Skyward

by Mary Alice Monroe

  The warm sun on his back made him feel as slow and lazy as an old alligator on a bank. Marion, on the other hand, heard the drumming of a woodpecker and took off with a squeal in the direction of the tree. She scrambled up the bottom limbs, but the bird, quite naturally, flew off. Harris watched with amusement when she stomped back, her face flushed with frustration.

  A short while later, he caught sight of a rabbit several yards off, munching away at the tall grass that nearly camouflaged him. Harris squatted down and waved Marion over. When she drew near, almost trembling with anticipation, he first put one finger to his lips to indicate silence, then pointed to the rabbit. It stilled its chomping and was eyeing them warily.

  “That marsh rabbit is in a freeze,” he said, still holding the rabbit’s dark gaze.

  “He’s trying to hide. Shh…be very still.”

  “Where Daddy?”

  “Just over there, beyond the dogwood.”

  Marion gasped at spotting it, then took off after the rabbit, her arms held straight out, crying, “Stop! Stop, I won’t hurt you!”

  “Marion!” he called after her.

  Predictably, the rabbit disappeared in two leaps with Marion in hot pursuit.

  “Come on back!” he called to her.

  “Daddy, make it stay,” she whined, breathless when she returned. Her cheeks were pink from the run and a fine bead of perspiration lined her forehead.

  “It’s long gone, honey,” he replied, trying hard not to chuckle. “And it’s been a long time since I could catch a rabbit.”

  “He won’t play with me,” she cried, leaning into him. “None of them will play with me.” Tears moistened the tips of her lashes.

  “Well, of course they won’t play with you. You keep chasing them. Animals don’t like that. They think you’re going to eat them or something.”

  “But they won’t stand still so I can catch them.”

  “You shouldn’t chase them. And you shouldn’t catch them. They’re wild.”

  “No, Daddy,” she said, angry that he didn’t understand. “Then I won’t have anyone to play with.”

  “You have me.”

  She pouted and looked at her feet. He obviously wasn’t what she had in mind.

  Or what she needed, he realized. She’d had a long line of baby-sitters. Occasionally, one of them would bring their child along. But usually Marion played alone. Ella’s words came back to mind. She doesn’t know how to free play.

  He reached out to brush a damp tangle of hair from her forehead.

  “Ella does that,” she said with a sigh.

  He remembered in a flash the feel of Ella’s fingers on his brow. “Do you like it when she does?”

  Marion nodded.

  So did he, though he didn’t mention it. “Do you like Ella?”

  Marion nodded again, then craned her neck to look up at his face. “Do you like her, Daddy?”

  “Why, sure I like her.”

  “I mean, do you really like her?”

  “I just said I did.”

  “I mean, do you love her?” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

  “Marion, where’s this coming from?”

  “I dunno. I think she loves you.”

  He could have been knocked over by a feather. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, you two are together an awful lot.”

  “That’s because we’re working together now. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but sometimes she looks at you in a funny way. All googly-eyed.”

  “She does?”

  Marion nodded and began bulging her eyes out and fluttering her eyelashes.

  He laughed and playfully shoved her away. “She does not. She doesn’t like me in that way.”

  “Oh, yes, she does,” she replied in a singsong manner.

  He thought about that for a moment, surprised at how pleased he was to think it might be true. Thankfully, Marion didn’t pick up on how he was looking at Ella a lot lately, too, in that way. “Would it bother you if she liked me? Or, say, if I liked her?”

  “It’d be okay, I guess.” She thought about that for a minute. “You’d have to take her out on a date.”

  He barked out a laugh. “What do you know about that? You’re only five years old.”

  “I’m five and a half, Daddy.”

  “Oh. Well, then…” he said with a roll of the eyes.

  “Besides, I see it on TV. When a boy likes a girl they go out on a date. She gets dressed all pretty and he does, too, and they go someplace nice.”

  He could only stare at this little tin-tyke. He couldn’t believe she was giving him dating advice. “Ella was right,” he told her. “You’ve been watching way too much television.”

  Now it was Marion’s turn to roll her eyes. “Oh, Daddy, it’s not just on TV. Everybody knows that. When Linda was baby-sitting me, she telled me how much she liked David and how much he liked her and they went out on dates all the time. So, that’s what you have to do.”

  “I do, huh?” He put his hands on his hips. “I’ll have to think about that. Come on, now. Let’s head back.”

  They made their way through the woods to the small pond near the house. Lijah’s cabin was perched on a small rise on the other side, and beyond, almost hidden by the long, soft fronds of the giant longleaf pines, was their house. Ella had hung ferns from the porch ceiling and placed big clay pots full of geraniums and trailing ivy by the front door. The beds around the trees were neatly raked, the shrubs trimmed, and in front of the house the rich black earth had been tilled for what would soon be her flower garden. It was a welcoming sight, made more so by the fact that, inside the house, he knew Ella was waiting for them.

  “Daddy, look!” Marion exclaimed as they neared the pond.

  “Now, look at that,” he replied. Among the tall stalks and cigar-shaped spikes of the cattails, a turtle was basking in the sun. “That’s as fine a specimen of a yellowbelly slider as you’ll ever see.”

  He was just about to tell her that the yellowbelly sliders on the South Carolina barrier islands were larger than others, how they nested in May and June and laid about ten eggs. He was about to share this and all sorts of tidbits, but in a flash Marion was tearing off toward the pond, her little legs pumping and a look of fierce determination on her face.

  “Marion, don’t run at it!” he called out after her. She ignored his call and reached the pond just as the turtle slid quickly away into the water. The gentle plop echoed loudly and the turtle was gone.

  “Daddy!” she cried in frustration.

  Harris put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes.

  Neither one of them saw Lijah standing by his cabin, watching and smoking a pipe while a small smile tugged at his lips.

  Later that week, Marion stood inside the crows’ pen with Lijah. She looked up at him and scrunched up her face in doubt.

  “You’re sure that crow can talk?”

  “Not just now, missy, but he can. If you teach it to.”

  Lijah was down on one knee and Marion was leaning against his shoulder, listening to him with rapt attention. Most mornings, Lijah found Marion hanging around the crow pen, peering in and jabbering to them. She especially liked Little Crow, having watched him grow from a nestling. Lijah figured that she thought of Little Crow as just another child to play with.

  She tilted her head from left to right. “I never heard of a bird that could talk.”

  “Missy, there be lots of birds that can talk. Parrots, mynahs, even budgies.” He pointed a long finger to Big Crow and Little Crow sitting on a perch a few feet away inside their pen. “Buh Crow, though, he the cleverest of birds. Did you know that when lots of crows are all flocked together, they send lookouts high up to a branch? The scouts sit quiet and keep their eyes peeled. If they see something bad, they let loose that screechy caw-caw they do to warn all the mama crows and their children. You know the one I’m talking about.” He cupped his hands around his mouth, took a breath and released a perfec
t imitation of a crow’s cackle.

  The two crows roused their feathers and hopped with animation from one perch to the other, their shiny black eyes alert with curiosity. Marion giggled and covered her mouth.

  “Sounds just like an alarm, don’t it?” he said, grinning slyly. “Sometimes when they migrating south, the winter roosts number a thousand, maybe more. When they take high, high to the sky…” He shook his head, grinning wide. “It’s something to see.”

  “But how can I teach it to talk?” she asked with persistence.

  “It’s not hard, but it takes a heap of patience. You got patience, child?”

  She nodded her head with the positive confidence of a five-year-old.

  “Okay, then,” he said, eyeing her seriously. “Let’s do like this. Come every day to visit Little Crow. He be young and has the temperament for it. Don’t be in a hurry. Bide your time till things are peaceful between you and Little Crow. Then, when you sure you got his eye, go on and tell him hello.”

  Marion burst from his side and ran up to the small crow and called out, “Hi, Crow!”

  Little Crow cawed and flustered, flung open its wings and joined Big Crow on the opposite perch. Both crows glared back at her while nervously hopping from the perch to the wall and back.

  “They never like me,” she cried.

  Lijah waved her back to his side. She returned, shoulders drooping and mouth downturned.

  “They don’t like the way you scared them, is all.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I know, missy, but that don’t change things. First, you have to tie your mouth and listen, ’cause here’s the way you got to do. You ever see Buh Rabbit out in the field?”

  “My daddy showed him to me.”

  “Then you know how it is. Buh Rabbit’s daddy tells him he mustn’t jabber or hop all the time if he wants company. He tells little Buh Rabbit to come up real quiet on soft feet when he come visiting so he don’t scare off his friends. Then he just sits real peaceable, his whiskers as still as the grass.”

  “But how can he play if he just sits there?”

  “That’s the way they like it. It’s a heap of fun, if you play right. You like to try?”

  “I guess,” she replied, not at all convinced.

  “Come on, then.”

  They sat on the pea gravel of the pen. Lijah leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh. Marion sat close to him, Indian style. After only a few minutes, Marion got antsy.

  “Say, how long do we have to sit like this?”

  Lijah turned his head and looked into her eyes, then slowly shook his head.

  She squirmed a bit but got the message. After that, they sat quietly for what seemed to her a long spell while the two crows cocked their heads and eyed them with curiosity. Her bottom was getting cold and she wanted to scratch her nose, but next to her Lijah didn’t move a muscle. Thinking of Buh Rabbit, she tried to keep very, very still. Eventually, the crows hopped to a closer perch for a better look. Marion looked at Lijah expectantly, but the old man didn’t move.

  Then, to her utter delight, Little Crow hopped to the gravel and began pacing in a circuitous route, closer and closer, eyeing her with his shiny black eyes. Marion felt bubbles of excitement race under her skin. It was so odd because her heart was pumping and it felt like she was running through the field, hopping and laughing, even though she wasn’t moving a single muscle. When Little Crow stopped smack before her and stared right at her, she knew it was time.

  “Hi, Crow,” she said in a very soft voice.

  Little Crow cocked its head but he didn’t scamper away. Then Big Crow hopped closer and landed smack on Lijah’s shoulder.

  When she looked up at Lijah this time, she saw his dark eyes gazing at her with a sparkle in them, and a wide, knowing grin stretched across his face. She grinned, too, from ear to ear. She suddenly understood why she was having so much fun just sitting still and quiet like Buh Rabbit.

  The crows were playing with her.

  That evening after dinner, Harris stepped out into the darkness to do his evening rounds of the pens. Clouds were moving in, carrying sweet-smelling rain and moist breezes, the kind that makes a lonely soul long to search out another. And for him, the other soul he wanted to walk with that starry night was Ella.

  The sound of high-pitched laughter drew his gaze back through the window into the house. Ella and Marion were at the sink, laughing. A smile formed at his lips.

  He smiled a lot lately. In the mornings, when he awoke to the smell of fresh coffee. In the afternoons, when he came home for lunch to find Ella and Marion working together in the flower beds or painting pictures on the back deck. And in the evenings, when they did simple everyday things like cleaning up the dishes or folding laundry or washing hair. He felt a nostalgia that was absurd because such simple family joys had never been part of his life’s experiences. They were only memories of dreams he’d had as a boy.

  Ella and Marion were always together, and whether they were laughing or Ella was firmly dealing with one of Marion’s outbursts, the bond between them was tangible. The kind of connection he’d always envisioned between a mother and child. The way it never was for Marion and Fannie.

  Why couldn’t Fannie have felt this way for her own child? he wondered. What aberrance of nature could cause a mother to leave? Did he drive her away?

  He turned sharply from the window and began walking from the house—away from the guilt that always stabbed whenever he thought of his wife.

  Instead he put Ella back to mind and the image of her was as soothing as the touch of her fingertips on his brow. He smiled with chagrin. Before she’d come, he had worried that she’d be an intrusion into his life. Little did he know how true that would turn out to be—and for reasons he’d never imagined. He looked over his shoulder as he passed the rear of the house. In the soft glow of interior light he could see her face in the window, animated and full of life as she played with Marion. He’d never known anyone so vital and with so much eagerness to share. He paused to take the sight in and it occurred to him that he’d never seen anyone more beautiful.

  Ella. He chuckled and shook his head in wonder. She was like a terrier. Small, determined—and stubborn. Lord, had he ever known a more stubborn woman? She’d turned his whole life around. All he’d wanted was help and support with Marion. He’d hoped for a simple routine in his home life, a little less mania and a lot more peace. Ella had brought all this into this life, it was true. But she’d brought so much more.

  She’d brought joy. Despite him. Marion hadn’t been her biggest obstacle—he was.

  Ella. What was he going to do with his feelings for her, he wondered as he began walking again? He couldn’t deny them any longer. Even a five-year-old child could tell which way the wind was blowing. Most nights he lay in his bed tossing and turning, or with his hands behind his head just staring at the ceiling, listening to the spring love songs outside his window and wondering if she heard them, too, in her bed just down the hall. Hell, he was no better than one of the thousands of courting, testosterone-filled songbirds claiming out a bit of Lowcountry turf. He sighed and pounded his heels into the soft soil as he walked over the grounds. This was a complication he hadn’t planned on. He hadn’t been looking for love.

  But love had sure found him.

  Harris was completing his rounds when he heard a low bass singing, barely audible, coming from inside the med pens. He recognized it as a Gullah spiritual he’d heard in his youth. He followed the sound to Med 3 and was not surprised to find Lijah sitting on the pea gravel inside Santee’s pen. What did surprise him was seeing the eagle resting mere inches away in a roost position, feathers fluffed.

  As he drew near, however, Santee’s proud beak rose and her breast feathers filled out as she stared at him with her yellow eyes shining fierce. When Harris looked away, Santee lowered her chest and settled, but her eyes remained wary. Lijah only looked up and smiled that wide, open grin of his.

  �
��I swear, Lijah, there’s no way I could tell someone what I’m seeing right now without folks saying you’re doing the voodoo on these birds.”

  He chortled, amused at the notion. “I ain’t hold to that no more. Used to. Back when my wife was doing poorly. Chewed the root and all.” His gentle shrug told the rest of the story. “Even in my heart I know everything happened like it should.” He slowly turned his head to look at the eagle. “No, ain’t no fix between me an’ Santee,” he said, affection ringing in his voice. “We’re just friends. I’m worried about her though. Something ain’t right.”

  “Not right? How do you mean?”

  “I can’t specify. I’d appreciate it if you’d check her out tomorrow.”

  Lijah’s eyes flickered with worry, like a father with a child. In a flash, Harris recalled the horror of sitting in the emergency room, waiting to hear news about Marion. He’d never known that kind of fear before.

  “Can you bring her in first thing?”

  “We’ll be there.”

  Harris looked at the eagle. To him, Santee looked well enough. But come to think of it, Maggie had reported that Santee had more than the usual leftovers the past few days. Besides, if Lijah said something was wrong with that eagle, then it was a fact.

  “That bird does dote on you,” he said, drawing closer to the pen. “Makes me wonder. I’ve not been blind to the way all the birds act with you, not just Santee.”

  “They know me same as I know them. See,” Lijah tried to explain, “every bird has its own self, same as people. Spend enough time with them, you can see it, clear as day. Take Chance,” he said, referring to the golden eagle. “He the bully. You never can turn your back upon him. Cinnamon…now, that hawk can sulk and whine if you let her. But give her the chance and she’s sweet as syrup. Oyster the sport. All you have to do is watch him soar to know that it be pure fun for him. And Risk?” he said, with a shake of his head. “That falcon be the teacher’s pet. And don’t she know it. Loves to show off.”