Deadly Silence. Lindsay McKenna

brightly in Megan’s eyes. She was enthralled, as if magically swept away on a carpet to Disneyland. The sounds issuing from her were soft cries of joy. But no words. Just sounds.

      Heart breaking for the father of this child, Casey tried to understand his terrible tragedy. This child had not talked since the incident. Two years. How had he been able to deal with it? With his daughter’s psychological scar? Casey remembered her own tragedy in the spring of her sophomore year at university. She had blundered onto a huge marijuana-growing area up near Red Lake in northern Colorado. The growers had jumped her, beaten her nearly to death, tied her up and dumped her unconscious body far away from their drug fields. She was sure they hoped she would be eaten by hungry grizzly bears coming out of winter hibernation. But she hadn’t died; luckily, she’d been rescued by a group of hikers. Casey touched her left temple where a scar still reminded her of that savage day when she’d nearly lost her life.

      Looking at Megan, who was clearly enthralled with Hank, Casey wondered if the little girl’s PTSD was the wall that stopped her from speaking again. Casey had spent ten days in a Fort Collins hospital in a coma. She couldn’t remember the incident for nearly a year. Then her brain had downloaded the whole scenario one morning when she was sitting in a wildlife biology seminar. Casey recalled that day, the power of the deed done against her. She saw the five men’s faces. Saw their rage and their desire to kill her. Shivering inwardly, Casey pulled her thoughts back to the present.

      Studying Megan’s rapt features, Casey understood as few could how the brain protected someone from such a life-changing trauma. Only when the person was well enough, strong enough, would the brain give up those horrible memories. Casey sensed Megan was not ready to talk yet, because what would come out of that child’s mouth was just too terrible for her to comprehend, understand or accept. She felt deep compassion for Megan.

      “Okay,” Katie called, smiling at the group, Hank on her glove, “I’m going to bring out Susie, the barn owl, now. Ranger Cantrell? Would you like to come and assist me?”

      “Of course,” Casey murmured. She had trained with Katie for several days before this show so she knew what to do. The bird boxes were large and made of green cardboard. Casey moved to the front of the class and picked up Hank’s box. She placed it on Mrs. Harrington’s desk and opened it up. Inside was a perch wrapped with Astro Turf so Hank could grasp it firmly with his claws and not slip or fall off it.

      The children watched with burning silent curiosity. Casey stood to one side after the box door was opened. Hank jumped off Katie’s glove and eagerly went into his box. Katie gave him one last bit of rabbit meat and gently closed and locked the door. She handed the box to Casey. Then, a second box was brought up to the desk by Katie.

      “Now, kids, this is a barn owl. We have lots of them here in Wyoming. Do you know where they live?” She turned and smiled at the class.

      “Barns!” a boy shouted.

      “Yes!” Katie said, grinning. “Barn owls love barns. That’s why they’re called barn owls. Now, Susie here,” she opened the box to show the small, delicate barn owl sitting on her perch, her black, luminous eyes surrounded with white feathers, “was found in the bottom of a rancher’s barn a year ago. She was a baby and had tried to fly out of her parents’ nest when she was too young. The rancher found her flopping around on the floor when he went in to feed his horses one morning. He picked her up and found she had a badly broken leg. So, he called the Game and Fish Department, and then they called me.” Katie put her gloved hand into the box and Susie hopped onto the glove.

      Bringing Susie out, Katie held her up on the glove so the children could see the barn owl. “The rancher wanted the barn owls in his barn. Do you know why?”

      “They eat mice and rats!” a little girl cried. “They’re good!”

      “That’s right,” Katie said, laughing. Susie fluttered her wings, showing the white and soft-caramel coloring beneath her wings. The children oohed and aahed. “The rancher wanted to save Susie. He’d seen the mice and rat population dwindle to nothing because these barn owls were around. They keep a natural check and balance.”

      “Do they eat gophers?” another boy asked.

      “You bet they do!”

      “Good, because my daddy lost his best horse when he was herding cattle last year. His horse stuck a foot into a gopher hole and broke his leg. My daddy cried over it.”

      Nodding, Katie said, “I’m so sorry to hear that. But yes, hawks and owls will eat any four-legged critter. The hawks hunt them during the daylight hours and the owls hunt them at night. Did you know that your daddy can call me and if I have a barn owl that is healing up I may be able to put one in his barn?”

      The boy gasped. “Really?”

      “Sure,” Katie said. “Tell your parents about this tonight. I have a barn owl who is ready to be placed. I’d be happy to talk to them about it.”

      The boy rubbed his hands together, glee in his face. “This is rad!” he shouted.

      Everyone laughed, the energy of the room amping up.

      Casey took her place once more at the back of the room near Megan. The child continued to stand. No one admonished her. The other children were too enthralled with Susie the barn owl to look to the rear of the class to see her standing.

      “Now, I need a volunteer,” Katie called out. “Some one who would like to put on a glove and have Susie climb from my glove to their glove.”

      Megan shrieked and ran to the front of the class, eagerly waving her hand to take the glove. Casey saw Sherry Harrington’s face go blank with surprise. Katie smiled and handed Megan the glove. Could the raptors be a doorway to Megan’s healing? Casey wondered.

      “Okay, we have a volunteer. Megan, right?”

      Megan nodded her head and excitedly pulled the child-size falconer’s glove onto her right hand. She could hardly stand still, her gaze rapt on Susie.

      “Okay, Megan,” Katie soothed, “the first thing you need to do is stand very quietly. A raptor gets upset if it’s being jostled around. Do you understand?”

      Megan instantly quieted and nodded her head, suddenly becoming very serious.

      Casey took a small camera out of her pocket. She wanted photos of Megan and Susie for the child’s sake. She would download the photos into her computer tonight and make sure that Megan got copies of them in the mail. Just as Susie was transferred to Megan’s outstretched glove, Casey took several photos.

      Megan stood there, her blue eyes huge as she stared wonderingly into Susie’s black, unblinking eyes. The barn owl was relaxed on her glove. The rest of the class gave a collective “ooohhh…”

      Katie had Megan turn to the class. “Now, Megan, how does it feel to have Susie on your glove?”

      Casey held her breath. The little girl struggled. She opened her mouth, closed it. Frowned. And then tears tracked down her reddened cheeks. Katie gently patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, Megan. Many of us have no words for how wonderful a raptor feels on our glove. Isn’t that right, kids?”

      Casey’s heart burst open with sympathy for Megan. The girl nodded briskly and quickly wiped her tears away with her other hand. Susie blinked and seemed to understand what was going on, quietly sitting on Megan’s glove. Casey took several more photos before Susie was transferred back to Katie’s glove.

      Just as Katie’s demonstrations were complete, the noon bell rang; it was time for lunch. All the children went to the cafeteria, leaving the three women alone.

      Sherry Harrington’s face was filled with excitement. “Katie, Casey, this is a first! Megan Sinclaire has been a ghost throughout the first and second grades. You don’t realize how wonderful this is!”

      “Raptors are magical,” Katie murmured, closing Susie’s box. “They can reach in and touch our hearts in a way nothing else can. I thought for sure Megan was going to speak.”