A Girl's Guide to Guns and Monsters (27 page)

A second adult swallow appeared. Both perched on the side of the nest, shrieking hysterically. One made another excited flight around Melinda.

“Stay here,” she told it, feeling immediately foolish. The bird could not possibly understand her. She knew the facts of life. The snake needed to eat, and it helped keep the rodent population low, just as the swallows handled the bugs. But, currently, the farm was teeming with bull snakes, while she knew of only one set of nesting swallows.

Melinda ran through the screened porch, into the house, and upstairs to the bedroom she now shared only with Paige. Three years had passed since Mike had left them, unable to cope any longer with Paige’s condition. Melinda knew the shotgun still sat in its lockbox on his side of the bed. It took a moment to remember where he had left the key. She dug it loose, fitted it into the lock, and drew out the bolt action Mossberg 12-gauge with care. She knew he had left it for her, loaded, worried for rabid raccoons or skunks, for someone breaking in to harm her and the girls in his absence. They lived on an acreage inherited from Mike’s uncle, their nearest neighbor nearly half a mile away.

Melinda had never opened the box before, had never fired anything stronger than a BB rifle. Now, she hauled it out gingerly, watching every step, walking swiftly but afraid to run for fear of tripping and firing it accidentally. A myriad of warnings ran through her mind: statistics about accidental shootings, about a gun in a house more likely to kill an occupant than a criminal, about never keeping a loaded firearm in a house with children.

The bird’s frantic flight ran through Melinda’s mind. It had come to her for a reason, had placed its trust and the life of its own little family into her hands. Melinda burst out the door, down the porch steps, and headed for the shed.

“What’s wrong?” Kaylee called.

“Nothing that could harm us. Stay there.” Melinda glanced over to make certain both girls remained safely near the garden. “You may hear a shot, but it’s OK. I’ll be right back.”

Then Melinda rushed into the shed.

The snake had crawled further, nearly within striking distance of the helpless fledglings. The parent swallows swooped raucously through the barn.

Melinda pointed the barrel at the snake and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

Melinda swore.
Safety catch?
she wondered. She felt around for anything that felt lever-like, discovered a side latch, and shifted it. Only then, she realized she probably had to do something with the bolt on top as well. She wrenched it backward and forward. A shell shot out, though whether fresh or spent she did not know, as another one rammed forward into the chamber.

The snake reared its head. Both adult birds flew all around Melinda, seeming everywhere at once. She aimed and pulled the trigger.

A roar filled her ears. The stock bucked hard against her shoulder. The snake tumbled to the floor, bloody, torn nearly in half. An instant later, three fledglings toppled from the nest.

Guilt assailed Melinda.
I killed a living thing.
A second realization only added to the mass of discomfort taking shape in her brain.
Did I kill the birds, too?
She looked at the infant swallows on the floor, so like their parents, only smaller. They sat, dazed, for a moment. Then, one parent swooped down, herding them toward the back of the shed. The three hopped ahead, apparently unharmed. Then, the other parent swooped in, and the babies squealed, mouths open. The second bird shoved beakfuls of regurgitated insects down their open gullets.

Melinda finally managed a smile. At least, she had saved the babies; and the parents clearly had every intention of continuing to raise them on the floor. Finally, she looked up to the nest. Daylight trickled through a spray of holes in the shed roof.
Great.
She had not considered the possibility of roof repairs when she had made her decision to fire. As she passed the still corpse of the snake, she winced. “Sorry.” She understood the cycle of nature, but this time she had to side with the birds.

 

Three days later, the Carson girls lounged on a front lawn in desperate need of mowing, enjoying the tickle of grasses. Paige sprawled on her belly, emitting occasional excited squeals, while Kaylee combed through the greenery seeking four-leafed clovers.

At length, Kaylee sat up, catching the eye of her mother. “Mommy, why is Paige so . . . different?”

Melinda opened her mouth to field the question in her usual manner, but Kaylee forestalled her.

“I mean, I know God makes people special in all sorts of ways. But why is Paige so . . . so . . . totally different.”

Melinda considered. The parenting books said to answer even the most uncomfortable questions honestly and directly, at a level the child could understand. Clearly, Kaylee had reached a new phase of curiosity and need. Melinda’s mind floated back to that painful day, more than ten years earlier; and, though she would address Kaylee more simply, memory could not help filling the gaps.

Melinda lay in a hospital bed, exhausted but infused with the excitement of becoming a mother, of having miraculously brought a new and precious life into the world. Her mind crammed with images of the perfect little girl she and Mike had created, of forever hugs and kisses, of laughter and tears, of a life eternally changed for the better. She could imagine them each clutching a toddler hand between them, nature-walking with a tiny blonde aghast at the beauty and wonder of the universe. She saw walls painted pink, daisy chains, a refrigerator covered in crayoned pictures of rainbows. Sticky bouquets of dandelions, violets, and black-eyed Susans in grand vases on the dinner table.

But Mike’s expression was uncharacteristically grim. “Melinda, there’s something wrong with the baby.”

The future was too strong, too real in Melinda’s mind for that to be true.

“I tried to hold her, but she slipped right through my fingers. She’s limp, like she doesn’t have any muscles or bones.”

Melinda laughed. “She’s just born. All new fathers worry about dropping the baby.”

Mike took Melinda’s hand, squeezing reassuringly. “There’s more, sweetheart. A lot more.” He caught her gaze with his stunning blue-green eyes, willing her to listen. “She has a hole from her nose to her lip. Her eyes . . .” He shrugged, unable to find the words. “Not right. She has more than ten fingers and less than ten toes. Melinda, there’s something wrong with our baby.”

“Fingers and toes?” Melinda found it difficult to focus. The image of her ideal child refused to leave her mind. “So she has some flaws. We’ll deal with them.”

Mike nodded. “Of course, we will.” But he did not sound as confident as Melinda. “As we can. But I think we need to realize that our child . . .”

“Paige.” Melinda interrupted. Mike had chosen the name, his favorite, and she had come to love it too as the tiny life had formed inside her.

“That Paige may have many more problems. Inside, where we can’t see them.”

“We’ll fix those, too,” Melinda murmured, drifting into sleep.

The diagnosis, confirmed two weeks later, was devastating. Trisomy 13, the doctor called it. Paige had an extra chromosome in every cell in her body that caused her to have these abnormal features. Most died within days of birth, and ninety percent never reached their first birthdays. Mike and Melinda had prepared for the worst, even as they took the best care they could of their severely mentally and physically disabled daughter. They vowed not to have another child until they had fully mourned the death of the first.

But, as the years went by, and Paige clung to life, Mike needed more. Four years later, Kaylee came, all full of the normalcy and life that Paige could never have. To Melinda, it often seemed cruel to revel in Kaylee’s achievements when Paige’s were so few, so miniscule; yet Mike doted on his younger daughter, enjoying every moment that Melinda could not. Soon, Melinda found herself alone in caring for the daughter who so desperately needed her, every moment of every day, while Mike slowly ceased to acknowledge Paige’s existence, so caught up in the bright and beautiful reality of their second, healthy child.

Then the fighting had started. The social workers had warned them about the stress of dealing with children like Paige, that the divorce rate for such families approached 100%. But as Paige bucked sensational odds, surviving not only her first year but several more, they felt certain their marriage would do so as well.

Except that it didn’t.

Melinda resented feeling like a single mother, dealing with Paige’s inordinate problems alone. Mike dared to suggest placing Paige in residential care or at least respite care so that they could do some things together, like a regular family, without having to worry about Paige’s many special needs, her startling and inappropriate screams, the stares and glares of strangers. He demanded at least one Paige- less day per month to spend at an amusement park, where they could all go on the rides together. A day at the beach where they could all swim. A long walk in a wooded park. They argued constantly about what was best for Paige, for Kaylee, for their family. Ultimately, Melinda had insisted that Paige participate in all things, that she be treated as much like a regular girl as possible, that she have every opportunity that Kaylee did. And Mike had left them.

Though only three years old at the time of the separation and subsequent divorce, Kaylee knew her father well. He still spent every free moment with her, though he never asked for visitation with Paige, nor did Melinda offer it. The few times she had allowed Paige out of her sight for hours at a time, crises had developed, and Melinda trusted no one with her precious, fragile daughter, not even her father anymore.

Melinda refused to let any bitterness color her tone as she explained to Kaylee, “Paige was born with something called Trisomy 13 or Patau’s Syndrome. When she was growing inside Mommy, something went wrong that caused her to have all these problems. God gave her to us because he knew we would take good care of her.”

Kaylee nodded. That answer seemed to satisfy her, the right amount of information for a six-year-old. She went back to looking for clovers for a moment, then suddenly shouted, “Mommy, look!” Stepping up beside Paige, she lunged, then triumphantly held up her prize. She clutched a snake behind the head, the way her father had taught her to catch them. It writhed wildly, dangling from her hand.

Most of the snakes Melinda had seen on their acreage were harmless racers and hognose snakes. She liked the latter ones best, as they put on a grand display before playing dead. She worried more about the bull snakes. Though nonvenomous, they did tend to bite when disturbed.

The snake thrashing in Kaylee’s grip did not appear to be any of those. It had light brown markings against dark brown, with a broad, triangular head. At first, Melinda assumed it was a hognose, but it lacked the tell-tale upturn of the nose. The body looked fat, the scales keeled. Sudden alarm seized Melinda. She had never heard of rattlesnakes in Iowa, but her attention leaped to the tail, where she saw exactly what she dreaded. It ended bluntly, with a series of oblong, bead-like rattles.

Stay calm. Stay calm.
Melinda reminded herself. If Kaylee panicked, she might get bitten or hurl the snake wildly onto someone else. “Hold onto it,” Melinda said, trying to sound as if nothing unusual were happening. “I’ll get something to put it in.”

If any fear seeped from Melinda’s tone, Kaylee did not seem to notice. “OK.” She continued to hold the struggling snake.

Melinda ran into the house, dumped the contents of a plastic cereal container, and dashed outside with it. Carefully, she guided the snake’s body into it, then helped Kaylee release the head so that it dropped inside with the rest of the snake. Melinda quickly affixed the lid.

“Let me see.” Kaylee tried to take the container from her mother’s hands, but Melinda held on to it protectively. The girl contented herself with studying the snake through the clear plastic. “Shouldn’t we cut some air holes?”

At the moment, Melinda’s least worry was the comfort of the snake.

“Can I keep it? Please?”

“No, honey.” Melinda took out her cell phone, punched in 4-1-1 and asked for the Department of Natural Resources. “This is a poisonous snake. Its bite can make people very sick. See the tail?” She made a mental note to tell Mike to teach their daughter to examine snakes before grabbing them.

Kaylee pressed her face to the plastic. “Are those rattles, Mommy? Is this a rattlesnake?”

“DNR,” said a voice on the other end of the line.

“I found a rattlesnake in my yard.”

“A rattlesnake?” A note of interest entered the man’s voice. “Can you describe it?”

Melinda did so.

“Ma’am, do you happen to live near a swamp?”

Melinda had never thought of her neighbor’s property as a swamp. That brought to mind images of quicksand-like muck and algae hidden deep in uncivilized pockets of Louisiana. “There’s a peat bog across the gravel road. A working business.”

“Yup.” Melinda could almost hear the man nodding knowingly on the other end of the line. “What you have is a Masagua rattler. It’s an endangered species.”

Melinda glanced at Kaylee, still staring into the container. A shiver traversed her at the realization of what might have happened if Kaylee had moved a bit slower or the snake a bit faster. “Do you want to pick it up? Or should I bring it to you?”

The man chuckled. “Ma’am, it’s an endangered species. That means you have to leave it exactly where you found it.” He added quickly, “You haven’t disturbed it, have you?”

“No,” Melinda lied, not wanting any trouble from the DNR. “But it’s in my front yard. With my young daughters.”

The man went silent for a moment, then said matter-of-factly, “You might want to get your daughters inside.”

You think?
Melinda found herself speechless. She cleared her throat. “Well, thank you for your help.” She hoped she managed to keep sarcasm from her voice. There was no way in heaven or hell that she was going to loose a live rattlesnake back onto her front lawn. She set the container in the grass.