The Blood Ballad Read Online Free PDF

but I said nothing.
    â€œNow you’re soaring on the wind,” she said.
    â€œSoaring on the wind,” I repeated.
    â€œThe wind ruffles your feathers. You’re as light as a feather. Suddenly, you see a big juicy beetle. You swoop down—”
    â€œEleanore, I don’t want to eat a bug.”
    â€œOh, for heaven’s sake!” she exclaimed. Then she got up and began tugging on the blanket while I was still on it. I rolled backward after I grabbed my cocoa cup, so she could get the blanket out from under me. “Let’s get our numbers—they identify us to the judges—and head into the woods.”
    â€œSure thing,” I said from the ground.
    *   *   *
    Four hours later, I was yawning so loudly that I thought I would fit in more with hyenas than birds. Eleanore sat perched on a tree branch on a bluff on the side of the Mississippi River with her binoculars raised to her eyes. I was on a rock with a notebook, and I was writing down the names of the birds as she called them out to me. So far, we had seen that bird Stephanie had talked about, the Eurasian tree sparrow, a cardinal—I identified that one—a mockingbird, a starling, and about a dozen hawks. Eleanore didn’t like the starling very much and made a puckered face when she reported it to me.
    There was a knocking sound from somewhere in the distance. “Hey, you hear that?” Eleanore asked.
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œIt’s a woodpecker.”
    I wrote down “woodpecker,” only to have her throw a stick at me. “What?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t know what kind of woodpecker it is yet, you moron.”
    â€œOh,” I said. I had no idea there was more than one kind of woodpecker.
    A few minutes later, Eleanore said, “Oh sweet Jesus, it’s a pileated.”
    â€œIt’s affiliated with what?” I asked.
    â€œNo, the woodpecker. It’s a pileated woodpecker.” She pointed across the way to a tree right on the edge of the river. I grabbed my binoculars and there was this huge prehistoric-looking bird with a bright red head banging the heck out of the tree with its bill.
    â€œWow,” I said.
    â€œOh, wait until Elmer Kolbe hears about this.”
    I wrote down what type of woodpecker it was, wondering if I’d spelled “pileated” correctly and if it would matter in the long run. About an hour later, I pointed out another starling to Eleanore. I thought I was doing a good thing.
    â€œThat is not a starling,” she said. “Really, Torie, we are doomed if you can’t tell the difference between a common grackle and a starling.”
    I said nothing for a minute. Then I said, “So what does an uncommon grackle look like?”
    Really, I’m not this stupid ordinarily. I’m much better with dead people and ancient documents.
    â€œJust try not to speak,” Eleanore said, disgusted.
    â€œFine, I won’t speak.”
    Two hours later, my stomach growled so loudly that it was chasing away any birds that might have stopped by. Eleanore threw a granola bar at me from her perch. She made horrible disapproving noises as I noisily opened the wrapper, but she seemed to be all right once I started chewing. Then my cell phone rang.
    â€œYou brought a cell phone?” she asked.
    â€œEverybody knows where I am, Eleanore, so if somebody is calling me, it’s important.”
    â€œYou brought a cell phone!”
    Things scuttled across the forest floor and birds took flight from the trees as Eleanore screamed at me. “How could you do this! You have disturbed the sanctuary of our Olympics!”
    â€œNo, I didn’t. You screaming disturbed the sanctuary.”
    I looked at the screen on my cell phone. I didn’t recognize the number. “This is Torie,” I said as I answered it.
    â€œMrs. O’Shea,” a male voice said. “My name is Glen Morgan. I must talk to