thinned north of the dam. A logging truck blew by trailing the sharp, sweet tang of freshly cut trees. After that she had the road to herself. It took more than an hour to reach Mill Three, and a light rain began to fall as she pulled into the marina parking lot.

Mill Three was one of several small logging towns unimaginatively named by the Cooley Lumber Company in the 1920s. The once-thriving settlement was now just a wide spot in the road with a gas station, a post office, and a shabby park next to a small marina where the O'Neills docked their boat. The communities of Mill One and Mill Two had long been reclaimed by the woods, and those who remembered them were all dead.

Frankie cut the engine and looked out over June Lake at a view that seemed unchanged in her more than twenty-five years of coming here. The dark green water caught the muted sunlight that slanted through the clouds and undulated without breaking. Large ponderosa pines and Douglas firs grew close together here all the way down to the water's edge. The empty halyard on the flagpole slapped in a nearly indiscernible breeze, and the weathered cedar docks rose and fell gently in the shifting water. A mourning dove cooed from within the branches of a big oak, and an osprey chirped sharply from its perch on a piling. Frankie climbed out of the truck and looked up the long, narrow lake. Mount Adams rose to the north with a ring of clouds circling its shoulders, heavy with new snow. Frankie zipped up her sweatshirt and turned toward the dock. The marina was almost empty this time of year, as most people pulled their boats after Labor Day. An old Century Raven bobbed gently against her lines in one slip. Someone, probably Patrick or maybe Hank, had repainted her name on the side, bright yellow against the black wooden hull. The Peggotty had been named by Grammy Genevieve, who'd been a great lover of Dickens and thought The Peggotty called to mind David Copperfield's unfussy, practical, and dependable heroine.

Only two other boats remained-a sleek Sea Ray and a battered red Hewescraft. The former belonged to one of the other families and the latter functioned as a water taxi and cargo boat. With no road access to the homes on June Lake, the summer residents were dependent on boats to haul people, food, and supplies up the long stretch of water. Some might have found the remoteness of the place an inconvenience. But for Frankie, June Lake had always been the calm center of the universe. It was a comfort to be back here where she felt most herself-a girl at home in the woods and falling in love with birds for the first time.

The sun struggled with the clouds, and the top of the mountain disappeared. The osprey chirped and then circled, dove, and snatched a fish from the water. Frankie shouldered her backpack and carried a load of boxes down the dock. She pulled the cover off the boat, and the Philippine mahogany decking gleamed in the low light of the cloudy afternoon. She smelled the faint scent of varnish and a knot rose in her throat. Refinishing the woodwork was a tedious annual undertaking that her father had always completed in fits and starts. She could picture him here, sanding, wiping the wood clean, brushing on varnish, and reading a tattered detective novel between coats. She dropped her gear in the boat and turned away from the image, returning to the truck to unload the rest of her supplies. In the boat she opened the faded red leather hatch to negotiate with the carburetor. The Peggotty could be cantankerous and hadn't been driven in months. Eventually the engine sputtered to life and the instrument panel on the dashboard lit up like a memory of Christmas. Frankie let the engine hum in neutral for a couple of minutes. She cast off and pulled away from the dock as the rain increased. The spattered windshield reflected her lanky frame and short dark hair. She pushed her bangs out of her face and flipped on the wipers.

Frankie's father, Jack O'Neill, had taught both of his kids to drive the summer Patrick was twelve and Frankie was eleven. She'd been thrilled...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Dutton
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2024
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593473884
• ISBN 13: 9780593473887
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 368
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Dutton; https://www.penguin.com/dutton-childrens-overview/; ; Im Mittelfeld 25; K?ln; Deutschland; 51105; Deutschland