Page 45 of Alder Woodacre and the Acorns of Affection (Amaranthine Interludes #3)
While Tami had gone along with Joe’s plan to park Coach in the Song Circle, she made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want Kip’s jeep cluttering up the view any longer. Joe stood with Tami and Biddie, considering the problem.
“I guess we get it out the same way we got it in,” he said. “The wolves.”
“Where would you put it, though? I know Kip’s attached, but Mom won’t want it parked the driveway forever.”
“Kip’s place …?” There was probably room in that big machine shed.
“Okay, but what do we do about all of these?” Tami scooped a handful of acorns, which caused a mini avalanche over the side. Coach was heaped to overflowing.
“Well, now!” called a familiar voice. “Looks like Kip wasn’t exaggerating!”
“Uncle Denny!” Tami exclaimed warmly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Kip’s uncle pointed up, to where Jarrah sat astride his shoulders. “My new nephew is going to help me uphold a longstanding squirrel tradition.”
“It’s about the acorns,” the boy helpfully supplied.
“True enough. It’s an impressive collection.” With a sidelong look in Joe’s direction, he cheerfully said, “Be a shame to let all of that affection go to waste. So we’ll give it a good place to flourish, and you can look after it on the clan’s behalf.”
“Do you mean me?” checked Jarrah. “Me and Dad?”
“Oh, I’m counting on your dad to do his part.” Taking a somewhat more respectful posture, Denny added, “With your permission, Headman …?”
Joe thought he had the gist. “You want to plant them?”
“That’s the way.” Denny swept an arm, indicating the circle.
“George may not have realized what he was doing when he planted these oaks, but he really couldn’t have pleased the Woodacre clan more.
We’ll honor his heart ring with successive rings, planted at appropriate intervals.
Every century or so. Or whenever we have something to celebrate. ”
Joe could see it in his mind’s eye. Circles within circles, staggered by centuries, with this oak glen—and Biddie—hidden at their heart. A very Amaranthine way of honoring something. Unhurried and intentional. Nurtured and natural. Adding beauty as it rippled outward.
Uncle Denny spoke out of the side of his mouth to Jarrah. “Think your dad likes the idea?”
“He’d like it even better if we made it a maze.”
Joe’s heart thumped, then soared.
“Stroke of genius,” said the head of the Woodacre clan. “You’re already doing your clan proud.”
Jarrah didn’t look at all like a boy who was worried about change, even a change that would mean saying goodbye to the only home he’d ever known. He was looking past all that, toward shared plans and big projects and probably even the promise of a kitten.
Staying … that was certain, but Joe couldn’t help but want to add more reasons for Jarrah to be glad of it. So he mentioned, “One of our goats got around to kidding last night. The little guy’s brand new, and he’ll need taming.”
With a gasp, Jarrah asked, “Can I have him? For my very own?”
“Sure.”
The boy thrust out a hand, fingers wiggling urgently. Joe caught it and brushed a kiss across his son’s knuckles, then pressed a cheeky acorn into his palm.
Jarrah made happy squirrel noises.
Uncle Denny hummed appreciatively.
And Tami’s phone made a shutter snap.
After a long day filled with last chances and final favorites, including crowding all the crossers into Swifty’s for late-night ice cream cones, Kip left them to their packing in order to check on his bondmate.
Jiro was right where he belonged, resting in bed while he updated his almanac. He looked up with a soft smile. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” Kip got comfy and slipped under the covers.
“Jarrah?”
“He’s planning on sleeping in the goat pen. With most of the crossers.” Kip slouched comfortably against the headboard and draped his tail across their laps. “You missed some drama. He tried to name that newborn kid Nonny.”
“Oh. Oh, boy.”
“Yeah. Nonny wasn’t feeling particularly honored to have a namesake. Swore a blue streak, then put his hoof down. So instead … Jarrah pulled a switch. He named the goat Gilen, and then he picked the stripiest kitten in Mama Kitty’s litter, and now she ’s Nonny.”
Jiro blinked. “And that was better?”
“Yep. The guys went along with it. Nonny seemed resigned. Said something about it always being cats with him.” Kip eased an arm around Joe, tugging him closer. “Now this ? This is the best thing ever. I’m so glad Tami caught this moment. I’d have missed out.”
He showed the snapshot, which had caught Jiro kissing Jarrah’s hand. Uncle Denny’s smile was full of fondness, and Jarrah’s expression was pure adoration.
Kip said, “You look like a prince.”
“Not even close.”
“A rustic prince who rules over the hearts of squirrels. According to Jacques.” Kip kissed Jiro’s eyebrow. “He wanted me to thank you.”
“Jacques did? Why?”
“I forwarded him this picture.” Kip flicked and scrolled, holding his phone so that Jiro could see their exchange.
Proof of life
And love
Oh my heart!
This has done me good
Who knew your bonded would turn out to be such a prince?
He can be charming
Rustic and rugged and radiant
And no doubt robust
Does he rule over you?
You *would* ask
I would and did and might again
Even though I know the answer
Long may he reign
Kip kept slowly scrolling. “It goes on like that for a while. Just Jacques being Jacques. He says his bondmate wanted to know that Jarrah was going to be raised in a loving home.”
“Oh. Well, he is.”
“I think his other bondmate was hoping for something more explicit.”
Jiro searched his face. “Like … a family picture?”
“There’s an idea!” And switching to his camera, Kip nuzzled Joe’s cheek, then smirked up into the lens as he snapped their selfie.
Early the next morning, Joe was off by himself, walking through the orchard, getting his feet under him before the big bon voyage party.
He picked one of his usual spots, a big field stone that had been dragged to the edge of the orchard several decades ago.
This had been one of Grandad’s favorite places to sit a spell, grab some quiet, and take a coffee break.
Only … when Joe sat and pulled off his work gloves, he found a gift from Kip.
When had his bondmate managed the trick? Nothing had been out of the ordinary when Joe put on his gloves earlier. He turned his hand this way and that … and found a fresh sigil on his palm, faintly shimmering. Maybe an illusion?
Kip had been extra affectionate last night, all soft chirrs and slow kisses. Insistent in his generosity, urging Joe to be greedy for once. It must have been sometime in the night, after Joe fell asleep. All on the sly, Kip had bestowed a very traditional, very human token of affection.
Footsteps were heading Joe’s way.
Coming out from between the trees, Kip offered a quiet, “Hey.”
Joe lifted his hand to show what he found.
His bondmate shuffled closer, offering his own hand for inspection. A matching copper band gleamed on his ring finger.
Joe caught his hand, brushing his lips across freckled knuckles, just to be princely. Then he said, “C’mere, Alder.”
Kip crowded close and pulled him closer. And they spent the better part of twenty minutes, enjoying the hazy summer morning, just sipping coffee and watching the antics of Ephemera.
Until footsteps came hurrying their way.
And Jarrah came bounding out from between the trees to exclaim, “Found you! Hey! It’s time!”