Chapter ThreeTwo days later, Gus was in the barn admiring the brooder he had built with his grandfather. They had constructed it of boards salvaged from a pile of lumber long abandoned in the barn loft. The brooder looked like the sandbox he had played in as a toddler in the park, but with higher sides. To keep the ducklings warm once they hatched, Gus and his grandfather planned to take the light bulb from the incubator and suspend it about a foot above the brooder. Otherwise, everything was ready. Guss grandfather had sent him all over the barn hunting for an old chicken waterer. Finally, Gus had been lucky to find it, buried in hay and covered with dirt, but with its glass jar unbroken. As long as the war was going on, even ordinary things like glass were scarce. Gus scrubbed the waterer until it shone, and he filled the jar with fresh water and screwed on the top, which was really an upside-down tray. Then he inverted the whole thing, and air bubbled up into the jar and water filled the tray. A twenty-pound bag of poultry meal was propped against the near wall. Hed buy two bags of meal, his grandfather said; after that, the ducks would have to learn to scavenge for insects and grass.At first, Gus didnt pay any attention to the sound coming from the incubator. He was sitting beside it on his upturned milk pail, a book balanced on his knees, writing a letter to his mother. He had very little news to share about himself. The garden was growing as crazily as Jacks beanstalk, and the eggswell, they were still just eggs. He imagined his mother lying as placidly as an egg in her chaise hour after hour, and it made him want to write something that would make her laugh.Dear Mom, Knock, knock. Whos there?Dodo.Dodo who?Dodo what to say.Ha, ha! Dad wrote and said that all rookie pilots are called dodos, because theyre big and heavy and cant fly. I guess that makes you and me dodos, too. He also says he has room inspection every morning. So do I. Where did Grandma learn how to be a drill sergeant? Gus turned the piece of paper sideways and started to write across what hed already written, something his grandmother had taught him so he could squeeze as much news as possible onto a single sheet. Grandpa and I built a brooder for the ducklings for when they hatch, which I hope will be soon. Then Ill have news. I hope you are feeling better. I miss you.Love, Your son, GusGus was rereading his note when he finally paid attention to the sound. It was so faint and small that he assumed it was coming from the nest of one of the phoebes that favored the intersecting rafters high overhead. From waiting patiently below and observing them, Gus could tell that most of the phoebe eggs had hatched. Now the phoebes passed their days busily flying in and out of the barn, their mouths no doubt filled with squished mosquitos and beetles for their demanding broods. But the chirping didnt stop, as it often did when even insatiable baby birds finally settled down t Excerpted from Taking Wing by Nancy Price Graff All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
