Skyward

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “How did you get along? You were just a boy.”

  “Mama had to sell off the land, bit by bit, to make ends meet. We didn’t need much and we knew how to make a dollar go a long way. And her drinking wasn’t constant. At the beginning, she could go through long periods without touching a drink. Those were the good days. I can remember being so happy coming home to the scent of a meal cooking and seeing the house all picked up instead of a mess. Each time I used to pray it would last. Every damn time. Then, just when I was getting hopeful, all of a sudden something would send her spiraling and she’d go on another binge. I did the best I could to take care of her during those periods. I’d fix her something to eat before I left for school and make us dinner when I came home.”

  “She was negligent. They should have taken you away.”

  “She was my mother, Ella. I loved her. I was all she had.”

  Ella tightened her lips against the familiar raging in her heart. She’d dealt with so many negligent mothers in her career, face-to-face in the hospital as she struggled to patch up the bruises or illnesses of their children in the emergency room. In her mind she saw Bobby’s mother again, the tracks on her arm, the way she sauntered out of the emergency room after dumping her son there. She looked at Harris and felt for the boy who had endured so much.

  “Sometimes love isn’t enough. The child’s needs are more important than the mother’s.”

  “I did fine,” he said, rejecting her pity. “She was the one that needed help. She was the diabetic.”

  “Then she was slowly killing herself. She had to have known that.”

  “I don’t know that she cared.”

  “Didn’t she care about you?”

  “Of course she did,” he said, his tone defensive. “You’re only hearing the bad about her. She was a lovely woman. Gentle and smart. It’s not her fault she was born with two horrible diseases that took control of her life.”

  “But, Harris, she allowed the diseases to take control. She could have tried to stop the drinking and get her life back. To be a better mother to her child.”

  “You don’t know, Ella!” he fired back. “You weren’t there when he walked out. You didn’t see her face. It killed her. He took the best part of her with him.”

  “You’re right,” she said calmly. “I didn’t know her. But I knew a lot of women like her. Though their stories may be different, the ending is always the same. The children suffer. You suffered, Harris.” She reached out to place her hand on his shoulder. He flinched beneath her palm so she quickly took it away.

  “We got along okay,” Harris replied.

  Ella heard Bobby’s voice in her mind. Don’t be mad at her, Ella. She backed off, not because she agreed with Harris, but because she didn’t want to alienate him the first time he opened up to her. Her heart bled for the childhood he must have endured with parents like that. But she couldn’t feel a lot of pity for his mother. What never failed to amaze her was how the child always forgave the mother, no matter how severe and how obvious the neglect.

  From across the water came the high, shrill cry of an osprey. They both looked over toward the nest. The male was perched on a branch higher than the nest, a sleek, gleaming fish in its talons. He looked like a bandit with the black eye band as he tore at the fish with savage pokes of his beak. The female stayed at the nest, watching him eat until she could stand it no longer and cried out again her complaining whistle. At last the male finished his meal and brought the remainder of the fish to the nest for her to eat.

  “He’s a good provider,” Harris said of the osprey, approval ringing in his voice.

  Ella looked at him as he watched the male fly off to hunt again and thought to herself that to understand the osprey was to understand Harris. Site loyal. A good provider. But what about monogamous? He’d divorced Fannie, which didn’t fit the pattern.

  “What happened to Fannie?” she asked, knowing she should let the subject drop, but unable to. “I heard she had an addiction of her own. Is that why she left?”

  He laughed shortly and it was filled with bitterness. “I seem to have a history of addicted women, don’t I?”

  “No,” she said, gently. “More a history of taking care of dependent women. It’s no wonder your mother and Fannie got along. They were birds of a feather. I’ll bet Fannie let your mother drink while she took care of her.”

  Harris blanched. “There was no stopping her when she wanted to drink.”

  “If she didn’t leave the house, how did she get the alcohol?”

  “Alcoholics are very resourceful. If you don’t know that, then you don’t know the first thing about what it’s like living with one. Deliveries, friends, a few dollars greasing palms… Yeah, Fannie too, I’m sure. I used to pour the stuff down the sink, but it got to the point it didn’t matter where she got it from. She always got it.”

  “You let her get it.”

  “What?” He was stunned by the comment. And angry.

  Ella didn’t back down this time. “You were the one in charge, Harris. At some level, you allowed the drinking to continue. That’s called enabling.”

  “I know what that is,” he fired back. “I’m not an idiot. And you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “I think I do,” she persisted. She was seeing the painful pat tern of denial unfold, and though it was clear to her, she doubted Harris could see any of it. Without resolution it would remain embedded in the family and move on to afflict Marion as surely as the diabetes had.

  “You can fire me for this, Harris, but I’ve got to say it. Marion might have your mother’s disease, but she’s not your mother. She’s not Fannie, either. Don’t hold back your affection from her. She’s not going to hurt you. Marion has so much love to give you, if you’ll just give her the chance.”

  “I’m not afraid that she’s like my mother, or even Fannie!” His face was distorted with pain. He pinched his lips and looked off across the creek. When he spoke again, his voice lowered. “I’m afraid she’s going to die. That I’m going to lose her, too. And it will be my fault.”

  Ella held her breath as, suddenly, she understood it all. He’d told her this, many times, but she didn’t hear him. He was afraid that he’d somehow slip again and she’d die—because of him.

  She put her hand on his, and this time, he didn’t flinch or pull it away. “I understand that kind of fear. Really I do. Do you remember I told you about Bobby? I was afraid to take this job. Terrified to handle another case of diabetes. But I knew if I didn’t, I’d never reconcile his death and I’d spend my life crippled with wondering what I might have done. How I might have changed things that night, if only… You don’t know how I was tortured by those two words. If only.” She paused. “I probably always will be.

  “But I have another chance with Marion. So do you. I can’t tell you that Marion won’t get into trouble again, no matter how hard both of us try. With juvenile diabetes, serious complications are a reality. We have treatments, but not a cure. But we can take care of her, every day. The better care she has, the better her chance of avoiding the problems. She’s a wonderful, vibrant, healthy child.”

  Harris closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see the light shining in Ella’s eyes. It was like too much sun on already tender skin. She’d been so damned determined to get the truth out, digging deeper and deeper. He’d be mad except he must’ve wanted to get to the truth himself, because he didn’t stop her. He hadn’t always distanced himself from Marion. They’d been close before the illness. After all, it had been just the two of them. If he looked at himself honestly he could see that Ella was right. His attitude had changed since the diabetes. His fear kept pushing her away.

  When he opened his eyes he saw a gleam of silver flash at the surface, like dozens of torpedoes.

  “Mullet!” he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright.

  “What?” She jerked her head around.

  He leapt to his feet, going for the net. “Quick! They’re com
ing for the bait.”

  “But my cork isn’t bobbing!”

  The water rippled with the motion of countless mullet, a few jumping clear from the water. Ella climbed to her feet, holding tight to her pole. The fish ignored her hook and swarmed instead for the mash that was fast disappearing.

  “Stand back,” Harris called out, and with one fluid motion he tossed the net upon the bubbling water. Its edges flirted with the air, hung in the sky, then dropped into the teeming water. “Okay, we’ve got some!” he called, and tugged the net, dragging it in close to the pier. The captured fish struggled, his muscles strained and the net heaved as it broke the water. Ella grabbed hold of the net and together they hauled up the fish.

  “How many are in there?” she asked, breathless.

  He dragged the pulsing net farther down the pier, calling out, “Lots. Grab the bucket, Ella!”

  Inside the net were at least ten mullet, each a foot to a foot and a half long. Each flipping hard on the pier. He scooped them up one by one and plopped them in the bucket.

  “Harris!” Ella called, running back to the end of the pier. “My pole! It’s moving!”

  “Hook the fish, Ella,” he called back at her, bent over the net, laughing. “Go on, you can do it! Just give it a yank, not too hard. Then pull that baby out of the water.”

  He paused to watch Ella holding tight to her pole, her cheeks red from the sun and wisps of hair flying. Her face was the very picture of determination. He knew he’d keep this image tucked away in his memory.

  The pole bent near to the water before she tugged, firm and sure, bringing the pole far back. Out from the water came a glistening silver mullet, sailing through the air in one smooth motion. It landed on the pier with a thump.

  “I got one!” she exclaimed disbelievingly, running with her arms outstretched to catch the mullet before it leapt back into the water. “And it’s the biggest one!”

  Harris chuckled as he brought over the bucket. “That’s what they all say. It’s a funny thing about fish. They seem to grow with each telling.”

  She laughed loudly then, happy. Happier than she’d been in a long time. The tension between them was over, and like a storm that rages then passes, the air in the aftermath seemed clearer and fresher than before.

  Harris brought the fish to the shore and bled them by cutting the gills. Then he taught her how to scale them, giving Ella her first lesson in the law of the creek: You catch ’em, you clean ’em.

  When they finished, they put the mullet on ice in the cooler, rinsed their hands in the creek and then, reeking of fish and pluff mud, began their trek back to the house. Before leaving, Ella took a final backward glance at the creek.

  Waiting for the truth to surface was a lot like waiting for the mullet, she thought. You have to chum the waters a bit, bait the hook, then sit back and wait for what comes up from the muddy bottom. And when it comes, it comes fast and unexpected, splashing to the surface.

  Falcons: The Ultimate Flying Machines. Falcons have long, pointed wings and long tails for great maneuverability and are distinguished by a “mustache” under the eye. Falcons are the world’s fastest animals. Every detail of their anatomy is built for speed. Large falcons dive at intense speed to deliver lethal midair blows to prey. Falcons include peregrine falcons, merlins and American kestrels.

  15

  THE SUN DID ITS WORK AND DRIED THE FIELDS, and the cooperative spring winds sent the clouds out to sea. It was a brilliantly lush afternoon when Lijah came up to Brady as he was trimming the hedge along the mews and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Come along, son,” he said.

  Brady set down the clippers eagerly because he’d learned that whenever Lijah had something he wanted him to see, it was worth taking notice. He followed Lijah to the large open field adjacent to the birds of prey center. Maggie and Harris were standing in the center beside some A-frame perches. Immediately, Brady spotted the sleek gray falcon, PEFA 14, that sat rooted to Harris’s glove. Harris coiled a thin leather leash around his fingers and hand.

  Lijah led Brady to the shade of a greening oak to watch. He looked at Brady and nodded his head, as if to say, Now you’re going to see something! Brady took a breath to tamp down his excitement and leaned against the tree. He was curious, sure, but at the same time resentful of anything Harris Henderson did. Harris had been riding him hard lately, giving him more and more different stuff to do, then checking up on him right after. It seemed every time he turned around, that guy was breathing down his neck.

  He snorted with teenage insolence when he saw Harris walk across the field with the falcon. It was obvious to anyone watching that Harris cut a strong figure. Tall and erect, he held the bird with competence and confidence. Despite himself, Brady felt a stirring of admiration for that kind of mastery. It seemed to him that the falcon was an extension of the man’s arm.

  Harris walked toward the tall A-framed perch in the center of the field, oblivious to his audience. He attached the line to PEFA 14, then extended his arm to the perch. The falcon promptly stepped up onto the perch. Immediately, it turned to face Harris and the wind. Man and bird studied each other for a moment, as though reaching some kind of an understanding. Then Harris turned and walked several yards away to where a canvas bag lay on the ground. He stood with his back to the bird.

  In the meantime, Maggie moved forward to face PEFA 14, effectively blocking the bird’s view of Harris. She checked the slack between the spool of line and the jesses. The falcon shifted its weight, then stretched its pointy wings, eager to be off.

  Harris would not be rushed. He took his time removing the dummy rubber lure out of the bag and affixing chunks of meat securely to it. Next he held out his arms to measure the length of line he needed, then tested it to make certain it ran through his hand as if on a pulley. When all was ready, he stretched out his arm and took a few practice swings of the lure, twirling it around, getting the feel of it.

  All this time, Maggie stood in front of the young, eager falcon, obscuring its view. After a few swings, Harris pulled the lure line back in, then called out to Maggie that it was okay to step back.

  “Here we go,” Lijah said under his breath.

  Brady tightened his arms around himself, surprised at how eager he was to see what would happen next.

  For a moment Harris stood facing the falcon, lure in hand. The bird was poised and alert. Brady could feel the excitement in the air from fifty feet away. A slight wind gusted, ruffling the feathers around the head of the falcon.

  Harris straightened and called out a hearty “Ho!” in two notes.

  Simultaneously, he shot out the lure and began swinging it in wide, smooth circles in the air.

  Instantly, the falcon took to the air with Maggie running right beneath it. Brady dropped his arms and straightened in anticipation as he watched the falcon fly with amazing speed straight for the lure. He’s going to get it, he thought, holding his breath.

  He did. Both of the falcon’s feet came forward and the talons snatched the lure smack over Harris’s head with a savage swiftness. Once caught, the falcon brought the lure to the ground where it wasted no time devouring the bites of meat. Harris allowed the bird to finish the reward, then stepped forward to place his hand over the lure. Immediately, the falcon stepped up onto the fist.

  Brady watched the training with growing awe. It was sort of like hunting, only different. He didn’t move as Harris repeated the process, each time allowing the falcon to catch the lure in the air and bring it down. After several successful catches, the bird was allowed to sit relaxed on Harris’s fist with a full crop.

  “What you think?” Lijah asked him.

  Brady’s eyes betrayed his excitement before he automatically shuttered his enthusiasm and hunched like a halfback. “It was okay,” he said with a noncommittal shrug. “Don’t seem so hard.”

  “Huh,” Lijah grunted. “I thought maybe you’d like it.”

  “I do. But, shoot, I bet I could do that.�
�

  Lijah eyed him speculatively. “Think so, eh?”

  “Sure. You swing around a toy with food in it. The bird goes for the food. That’s just Pavlov’s dog. Harris keeps doing it over and over. How hard can it be?”

  “You think it’s like a game, do you?” He drew his shoulders back. “Well, if that’s how you think, then you ain’t know the first thing about birds of prey.” Lijah harrumphed and turned away.

  Brady bristled and rammed his hands into his pockets. He’d been working with Lijah for months now, learning a lot about the birds from the old man. Things like the names of raptors, their habits, diet, personalities, stuff like that. But he was also learning how to approach them with respect and not make them jumpy. He and Clarice had teamed up, which was a big deal since Harris hadn’t wanted him near the birds. It was Lijah who went to Ella and Harris about that, putting himself on the line. That meant a lot to Brady. There weren’t many who’d do that for him. So to have Lijah dismiss him like that really hurt deep under his skin.

  After Harris returned the falcon to the mews, Maggie brought out a larger falcon. This bird wasn’t wearing a hood and looked around the surrounding area as if it owned the place. Brady sensed the moment the falcon spotted him and Lijah standing across the field.

  “That ol’ bird don’t miss a thing,” he said to Lijah, his voice conciliatory.

  “They never do.”

  “How come he’s not putting the creance line on this bird?”

  “That’s Risk. She’s been here a long time and knows what to do. That other falcon is just learning what’s what. If he didn’t have that line, he might fly off.” He chortled softly. “They all might fly off, that’s for true.”

  “Oh, yeah? What keeps them from doing it? I mean, freedom is right there to take. Shoot, I would if I were them.”