Page 10 of Wild Claim

Giving Thomas a pet on the back, I turned and rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a box of matches and a few candles. The flashlight’s beam wobbled and dimmed. Looks like its batteries were on their last legs.

I scraped a match and used it to light the first candle. The flame wavered, casting a warm glow. With my hands forming a protective cup around it, I lit the rest. “That should do it.”

But Thomas stretched out his wings and flapped, sending a gust of air across the candles. The flames flickered, one dying out with a puff.

“You’re quite the helper,” I said, smiling. Outside, the storm raged; inside the farmhouse, it felt like a haven.

A cannon-shot of thunder exploded overhead, and both Thomas and I jumped. I crouched down to hold on to him. His heart raced against my hand, but he didn’t struggle. Slowly, the tension in his muscles eased, and he nestled into me with a reluctant trust.

“I’m not scared, it’s you,” I murmured.

Thomas gobbled sharply.

“Alright, I’ll admit it’s me.”

After standing up, I took a candle with me. In the living room, the wind shrieked through the cracks in the old farmhouse. Pulling a shawl around my shoulders, I looked around the room. Thomas came inside, then flopped down near the door.

Glancing back at me, then at the door, he gave the bottom edge a firm peck. Thomas tried to wedge himself into it, as if his feathers could plug the drafts.

“What are you doing?” Before I knew it, he rolled onto his side, his legs kicking out. I rushed over and rolled him back up. “Silly, keep that up and you’ll hurt yourself. Come on, let’s warm you up.”

I stepped across to the fireplace and fed it a few logs. Sparks flew up the chimney, and the growing fire cast a flickering danceof shadows on the walls. I rubbed my hands together, feeling the first licks of heat, and thought about the dough I’d been working on.

No use now. The gas burners would light with a match, but the temperature controls wouldn’t work without power.

“I’m hungry,” I said. “Are you?”

He made a soft clucking noise. We retraced our steps back to the kitchen. I pulled a pot from the stovetop and opened the fridge, examining my options. The cold was already seeping out, another casualty of the blackout.

“Let’s see,” I said, grabbing a few vegetables and some broth. “We can make a hearty vegetable stew. Simple, but it’ll keep us warm.”

I set a cutting board on the counter and started chopping carrots, sweet red peppers, zucchini, and onions. Thomas waddled over, his talons tapping the floor with each step. He stretched out his neck, trying to see what I was doing, then gave a peck at a stray carrot.

“Careful,” I said, nudging it toward him with the back of my knife. “That’s supposed to be for the stew.”

He took it in his beak but lost his grip on the carrot. It rolled away, and he chased after it. I laughed and wiped a tear from the corner of my eye, the onion fumes mingling with the sudden rush of joy.

I sauteed the carrots, zucchini, onion, and red pepper in a large Dutch oven until they were crisp-tender. Next, I stirred in the broth, kidney beans, tomatoes, corn, cumin, and cayenne pepper. The savory scent filled the kitchen.

Thomas returned, carrot still intact, and looked up at me. I took it from him and gave it a thorough glance.

“Not even a bite? You’re more disciplined than I thought.”

After giving it a good wash, I chopped it into small pieces and tossed them into a separate pot of kale and celery, stirring gently.

After dishing up the stew and plating the steamed vegetables, I carried the meal to the living room to find Thomas already relaxing. “Here you go,” I said, setting the platter down in front of him. “Steamed veggies to help warm up your belly.”

Thomas gobbled.

A loudcrashrattled the house just as I was halfway through my stew. My hand froze, the spoon dangling, as the glass shardsscatteredacross the floorboard. A blast of frigid, damp air swept into the room, and I turned to see a tree branch protruding through the shattered window.

“Oh, no.” Setting the bowl down, I turned toward the mess. Thomas stood; his feathers fluffed out. He rushed directly to the branch, hammering it with his beak as hard as he could.

“Be careful,” I cried out, but he didn’t understand. His gaze was fierce, as if he were facing not inanimate wood but a living threat. Each peck was deliberate, almost vengeful.

He was a ridiculous sight, this tame turkey with grand ideas. And silly, but I thought it was cute he wanted to protect the home he accepted as his.

“You’re far braver than I first gave you credit for.” I stroked his feathers, watching the rain pour in through the broken glass. “But I don’t want you to get sick from the rain.”

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