Jane Hanna's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

By Saturday morning Jane had a hard truth. She could not stand on the roof all weekend waving her arms. She had tried it once and lasted an hour. The birds only circled and dropped back. On Monday the insects would be gone and the door would lock. She needed something that stood watch when she could not. She went down to the lost and found. The pile sagged against the wall, packed with backpacks, coats, and worn-out shoes. Nobody had claimed any of it in years. Jane dug through and pulled out a patched flannel shirt, a pair of jeans with holes in the knees, and a knit hat. She stuffed a plastic bag with crumpled paper for the head. She drew a face on it with marker. Next she needed a frame. She found the broken pile behind the boiler room, a heap of cracked desks and splintered broomsticks. She took two broom handles and lashed them into a cross with twine. She pulled the shirt over the top bar and tied off the sleeves. The jeans hung from the pole below. The hat sat crooked on the paper head. It looked like a child had made it, patched and soft and cheerful. She carried it up the stairs and out onto the concrete slab. She wedged the pole into a crack near the raised rim, where the old garden had once stood. She tied a strawberry stake against it to hold it straight. The scarecrow stood over the beds with its arms spread wide. A light wind pushed the sleeves and they lifted, then fell. A robin dropped toward the borage first. Warm orange breast, quick eyes. It saw the moving shape and veered hard, wings snapping. It landed on the parapet instead of the beds. A small black-capped bird hopped along the rim, then froze when a sleeve swung. It did not come down. The sparrows wheeled once over the roof and kept going. Jane crouched by the alyssum and waited. An hour passed. The scarecrow's arms shifted with every gust. No bird touched the beds. By late afternoon an ant line crossed the pot rim again. A single bee rolled through the borage and stayed. Jane counted three, then five, then more than she could track. The garden was breathing again. She watched until the light went gold. The birds sat on the parapet and on the wire beyond, watching the shape that never stopped moving. They did not land. On Monday the door would stay open now. Ashford had asked for the birds gone by then, and the beds were clear.