The Nest

by Gregory A. Douglas

  The man was lost to her in two ways, she had quickly realized and accepted. It wasn’t just her youth; he was then twenty-­two, later on the six years’ difference would scarcely matter. But he was buried in his work, had already published an acclaimed thesis on animal behavior. His second devotion was obviously Dr. Wanda Lindstrom, another assistant in her father’s department. The woman biologist was Peter Hubbard’s age, like him a prodigy with an early doctorate. At twenty-­six now, she was a leading expert in the field of Entomology, insects in layman’s language. And, contrarily, she was beautiful, with silken blond hair down to her shoulders and a walk like Marilyn Monroe. Unfair! the young Elizabeth had jealously thought. But a handsome pair Peter Hubbard and Wanda Lindstrom had made, young Elizabeth conceded. She had turned to her own interests—music and literature—and had taken care to be otherwise engaged when her father invited the two for dinner.

  Now, with Peter Hubbard in her grandfather’s house, Elizabeth was looking at the man not only through her own, older eyes, but through the interest of the Yarkie men. She saw first the sensitivity of Hubbard’s broad mouth, as she remembered it. The others marked first the honest, strong light of the scientist’s blue eyes, which reflected quick intelligence and hard-­earned knowledge. Elizabeth saw the sensitivity of Hubbard’s hands, as she had once fantasized they might embrace her. The Yarkie men were taking in the squareness of the scientist’s shoulders, the jut of his chin that said he would not be put off by difficulties. They reserved judgment, in their way, but they liked what they saw.

  Actually, Elizabeth considered, there was much of her father about Peter Hubbard. He was as tall, and had the same appealing gangling posture. She supposed the biologists got it from their constant bending over laboratory apparatus, the cages, dissecting tables, microscopes and their endless log books.

  Peter Hubbard, in his turn, was taking in the people in the room. He showed a profound interest that was flattering and a profound curiosity that was unnerving. Elizabeth felt his eyes turn to her, and she fought again not to blush. She was twenty now, not sixteen; he was twenty-­six, not twenty-­two. On Yarkie, with a common problem, it would be impossible to avoid him as she had done in Cambridge. But the last thing she wanted was more complication in her life. She turned her attention to the coffee tray.

  Elizabeth saw Craig Soaras studying Peter Hubbard out of the corner of his sharp eye. For her the difference between the two men was the dramatic difference between Yarkie and Cambridge—“Cambridge” being the whole outside world. Craig was content with the sea, which held its own complexities and challenges. Peter was content with nothing, because the truths he sought could never be final. If Craig hooked a fish, it was there on his line. If he steered a boat through a gale, it was there safely tied up at the pier. But that wasn’t so with the scientists like Peter Hubbard and her father. Every answer Peter caught taunted him with new questions—some of them very terrible and urgent to Yarkie right now, as her grandfather, putting down his cup, was about to inform all of them.

  As the captain described his and Craig Soaras’ experience, the mood of the group turned increasingly somber. Johnson spared no words, and now he did not hesitate to have everyone hear the news Russell Homer had brought that morning about rats going crazy at the village dump.

  Peter Hubbard listened intently. When Elias Johnson emphasized the phenomenon of the blind eye sockets, the biologist’s head came up thoughtfully.

  Amos Tarbell and Ben Dorset were listening with their own newly sharpened suspicions. Craig Soaras kept nodding numbly at Johnson’s recital. He still had difficulty believing what he was hearing, even though he had been attacked by one of the crazed rats himself.

  Bonnie Taylor could not sit still. She left her chair to stand at the Johnson fireplace, gripping the mantel. Her premonition that she had lost Sharky to some terrible fate was turning out to be too atrociously true, though no one fully understood what had taken place. Her own lingering guilt was not diminished by the obvious fact that something extraordinary—for which she could in no way be blamed—was afoot on Yarkie Island.

  Like Bonnie Taylor, Russell Homer could not shake the sense of responsibility he had carried since the morning. It did not help that he was hearing now of other harrowing incidents. Maybe he had concentrated too much poison in one place, shorted another. He hung his head. Maybe the Harvard man would find he was indeed accountable and denounce him to the whole island. All his hopes would be smashed.

  Reed Brockshaw was listening with his own horror. Just hours before he had allowed his children to wander among the trees. The blood on Kim’s finger—what if it had not been a thorn! What if the “shell” had been the nose of one of the sick rats Elias Johnson was describing! Lucky he had found Kim in time! The man was ashen beneath his sunburned skin.

  Stephen Scott’s face set into a gelid frown. This should not be happening to Yarkie, he thought angrily. These were good people, good families. The men worked hard, on the water, or making sails, building boats, caulking, rigging, fishing. Honest men. There was pride here, the pride of self-­sufficiency. The island had to bring in things like furniture and hardware and building supplies, but mostly they made and grew what they needed. No one here was soft, and no one too dependent.

  Despite the grimness of Elias Johnson’s report, Stephen Scott could not help but smile as his mind went back to a family story of a great-­great-­grandfather who was a whaling captain. It seemed that old Ezekial returned from a two-­year voyage with one seaman lost to a sickness. At the inquiry, Ezekial produced the drug cabinet with which a ship’s master practiced medicine on board. The chest contained numbered bottles, along with a list of symptoms to be treated. Ezekial was asked by the officials, “Didn’t you give this sailor the prescribed bottle?” The captain explained, “I did, indeed. But I was all out of Bottle 13, so I gave the man some of Bottle 6 and some of Bottle 7.”

  It was still the Scott family’s best tale.

  How the generations change, and yet persist, the fat man thought as he looked across the room at Elizabeth Carr. Elias’ granddaughter was another of the self-­reliant ones, a girl without airs. Tall, and a looker, her skin like fresh cream, and her brown hair with strawberry glints in it that set off her friendly gray eyes. Bad-­worried now.

  Not wanting to accept the threat Elias Johnson was describing, Stephen Scott focused on a mental picture of his store instead. No rats could upset Yarkie’s solid foundations! “Scott & Sons” sold every kind of gear for boating, fishing, building, what-­have-­you. Half-­closing his eyes, Scott could visualize his stocks of oilskins, netcorks, cleats, clam rakes, waders, diving equipment of every type. In what had been a sail loft above, there were trap floats of every color, piled up anchors and tubs, coils of rope, lines for trawling, pails for bait, traps and weirpoles, straps and tackle. To make the strongest hand-­sewn sails, he even supplied the traditional three-­sided needles.

  But Stephen Scott’s wandering thoughts could not keep Elias Johnson’s message at bay for long. Yarkie was in trouble! If Yarkie was in trouble, he was in trouble. The marina had taken most of his capital. If people and money didn’t start coming in, he would lose everything. There had always been rats at the waterfront, but nothing like what he was hearing now.

  The fat man shook his head, took a sighing breath, and finally opened his ears to the captain’s words. Johnson was talking directly at Dr. Peter Hubbard.

  Scott regarded the Harvard scientist with some skepticism. The man looked almost too much like a picture of a professor. He had on a worn tweed jacket with leather elbow patches. His gray slacks showed wear at the cuffs. His moccasin-­type shoes were scuffed and unpolished. But as the man knocked his pipe out and unwound from his chair, it was with a sense of confidence that made Scott lift his own head hopefully.

  The hopefulness did not last beyond Peter Hubbard’s first comment. “I can’t tell you anything useful at this point, obviously,” the man told the group gravely. “Just as obvio
usly, you may have caught a severe problem here. The fact is that some sections of the country have reported unusual rat infestation this year. Until this morning I hadn’t heard of it in Cape areas, but rats could have come in by any boat, and they breed quickly. I came out fast today because if you do have a rat problem, we need to identify it in the shortest possible time frame.

  “My first priority is to set up a temporary lab.” He turned to Johnson. “Where will I be working, sir?”

  “How about the attic right here? You can look it over—”

  Despite herself, Elizabeth interrupted, “Grandpa, you’re not going to bring those rats into the house?” For a moment she thought Peter Hubbard resented her interfering, but instead she gratefully heard him support her. “It might not be wise, captain,” he said. “I’m not going to have all the precautions of a solid lab arrangement, you know.”

  Elizabeth saw the man’s eyes on hers, and read friendship in them, an offer to start anew. She was not mistaken about it. Peter Hubbard had forgotten how charming a smile Elizabeth Carr had, and he was taking her in as a captivating, grown woman for the first time.

  The sheriff suggested, “We have a room over the jail. It’s got water faucets, some tables . . .”

  Craig Soaras observed reasonably, “But that’s in the center of town. If anything got loose, there could be hell to pay, couldn’t there?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Hubbard agreed.

  Stephen Scott spoke for the first time. “Also, we don’t want everybody in Yarkie hearing about this until we know what it’s all about. Right?” He gave them all his best smile, the one he used when he rapped his gavel to adjourn a town hall meeting.

  Heads nodded around the room.

  Ben Dorset reminded them, “There’s the old lighthouse, up northside.”

  “Good man, Ben!” Scott endorsed.

  Elias Johnson thought it over. “Makes sense to me,” he told the scientist. “We’ll run you over for a look-­see. You tell us what you need, we’ll put it in.”

  Amos Tarbell added, “It’s far enough out of the village so nobody will bother you, and close enough to Harbor Road so you can get in and out.”

  Scott heaved himself up. “Good! I’ll lend one of my jeeps. Just let’s all remember that gossip travels faster than the wind.”

  Elias Johnson informed Hubbard, “Doctor, I’m already keeping folks out of the woods, told them the trees are being sprayed. The sheriff’s deputies and the volunteer firemen are taking care of that. But what about those rats? Will they stay in there?”

  The scientist spoke between puffs, lighting his pipe. “On the basis of what we know about rat behavior generally, I’d say your breed prefers to keep hidden.”

  “Good, then!” Reed Brockshaw exclaimed. He needed badly to grab onto any promise that there would be no general danger.

  The scientist finished lighting up and addressed them soberly. “Unless,” he added, “there’s something in your woods that is driving the rats out.”

  “How’s that?” Stephen Scott challenged quickly.

  “From what I’ve heard this afternoon, I’d have to suspect that something is attacking the rats seen this morning. A quick theory is that they’ve been hit with some kind of virus. It might affect the inner ear, which would account for the dizziness we’ve been told about. Or it might be some form of rabies that is driving the rats at each other, and at people . . .” He hesitated a moment. “Though frankly I must say I have no idea how the dog’s eyes would be put out the way Miss Taylor described.”

  Bonnie shuddered, and moved to a corner of the room. She was afraid tears might come again, and she did not want the men to see her cry.

  Johnson took charge. “We’ll get your lab set up at the lighthouse. Pronto.”

  “The first thing I’ll need is some specimens,” Peter Hubbard said quietly. “Can you get me at least a couple of the rats?”

  Craig Soaras and Russell Homer were on their feet. “I’ll go right back in! I’ll get you the stuff you want from the dump!”

  Amos Tarbell rose, with his hands held wide and his fingers wiggling urgently at the men. “Hold it, hold it! This may be dangerous. Well all do what we can, but first we’ll get some guns. If we’re going into the woods, we need to cover each other . . .”

  Elizabeth heard the sheriff with growing horror. It was hard to believe it was only hours since she had sent Bonnie off to the picnic grove with Sharky for a pleasant, serene afternoon. Poor dog. Poor Yarkie, it seemed, if Peter Hubbard couldn’t help them!

  Peter Hubbard was saying to her grandfather, “From what I’ve gathered so far, captain, I won’t be able to handle this problem alone. I’d like you to call Dr. Carr, please, and ask him to send over my associate, Wanda Lindstrom.”

  Elias Johnson gave a quick nod. “I’ll get on the phone right now!”

  Elizabeth’s jaw quivered at the sound of the woman’s name. Immediately she chided herself: I should be ashamed of myself! With all of Yarkie Island in some unknown danger, how could she be concerned about an old jealousy—one she had never had any right to feel in the first place! She forced a noncommittal smile, and went quickly to Bonnie. She saw how disturbed her friend was, and spoke to her quietly. It helped her get control of herself. She was not going to forget that Peter Hubbard and Wanda Lindstrom were outside the circle of her life!

  The Yarkie men started out of the Johnson house on their assignments.

  Peter Hubbard turned to Elizabeth. “Could I trouble you for another cup of coffee, Elizabeth?” he asked pleasantly.

  It was Bonnie who hurried to the kitchen. She wanted a chance to be alone, if only for minutes.

  Elizabeth heard herself saying, in a restrained tone, “It’s too bad you have to come to Yarkie under these circumstances, doctor.”

  He nodded, keeping his eyes straight on hers. “I can see that,” he smiled slightly. “Please don’t be formal with me, Elizabeth. We’re old acquaintances, after all.” He held his hand out to her. Elizabeth touched it coolly with her finger­tips. She was past a girlish infatuation now. She would remain at arm’s length with Dr. Peter Hubbard—she would be an agreeable and proper hostess to her grandfather’s guests, including Wanda Lindstrom. Nothing more.

  “You’ve certainly changed,” Peter Hubbard was saying, his eyes unwavering on hers.

  Before Elizabeth could respond, Elias Johnson interrupted them from across the room. “Peter, I have Doctor Lindstrom on the line now. She can come out on the first plane tomorrow, but she wants to talk to you . . .”

  Hubbard turned for the phone at once. Elizabeth could not help noticing the change in his voice, the intimate way in which he began to discuss with his colleague the chemicals and scientific apparatus they would need for their work on Yarkie.

  Yes, Peter Hubbard should indeed be talking in that manner to Wanda Lindstrom and not to her, Elizabeth Carr thought as she stalked to the kitchen after Bonnie. That was exactly the way it should be and exactly the way she wanted it, she told herself sternly, closing the door against the telephone conversation with a bang.

  The noise brought the man’s head around. A small smile formed on his lips. Even while he was speaking earnestly to his colleague in Cambridge, the thought was in Peter Hubbard’s mind that there were more than biological misunderstandings to clear up on Yarkie. He would try to have a talk with Elizabeth Carr, but it was plain that tact was called for.

  The scientist returned all of his attention to the telephone, continuing with the list of the analytical apparatus he wanted Wanda Lindstrom to prepare for the required laboratory. The workroom would have to be makeshift but it would get them started, at least. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to go further . . .

  FIVE

  By twilight, Dr. Peter Hubbard was settled in at the abandoned lighthouse on Yarkie’s north shore. Over the years, the unpredictable ocean had stranded the building on a long sand bar, and a new light had been constructed on a higher point.

  With the scientis
t was the nucleus of what was to become Yarkie’s laboratory team. Craig Soaras was to do whatever carpentry work was needed. Elizabeth and Bonnie had volunteered for the house and kitchen chores.

  Johnson and Scott, as the elders, agreed that whatever meetings were required should be held at the lighthouse, so that people in town wouldn’t begin to wonder at the group’s frequent convening.

  As darkness spread over the island, the men who had been searching the woods came in. Elizabeth was relieved to see them all apparently unharmed—Reed Brockshaw who had insisted on scouting with Johnson, and Russell Homer who had teamed with Ben Dorset and Amos Tarbell. Stephen Scott did not appear. He was hosting a long-­scheduled “social do” at his home, and to call it off would have aroused the very suspicions he wanted to avoid.

  The men put their guns away, and fell to the supper Elizabeth and Bonnie had prepared. There was tacit agreement that reports would he tabled until after the meal. The men were hungry after a long day, and it was clear that there was nothing urgent to tell.

  There was praise for Elizabeth’s fish chowder, and such praise from the islanders was an accolade indeed. Elias Johnson smiled with pleasure and pride. It was his recipe, handed down to Elizabeth, but he wasn’t about to take anything away from the satisfaction he saw on his granddaughter’s face. She reddened most becomingly, he thought, when Peter Hubbard of Harvard requested a second helping. He watched approvingly as Elizabeth stirred the bottom of the pot to get a ladle full of “the good of it” for the man. His eyebrows lifted a little. They didn’t make an unhandsome couple, at that, though he noticed that his granddaughter was obviously keeping a distance from the scientist. Well, they were all on edge, considering the hectic day.

  Elias Johnson liked the feeling of family all around the big kitchen table. It wasn’t only the common danger drawing them all together. Dr. Peter Hubbard fit right in. The Yarkie men liked the fact that he had no airs as might be expected of a Harvard professor in the midst of simple fishermen. On his part, Hubbard felt the offer of friendship from all of them, along with their confidence that his specialized knowledge would aid them. He could only hope they were right.