“It’s all right,” she hastened to assure the little girl. She knew the child was thinking of her own mother. “That was a long time ago and I’m reconciled.”
“What happened to them?”
Although Marion was asking all the questions, Ella could see from Harris’s expression that he was as keenly curious.
She placed her pizza on the plate and wiped her fingers. “My father was a family doctor. My mother was his nurse. Every day they traveled over Wallingford Mountain to Rutland and back where they had a clinic. Sometimes they’d hurry to the hospital at night if there was an emergency. Between their working hours, emergency and travel, they were gone a lot.
“One day they were coming around a sharp curve on the mountain road just as a hay wagon was coming around from the other side. It was dark and rainy. The roads were wooded. Neither one saw the other.” She shrugged. “I was five when I went to live with my aunts. They’re dear souls and I love them very much. Though they have never ventured outside the Northeast, they always encouraged me to dream big and travel the world.”
“And you did!” Marion exclaimed. “You came here.”
Ella picked up her pizza. “Yep. I came all the way to Awendaw,” she said, her eyes sparkling in a tease.
“Lucky for us,” said Harris.
Ella swallowed hard and looked at her plate.
“And how was your day?” she asked Harris, steering the conversation in another direction. “What were you up to while we were cutting out paper hearts?”
He frowned with worry. “Actually, I was hoping to discuss this with you later.”
She looked up with concern.
“We’ve got a problem at the clinic. Sherry’s mother had a stroke. She’ll have to go there to check on her.”
“Oh, that’s a terrible shame. She must be so worried.”
“She is. She’s the only daughter. She’s going up to Orangeburg tomorrow. She needs to be there to help make the decisions. Her brother doesn’t know what to do and Sherry will understand all the medical terms.” He sighed and looked at his hands. “She has to go, of course, but that leaves us short-staffed, right as we head into spring, the busiest time of the year.”
“How long will she be gone?”
“She doesn’t know. It’s too soon to tell. Like I said, it’s a problem.”
“Don’t you have other volunteers to fill in the gap?”
“Not with the medical experience needed. It’s hard to find someone who can read X rays, give shots, draw blood, plus have the knowledge to treat trauma injuries. Even if I were to train a volunteer, it would take a long time. Time that I just don’t have to give right now.” He shook his head, looking at his hands. “No. For this job you just have to know the biology.” Looking up again, his face was pensive. “The job’s not much different from what you did in the emergency room at the hospital.”
Ella could see where this was headed. She kept quiet, but inwardly steeled herself.
“I was wondering…I was hoping that you could lend a hand in the clinic? Just for a short while. Until I can find someone else.”
“Harris, I don’t know anything about birds.”
“I know, but you’re a nurse. You know the basics. I can give you a crash course on the rest.”
Ella shook her head firmly. “I came here for Marion. I have no wish to play nurse to raptors.”
“It won’t be for long.”
“No.” When he opened his mouth to speak again, she rushed on, firmness in her voice. “Really, Harris, it’s just not my thing. There are animal people and there are people people. I’m a people person. I always have been. No dogs, cats or birds for me.”
Disappointment flooded his features, but he tightened his lips against further argument. He put his napkin on the table and pushed his plate away. “As I said, it was just a hope. Sherry will have to leave soon. I’ll be taking on her load so that’ll mean I’ll be coming home later. I’ll likely miss eating dinners with you, and I’ll have to go back out at night.”
“Can’t you take a break to eat with Marion? I mean, you have to eat. I’ll have dinner ready on the table.”
“It doesn’t work like that. A lot of birds will be coming through in the next few months. When they come in, I have to treat them. There’s no one else. You’ve worked in an E.R. You can’t just leave someone injured to go get a bite to eat. You eat when you can.”
Ella knew this was true and said nothing.
“Speaking of which, I have some birds to check on now. Sherry had to leave early today, what with the news and all.” The chair scraped the floor as he drew himself up and left the table.
Ella rose, too, and was clearing plates when the door closed. She paused to look across the room. The red drapes were drawn against the cold, the fire was crackling and soft yellow light flowed from a corner floor lamp. A homey scene that felt suddenly empty.
Marion slipped from her chair and went directly to the television.
“Marion? Where are you off to? There are dishes to do.”
“Aw, do I have to?” Marion groaned and hung her shoulders, but she obediently went to the table and helped clear the silverware.
Ella hid her smile at the theatrics, pleased that Marion was slowly getting into a fixed routine. She wanted the child to appreciate she had a role in making the household hum. It had been difficult at first to get her to agree to anything. She’d had a lifetime of having everything done for her by Harris and a string of baby-sitters. To do more required an investment in time by the caretaker. Never one to cut corners, Ella had begun teaching Marion rudimentary chores. Now Marion made her bed in the morning—even if it was only smoothing out the blankets. She cleared the table after meals—if only the silverware. And she picked up her toys and clothes—some of the time. The biggest chore of all, of course, was cooperating with the system of checks and balances for the diabetes.
And Marion was flourishing with the routine. They’d come a long way to getting her blood sugar levels even. She rose early in the morning without grumbling and looked for ward to her bath and bedtime story at night. Her attitude was pinking up just like her cheeks.
Marion came in to dump fistfuls of forks and spoons into the sink. They splashed noisily into the water.
“All done.”
“Okay, then scoot!”
Ella leaned far back to watch Marion dash from the kitchen into the living room. Passing the sofa she grabbed hold of Gaudy Lulu, then surprised Ella by not going to the television after all. Instead, she went to the window, pushed back the curtains and stood on tiptoe to peer out for her father.
Ella’s heart pinged and her brow furrowed as she returned to the dishes. No matter how good the routine and how well she and Marion were getting along, the child still pined for time with her father.
Ella began washing the plates, her thoughts spinning. She’d always found the ritualistic washing and rinsing good for reflection. Her mind traveled again to Harris’s request that she help out in the clinic. She wished he hadn’t asked. It put her in the annoying position of having to refuse. Yes, she had the medical skills, but she really didn’t want to use them on birds. Especially not birds with talons, sharp beaks and an attitude. She had every right to say no, yet she still felt guilty doing so.
Her mind was at war with her heart. When did one put one’s own interests ahead of another’s? Already Harris hardly spent time with Marion. If he was forced to put in more hours at the clinic, the poor child would never see him. It was a heartbreaker to see the way Marion’s eyes filled with longing whenever her daddy came into view.
Ella’s hands stilled in the sink. She thought back to the time when she was a little girl waiting by the window for her own father and mother. That terrible waiting… She’d missed them even before they died.
Ella looked over again at Marion. The child held Gaudy Lulu close to her chest and leaned in a dejected pose against the window. Ella turned off the water and left the last pot in the sink. Dryi
ng her hands, she walked directly to Marion. She crouched low and gently drew the child away from the window and into her arms.
“Hey, little one,” she said close to her ear. “How about a nice, warm bath? I’ll even put in bubbles!”
An hour later, Ella tucked Marion into bed and sat beside her to read a bedtime story. This was the favorite time of the day for both of them, when their chores were done, the blood tests and shots were out of the way and they could just stretch out together and enjoy a moment’s peace. Marion rested her head against Ella’s chest as she read. Ella had never known how poignant such a simple gesture could be.
“Mmm…you smell sweet,” Ella told her, bringing her nose to the gold downy hair.
Marion nodded her head, accepting the compliment as fact. Then she turned her head and leaned back against her shoulder to get a good look at Ella. She studied her face for a while and Ella felt she was somehow being measured, though against what standard she couldn’t imagine. She already knew that Marion did not find her pretty.
“You smell good, too,” Marion announced with authority.
A smile tugged at Ella’s lips, but Marion was so serious that she put on a serious face and replied soberly, “Thank you.”
Tonight they chose Marion’s favorite, Goodnight Moon. Marion loved the simple but lyrical sentences that never failed to lower the lids and elicit sleepy yawns.
“That’s me,” Marion said when they’d reached the last page. She pointed to the picture of a small bunny tucked into a great big bed. Marion often liked to pick out a character in a story to be.
“Yes, that’s you if you want it to be.”
“Is that the mother?” Her small finger pointed to the female bunny in the rocking chair across the great green room.
“No,” Ella replied. “That’s the old lady who takes care of the little bunny. The one who whispers hush.”
“Oh. Then, is that you?”
“Yes,” Ella replied with a self-deprecating chuckle. “That’s me.”
Marion was silent for a moment, then she twirled a strand of hair and said softly, “She could be the mother. If I wanted her to be.”
“Do you want the lady in the book to be the bunny’s mother?”
Marion didn’t say anything as she looked at the picture book spread open on her lap.
“Do you miss your mother?”
Marion nodded. Ella could feel the motion against her breast go straight through to her heart.
“Do you ever get to see her?”
“No. I want to, but Daddy says she can’t come ’cause she’s far away.”
“Ah. Well, that’s a problem, then. I’m sure she wants to see you.”
“I know.” Her tone was dejected, as if she’d been told this a million times before.
“Do you have a picture of her? We could put it here by your bed so you could say good-night to her every night.
Just like the bunny does.”
“Daddy won’t let me have a picture of her.”
Ella didn’t know what to say to this, suspecting that was a long story only for grown-up ears associated with it.
“Do you remember what she looks like?”
“She’s pretty. Like this.” Ella held up the Gaudy Lulu doll that she slept with every night.
Ella looked at the statuesque doll with the enormous breasts and the pinched waist and wondered if Fannie was, in fact, beautiful, or if Marion just thought of her mother as such. Looking at Marion’s pretty, doll-like features, however, Ella knew that it was likely her mother was beautiful.
“Oh, then she’s very pretty.”
Marion nodded, settling that point.
“When did you last see her?”
She sighed and rubbed an eye with a curled fist. “I dunno. A long time ago,” she said with a yawn. “I was this many.” The fist uncurled three fingers.
“Maybe she’ll come to see you again soon,” Ella said.
“Would you like that?”
Marion suddenly closed the book and shoved it from the bed. It hit the floor with a muffled thud. “I’m sleepy,” she announced as she hunkered under the blankets.
Letting the subject drop, Ella rose and tucked the blanket under Marion’s chin. Then she bent low to smooth the hair from her face and kiss her tender cheek.
“Good night,” she said softly. Marion slipped her hands under her pillow and closed her eyes. “Tell Daddy to come give me a kiss.”
“I will.”
Ella turned off the bedside light and followed the beam of light from the hall to the door, picking up a few items of clothing en route and tucking them under her arm.
“Ella?”
She turned and peeked into the dim room again. “Yes?” she replied in a hushed voice.
From the darkness, she heard the child’s high-pitched voice, hoarse with sleepiness. “I want the lady in the book to be you.”
Ella stood motionless at the door, too moved to say a word. She had cared for hundreds of children over the years, had saved lives by the score. But never had she felt the unspeakable sweetness of a child’s head against her breast as she read a story, or experienced the delicate bond that existed between a woman and a child she loved.
For she was beginning to love Marion. And, thinking of Bobby, this frightened her deeply.
“Sleep tight,” she said, and closed the door.
Much later, Ella stood leaning against a wood pillar on the porch, gazing at the stars. The air was crisp, reminding her of spring nights at her home in Vermont when there were no noises except for the calls of night birds and insects, and no lights except for the moon and the stars.
This sky, however, was strictly South Carolina. A wisp of a crescent moon, the likes of which was not seen in the north, sliced a sky filled with stars so bright they looked like diamonds of the highest color and clarity set against black velvet.
She was here under a Carolina moon, but her northern memories were tugging at her heart. All this talk of her aunts, the memories of her childhood and her affection for a child mingled together to form an unsettling concoction, bubbling up images in her mind.
If she closed her eyes, she could see Bobby’s pale face the last time she spoke with him.
In retrospect, she’d known right away that he was in trouble. All her instincts warned her that this time his illness had gone too far. But duty pushed back all her inner alarms and she’d worked on automatic pilot to do a preliminary evaluation, then sent him upstairs to the pediatric ward. If only she’d taken the time to hold his hand and talk to him. If only she’d stopped asking questions and giving orders long enough to look at his sweet face one more time and tell him that she would stay by his side.
But, of course, she couldn’t have done any of that. She was a nurse on duty. And it had been another busy night in the emergency room.
Diet. Birds of prey are opportunistic. They never know where or when they’ll find their next meal. The crop is an enlarged space in their esophagus that can store large amounts of food, so a raptor with a full crop can survive five to seven days without eating. Raptors often swallow their prey whole. The fur and bones go through the system and are later coughed up as a pellet. Pellet analysis can provide a good look at a raptor’s diet and habitat.
9
IT HAD SNOWED THAT NIGHT. INSIDE THE RUTLAND General Hospital, Ella Elizabeth Majors stood at the window watching the flakes fall.
“Look! It’s snowing!” said an excited voice coming up be side her. “Can you believe it?”
“Can’t say I can,” Ella replied with a smile of greeting for Denise, a fellow pediatric nurse. “It’s already snowed four times and it’s only November.”
“I still think it’s magical each time,” Denise said, coming to stand beside Ella. She crossed her arms against her white uniform and watched the falling flakes with a wistful expression.
“That’s because you’re from Florida and don’t know any better. Snow can be beautiful when it’s fluffy and white lik
e this, but it gets dirty and difficult pretty quick.”
“Nothing you say can change my mind,” Denise replied.
“I’ve never seen snow like this, or built snowmen. That all might seem boring to you because you’ve grown up with it, but for me, it’s pretty wild.”
Ella pulled a corner of her mouth into a wry smile. “Glad you like wild, ’cause with this icy snow, it’s going to be a wild night.”
As though on cue, the E.R. doors burst open, followed by the sound of pounding feet and calls for assistance as a team of medics raced through the hall pushing a gurney.
“Here we go,” Ella said as her training clicked into high gear. She turned and raced toward the gurney, voicing clipped orders to the medics and other nurses standing by. But her voice caught in her throat when she caught sight of the small child on the gurney.
“Oh, no,” slipped from her mouth. It was Bobby D’Angelo, a six-year-old boy with juvenile diabetes. She ran up to take hold of the gurney and ask the med assistant, “He’s a diabetic. What’s his status?”
“Low insulin levels—dangerously low. He went into convulsions.”
Her eyes expertly searched Bobby’s face for medical clues. She didn’t like the pastiness of his skin or his labored breathing.
“Bobby? Bobby, can you hear me?” When the boy dragged open his eyes, she smiled with relief and squeezed his hand. “So you came to see me again, huh, Bobby?”
His eyes blinked sleepily and a shaky smile of recognition spread across his small face. “Ella?”
“How’re you doing?” she asked him, stroking back a shaggy bit of black hair, then resting her palm on his fore head. His skin was clammy with sweat.
“Okay,” he replied in a foggy voice. He licked his dry lips.
“Yeah? Maybe not feeling so good? And thirsty?”
“Uh-huh.”
She walked alongside the gurney as they rolled him into the triage room. There, she quickly got to the business of checking his stats: listening to his heart, checking his eyes, his reflexes and blood pressure. Bobby was familiar with the routine and cooperated without complaining. He was what the nurses referred to as a “frequent flyer,” one of the kids who bounced in and out of the E.R. She’d seen hundreds of kids like him over the past ten years as a pediatric nurse, but there was something about Bobby that tugged at Ella’s heartstrings. He’d chipped away at her resistance until she began looking over her shoulder each time a little boy was brought into the E.R. He came in far too often, however, and after each episode it took him longer to recover.
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