Bird

by Rita Murphy

  “Miss Moreland,” she said, nodding as a means of introduction.

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “I have come in the doctor’s stead to inquire after your welfare.” She held out a small basket from her side and presented it to me. “Dr. Mead sends you turnips and apples. Enough for a simple soup.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the basket. “Tell him that I am fine, and grateful for his kindness.”

  Miss Moreland made no response, her eyes staring beyond me to the Manor.

  “Is the doctor well? I haven’t seen him in some time.”

  “Yes, he is well,” she answered nervously. “He is very busy, with little time for errands . . . in places such as this.”

  “I see.” The details of my first meeting with Dr. Mead’s nurse came to mind, and I was suddenly wary of her. Her expression in the dimness was even more strained than I remembered, her skin sallow and weathered, yet there was a sincerity in her manner I could not deny.

  “Do you wish to come in, Miss Moreland? I could make tea.”

  “No.” She appeared to bristle at the very suggestion. “I will not step across the threshold of that dwelling. I will come no farther than the gate.”

  “Why is that?” I asked, steadying my voice, for something in her tone sent a chill through me. The Hound was growing restless at my side, but I was glad of his presence and did not release him.

  “Surely you have not lived here these many years and not felt its pull upon you?”

  “It is only a house, Miss Moreland. You speak as if it were a living thing.”

  “Some believe it to be so.” At that moment, a veil seemed to drop before her eyes, and again she stared past me to the Manor as she spoke. “This house. Your mistress. They have destroyed others. They could destroy you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They sent him to his death.”

  “Captain Barrows?”

  “No storm took him. Of that you can be sure.”

  “The captain did not die on the lake?”

  “He did not.”

  “How, then, Miss Moreland?” I was eager for her reply. Perhaps she would tell me what the doctor could not.

  “Some thought he went mad over her,” she said, “wandering the beach late at night, building fires and sleeping out in all weather. They say he threw himself off the cliffs in despair. He would not have been the first in his family to do so.”

  “I did not know.”

  “There is much you do not know, miss.”

  “Can you tell me more?”

  She nodded. “When the captain’s body was found washed up on the rocks, the coast guard declared his death a drowning, another casualty of the storm. Dr. Mead did not disagree.”

  “But you believe he should have?”

  “If he had looked further, if he had not already made up his mind that the captain had merely followed in his family’s footsteps, he would have found other reasons for the captain’s death.”

  “And what would they be, Miss Moreland?”

  “I cannot say. Only that she had a hand in it.”

  “But surely Dr. Mead would have—”

  “Dr. Mead is a good man, but this house exacts a price from all who’ve had dealings with it, miss. The doctor is no exception. The Mead family is as deeply entangled in its history as the Barrowses.”

  “In what way?”

  “The Meads were the original owners of this Manor. It was named after the doctor’s great-grandmother Sylvia Bourne. Early on they lost it to the Barrows family over some misunderstanding. In the end, they lost not only the house, but supposedly the fabled fortune as well. It happened long ago, but I’m afraid the matter is still not laid to rest. He still cannot let it go.”

  “I do not understand. There is no longer any fortune. Surely Dr. Mead must realize that?”

  “I do not know what he realizes, or what he covets. I know only that he will have no peace now until he finds whatever it is he seeks. Though he has stayed away these many years, the Manor has once again cast a shadow over him, and under its influence he cannot be trusted to think clearly.” She steadied herself against the wind. “Please, miss. Promise me that you will not let him pass through the doors of Bourne Manor again,” she pleaded.

  “But this is my home you speak of, Miss Moreland.”

  “It is a dangerous place, miss. Leave it as soon as you are able. Do not wait for her return. If she could destroy her own husband, would she not do the same to you?”

  “But—”

  “I must go,” Miss Moreland said, looking nervously about her. “I trust you will not tell the doctor of our conversation.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “I bid you good day, then, miss,” she said without meeting my eyes. And with that she was gone.

  In the days that followed, I tried to make sense of Miss Moreland’s words. Though they did not come together in any coherent way, I found I could not dismiss them as simply another story. Neither could I ignore one disturbing phenomenon: while I slept, the door of my room locked and then, shortly before dawn, unlocked on its own. This happened each night, though I never saw the key turn in either direction. I only discovered it when I woke in the early hours, attempting to make my way to the washroom at the end of the hall. I also distinctly heard something that resembled footsteps on the lower landing and once saw a light cast briefly under my door. I had always assumed that it was Wysteria who was responsible for the locking of the doors, but perhaps I had been wrong. I began to suspect that the rumors were true and that something indeed lingered in the house, though if it was a human spirit, I never saw or heard it in the daylight. I found that each time I thought of abandoning the Manor, the noises would grow louder. The more afraid I became, the more convinced I was that I must remain inside its walls.

  One night while I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Miss Moreland’s strange tale filled my thoughts and led me to remember something Wysteria had once said about the Manor’s being closed up properly at night. “It is imperative, Miranda, that every room be locked before bed and the ring of keys securely fastened to my side upon retiring.” As the skeleton key could lock and unlock only the third-floor rooms, I was at a loss as to how to secure all the other doors. Since Wysteria had left the Manor, I had searched in vain for her keys. I knew there was a certain place she kept them after she retired at night, for as vigilant as she was, she would not have slept with them, and I also knew she had not taken them with her, as she had only worn a light coat over her dressing gown and Dr. Mead would have noticed.

  There was one place that I had not looked, and that was Wysteria’s bedchamber. Even though I had spent much time there during her illness, I felt uneasy about entering it without her permission. Still, I had to find some peace, and so I made my way there as soon as it was light.

  Nothing had changed since her departure. Bedsheets still lay rumpled and twisted, evidence of Wysteria’s tossing about in her feverish state. I inspected her nightstand and looked under the bed. Lastly, I opened her armoire and pulled aside the many black dresses. On the floor was a wooden box, the top of which was engraved with the initials W.B. It was unlocked and I opened it. Inside lay Wysteria’s keys. Relieved, I put them directly into my pocket and was about to close the box when I spied something at the bottom of it. Underneath a white handkerchief lay a series of small glass bottles turned on their sides. They were not unlike the ones that lined Wysteria’s nightstand, only these looked much older and were empty but for one, which distinctly had my name written upon it in Wysteria’s hand. I picked it up and examined it in the light. Below my name, there was a word scrawled upon the slender white label that I could not decipher but that looked very much like the writing on the few small bottles Dr. Mead had prescribed for Wysteria during her recent illness. I unscrewed the cap and sniffed, detecting only a slight fragrance of alcohol. Strange, I thought. Whatever could it be for? I replaced the cap and dropped the bottle in my pocket with the keys
. I then examined each of the other bottles, but, as I had suspected, the labels all bore the same illegible scrawl. I explored the rest of the armoire. It was vast and deep, yet it held nothing but petticoats and old bed curtains, and so I closed it. I left Wysteria’s chamber, locking the door behind me.

  With keys in hand, I promptly locked every door and every cupboard as Wysteria did upon retiring for bed, and that night there were no noises or footsteps or lights. I locked myself into the captain’s study in the evening after I lit the lantern, staying there until dawn, and the door remained secure until I myself opened it.

  In my isolation, I had much time to ponder the nurse’s story, the things Dr. Mead had told me about the captain and Wysteria, and the small glass bottle with my name on it, but no matter how I tried, nothing fit together properly. Perhaps they had nothing to do with one another. Perhaps they were just too many people’s stories tangled about each other. How could I believe that Wysteria and the Manor would harm me? Wysteria had found me and taken me in. The Manor had sheltered me. Yet Miss Moreland’s words resounded in my ears: “Leave it as soon as you are able. . . . Do not wait for her return.” I had the distinct feeling that I would never unravel this mystery while confined within the walls of the Manor, and so I promised myself that I would wait until the first clear day. Surely in the open air it would all make sense to me.

  Just as I was to abandon all hope of ever leaving, the fog lifted, broken by a strong gale that raged against the glass and brought heavy rain that traveled in long, unbroken sheets across the lake. For two days, I could open the door only long enough to collect firewood from the box in the entranceway, but I preferred the rain to the fog, for now I had once again a view of the mountains.

  By early June, I was sleeping through the night again, all the doors securely locked and the house quiet. I had found it difficult in the days previous to keep my concentration with the nets and had accomplished little. As well, I had grown short-tempered with the Hounds, and they had left my peevish company to take their chances in the fog. The day the weather finally cleared, the shaggy beasts came back humble and hungry, and with them they brought Farley.

  10

  “Up here! I’m up here!” Farley stood at the top of the elm above my window with a ribbon in his hand. “I came back, like I said I would. Here!” He held out the ribbon to me. “For your hair.” I could barely hear him through the thick glass. I signaled that I would come up to the walk.

  “You’re back,” I said, looking over the railing.

  “Yes, miss. I’m back.” A wide smile spread across his face. He held up the ribbon again. “A gift.”

  “Thank you,” I said, lowering the anchor line. The ribbon was made of silk the color of summer wheat, and I immediately tied it into my hair. I was over-joyed to see Farley. I could not deny that his disappearance had caused me more sorrow than I had imagined possible.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Burlington. We brought up a new boat. That one out there,” he said, pointing to a large schooner at the edge of the bay.

  “You’re not working today?”

  He seemed surprised. “No, miss. I’ve been given the week off, but I wouldn’t work today anyway. ’Tis Sunday.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” The days had flowed into one another, though even with Wysteria here, Sundays were as any other day might be. We mended nets when there were nets to mend. There was no going to church or reading the Bible for us; these practices were for common people, Wysteria said. We had no need of them.

  “Don’t you go to church, then?”

  “No.”

  “Are you a heathen?”

  “I don’t think so. I know I’m not Catholic. Wysteria greatly dislikes Catholics.”

  Farley laughed. “Then she’d dislike me.”

  “Are you Catholic?”

  “Me family is. I have me own ways, but I do go to church and keep at me prayers. Fishermen need more prayers than landlubbers like yourself. Praying can be a good thing.” He gazed up at the Manor.

  I nodded. “You’ve heard about this place?”

  “I’ve heard the stories, but I don’t go in for stories. Mostly I take things as they come to me, not secondhand.”

  “I see.”

  “Can you leave, then? Can you come to the beach and bring your kite?”

  “I’m not sure.” It surprised me to think that I would not jump at the chance to leave, but I felt that strange pull come over me, that dread at walking outside, as if my leaving were a betrayal. Perhaps, I thought, it wasn’t Wysteria who kept me here, but the Manor that claimed my allegiance.

  “Is it the old woman? Is that why you hesitate? Is she at home?”

  “Wysteria? No. She’s ill. She has been taken to the hospital.”

  “You’re alone, then?”

  “Dr. Mead stops by to check on me.”

  “ ’Tis an awful big house to be alone in. I’d ask you to stay on the boat, but we’re seven men and it’s not a place for a lady, to be sure.”

  “Thank you, but I have to stay to watch the Hounds and light the lantern. It’s our duty . . . for the boats on the lake.”

  “Can you not come out if I’m with you? I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

  “Perhaps I can go for a short while, but I must be back before dark.”

  “That’s grand.” Farley clapped his hands and began climbing down the elm.

  “I’ll meet you outside the front door.” I did not want Farley to come inside the Manor, to ever walk across its threshold. In some strange way, I knew it would not like Farley. Whatever brought me happiness, I was certain the Manor would disapprove of.

  “Bring the kite,” he yelled after me.

  “I’ll bring two if you like.”

  “You’ve more than one?”

  “A whole roomful.”

  “Remarkable!” Farley scrambled down the tree. I ran to the walk and retrieved the Red Dragon and a large blue kite with feathers etched into its sides that I thought Farley would like. I dressed in my heavy coat and boots but left the Hounds inside so they wouldn’t follow us and chase after the kites.

  Farley and I spent the whole of that day together, the first of many to come. I had never played with any other children that I could remember and was unsure how one went about doing so, but Farley had an unending supply of ideas and plans, which occupied us into the late afternoon.

  He was fascinated with kites and wings and everything to do with flight. He’d flown many kites with his brothers along the Irish coast, as that was where he had come from.

  “A great green island,” he said of it. “With mountains and streams, dragons and wee folk.”

  “Dragons?”

  He laughed. “No. There are no more dragons, though people say they once roamed the high ridges. But there are wee folk still. Me cousin Leo saw one himself in the grove at St. Bernard’s. They live in the valleys mostly, but they’ll come out into the fields now and again.”

  “What are they?”

  “Small folk. A quarter the size of yourself. Mischief makers, the lot of them, unless you find one with his stash of gold, catch him and tie him fast. Then you’ll come out a rich man in the end, with no landlord to hover over you.”

  “It sounds like a fairy-tale place.”

  “It is . . . in a way. But it’s a hard place, too.”

  “Are there all sorts of seabirds there?” I asked.

  “By the ocean, you mean?”

  I nodded.

  “Get on with you. Have you never seen the ocean yourself ?”

  “Never.”

  “A girl like you? ’Tis criminal.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He adjusted the tension on the line and swung his leg over the rock on which he sat. “You can’t imagine how many there are . . . like yourself. You can’t imagine until you’ve seen it with your own eyes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re everywhere. Dodging and flyin
g about. Small ones with tiny pencil legs and great big ones with beaks to beat the band.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t you know what you are, girl?” I shook my head.

  “You’re a bird, for sure.”

  I laughed. “I am not.”

  “The ones deny it are the ones that are. Me gran in Donegal used to know one.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s why you can’t go out on your own, why you wear those boots, isn’t it? So the wind won’t take you?” I felt my face flush.

  “They’re all slight, like you, and bound to the wind and in need of protection till they can find their way. Me gran said the one she knew got blown away while she was still too young to know.” I couldn’t believe what he was saying.

  “I’ve known it from the start. You can’t believe it yourself yet, only ’cause you haven’t known.”

  “But I’ve never seen anyone else like me. I’ve never even heard of anyone who gets picked up by the wind.”

  “You haven’t known who you are, so why would you look for others like yourself ?”

  “If what you say is true, where would I look?”

  “Have you ever had a thought to go somewhere? Someplace you’ve never been?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Aw, come on now. Don’t you know?”

  “Well, I’ve always wanted to go across the lake,” I said, pointing to the opposite shore. “Close to the mountains. I had a dream once that I was sitting on that tall one. The one with the little bald spot gracing the top.”

  “Maybe the mountains are calling you. Maybe there are others there like you.” His eyes lit up. “Maybe it’s the place the wind is always trying to take you, only you’re afraid to let it.”

  “How would I get there?”

  “Fly.”

  “It’s not like that, Farley. I don’t fly. I just get picked up and the wind decides.”

  “Then you need wings.”