He couldn’t wrap his mind around those words. He’d always been alone. Maybe not physically. In his lifetime he’d always lived with someone: his mother, Fannie, Marion. But they were females who needed his care. Whether that was by fate or his own design, he didn’t know. The fact was, there hadn’t been anyone with whom he could share his thoughts, his hopes and aspirations, even his dreams. He’d had no one to help ease the burden of all his responsibilities. Ever since he was nine years of age and his father had abandoned him and his mother, he’d been the caretaker. He’d learned to be self-sufficient. He’d grown up not depending on anyone or anything other than himself. And over the years he’d become unwilling—or unable—to open up to another person. He’d thought he didn’t need anyone else.
He was a fool, of course.
Closing his eyes, he could still readily bring forth the image of Fannie, only seven years earlier, when they’d married and he’d brought her to his bed. The sight of her beautiful body, so lithe and willowy, upon his sheets still stirred him and brought a yearning ache that was his only companion for too many nights. He was a man in his prime with all a man’s insatiable hungers. Yes, he needed someone else.
He sighed and turned on his side, punching his pillow under his head. When he closed his eyes, this time he saw Ella standing on the porch, as he’d seen her earlier when he’d walked from the clinic. He’d stopped in the shadows to watch her. She’d reached up to undo the clasp and her hair had cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall. He’d never seen such hair! The rich brown strands caught the moonlight like phosphorescence on waves, and for a moment he was mesmerized by the sight of her slim, tidy figure leaning against the pillar while her luxurious hair swirled around her, stirred by the breeze. He’d felt a little like a voyeur, but he couldn’t drag his eyes away. It was unusual to find Ella relaxed and caught off guard.
The moonlight had shone on her face and her expression was dreamy, like she was a million miles away. For the first time he’d realized that she had a whole life that he knew nothing about, memories that might include lovers, and it startled him to think of Ella in that way. He’d been careful to avoid that line of thinking. They were living together in the same house, after all.
Tonight, however, he saw Ella as a woman, with a woman’s wants and desires. And once the image was planted in his mind, he couldn’t shake it.
Harris gradually drifted to sleep, thinking of Ella, hearing Ella’s words floating in his mind. You are not alone.
Ospreys: The Dashing Fish Hawks. Ospreys are large black-and-white raptors with crooked wings and sharply curved talons. With their banditlike eye markings, they cut a handsome pose as they fearlessly dive, talons first, under the water’s surface for prey. They eat fish exclusively and are common to coastal areas and inland lakes.
10
ELLA AWOKE THE FOLLOWING MORNING FEELING as though her world had subtly changed. It had been a sleepless night, full of unbidden memories and momentary panics and regrets. By the time the light of dawn seeped through the curtains, her eyes were puffy and she could feel the faint thrumming of a headache in her forehead.
The day, however, would not wait until she was ready to rise, so she dragged herself from the bed, then stretched and yawned noisily. The house was silent save for the rush of water from the shower informing her that Harris was already up. She peeked through her bedroom curtains. Outside, a fine mist settled over the pond, clouding the view of the pines beyond. She could barely make out the roofline of Lijah’s cabin in the fog.
Slipping into her robe and slippers, she hurried to the wood-burning stove to add a few pieces of wood, then went directly to the kitchen to make coffee. She was pouring two cups out when Harris came into the room. He was clean-shaven and dressed in jeans and a blue flannel shirt. His hair was still damp from his shower and slicked back from his broad forehead, making him look sleeker, sexy.
She felt self-conscious at being caught undressed and tightened the robe closer around herself. Last night they’d moved one step closer, and this morning they’d awakened to a heightened awareness that made them dance around each other with all the awkwardness of blushing teenagers. Her hands needed to keep busy, she thought, and she grabbed the sponge and wiped up the few grains of spilled coffee from the counter.
“Chilly this morning,” he said, stopping beside her.
She could feel his presence surround her, smell the faint scent of soap on his skin more powerful than the freshly brewed coffee. “Coffee’s ready.”
“Thanks.” He leaned closer to grab his cup and took a few sips. “Mmm. Good.”
“Ayah,” she replied, slipping into Vermont vernacular.
He noticed and a small smile crept into his eyes.
“You’re up early. Breakfast will be in just a minute.”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I’ve got to get to the clinic. Got a call late last night. Someone’s bringing in an osprey from Mount Pleasant. They want to drop it off before they go to work.”
“Okay.” She poured milk in her cup, keeping her eyes averted.
They stood a few feet apart, he leaning against the counter, she standing erect by the sink. They each sipped their coffee, the silence between them as heavy and as concealing as the low-lying fog. When she cast a furtive sidelong glance his way, she blushed to find his gaze squarely on her.
“Well, I’d better get going,” he said, pushing away from the counter.
“Will you be back for lunch?”
“Don’t think so. Things are backed up.”
“We’ll miss you.” She hadn’t meant to put it quite that way. Looking abruptly up, she saw a faint smile tugging at his lips as though he were pleased.
He walked toward the door, gulping down the dregs of his coffee. She followed him, opening the door and pushing wide the screen door for him. He smiled a brief thank-you, acknowledging the courtesy, then passed through the door. As she stood flat against the cold metal screen she felt the scrape of his leather jacket against her breasts as he walked by. She had to close her eyes and hold her breath, so over powering was this brief, inconsequential brushing of his garment against hers.
He hesitated on the back porch. “Ella?”
“Yes?”
“About last night…”
“Oh, it was nothing…”
“No. I mean, yes, it was. What you said. It meant a lot. Thank you.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but as she looked into his blue eyes shining with such sincerity, her mind grasped for words that wouldn’t come. So she merely nodded her head and ventured a shaky smile.
He returned a smile so swift she doubted she saw it, but it left her feeling like the morning sun was shining directly on her face.
Ella let the screen door close between them and set down her cup. My God, she thought with prickly shame, it was ridiculous to feel this way. The man simply said thank you and her heart was fluttering as if he’d made a flowery confession of love.
She hurried to the sink and leaned over the rim to catch sight of him as he walked across the field. She did this most mornings and each time she thought he cut a handsome figure in his jeans and leather jacket. His long legs strode with a determined gait, and she knew him well enough to know that his mind was already on the myriad duties he had before him that day.
“What’re you looking at?”
Ella swung away from the window. “Marion! You’re up. Are you hungry?”
“You were looking at Daddy again, weren’t you?”
Ella saw the twinkling in Marion’s eyes and the smirk on her lips and knew she’d been found out. She sighed. “Come along, snoopy,” she said, grabbing hold of the child’s hand and leading her back upstairs. “Let’s get this day started.”
“Morning, Ella.”
Ella looked up from the skillet of bacon sizzling on the stove to see Lijah peeking his head through a small opening of the kitchen door with an empty plate in his hand. She smiled broadly and waved him in with her mitt-cov
ered hand. “Just in time!”
“When I smell that coffee brewing in the morning, I know it’s time to come on by and return the dinner plate.”
Laughing, Ella grabbed a mug from the cabinet. For the past several weeks she and Lijah had struck up a quiet routine that began when she brought a plate full of dinner to the cabin. He’d seemed reluctant at first to become beholden in any way. As friendly as he was, he was a private sort. But she’d grown frustrated with his refusals to join them at the dinner table and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She started knocking on his door, making it impossible for him to refuse the plate of a warm dinner. The following morning when he came to return the empty plate, Ella wasn’t blind to the longing in his eyes when he spied the pot of freshly brewed coffee. And being a coffee lover herself, she was to tally sympathetic. She’d poured him a cup then, and he’d come by for a refill every morning since.
“Here you go, sir. The cream’s on the table.”
“Appreciate it.”
As she wiped the counter she watched as he bent over the table and poured a liberal amount of cream in the coffee, added two heaping teaspoons of sugar, then stirred with the same care and precision as any prim lady at a tea party. The spoon made a rhythmic clinking noise as it went round and round.
“Look there!” he said, pausing before drinking and pointing to the coffee. “See all the bubbles in the coffee? Means money’s coming.”
“Harris will be happy to hear that. He’s hoping to get enough to start building a proper flight pen.”
“That’s a fine thing. I’d be happy to help him build it. San tee needs to exercise.”
He brought the mug to his lips, sniffed, then closed his eyes and sipped noisily. After he swallowed, he slowly lowered the mug with a hearty, near reverential “Ah.”
She smiled, enjoying the ritualistic performance. “Coffee okay today?”
“Ain’t had a good coffee since my Martha crossed over. She could make a fine cup.”
This was the first time she’d ever heard him mention his personal life. She’d wondered if he’d ever married, had children or family of any kind. She figured he was connected somehow to the local Gullah community that held him in such high esteem. Clarice had explained to her that Elijah was a walking encyclopedia of the Gullah culture. A living treasure.
And yet, looking at the old, slightly stooped man, she couldn’t help but be mystified at how this man who had so much knowledge and was held in such esteem by so many came to be so unattached to personal possessions and people that he could simply take off and follow an eagle.
She leaned forward. “Martha was your wife?”
“She was.”
“When did your wife pass on?”
“Long time. I done stop count.”
“You must still miss her.”
“My heart hurts and ever will. Though, she ain’t never gone for true.”
“Come again?”
“She’s still here with me.”
Ella stilled her hands at the sink. “How is she still here?”
His eyes softened as he took on a wistful expression. “I hear her voice in the wind,” he said, speaking as much to himself as to her. “When I pass through the marsh on a soft, moist night, and I look up, this here mist floats by and I think whether it’s my Martha. Other times, when I go way deep in the woods where the sun dapples through and the earth greens up, Martha comes close and walks with me. Yeah, then things still just like before.”
He sighed and was quiet for a moment. Ella sensed a great loneliness in the old man. When he spoke again, he looked up at Ella with a benign expression, but his eyes betrayed him with a moist film.
“The spirit ain’t go soon as the body do, that’s for true. It lingers awhile. We just have to know how to talk to it.”
She leaned across the back of the chair, lured in as much by the melodic quality of his voice as the images he created.
“And how do you communicate with spirits?”
He pursed his lips. “You have to be dear. They find their way in if the door is open. Singing is good, too. Opens the soul up.”
“I hear you singing at night, when the owls hoot. Are you communicating with your Martha then?”
His face darkened as he frowned. “Ain’t the same thing. When an owl hoots after hag holler time, that’s a bad sign. The singing quiets the owl and cuts his power.”
“Does it work?” she asked, surprised by this. She’d found the owl’s music mysterious but enchanting.
His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ve got a nice cabin to sleep in and a hot cup of coffee every morning. That seems a good turn of luck.”
She chuckled, understanding better why the local people often called Lijah to dinner on Sunday to hear his stories and get a dose of optimism.
“You sure I can’t get you a little breakfast this morning? It’s no trouble. Just a little bacon and some grits.”
“Grits, you say?” He eyed the pot carefully.
“I haven’t burned it yet.”
He smiled wide, an admission as to why he’d dodged so many breakfasts in the past. “Well, guess I can be nice and try a little bit.”
She laughed again and served a bowl for him as he took a seat at the table. Then she put a plate of bacon beside it. She was inordinately proud of her efforts this morning. The bacon slices were evenly cooked and crisp. She held her breath, waiting.
Lijah took a bite and nodded with appreciation. “That do be good.”
Ella smiled, then walked with a lighter step to the back stairs and called up. “Marion! Come on down for breakfast!”
She heard a commotion on the floor above. “Coming!”
“Where Harris at?” Lijah asked.
“He left about half an hour ago. He wanted to check on an osprey that came in this morning.”
Lijah shoveled in a few mouthfuls of grits, finished a slice of bacon, then wiped his mouth with a napkin and rose from the table. “Thank you, Ella. I best go help. There’s plenty work to do. Clarice is the only volunteer today and young Brady ain’t coming till three. Miss Sherry’s going on, you know.”
“I know. I’m planning on coming to the clinic to fill in for her. Or at least to try.”
His brows rose at this.
“Why are you so surprised?”
“I just never figured you for having much interest in the birds.”
“I don’t. Harris roped me in. But I roped him in, too, so we’re even.” She twisted the kitchen towel in her hands. “I hope you won’t tell anyone this, but I’m a little afraid of the birds.”
“You’re scared?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t figure you to be afraid of much.”
“I’m not. But these big birds look so ferocious. I don’t know why, they just do. I hear from Maggie that you have a way with the birds. That you can go up close to them and they don’t squawk or get all flustered. I can’t seem to go near a pen without them rearing up and flapping their wings. I’m worried they’ll hurt themselves more if I get too close. Is there something I could learn to make them not so afraid of me?”
He scratched his jaw in thought. “Seems to me, if you’re afraid of them, then they’re picking up on that. Not in your words, of course. They feel you. You have to feel them back. Signals and things.”
“What kind of signals?” she asked, not having a clue as to what he was talking about.
“Birds of prey be powerful hunting birds. Remember that! They’re wild. You have to be careful. And respectful. Especially when you going toward them because they’re real fussy about their no-go area. You don’t want to just march into they space, hanging over them or moving real quick. It makes them mean and nervous. Believe me, they’ll let you know when they don’t want you coming any closer. Some might raise they wings and puff they feathers, and commence screeching to appear bigger. Or some might crouch low and hunker close to the ground. If they do that, slow down and give them a chance to settle.
“And don’t
stare at them, either. It’s tempting to look at them, but they’ll mad up then.” His eyes narrowed to make a point. “If they think you’re nasty, they carry a grudge worse than a lover gone bad.”
“Lord, I have a lot to learn.”
“It’s simple, really. Communicating with birds ain’t much different than the way you communicate with all spirits. You just have to open your heart and let the warmth inside come spilling out.”
He shuffled toward the door but turned before leaving. The smile across his face was full of reassurance. “Don’t worry, Miss Ella. I see your heart. You’ll do just fine.”
Brady’s heart was full of anger and resentment as he plowed the pickax in the gritty soil. He figured he must have hit the earth at least one hundred times that afternoon but it still didn’t come close to easing the fury simmering in his chest. He paused to lean on the wood handle of the tool and mop his brow with his shirt. He couldn’t believe it when he’d arrived at the birds of prey center this afternoon and Harris told him to start digging the culvert down by the gate.
He looked across the road to the pine tree where the white rooster sat on a low-lying branch, watching him. “What the hell?” he said to the rooster. “Doesn’t that jerk know slavery ended in the South?”
The rooster only stared back impassively with his dark eyes.
“Shit.” Brady picked up the ax, lifted it over his shoulder, then heaved it to the earth. “What does Harris know, huh? He thinks he’s, like, the king of the place. Everyone jumps at his bidding. Do this.” He landed a hit with the ax. “Do that.” Another hit.
He looked up at the rooster, who hadn’t moved a muscle.
“I’ll bet you wouldn’t jump for nobody, would you?”
Brady laughed, thinking that extremely funny. “Nope,” he said, getting a good grip on the wood handle. “Not you. And not me, neither. Not for Harris Henderson, that’s for damn sure. I’ve got enough of that at home with my own father.”
The pickax hit the earth again, this time clawing out a big chunk.
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