Rainbow's End by Irene Hannon Page A

all along, through his months of aimless wandering.
    As he stood in the sunlit room, the restless urgency that had plagued him, driving him on and on, abated. He wasn’t sure why. After all, he still had no answers. He still felt adrift, far from land, at the mercy of the relentless surf. But for the first time, he caught sight of a light in the distance, as when a boat crests a storm-tossed wave, offering a glimpse of the distant shore. And that little glimmer of light gave him hope that perhaps, at long last, he was approaching solid land once more.
    There was no doubt in his mind that the comforting aroma of the chicken soup he held in his hands was contributing to his more upbeat mood. But as Keith glanced out the window of the cabin and spied Jill at the far edge of the field, he knew she could claim the lion’s share of credit for the sudden lightening of his spirits. This woman’s simple goodness and kindness had renewed and uplifted him, chasing away the despair that had clung to him like a wet garment after the rain. For that unexpected blessing, he gave thanks. Whether God was in the mood to listen or not.
    And then he set out to thank someone he knew would listen.
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    The baby bird was in trouble.
    Dropping to her knees in the field, Jill stroked a gentle finger over the downy fluff that would, in time, give way to feathers as the hatchling matured. But without immediate care, this victim of last night’s storm was destined never to see adulthood.
    Her expression softened in sympathy as the pitiful creature stared up at her with wide eyes, too weak to lift its head. Its heart thumped heavily in its scrawny chest, each beat a desperate plea for life. It was an entreaty that Jill had never been able to ignore. That was why her home had always been a temporary refuge for critters of all sorts. Animal Care Central, as Sam had often teased her, she recalled with a pang.
    Scooping the tiny creature up with tender care, she cupped the limp bird in her hand, the thump of its heart pulsating against her palm. It couldn’t be more than a couple of days old. And it was in dire need of warmth and nourishment. With conscientious care, though, she was sure it could not only survive, but thrive. She’d rescued enough sick and injured birds and animals in her life to know that TLC often did the trick. For all of God’s creatures—including humans.
    Just as she started to rise, a flicker of movement in the nearby forest caught her eye. Without even turning in that direction, she knew her young visitor had returned. She also knew better than to look his way, since scrutiny seemed to spook him. If she wanted to build his trust, it would have to be in small, nonthreatening increments.
    Angling her body a bit more in his direction, she spoke loudly enough for him to hear her, keeping her gaze fixed on the bird in her hand.
    â€œLooks like this baby bird was a victim of last night’s storm. Goodness, he’s a tiny thing! But his beak is huge. That’s so he can get enough food to help him grow, I suppose. I wonder what he is? A flicker, maybe. Or a Steller’s jay. If he’s a jay, he’ll have a beautiful blue chest when he grows up.”
    As Jill spoke, she sensed the boy creeping closer, cautious but curious. She extended her hand a bit to give him a glimpse of the tiny bird, hoping he would come near enough to let her get a good look at him. His ragtag state concerned her, and she wanted to know more about him—who he was, where he lived,if he had enough to eat. But before she could engage him in conversation, she had to convince him that she posed no threat.
    With cautious steps he approached her, until only a few yards separated them. Jill continued to speak in a gentle, soothing voice, directing her comments to the little bird. But the reassuring words were meant more for her young visitor, designed to put him at ease and build his comfort level.
    When he was half a