Holding her, Ella swore to herself that she’d be that harbor for this motherless child. She’d care for Marion as if she were her own. As she crooned and rocked, she blocked out of her mind the warning niggling in the recesses of her brain to be careful. Marion wasn’t her child and the gods had warned it was dangerous to steal fire.
The rest of the morning was relatively peaceful. Marion had inspected each and every kitchen utensil on the floor. Then she stood on a chair at the sink, which Ella had half filled with mild soapy water while a thin trickle of water dripped from the spigot. Ella figured she’d be long finished cleaning the cabinets before water could fill that enormous farm sink.
Afterward, she took a sopping wet Marion to her room to change into dry clothes and a thick sweater. Then together they gathered the wet clothes into bundles with the rest of the laundry. Ella hadn’t done laundry yet and had to ask Marion where the washer and dryer were.
“Are you sure, honey?” she asked, following Marion out of the house to a woodshed yards away.
“Uh-huh. It’s in there,” she told Ella, pointing.
The chilly wind tossed their hair as they made their way across the yard. Ella set down the basket on the cold earth. The shed was tilting to the east and it looked like one good gust would finish the job. Lifting the makeshift wood latch, she cautiously tugged the door, stepping back as it creaked open. When she was satisfied nothing would jump out at her, she peeked inside.
Sunlight poured through the dusty motes, revealing an old washer and dryer set against one wall, a deep freezer on the other and countless rusted tins and dusty bottles stuffed into any other available space. Cobwebs hung like drapes across the small paned window and three black garbage bags took up most of the middle floor. Ella walked through the little remaining space to the closest bag. With two fingers, she gingerly picked it open and rummaged inside. A pungent odor escaped the bag, and inside, she found towels of all colors and shapes, all of them heavily soiled with bird dung. She closed it back up and twisted it tight.
“Is this where they wash the towels for the clinic?” she asked.
Marion nodded.
“And you do your laundry in here, too?”
Again, Marion nodded.
“Lord help me,” she muttered, her worst fears realized.
She opened the rusted washer. It creaked loudly, and looking in, sure enough, she found a load of wet towels waiting to be dried. In the dryer she found a load of scruffy towels.
She drew back and crossed her arms, deliberating. This was the laundry room. Feathers floated in the breeze and the floor was covered with a fine white powdery substance she could only guess was dander of some sort.
Ella shook her head and chuckled as she reached for a broom and dustpan. “I swore I wasn’t going to get roped into the clinic work, but I suppose we could fold a few towels, don’t you?”
Marion leaned against the door. “I don’t know how.”
“You don’t know how to fold a towel? It’s easy. Think of it as a new game. I’ll teach you.”
The singing drew him in. Harris was walking from the clinic, hoping for a little lunch, when he heard two feminine voices belting out choruses of “Old MacDonald” coming from the woodshed. Marion’s high-pitched e-i-e-i-o mingled with giggles, was the sweetest music he’d heard in a long time. He detoured, stopping when he was close enough to see, yet not disturb them. The door to the laundry shed was wide open, revealing a tidy laundry room, freshly swept and with all the supplies lined up in a row on the dusted shelves. A pile of folded towels lay on the freezer. Beside it, Ella stood folding a large towel while watching Marion attempting to fold a smaller one. The child mostly just rolled it up with her chubby fingers and pressed it on to the tilting pile. Marion’s towels would all have to be refolded, but she didn’t know that. Anyone could tell the child was blissfully proud of her efforts. Her smile spread from ear to ear and her eyes sparkled.
Harris stood mute and still, but inside, his blood was roiling and tears blurred his vision. This was the Marion he knew before the onset of her illness. This was the Marion he missed.
Ella looked up and saw him standing there. Their eyes met. Her hands stilled, then lowered as she brought the towel to her chest. They stood for a moment, sharing a commiserating look across the yard—his filled with gratitude, hers with understanding. He didn’t need to say a word. Nor did he approach and disturb the child singing loudly, happily, off-key, oblivious to the fact that a turning point had been reached in their world.
There might be mice in the fridge and feathers in the laundry. There would be mornings of burned toast and soggy bacon, and evenings of bitter tears and insulin shots.
But Marion was singing. And like the canary in the coal mine, this signaled all would be well.
Eagles: Majesty in Motion. Eagles are very large and powerful birds of prey. With broad, planklike wings and dark plumage, they soar with a stately steadiness that has inspired nations for centuries. While both the bald and golden eagles reside on the continent, the bald is the more widespread and, as the national symbol, the most recognized and revered.
7
DAYS WERE NEVER LONG ENOUGH IN THE WINTER, Ella thought to herself as she carried an armful of heavy wool blankets, flannel sheets and a pillow across the yard to the cabin. She found that when the sun lowered on the horizon and the sky turned dusky, especially on chilly nights like this one, lassitude settled deep in her bones.
When working in the hospital, each minute was so hectic she usually wasn’t aware of the time or the weather out side the thick glass windows, or whether the sun was high or low in the sky. Here in the country, the sun regulated her days. She rose at daybreak with the birds, and like them, wanted to tuck her head into her feathers and roost when the light faded from the sky.
Today, however, she still had much to do before sleep. She’d already gathered wood into the basket for the fire and had finished stoking the flames, satisfied that the house would be warm through dinner. Her primary task now was to finish preparing the cabin for Elijah so he could move in. Harris had agreed that Lijah should sleep in the weighing room until the cabin was ready. They’d fashioned a small cot for him that could be readily disassembled for the workday. It wasn’t much, but it was only temporary, and more important, it was warm. In the meantime, Ella had turned her attention to the cabin, sweeping out the cobwebs, polishing the panes of glass and washing inches of dirt from the floor. She’d purchased a kerosene heater that was up to the task of warming a small space, a rug, a few blankets and sheets. Now she was on her way to meet Harris’s bird handler, Maggie Mims, who had volunteered a twin-size mattress and box spring as well as a spare table and two chairs from her home.
Maggie was already at the cabin when she arrived. She was a big-boned woman, tall, with broad shoulders and chest, pronounced cheekbones and brick-red hair cut short to frame her face. She wore a nylon rain jacket over baggy khaki pants and thick rubber-soled boots. Her cheeks were flushed with the effort of trying to single-handedly maneuver the floppy twin mattress from her minivan through the cabin door.
“Here, let me help you,” Ella said, trotting closer. She set the bedding on the car’s tailgate and hurried to grab an end of the mattress.
“You must be Ella,” the woman said with a smile that showed a line of large white teeth.
“And you must be Maggie.”
“Guilty as charged. Heck of a way to meet, but I’m glad you showed up. This mattress is not so heavy as it is darned clumsy. And you know the saying—two hands are better than one.”
“Or, timing is everything, as my aunt Rhoda always told me,” Ella said, getting a better grip on the corner. She was smaller in height and width than Maggie, but she was strong. “Speaking of which, I’m ready. On the count of three. One, two, lift!”
The two women readily lifted the mattress and carried it into the cabin. The matching twin box spring was already in the room and on the frame. It took up most of one wall. Togethe
r they moved the small table and two chairs in, then closed the door against a brisk, damp wind that stung their cheeks and threatened a sleety rain.
“Let’s get that heater going,” Maggie said, rubbing her palms together. “It’s colder than a witch’s titty in here.”
Ella laughed, liking Maggie’s blustery manner immediately. It reminded her of her aunts. While Maggie lit the heater, Ella laid down a cheery, brightly colored hooked rug and draped heavy, navy curtains across the two windows, more to cut the draft than for decoration. As the wind howled louder and louder outdoors, inside, the small space grew warmer and cozier.
“Lijah will be appreciative of all you’re doing,” Maggie said as they worked together to spread the bottom sheet across the bed. “It just isn’t his style to ask for anything for himself. But he’s always the first one to lend a helping hand to others. There are givers and takers in this world, and Lijah is one of the givers.”
“What’s he like? I’ve invited him to meals but he’s yet to show up. He’s accepted fruit and cheese, sandwiches, that sort of thing, but so far I’ve only been able to lure him to the house with my coffee. He fills his thermos, thanks me profusely, then leaves without eating a bite.”
Maggie chuckled softly to herself. Everyone at the center had heard about Ella’s cooking.
“He’s kind of aloof, don’t you think?” Ella asked, spreading out the top sheet.
“Aloof?” Maggie bent at the waist to tuck in her side of the sheets. “No, he’s not that. He’s just not much of a talker. Unless he’s got something to say. Then he’s freehanded with advice. Lijah calls himself a Watcher, and I’d say that pins him down pretty good.”
“A Watcher? What does that mean?”
“Just what it sounds like. Walk around the area and you’ll understand. Sometimes you’ll turn around and see Lijah looking at you. Not in a weird way, nothing like that. He just has this peaceful gaze, like he was staring out at the sky and you just happened to cross his line of vision. But I get the sense he sees everything that goes on around here. Owls are like that, too, you know. They just sit quietly in the tree, turning their heads left and right, catching sounds and sights like radar. I wonder if that’s what makes him so popular with the birds.”
“Is he?”
“They just love him. I’ve never seen anything like it. Most of the time the birds are really jumpy when a person walks into their area, especially someone they don’t know. Not Lijah. He can walk right into their enclosure and they don’t seem to mind. He does move quietly, maybe that has something to do with it. But I think it’s something more. When I asked him about it, he just smiled in that way he does and shrugged.”
Ella made sharp tight hospital corners on the sheet, then spread out the two wool blankets. Maggie grabbed hold to help, making quick work of the job. It was nice working with another woman again, she thought. Ella had grown up with her aunts, and at the hospital, the nurses shared stories during the breaks or quiet moments on the floor. She’d not realized how much she missed the natural flow of feminine conversation.
At the dinner table, she tried to start conversations. Harris was polite and offered short responses to her questions, but he was quiet by nature and felt comfortable with long lapses of silence. It was the opposite with Marion. She was a typical chatty five-year-old who had a lot to say about everything. Ella did little else but nod and occasionally say, “Oh, really?” So, having a give-and-take chat with another woman—one she instinctively liked—was a pleasant treat.
“You were a nurse, right?” Maggie asked.
“A pediatric nurse. I worked in the emergency room, and before that, intensive care.” She paused, remembering the pounding of feet, the orders called out in staccato, the way the adrenaline flowed during an emergency. “It got pretty intense sometimes.”
“I’ll bet. It can get like that at the clinic, too.”
“I imagine it’s not a whole lot different. Except, of course, the stakes are lower.”
“True, but you don’t think that when you’re fighting for a raptor’s life. I suppose the biggest difference is that, for us, when the injuries are so bad we can’t fully rehabilitate, we put the bird down. It’s kinder that way. It would be cruel to release the bird back to the wild to suffer.”
“Can’t very well do that in a hospital.”
“Nope.” Maggie chuckled. “Though sometimes I think it might be more humane. So why be a nanny? Seems an odd career change.”
Ella sighed and rested her hands on her hips while she considered her answer. “Not really. You see, I love children,” she said honestly. “I always have. That’s what led me to pediatrics in the first place. I was your typical wide-eyed idealist when I first started out. I wanted to heal the world. I thought I could make a difference, not only with medical care but with kindness and patience when a child was scared, sick and alone.”
“That doesn’t sound idealistic. It’s what compels so many of us to volunteer.”
“Except I didn’t realize how painful it would be when I failed. It’s very hard to watch a child die.”
Maggie’s hands stilled. “I can’t even imagine.”
“They kept telling me I’d get used to it, that in time I’d develop a shell. But I never did. I persevered, day after day, for more than ten years. I’m not boasting when I say I was good at my job. I could communicate with the kids, and all their screaming didn’t agitate me. I have a long streak of patience.” Her lips twisted into a wry grin. “Some folks might call it stubbornness.”
Her face grew somber again as she brought back to mind the hard times of nursing: the psychological punishment of seeing the “repeaters” return to the E.R. again and again, until the vicious spiral tragically ended. Or knowing that no matter how hard she tried, that sweet child was going to die and nothing she could do was going to make a difference.
“Looking back, I think I crammed all that pain down and held it boxed up inside me until, one day, it all just burst out and I couldn’t take it anymore. I…I simply couldn’t go back.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No,” she replied quickly. “No, you didn’t. It helps to be able to talk about it. Anyway,” she said, grabbing the pillow and beginning to stuff it into the pillowcase, “that’s why I quit nursing. At least for a while.”
“You’re going back to it?”
Ella nodded. “I told Harris I would stay for one year. At the very least, in that time I should be able to get Marion’s levels stable and establish a routine for the two of them to follow. I hope I can last that long. It’s strange, given what I just told you, but sometimes I miss that adrenaline rush. I miss all the excitement. The pace here is so slow. I’m used to go, go, go. Making quick decisions and giving orders. I can be a bit of a drill sergeant.” She shook her head and pressed the pillow to her chest. “Poor Harris. I’m sure I’m not the easiest woman to live with.”
Maggie muttered, “You wouldn’t be the worst.”
“What?” Ella asked, her head snapping up.
“Oh, nothing.”
“Come on, now. I didn’t hold back. What’s that about a woman?”
“Curious, are you?”
“Not really.”
When Maggie snorted with disbelief, Ella’s cheeks flamed and she fluffed the pillow. “Well, okay, maybe a little.”
“I see the way it is now.”
“You can stop wriggling your brows, I don’t mean it that way. It’s perfectly normal to be curious about someone you live with. I mean, as a nanny. Oh, stop it,” she said, joining Maggie’s laughter. “You know what I mean.”
Maggie laughed as she placed a down comforter atop the blankets. “I’m just having fun with you. Well, I don’t know much, that’s the truth. Harris is pretty tight-mouthed.”
“Tell me about it.”
Maggie laughed again and sat down on the bed. Ella sat on the chair and leaned back, surprised by the depth of her own curiosity.
“
I only met her once,” Maggie began. “I gather Fannie, his wife, is quite a bit younger than Harris. The only thing I’ve ever heard him say was that she wasn’t ready to settle down. Of course, I doubt Harris would ever say a mean word about anyone—even a woman who up and left him and their child soon after she was born.”
“How awful for them both. Poor Marion…”
“Boggles my mind. There’s more to it, I’m sure, but the details are hazy. Anyway, Harris was left to raise his child single-handedly. And I think he’s done a pretty fine job of it, considering. The center was just starting out when Marion was born. Fannie used to help him care for the birds, so you could say she walked out on the center, too. Harris had a brand-new baby and a brand-new birds of prey center commencing all at the same time. It was pretty overwhelming. He had to work round the clock,” she said with a sigh.
“Still does. He’s the heart and soul of the place. This whole thing was his vision. He saw the need, fought for a license and built this place from nothing. We have the clinic building now, the bird pens, and we’re still growing. But back in the early days, Harris had the birds in his spare bedroom and a dog run out in the back!”
“Now I understand the mice in the kitchen fridge. And I found feathers in the closet corners when I cleaned them out.”
“Lord, I’m not surprised. He used to have more rats and mice in his fridge than food for him and Marion. Used to do surgery in the kitchen, too. Right smack on the table.”
“Really?” Ella said, making a mental note to scrub the table with bleach.
“We were all pleased as punch when the clinic building was donated to the center. Harris and Marion could finally have a life of their own, separate from the birds. He built the pens you see out there, the resident birdhouse and the weighing room. His next big dream is to construct a real flight pen. He has so many dreams. You’ve never met anyone so dedicated.”
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