The Legend of Safehaven

by R. A. Comunale

  Following the instruction of the three, the young man dressed in muted dark clothing—not quite the outfit he was used to, but comfortable. His hair and beard were still short, because he now kept everything trimmed.

  “Let us go in first,” Nancy warned. “We need to size up the situation. If the police show up, stay in the car.”

  She tried to laugh at her remark but couldn’t. She knew police intervention was always a possibility in family disputes.

  Slowly she climbed the worn, stone steps to the heavy, wood door.

  We’re both relics of a bygone time, aren’t we, house?

  She lifted the cast-iron knocker. Three times she struck the metal anvil. A minute later the door opened on its intruder chain, and a late-middle-aged woman peered out, her face distinctly lined by stress.

  “Mrs. Geltmacher?”

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Nancy Edison. This is my husband, Robert, and our friend, Dr. Galen. We’d like to talk with you about Jacob. Is your husband home?”

  “My husband cannot come to the door. He sits shiva.”

  “I’m sorry, have you lost a relative?”

  “He sits shiva for Jacob.”

  Nancy stood impassively but mentally shook her head. Isaac Geltmacher was going to be one of those. She tried again.

  “Jacob is not dead, Mrs. Geltmacher. He is here with us. We’d like to talk to you and your husband.”

  The woman’s face lit up with relief at the news of her son. Jacob was well! Then her somber expression returned, as she remembered her husband.

  “I do not think that would be wise.”

  Galen moved forward. “We’ve come a long way, Mrs. Geltmacher. At least give us the opportunity to try.”

  Rebekah Geltmacher thought a moment then nodded, released the chain, and led the three into the parlor. The diminutive woman, dressed in simple, dark dress—no jewelry, no makeup to sully her natural good looks—moved hesitantly toward a back room.

  As they waited, they saw the spinet piano sitting in the corner of the room, and a worn, violin case rested on top of it. There were no paintings or photos on the walls. The furniture had that heavy, stuffed look favored at the beginning of World War I.

  Isaac Geltmacher, dressed in a black, broad-cut suit, heavily bearded and locked, entered, followed by his wife. She drew back, her hands clutched in front of her. He wasn’t tall but was imposing none the less, in the way he stood and in the angulation of his jaw.

  Galen immediately saw the boy in the father. Jacob had inherited that not-quite-stocky build and strong jaw line. He also shared his mother’s sensitive brown eyes and delicate lips. And when Isaac spoke, Galen recognized the young man’s mannerisms mirrored in the father.

  “You come to speak with me about my son? My son is dead! I sit Shiva for him. I have no son!”

  The words hit Galen head-on like an arrow, wrenching him to the core.

  Edison took a step forward, and Isaac involuntarily stepped back.

  “Why do you say this? On what basis do you reject your own son?”

  Again the arrow pierced Galen, as he heard the words Geltmacher spoke in controlled anger.

  “A son must obey his father’s wishes.”

  “No, Isaac Geltmacher,” Nancy interjected, a subtle fierceness tingeing her voice. “A son must respect his father. Nowhere is it written that a son must live his father’s life.”

  “Since when is a shiksa a rebbe?”

  Nancy tried to keep her voice gentle, but she felt hard-pressed to do so at the man’s reply. Fire now burned in her eyes as she faced him.

  “Mr. Geltmacher, my name is Nancy Seligman Edison. My father, Ira Seligman, and his ancestors came from the same village as your family. He fought the ones who made it necessary for your father to be brought here and adopted. Do not insult me, young man!”

  Rebekah stood in the shadows nodding agreement.

  Galen took up the charge. He could barely resist choking the man.

  “Mr. Geltmacher, you are Isaac, son of Abraham. If the God of Abraham Himself had commanded your father to kill you in sacrifice, would Abraham Geltmacher have done so?”

  “So now the goy is the rebbe.”

  Galen pushed on.

  “Has God commanded you to sacrifice your son?”

  Isaac lowered his head.

  “No.”

  “Then why have you done so?”

  Isaac slumped into one of the chairs and began to sob.

  Rebekah placed her hands on her husband’s shoulders. She was smiling.

  Nancy turned to Edison and whispered, “Get Jacob, and make sure he brings the thing.”

  Edison left the apartment and headed to his car. Jacob saw him coming and got out.

  “Come on, and remember what we told you—and bring that with you. Did you get it ready?”

  Jacob nodded, grabbed the case, and followed Edison back up the familiar steps. He felt strange, both feverish and chilled at the same time. His mouth was dry, as he crossed under the mezuzah-marked lintel and entered the home of his youth. He stood as he had been instructed, until his father and mother looked up at him.

  Rebekah’s eyes filled with joy. Isaac’s eyebrows rose questioningly. The three elders looked at their young friend expectantly, their mental fingers crossed. Jacob took a deep breath, stepped forward, and faced his father directly.

  “Papa, Mama, I’m sorry.”

  Isaac grumbled to conceal his own emotion. He looked at his son and said in quiet tones, “As well you should be.”

  Then he stood and embraced him.

  The tension broken, the six had sat down for tea. Afterward, Jacob opened the case and took out Nancy’s violin. Eyes twinkling, he looked at his father and began to bow the opening to Mendelssohn’s “Concerto for Violin and Piano in D Minor.” His mother went to the piano. His father hesitated then opened his own violin case, lovingly removed the heirloom instrument, tested it, and began to play.

  Galen watched with pleasure, as the mother’s fingers moved over the keyboard, her body emphasizing the beauty of the sound in motion. Father and son, playing in synchrony, each bow, each nod of the head seemingly choreographed.

  Galen’s thoughts drifted to a long-ago day, when his old friend and classmate Dave Nash sat next to his father on their Virginia farm. The same thought that had occurred to him then echoed in his mind now:

  Twins, not father and son, but twins—one older than the other

  They left hearing promises and words of understanding exchanged between parents and son. Each of them silently hoped the identical temperaments of Jacob and his father would remain buffered by Rebekah’s conciliatory presence.

  Galen had taken Isaac’s hand and looked him in the eye.

  “Remember, you are an artist, and so is your son. Allow him the privilege of developing his art. I have a feeling there is greatness there.”

  “Thank you, Rebbe Galen.”

  ”Are you sure you don’t mean Reb?”

  “No, truly.”

  Edison headed the Subaru—now carrying only three—back to Pennsylvania. It was a peaceful trip in the aftermath of the father-son conflict. The episode had exhausted Nancy, and she dozed most of the way home. She was sure the skipping in her chest signified only a letdown from all the excitement. No need to bother Bob or Galen with it.

  Edison’s eyes focused on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel. He wondered at how close Isaac had come to sacrificing his own son on the altar of pride.

  Galen played and replayed Jacob’s situation and compared it with his own past.

  Why couldn’t someone have interceded for me?

  The trio went to bed as soon as they arrived home and slept the deep, comforting sleep of the righteous.

  All three had ravenous appetites the next day. They slept in late, only to be awakened by the phone ringing. Nancy answered it.

  “Missus Edison, it’s me, Lem. You wanted me to let you know. Well, they’re back. Your bird
s are back.”

  “Who called earlier, Nancy?”

  “Lem Caddler. He wanted to let me know the birds are back.”

  “The sparrows, the Henslow sparrows?”

  “Yes, Galen. Bob, do you remember when we first came here, the State Wildlife Commission wanted to make this place a preserve, because we had the only known flock of Henslows in Pennsylvania on our property?”

  Edison nodded, mouth full of pancakes.

  “I’m going to take a walk later and check them out.”

  He gulped down the last piece as he gurgled, “Be careful, honey.”

  It had warmed up by late afternoon. A simple sweater was all Nancy needed, as she walked down the path, a broad straw hat protecting her skin from the increasingly direct rays of the sun, climbing higher in the sky as it approached the summer solstice. But that wouldn’t happen for another month and a half. Spring was still her favorite time of year. It carried the promise of resurrection and rebirth to fruition. The dead earth appears to return to life, as solar radiation triggers the photosynthetic reflex in plants. For Nancy’s aging joints, the warmth triggered new energy and optimism.

  Pleased with the apparent outcome of Jacob’s dilemma, she hoped the truce would remain in effect between him and his parents, and they would allow him to pursue his career freely. She made a mental note to call Diana and Faisal when she got back to the house.

  She thought of her birds. Agape Mountain held the ideal, meadow nesting sites for the rare sparrows. Each year the little birds would take their thousand-mile migratory trek north and return to the untouched, tall grassy meadow. They nested low to the ground, fed on berries, small insects, and the tall grass seeds abundant in that one particular field.

  Nancy loved her “little friends,” as she had come to call them, with their distinctive olive, double-whiskered face with conical bill and rust-colored wings, which caused them to stand out from the more common sparrow varieties.

  This time she brought a surprise: a bag of wild bird seed she would spread near their nesting sites.

  She approached the edge of the meadow from under the coniferous tree border and took out her birding glasses. The powerful binoculars quickly picked up the nesting sites, and a few of the birds were airborne. Most likely male, she thought. The females would be in brood pattern now, warming the clutches of three-to-five eggs for their eleven-day incubation period.

  Suddenly the little birds began to scatter. She scanned the sky and saw the reason: hawks, the marauders of the bird kingdom!

  She watched in horror as three Accipiters suddenly dove toward her precious sparrows. She dropped her binoculars and ran toward the birds, waving her hands and shouting. She hardly stopped to think about what she would do if the hawks came after her.

  The Fates, hearing her question, decided to find out for themselves.

  She didn’t see the small stone jutting out of the ground and felt herself falling forward, sprawling face down in the early grass. Her hands went out reflexively, and she felt the impact pain radiating from her wrists to her elbows.

  She was stunned. She lay there, not moving, afraid of what she would feel when she did. She tried to roll over and felt knifelike pain in her right ankle. Then she looked up. The sun was in its presetting stage, and the temperature was dropping. She saw the hawks, initially scared by her scarecrow noise. Now they had soared and were beginning their downward dive—heading straight for her!

  She rolled over onto her stomach again, gritting her teeth against the pain. She tried to pull the large straw hat farther down onto her head.

  She waited and prayed.

  Then she heard three shrieks. What was it, their attack cry? She felt no raking of talons, no sharp beak pecking. She rolled over to see what was happening.

  What am I doing? Isn’t this what got Lot’s wife into trouble?

  Her eyes took in a scene from Armageddon. Three Great Horned Owls had taloned the three hawks in midair and shredded them. She saw their blood-soaked body parts fall from the sky and land scant yards away. One of the owls, the smallest of the three, landed nearby. It cocked its head then looked straight at her.

  “Chk?”

  “Baby! You did remember!”

  “Chk.”

  “Are these your mama and papa?”

  “Chk.”

  She felt a sudden flutter in her chest. Her head buzzed and her vision spiraled inward to black.

  She didn’t hear sounds of multiple paws and flapping wings surrounding her unconscious body.

  “Careful with her. Looks like she’s got a pretty bad ankle sprain.”

  She had regained consciousness and heard Galen muttering, as he knelt down beside her and manipulated her right foot. She also heard the unraveling of elastic wrapping and the increasing support and snugness, as he figure-eighted the dressing in a herring-bone pattern around her leg and ankle. Then he took out his stethoscope and listened. He heard the skipping beats and shook his head. She heard him mutter again.

  “How long have you known about this, old girl? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Doc, I don’t think the Subaru can get in here. I think we’ll need to make a stretcher or a litter, or something.”

  “Yes, Lem. Please call Edison on the cell. He can figure it out and get it down here, and we’ll all three get her back to the house. She’s going to need hospitalization. I’d call in the Medevac unit, but knowing how she feels about her birds, and how that chopper would disturb their habitat, I’d rather avoid World War III by carrying her up to the house the old-fashioned way.”

  He paused and looked at the other man.

  "How did you find her, Lem?”

  “Just walkin’, Doc, just walkin’.”

  Galen noticed a sheet of drawing paper sticking out of Lem’s back pocket, and he recognized it as one of Miriam’s. The old farmer shrugged and handed it to Galen, who examined it. The drawing showed a woman lying unconscious in a field and surrounded by three Great Horned Owls and a phalanx of wolves.

  CHAPTER 10

  Honeymooners

  “We’re losing her!”

  She was free-floating in that twilight zone between existence and non-being.

  She felt … happy … free?

  No, this was different.

  She could see the scene below.

  Below?

  Yes, she was definitely looking downward at men and women crowded over a stretcher. They were pounding on something … no … someone, lying there.

  “It’s set as high as it’ll go. Shock her again. Clear!”

  Looks like ye’re in a bit a’ a pickle, Lassie.

  Angus … Angus Urquhart of the Clan Urquhart? Is that me, Angus?

  Aye, Lassie. Ye shoulda told ‘em aboot yer heartbeats.

  Am I dying, Angus?

  Na yet, Lassie. Tha’ big man there won’ let ya go.

  She watched the bear-sized old man moving faster and faster … faster than she had ever seen him move before. Suddenly he took a large syringe with a long needle on it. He raised his right hand.

  What was he doing?

  She felt the sudden hot stabbing pain, as he plunged the needle into the chest of the person below.

  Now she felt herself being pulled toward that figure on the stretcher. As the vortex coned downward she heard the Scotsman’s parting words:

  I’ll be there when yer time comes, Lassie.

  Goodbye, Angus!

  “Okay, she’s out of V tach. It’s coarse but she’s in sinus rhythm. Let’s get her prepped. She’s gonna need a twofer.”

  Galen turned to Edison, who had been peering through the small window of the emergency-room cubicle. The carnage of the successful resuscitation lay scattered on the floor around the stretcher where Nancy still lay. The sounds of the heart monitor echoed the now-efficient rhythm that sustained her.

  Galen nodded, and Edison burst through the door toward his wife.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked through tear-clouded eyes.
His body shook as he held her hands in his. The IV tubing in her forearms moved like marionette strings, as he laid his head on her chest and sobbed.

  Nancy, still groggy, smiled, as she rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Did you see what that brute did to me?”

  She turned to the old doctor now slumped exhausted in one of the metal side chairs.

  “I didn’t know you could move so quickly, Galen.”

  He looked up.

  “How much did you see?”

  “Everything.”

  He nodded weakly and closed his eyes.

  Another doctor entered the room, a tall man of athletic build and infectious smile.

  “Mrs. Edison, I’m Dr. Crescenzi. We’re taking you to the special-procedures OR. You won’t be there very long.”

  Galen rose from his chair.

  “Sal, make sure she gets the latest unit put in. This cardiac-resuscitation stuff is tiring for an old fart like me.”

  “For an old fart you did just fine.”

  Both doctors laughed, the older to relieve his tension, the younger to reassure his colleague.

  Salvatore Crescenzi was head of cardiology now, but he remembered Galen’s lectures as a student, and he still felt great respect.

  “Mr. Edison, we’re going to put in a gadget to keep your wife’s heart in regular rhythm. Are you familiar with pacemakers and defibrillators?”

  Galen and Edison both burst out laughing.

  Galen winked at his friend.

  “Sal, some day Edison and I will tell you about an incident that happened before your father was born.”

  Edison chimed in.

  “Let’s just hope you guys never need to use a car battery in your work.”

  The young doctor just stared in puzzlement at the men. Then he followed the orderly, who pushed Nancy’s stretcher down the hallway.

  Galen sat down again, his face drawn with fatigue.

  “Edison, I’ll never forgive myself for not calling in the Medevac copter. It was just sheer luck that nothing happened before we got here.”