Hilary and the Beasts, Part 26

June 1930

The weather continued to be rainy, even as the calendar switched from May to June. Hilary wanted to talk to Maple. She’d been sequestered with Eagle for weeks now. She’d gone out with the others, had had meals with them and helped downstairs and had played sentimental ballads with Miss Organ, but he rarely made appearances now. 

“It’s open.” Maple’s voice called from within. When she came in, Maple and Eagle were bent over the papers on his desk. His room was far neater than it had been the first time she saw it. She didn’t know whose doing that was. Maple wasn’t the neatest person on the planet, either. 

“Yeah,” she was saying, “I wish I could figure all this stuff out. I only know about codes from Nancy Drew books. I wanted to get Bear over here, but he an’ Betty are in the middle of readin’ lessons.” She leaned over his shoulder as he indicated another map. “Yeah, I know. Germany, Hungary, Italy. You keep pointin’ that out. Were you over there once upon a time?”

Eagle let out a small squawk that sounded more like a sigh and nodded, his wing swooping lightly. “You were over there…with Troll and Bear?” He nodded, another wing waving and fluttering. “You made recordings?” Those majestic feathers and sharp claws swept over the stack of acetate records on the desk.

“Acetate?” Hilary raised an eyebrow. “Jeff told me these are only used for recording and radio. These aren’t regular commercial records.” She put one on…and was surprised to hear a familiar deep, resonant voice. “Victor Comstock? That’s one of his broadcasts he and Jeff did for KDKA before the two of them and Scott and Foley left for Europe. Before Jeff…” She made a face. “Right before Jeff married that sour Czech puff pastry.” 

Hilary had never seen Eagle so animated, or so furious. He swung his wings widely, waving them hard and fast at the recording. He managed to gather papers in his talons and wave them at the recording. Maple leaned over it, seemingly hypnotized by the man’s voice. She didn’t even look at Eagle. “Wow. I wish I’d heard the guy talk. He never seemed to notice me. Every time I saw him, he was always payin’ attention to some papers, or lookin’ for Jeff or Scott. He really has a beautiful voice…hey!”

One last wide swoop of Eagle’s wing knocked the recording off the player. “Careful!” Maple barely managed to catch the recording before it could break. “Not only did you scratch it, but you almost broke it! You’ve got to slow those wings of yours down, buddy! I don’t understand what you’re sayin’ when you go that fast!” 

Maple put the record on again…but it was Hilary who saw the despair in Eagle’s whiskey eyes. “Eagle?” He fluttered back to the desk, knocking every paper to the floor with one great, angry swoop of his wing. “What made ya go and do that? It’ll take forever to clean these up again!” She turned to him…and saw him perched on the back of his chair, turning his steely gaze out the window into the gloomy afternoon as Victor’s deep, gentle voice spoke about the importance of American unity during hard times behind her. “Are you ok?” That was when she saw the wings shake with silent sobs. “What’s wrong?” 

He looked up…and there were tears flowing down the white feathers, glittering softly off the dull light from his green and gold glass lamp. Maple patted his wing gently “Aww, I didn’t mean to get upset with ya. Ain’t your fault you can’t talk pretty like that Comstock guy. It’s the way you are. I can understand ya well enough, an’ the others don’t seem to mind.” 

She leaned into his feathers, rubbing between his wings. “You’re a good guy, when you join the rest of the world. You helped us with our luggage that first night, and you’ve been nothing but nice to Hilary and me. I know what all of this means to you…to everyone in the country, really.” He leaned over, enfolding her in his wings as he sobbed silently on her shoulder. “Yeah, buddy. Let it all out. I think you got a lot you need to get rid of. I don’t mind. Need to wash this dress anyway.”

Her older sister frowned as he completely wrapped Maple in his wings, until only the top of her sister’s copper hair could be seen. “I think…I’ll go to dinner,” she said. “I’ll talk to you two about the paperwork and the records another time.” His sobbing, heaving squawks and her nurturing assurances could be heard in the hall, mingling with the stentorian warnings of the missing Victor Comstock.