Sacrifice of Buntings Read Online Free PDF

together in Elk Park, playing in the meadow between Bird Haven and the Drummond Hotel. After Lark’s grandfather died, she had stopped coming, but years later they had reconnected. The same summer Rachel had met Kirk Udall.
    “Do you have any secrets to share?” Rachel asked.
    Lark blushed.
    “Dish,” Rachel demanded, scooting toward the edge of the bed.
    “Eric and I are talking about getting married.”
    “Really?” Rachel clapped her hands in excitement, and Lark brought her finger to her lips.
    “Shhhhh.” She gestured toward the adjoining door. “We haven’t told anyone yet.”
    “You will call me as soon as it happens?”
    “Of course,” Lark said. “When, if , we make plans. Right now, we’re just exploring the idea.” She went back to brushing her hair. “What about you and Kirk?”
    Rachel settled back against the headboard. What about me and Kirk? “We’re friends, that’s all.”
    Friends who sleep together on occasion and who spend a lot of time together. But after her disastrous first marriage, Rachel wasn’t sure she ever wanted to hear someone utter the M word again. Not in relation to her.
    “Remember who you’re talking to, Rae.”
    “What’s that old saying—’once burned, twice shy’?”
    “Don’t let your experience with Roger get in the way of your happiness. You’d only be letting him win that way.”
    It was hard to argue with logic. Still, Lark didn’t know how awful it was to go through a divorce. It had taken her a year to settle things with Roger, and that had tainted her “friendship” with Kirk.
    The silence stretched.
    Finally Lark changed the subject. “What does the program say about Sapelo Island?”
    Rachel felt a surge of relief that the conversation had moved on, and she picked up the booklet. “Do you want me to read from the top?”
    Lark nodded.
    “’State-owned and largely undeveloped, Sapelo Island is considered the midpoint of Georgia’s barrier islands, the location of the oldest remnant of Indian activity, and the probable site of the first European settlement in Georgia.’” Rachel glanced up from the program. “We have history.”
    “Keep going.”
    “’The majority of land was privately owned until the establishment of the University of Georgia’s Marine Institute in 1953, followed by the R. J. Reynolds Wildlife Management Area in 1969 and the Sapelo Island National Estuarine Research Reserve in 1973.’” Rachel looked up again. “We have more history.”
    This time Lark made a twirling motion with her finger.
    “’Descendants of the Geechee culture still inhabit the island community of Hog Hammock…’”
    “What’s the Geechee culture?” Lark asked.
    Rachel lowered the program. “I read about them in my guidebook, Denton’s Guide to Coastal Georgia . They’re the descendants of freed slaves who used to work the coastal island plantations of South Carolina and Georgia. They’re called Gullah in South Carolina.”
    Lark set down her brush and began plaiting her hair. “What does it say about birds?”
    Rachel skimmed through the write-up. “It talks about the land, then… oh, here. ’A mix of woodland, grassland, marsh, shore, and seabirds can be seen here year-round.’ Then we’re into ’Recommended Needs.’” Rachel set aside the program and scooted down in the bed.
    “Okay, so we should see some terns, some buntings, and hopefully some eastern warblers tomorrow,” Lark said, her voice tinged with excitement. “Does the program say who the trip leaders are?”
    Rachel reached for the program, and rescanned the page. “’Recommended Needs,’ ’Trip Rigor,’ ’Leaders’! Evan Kearns and—”
    “Who?”
    Rachel handed Lark the program. “Guy Saxby.”
     
    Five a.m. came early the next morning. Rachel sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes, and watched Lark bustle around the hotel room.
    “You are a definite morning person,” Rachel said. This was her time zone, and she was dragging while