Skyward

by Mary Alice Monroe

His father had been in a hellish mood since the judge took his hunting license away. No matter that his kid had to serve time twice a week every week for six months. No matter that they had to sell Mama’s family piano in order to pay the fines. Brady knew that what really stuck in Roy Simmons’s craw was the feds taking away his one passion in life—pointing the business end of a .22 at some critter and blowing it to kingdom come.

  Not that he blamed his father for being angry. Brady knew he counted on hunting to bring home enough food to the table. Whether deer, fish, bird or just mangy squirrel, meat was meat. And Brady figured it took away his daddy’s sense of worth not to be providing. Brady was man enough to see the problem with that.

  But he did blame his daddy for dealing with his anger with liquor. He didn’t even try to go out and find more work. It was like he was sliding down some slippery black hole he couldn’t climb out of. The angrier he got the more he drank, and vice versa. Things at home were getting pretty mean. His mama couldn’t hide the bruises no more. There were just too many of them. And his daddy was taking good shots at him, too. He had to do something to keep the anger targeted at him instead of his mama or the younger kids.

  Not that it was hard to do. Hardly. His daddy blamed him for being the cause of all his troubles. Roy was blaming him for things that happened clear before he was even born. But when Roy was in the drink, it didn’t matter what craziness sprang to mind—he believed it. And nothing or no one could stop him from his rants.

  “One of these days…” he swore, picking up the ax again. One of these days he was out of there. As soon as he could, he was going to pack up and leave and never come back. He’d be like Lijah, hiking around the country with no cares and no worries.

  “What you lookin’ at?” he said in a snarl to the rooster. It was starting to get on his nerves the way that white bird kept ogling him for hours on end. “Go on, now. Quit staring at me.” He paused to wipe his brow, muttering under his breath. “You think I should stick around? Like you? Just watching everything? You’re a dumb shit for hanging around here. And for what? For Mama? Why doesn’t she just pack up and leave herself? Why do I have to be the one to protect her? Let the other kids step up to the plate. I’ve done my turn.”

  Down came the pickax, and again and again until Brady paused, catching his breath. Even though the temperature was only in the forties, he was sweating so much he had to remove his jacket.

  “Hey, there,” someone called from up the road.

  Brady turned his head to see Clarice walking toward him, carrying a brown bag in her arms. She had a free-and-easy, long-legged gait, swinging her hips to the left and right. Her shiny black hair was tied in countless thin braids today that were pulled back at the sides and made a knot at the back of her head. He stood a little straighter and reached up to smooth down his hair.

  He couldn’t figure Clarice out—or his feelings for her. She was one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen, though not in the way he usually thought was pretty. Not like Jenny, his girl friend. Jenny was like most of the girls he went for: blond, with big blue eyes and a willing disposition. Clarice was…well, he couldn’t quite say what it was about her that intrigued him. It was more the way she acted than the way she looked. Real confident and smart, like she knew what she wanted and was going to get it. She was a pain, too, and liked to put on airs. Especially with him. But she’d gotten a lot nicer to him in the past few weeks, doing things like bringing him a Coke or a snack when she brought one to Lijah, saying hi, just things like that. It got so he kept an eye open for her whenever he came to the center.

  “I thought you were working down here,” she said as she came closer. “But here you are, lazin’ around. You’re like those guys I see on road crews, just leaning on their tools and catching some rays.”

  “I’m taking a breather,” he said in defense. “It’s hard work hauling this pickax.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she said with a jaunty lift of her chin as she passed him. “Why’s the gate open?” she wanted to know. “It’s supposed to be closed at all times.”

  “Ask the Boss Man. He told me to keep it open while I dug the culvert.”

  She couldn’t argue this and it pleased him to have the upper hand, for once.

  “What are you doing down here?” he asked.

  “I’ve come to bring the rooster some corn.”

  “Oh.” He looked over at the bird.

  He swung the ax a few more times, all the while watching Clarice from the corner of his eye. She walked over to the pine tree and tossed handfuls of dry corn to the ground beneath the rooster.

  “What for you doing that?” he asked.

  “I should think it’s obvious.”

  “If you’re so worried about the rooster, why don’t you just bring him up to a pen or something instead of leaving him here?”

  “He’s not ours to bring anywhere. He came on his own and sits here, watching who goes in and who goes out. He must like being here or he’d leave.” She tossed another handful of corn to the ground, then closed up the bag. “We leave corn once in a while just to make sure he has enough to eat.”

  “It’s weird, his being here. Isn’t it? I mean, why’d he come and what’s keeping him here?”

  She walked a little closer to him, her arched brows gathered. “I don’t know. But Lijah says that every animal has a powerful spirit. Or a totem. They’re sort of like messengers of the spirit world to humans.”

  Brady lifted his brows and rolled his eyes. “Right.”

  Clarice huffed at the snub and said sharply, “I’m obviously wasting my time. You wouldn’t know what I was talking about, anyway.”

  “You’re calling me stupid now?”

  “Those are your words, not mine.” She began walking away.

  “Wait,” he called after her. He wasn’t really interested in this totem stuff. He just wanted to talk to her a little more.

  She turned her head in a saucy manner and gave him a look that said, what?

  “So, tell me about this totem thing.”

  She looked at him, narrowing her doelike eyes as she considered whether or not she’d answer him. Her eagerness to tell the story obviously got the better of her because she walked back toward him, stopping before she came closer than a few feet away.

  “We don’t know for sure, of course. But you have to admit it’s strange that this rooster just showed up and started sitting in that tree. He’s been there for a couple weeks already.”

  Brady only shrugged. He was watching the way Clarice’s gull-wing brows lifted when she grew animated about a subject.

  “Harris thinks it’s an omen for the birds of prey center,” she continued. “I heard him talking to Lijah about it.”

  “What’d they say?”

  “If you knew your Bible, you’d know that the cock crowed after Peter denied Jesus three times.”

  “So? What’s that mean? Someone’s gonna deny the center or something? Okay, I’m sorry,” he said when she bristled again.

  “Are you always so smart-mouthed?”

  “Just sometimes.” He smiled with such boyish charm he lured a tentative smile from her. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

  “Lijah said that roosters are watchful and vigilant. They’re always looking out for others.”

  Brady looked over to the rooster. You too, huh?

  “Anyway, Harris thinks that the rooster must have chosen the center. Totems do that, you know. They choose.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, absently scratching a streak of dirt from his face. “Hey, you go to Lincoln High, don’t you?”

  She looked up at him, taken off guard by the quick change of subject. “Yeah. So?”

  “So… So do I.”

  “I know. I’ve seen you there.”

  “You have?” He was surprised. “Lincoln’s a big school. What year are you in?”

  “I’m a senior.”

  “Oh, yeah. Lijah told me that.”

  “He told me you were a junior.”r />
  Great. Thanks, Lijah. “You must be all about looking at colleges now.”

  Her face brightened and he could tell by the way she straightened that she was proud. “I’ve been accepted at Stanford. Early decision.”

  “Stanford? In California?” He couldn’t believe she’d want to go to a college anywhere out of the South, let alone clear across the country. “That’s a long way from home.”

  “I love it there. I can hardly wait. I’m going into premed. It’s a great school and thank God I got a scholarship.”

  He felt a flash of jealousy run through him. A scholarship? Of course. She was a black girl. Everyone knew all they had to do was check the box and they got money.

  “You must be pretty smart.” He meant that sarcastically.

  She took him seriously. “I work hard and get good grades.”

  Something in his expression caused her to stiffen and he knew she’d clued into his thinking. Her voice took on that haughty sharpness she used when she was mad and going to put him down.

  “You know, lots of people have a 4.0 average these days. So I guess it was my SAT scores that nailed the scholarship.”

  He kicked the dirt, feeling mulish. She was fishing for him to ask what her scores were but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  Clarice didn’t wait. “I had a perfect score in math,” she said, driving home her point. “Only a 750 in English.” She lifted her shoulders with false modesty. “I also got accepted at Duke and Radcliff.”

  “Yeah?” he said, shot down and embarrassed.

  “What about you?”

  He rubbed his cheek and looked away, feeling the dagger dig deeper. “I haven’t even taken the SATs yet.” He lifted one shoulder slightly. “Not that it matters. I’m not going to college.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t afford it.”

  “That’s no excuse. You can always apply for a scholarship or financial aid. The money’s out there. You can’t not go to college because of money.”

  “Yeah, well…” He shrugged self-consciously. “I guess you ain’t seen my grades.” He used the word ain’t deliberately. “Like I said, it don’t matter, anyway. I don’t want to go to no college. Can’t wait to get out of school as it is.”

  “Oh.”

  He dug his heel in the dirt and shifted his weight. “California, huh? I guess that’s cool. Sometimes, far away can be good.”

  Now he was really embarrassed because her expression changed and he could tell she felt sorry for him and awkward that she’d rubbed her success in. He wished he could just fall into the ditch he was digging.

  “Well, hey,” she said, her voice high with enthusiasm. “I think you should go for it. It’s not too late, you know.”

  For guys like me it is, he thought. If she only knew what his life was like, she’d skip the pep talk.

  “Well, I’d better get to work.”

  “Yeah, me, too. See you.”

  She smiled before she turned away and he didn’t read any of the malice or distrust in her eyes he’d been expecting.

  He watched her walk away with her confident stride and gentle swing of the hips and wondered with a pang of anguish what it was that some people were born with that made them winners, while others, no matter how hard they tried, just seemed destined to be losers.

  Before hoisting the ax, he took another look at the rooster. As always, it sat with its head cocked and its little dark eyes staring directly at him.

  “What you lookin’ at?” he said begrudgingly. “You think you’re my totem or something? Well, you can just forget that.”

  The rooster suddenly shook its feathers, spread its wings and flew down to the ground. It walked straight for him in that head-bobbing, leg-kicking, challenging strut that shook its bright red wattle. Brady was so startled that he took a step back, nearly tripping over the pickax lying on the ground.

  “Well, okay then,” Brady said, holding his hands out and getting his balance. “Don’t get steamed.” The bird stopped a few feet away but Brady didn’t take his eyes off it. “You go on and eat your bittle and let me dig my ditch, hear?”

  He turned to hoist the ax and commence digging. The rooster strutted back to the pine and scratched for corn.

  Brady shook his head, muttering, “Damn crazy bird.” But the truth was, he was getting to like that stupid white rooster. They were two of a kind. They both knew what it was like to be living on the outside, looking in.

  Kites: The Graceful Aerialists. These slim, finely proportioned, medium-size birds have long wings and tails and a distinctively graceful flight. Kites’ aerial maneuvers are acrobatic as they catch insects in the air over open spaces. They have distinctive plumage, shape and flight style—especially the American swallow-tailed—yet at a distance they are difficult to distinguish from other birds. Kites include American swallow-tailed kites, Mississippi kites and black-shouldered kites.

  11

  THE FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY ELLA WALKED with Harris from the house to the clinic. Today was her first day as part of the medical staff. Lijah and Maggie had both volunteered to keep an eye on Marion for the time it would take Harris to guide her through the crash course. He’d been wonderful. Every night and every spare minute, he sat across the small dining table and played tutor while she crammed like a college student. She’d studied the anatomy of birds, the terminology and abbreviations used, and grasped an over view of the needs of an injured bird versus a resident one.

  Yet she still felt as green as any new volunteer the moment she stepped into the quaint, low-ceilinged, white clapboard building that housed the medical clinic. Right off, she was hit with a pervasive, overpoweringly pungent odor that she couldn’t identify. She wrinkled her nose and peeked around. “What’s that smell?”

  “What smell?”

  “What smell?” she asked, looking at him incredulously.

  “Oh, that. We skin and gut mice for the birds. That’s probably it.”

  “Oh. That.”

  He grinned and shut the door, cutting off the rainy wind and the last breath of fresh air for her. “You’ll get used to it.”

  She rubbed her arms and looked around.

  “You seem nervous,” he said.

  “Nope. Just terrified.”

  “Whatever about?”

  “Oh, everything. About being a nurse again,” she admitted. Then, because of a sudden rush of self-consciousness about broaching this tender topic, she added, “For raptors. I’ve read all about them in the books you gave me. That’s all well and good. And Maggie’s been great to walk me around the past few days to get me acquainted. At least I’ll know the difference between a red-tailed hawk and say, oh, a Mississippi kite. Did you know I didn’t even know a kite was a bird? I thought it was some toy made out of paper and string. Until I came here, I looked up in the sky and called everything bigger than a sparrow a hawk.”

  He started to laugh and his slanted glance held no criticism. “That’s what most people do,” he reassured her.

  “Still…pointing at a hawk in the sky and walking into a small pen and grabbing hold of one by the talons is another thing altogether. Harris, I’ve got butterflies and I don’t know why. It’s not like I’ve ever had a bad experience with a bird, at least not that I can remember. I mean, Alfred Hitchcock’s film The Birds didn’t traumatize me as a child or anything like that.”

  “I was pretty freaked by that movie,” Harris replied. “If he’d used raptors, the film would’ve been a lot more violent.”

  She didn’t laugh. He didn’t seem to be taking her fears seriously.

  “It’s not your style to be nervous, Ella. Anyone who can go mano a mano with Marion when it’s time to give a shot will have no problem dealing with the beaks and talons of even the largest raptor.” He seemed pleased to see her rueful smile escape.

  “Now, just relax,” he told her, and this time his voice was gentle, reassuring. “We’ll get you accustomed to the place slowly. Take off your jacket a
nd let me show you around. Keep in mind I’ve been working with a skeleton crew, so it’s a bit disorderly. Speaking of which,” he said when the clinic door opened. “Meet Marie. She’s one of our senior volunteers.”

  Marie came into the clinic shaking the rain off of her yellow slicker. She was an attractive woman in her fifties with an unassuming manner and lively eyes. The kind of woman you liked instantly.

  “Morning, Marie. This is Ella Majors. She’s going to be taking over for Sherry.”

  Marie’s eyes sparked with acknowledgment as she put out her hand. “Thank goodness. We sure need you.”

  “I’m pretty green when it comes to birds, so I’ll be counting on you and the other volunteers to help me out.”

  “That’s what we’re here for. Oh, speaking of green,” she said, turning to Harris. “The water’s dripping from the hose outside the clinic and there’ll be a swamp there soon if it’s not fixed. I think the washer’s broken. Probably from over use, the way you’ve been working that poor kid. Brady must’ve scrubbed every one of those kennels. And the perches! I can’t believe it. They’re all repaired and covered with new AstroTurf. Between him and Lijah, the place is really shaping up. They’re the Dynamic Duo.”

  “I’ll fix it,” he readily replied.

  They chatted a few minutes in a friendly manner, but just as in any hospital, when duty called they cut the talk short. Marie moved on to begin the morning feeding while Harris guided Ella on the tour.

  The clinic was an old house that had been remodeled to fit their needs. She found it a comfortable combination of charm and efficiency. Ella followed him down a long, narrow hall and through the five small rooms. Of these, the most important was the treatment room, and adjoining it, a small critical-care room where the kennels housed seriously ill and injured raptors. Across the hall was a second, smaller treatment room where drugs were stored in a locked glass cabinet. There was a book-lined office where a steady supply of hard candy and pretzels could be found, a closet-size X-ray room and, lastly, a food-preparation room and mini-laboratory. Lots of natural light flowed throughout the clinic, bringing out the contrast between the white walls and the honey-colored wood floors. It was, she decided, a cheery workplace.