Skyward

by Mary Alice Monroe

  A bittersweet smile eased across her face as she sunk her chin into her palm. She really shouldn’t complain. Warmth was what she’d come south for…

  She dropped her palm and adjusted her position in her chair. Any thoughts that drifted to the past still had the power to stab with pain. Though it was much better now, she’d learned to steer clear of that line of thinking and to keep busy.

  She was a nurse again. This meant a great deal. Her profession gave her life purpose, and her dealings with patients gave it meaning. But she wasn’t the same nurse she’d been before. Her time at the birds of prey center had changed her life forever. She likened herself to a bird that had been rehabilitated, a trauma case restored to her former healthy state and condition, and then released. Now she was expected to establish herself in her new territory and to flourish.

  Well, she’d done her best. After leaving Awendaw she’d returned to Charleston and accepted a nursing position at the Medical University Hospital. At the beginning it was all she could do just to get up every morning, get dressed and go to work. She’d never known such heartache, such raw pain. But each day she thought of him a little less, and each night before falling asleep she told herself that tomorrow would be easier. Finally one day she found herself laughing once again. And she knew then that she could continue on with out him, that she would be just fine.

  Ella smoothed her uniform, trying to ignore the resistant pain that still lurked in the deep recesses of her heart. She wasn’t over him yet. She still loved Harris. She probably always would. Even though she knew she shouldn’t love him, because he belonged to another, she felt no shame for her love. It was the purest, most true thing she’d ever known. The past few weeks since she’d left him had been the most painful in her life, but her love for him had brought her her great moments of joy. She wouldn’t trade her experience at the center for anything.

  And she’d learned from her experiences working with the birds of prey. From Harris she’d learned to keep her voice low and pleasant, to minimize her patients’ stress and to always treat them with respect, even when they were snapping and attacking. She’d learned from Lijah to open her mind and heart and to take the time to listen to what her patients were telling her. And most of all, he’d taught her to watch. To ob serve. To pay attention to the telling details.

  She needed to hope that her love for Harris had made her stronger, like metal forged by fire. After all, this hope and her memories were all she had left.

  Ella turned from the window when a limping young girl was ushered into the emergency room by a cadre of friends. The girl wore skimpy clothes and heavy makeup, but Ella’s experienced eye marked her as a fifteen-year-old. Grateful for the distraction, Ella hurried to her feet to meet the girl across the floor and put her arm around the girl’s trembling shoulders. The girl burst into tears and Ella thought to herself how all pretenses collapsed in the emergency room.

  “Girls, you have to wait out here,” she told the cluster of worried friends when she escorted the patient into the treatment room.

  The girl’s toe was sliced open from a seashell and, medically, all she needed were a few stitches. Looking at her ashen face, the quivering lip and tear-filled eyes, however, Ella knew the girl needed something more. She reached out to take her hand.

  “Carrie,” she said in a calming voice. “I’m going to clean the wound, then the doctor’s going to stitch you up. Everything is going to be okay.”

  The girl looked into Ella’s steady gaze and her fear diminished. She nodded, sniffing. “I guess I should’ve been more careful.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. Everyone likes to run on the beach.”

  “Yeah?” She wiped her eyes. “I wouldn’t know. It’s the first time I ever saw the ocean. I’m on vacation with my family. We’re from Ohio. You’re lucky to live here.”

  Ella chuckled and rose to prepare the tray for the attending physician. “What would you say if I told you I’ve never even been to the ocean?”

  “Really? But it’s right there. You can go any time you want.”

  Ella felt the twinge of pain inside her heart again and was glad she had her back to the patient. Harris had promised he would take her and Marion for an outing at the beach this summer. She couldn’t yet bring herself to go alone.

  The door to the treatment room swung open and a fellow nurse poked her head in. Ella could see the faces of the girl’s three worried friends peeking in behind her.

  “Ella? We just got a call from the paramedics. They’re bringing in two burn victims.”

  Ella nodded in understanding. “The doctor will be right in. And don’t worry. You’ll be fine,” she said to the young girl with a pat on her hand.

  She hurried into the hall, pausing only to tell the girls that their friend was going to be okay. Adrenaline was pumping in her veins. Burn victims were some of the most difficult to treat. Each second was critical.

  “What do we know?” Ella asked Liz when she came to the front desk.

  Liz was a middle-aged woman who’d seen it all. It took a lot to get her excited. She was as wide as she was tall and had to hold her breath in order to reach far over the desk to grab the sheet of paper and draw it near. “Here it is. This says there was a fire over in Awendaw,” she said, reading. “Up at that birds of prey center. They’re bringing in two burn victims.”

  Ella stood frozen in shock while the attendant continued reading the rest of the report. She couldn’t hear the words against the rushing of blood in her ears. Over and over she replayed only the words Fire… Birds of prey center… Two victims. And all she could think was, who?

  “Ella? Are you all right?”

  She became aware that Liz’s blue eyes were looking at her with concern, and that she’d been standing there, like a stone figure, not answering her questions.

  “Who are the victims?” she blurted out.

  Liz leaned back in her chair, stunned by the frantic tone of Ella’s voice. She ducked her head and scanned the report again. She shook her head and raised her eyes, almost apologetically. “It doesn’t give names. It only says they’re bringing in a woman and a man.”

  “A woman?” Ella jumped on this. “Not a child? A little girl?”

  She shook her head, frowning with suspicion. “That’s all it says.”

  Ella spun from the desk and ran to the triage room, her heels pounding the polished floors. En route she called out to make certain that the burn specialist had been called down to the E.R. She gathered together the supplies that would be needed for treatment, muttering to herself as she worked at a fevered pace. “It won’t be Marion. Of course it won’t be her. What would she be doing at the clinic, anyway?” Her mind would not even allow her to contemplate the man being brought in.

  Ella had learned over the years not to pray to God for anything specific in the emergency room. A woman could lose her faith pretty quickly if she did. Instead, as she laid out the bandages and equipment with hands that were remarkably steady and efficient, Ella prayed that she’d have the strength to do her best in the next few hours. And that she would be able to understand and accept and live with whatever came through those doors.

  She didn’t have to wait long. Twenty minutes later the emergency room doors slammed open and the first gurney was rushed inside. Ella ran to it, gripping its sides and peering down at the patient.

  She was ashamed of the relief she felt when she recognized Fannie. Not Marion… Fannie’s face was blackened with soot, her eyes were closed and her muscles slack. Ella knew immediately that she was dead.

  She released the gurney and let it pass, then turned to face the second gurney that was now being pushed through the doors. She stood motionless, unable to move, waiting for what seemed an interminable amount of time while the paramedics navigated through the double doors. Her eyes traveled wildly across the man’s body as the gurney wheeled closer. His dirt-stained work boots peeked out from the edge of the blanket. The cuffs of his pants were blackened and t
orn. His hands, his beautiful long fingers, lay still, scraped, and his nails were embedded with soot. Then, when she could hold back no longer, she slowly raised her gaze to his face.

  Even as she saw the wicked, raw-red burn slash on his cheek and the bandage across his eyes, even as she stared at the ravaged shoulder, her heart surged with rapture at seeing the face that she loved more than all others—alive! She gripped the sides of the gurney and ran alongside as they raced to the treatment room.

  “What happened?” she asked the paramedic.

  “This guy’s some kind of hero,” he replied. “He brought out his daughter.”

  Ella’s breath hitched. “Is the child all right?”

  “Yeah. They’re bringing her in just to make sure. She’s shook up, though. She was inside the building with her mother when the fire broke out.” He jerked his head toward the other gurney where the medics were covering Fannie’s head. “Had to be tough for the kid.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “After he brought down the kid, he went into the building after the mother. They tried to stop him. Some guys, they just don’t listen. The firemen came running but he’d already jumped in. I have to hand it to him, though. He found the lady and got her out. But he got a bad break. The roof fell as he was climbing out the window. Lucky for him that the fire men were there to pull him free.” He shook his head. “It’s too bad, you know? But the fact is, he shouldn’t have gone in. It was too late to save her.”

  Ella looked down at the burned and unconscious man on the gurney while tears welled in her eyes. “He couldn’t have made any other choice,” she said softly. “It’s who he is.”

  “I don’t know about that,” the paramedic replied in his brusque manner. “I’ve seen this kind of thing over and over again, where some guy rushes in to save someone. And I always wonder. Does the man make the choice? Or does the choice make the man?”

  They wheeled him into the treatment room where the burn specialist was waiting. The team moved quickly, tearing off his clothes, inserting IVs and treating the burns that she knew would scar his left cheek and shoulder. She was sad to see his handsome face marred, but what did that matter, really? It only mattered that he healed and got well. She worried most when they removed the bandage covering his eyes. Harris fluttered open his eyelids, then gazed out blankly. He didn’t blink under the bright lights.

  Ella shared an ominous glance with the doctor.

  Harris raised his hand and groped into the air with fear. She quickly grabbed it and held tight.

  “Harris, it’s me.”

  His eyes searched but were unseeing, and his lips, cracked and dry, opened. “Ella?” he rasped.

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  He squeezed her hand in his and closed his eyes tight. “Don’t leave me.”

  Ella held on to his hand, firm and steadfast, yet her heart took off. She felt as though she were a hawk, flying high above the emergency room, circling round and round with her wings outstretched, crying out a piercing, plaintive call. With her binocular vision, she brought forth images from her past, narrowing her focus, resolving the images with remarkable clarity: Bobby’s hand relaxing and his heart monitor flattening, Buh Rooster staring back at her from the loblolly pine, Brady and Clarice laughing together with shining eyes, Marion’s downy head resting against her breast, the whispered wing beats of an owl against her cheek, Lijah standing beside the cabin smoking his pipe, Harris’s arms reaching out for her under a dimly lit tarp, in the tangled sheets of a narrow bed, drawing her into safety, closer to his heart, bringing her home.

  Like the hawk to the lure, Ella grabbed hold, never to let go. Her heart lifted her higher, higher than she’d ever dreamed possible. And smiling down at him, she was soaring.

  Migration. In the fall, when the seasons and sunlight change and food availability grows scarce, raptors adapt by changing geographic location. They migrate from their breeding range, soaring great distances in thermals. The gathering of hundreds, sometimes thousands of birds swirling and crisscrossing overhead in spirals is called a boil or kettle. No one can witness the spectacle and not be filled with awe and hope.

  Epilogue

  HARRIS STOOD ALONE IN THE CENTER OF THE flying field. He turned slowly in a circle, breathing in the fragrant air that was as yet balmy but held the hint of cooler nights to come. The grass beneath his feet was browning, deciduous leaves were tipped in gold and scarlet and, beyond, the wet lands were in the process of changing costume for Halloween. The wind gusted and he heard a frenzied calling. Lifting his chin, he saw the sky filled with birds with wings flapping, chattering, weaving in and out of exuberant flight patterns overhead.

  Songbirds had been migrating through the Lowcountry for weeks and clustered noisily in the trees and along power lines. The hawks were passing through, as well, but they traveled at such high altitudes most people didn’t see them. Kestrels, ospreys and falcons were among them, soaring southward along the coast. Some would survive the long journey and return again come spring. Others would not. Such was the way of nature, he realized. He could not save them all.

  Harris brought his hands to his hips and looked around once again at the Coastal Carolina Center for Birds of Prey. His legs felt rooted to the soil and he knew with a soul-stirring satisfaction that he would not be journeying to a new location. This was his home. He was staying put.

  Summer had been too long and too filled with burning issues and heated passions. He was tired and looked forward to the shortening of sunlight hours and long nights around the fire, nestled close beside his loved ones. Fall was a time of change; winter an introspective season. He had much to reflect upon, he thought. Much to be grateful for.

  He turned again to look past the field toward the fifty or so people who had congregated for a good, old-fashioned barn-raising. Donations had poured in after the news stations reported the disastrous fire that had destroyed the clinic building. People had shown they cared and they’d collected enough not only to construct a new clinic, but to complete the flight pens, as well. It had been gratifying for him to see the outpouring of support from the community he served. The new clinic building was better equipped and the number of volunteers continued to swell. Harris was renewed with hope.

  He squinted and made out the form of Ella in the group of people milling about the new clinic. She was laughing, and her long braid was flopping against her back as she served plates of barbecue to the guests. His heart swelled at the sight of his wife. Ella was the heart of the place; he knew that with out a flinch of envy. She had the ability to give and give, then give a little more.

  He didn’t even want to think about what his life would have been like if she hadn’t come back and agreed to marry him. He’d likely be some grouchy, crippled coot, old before his time, and Marion might have been traumatized for life. They were a sorry pair after the fire, but Ella wouldn’t give up on either of them. She gently, firmly, coaxed them back to health. They’d both bear scars for life—his physical and Marion’s mental. That couldn’t be helped. But Ella made them easier to bear. She had been his eyes when he could not see, and now that the bandages had been removed and his sight restored, she was his heart. He thought again of how much he had to be grateful for. Not many men had a second chance in life.

  He spotted Marion running across the field with Maggie’s daughter, Annie, in hot pursuit of the springer spaniel puppy he’d brought home with him when he returned from the hospital. His injured eyes were as yet sensitive to the light, but that wasn’t the reason they’d filled with tears when he saw Marion’s first smile since the fire. That had been in Au gust, and she’d started school a few weeks later. Since then, Marion had made lots of new friends. A bittersweet smile crossed his lips as he realized that his little girl was a “brancher,” climbing farther and farther out on the limb, away from the nest. His smile broadened as he thought of the small coterie that walked her down the dirt road to the high way to catch the bus for school each morning: hims
elf walking the puppy, Cinnamon, following in the trees, and the Tweedles.

  He shook his head and his smile burst into a chuckle at the memory of those crazy vultures waddling down the road behind them. Even a fire couldn’t convince them that they were better off in the wild. As soon as the ashes had cooled, those two birds walked in their rollicking gait to the back door of the house and roosted. The Tweedles were his failure, he had to admit. Just as he had to admit that he liked the silly birds almost as much as Maggie did. They were residents now and being trained in education programs.

  Brady’s voice calling his name broke through his reverie. Looking up, he saw the group of people advancing toward him across the field. Brady was in the forefront carrying a hooded bald eagle in his heavy gloves. Lijah had been right about the young man, he thought, watching with admiration the confidence in his straight-backed stride. Brady was a natural-born falconer. While Harris was recuperating, Brady had come to the hospital to visit and told him the truth about that fateful Christmas Eve when Santee had been shot. Harris had not been entirely surprised. He’d known that one gun had been a rifle and the other a shotgun. And Roy Simmons’s reputation as a marksman was well known. Still, Brady’s honesty brought them one step closer as mentor and student.

  Lijah had set the example, and Harris would try to be a wise and giving teacher to Brady. In this way, he would leave his mark on the future, as Harris felt the old man had left his mark on him. Like Lijah said, That the finest mark a man can leave behind.

  Lijah… The old man was sorely missed. Soon after the fire, he’d disappeared, leaving only an eagle’s feather on the pillow in the cabin. A lone eagle’s feather was believed to hold great power, and they liked to think he left part of himself behind. He’d always told them that he’d leave when Santee did, but his unannounced departure caught them all off guard, nonetheless. Marion had claimed the feather as her own and it replaced Gaudy Lulu as her favorite item. She wore the feather on a strip of leather around her neck.