Clyde Meadows's Arc

Chapter 2 of 1

A week after the pie tins went up, Clyde knelt in his tomato rows at first light. He pressed a finger to the soil and checked the moved sprouts. They had steadied. The crows kept their distance, but a few still circled the far trees. He chewed his wheat stem and watched them, wary. Behind him, the porch door banged. Lily ran across the yard, pigtails bouncing. "Daddy! Daddy, close your eyes!" She skidded to a stop and grabbed his dirty hand. Her small fingers were sticky with glue. "What's this about?" Clyde let her tug him up. Magnolia followed with Tommy on her hip. The two-year-old clutched a toy tractor and grinned around his thumb. "We made you something," Magnolia said. Her bright smile gave her away. "The children wouldn't let me tell you. Keep those eyes shut, Clyde Meadows." He closed them. Lily pulled him across the grass, chattering the whole way. He heard Magnolia whisper, "Right here, baby. Hold it steady." "Okay! Look!" Clyde opened his eyes. A scarecrow stood at the head of his tomato rows. It leaned on a crooked stake, arms of straw spread wide. Patches covered its shirt in red and yellow. A painted smile curled under a stitched nose. On its head sat a shiny pie tin, pressed down like a hat. "Lily cut the patches," Magnolia said. "Tommy picked the hat." "Pie tin!" Tommy shouted, pointing. He nearly dropped his tractor. Clyde took the stem from his mouth. He walked around the scarecrow, slow. The pie tin caught the morning sun and threw bright flashes across the dirt. He remembered how the spinning tins had scared the flock the week before. A still hat might not spook a bird the same way. But the straw man stood tall where a person would stand. The crows feared people most of all. "It's the best one I ever saw," Clyde said. He crouched and kissed Lily's forehead. "You two did this?" Lily nodded hard. "So the mean birds leave us alone." Clyde carried Tommy on his shoulders and walked the family back toward the porch. He glanced over his shoulder once. The scarecrow held its post, pie tin blazing. By noon he had his answer. A crow dropped toward the far end of the rows. It saw the straw man standing guard and flared away. Two more followed it off. The flock settled in the trees and stayed there. The scarecrow did what his hat-waving never could. It held the line without him. Clyde finally straightened from his crops that evening, free to work and not just watch. He walked the rows with a lantern and studied the moved sprouts up close. Clean air, no birds. But in the low light he saw it. Pale spots speckled the lower leaves of his strongest plants. He rubbed one between his fingers. The leaf came away soft and damp. Not crows this time. Something was spreading in his soil.