On Hummingbird Wings

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Yes, the plants are fine but the hummingbird is dead.” She hiccupped and he heard her blow her nose. “I know it is a little thing and this is so silly and it doesn’t make sense and I don’t make sense and I’m a mess.”

  Lord, I really need some help here. “Why don’t you put the hummingbird in a shoebox or something with some soft tissues? Put it in a dark place. There is a thing called torpor that hummingbirds go into. When they warm up, they come out of it and are extremely hungry.”

  “All right.” She sniffed again. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll stop by on my way back from church.”

  “Okay.”

  Gillian did as he said, stroking the little body, enchanted in spite of her tears by the perfection of such a tiny creature. She closed the lid after punching air holes in it and put it in the pantry. Stopping into the bathroom to wipe the mascara off her face, she studied the figure in the mirror. All dressed for church in a slubbed silk jacket, tailored silk cream shirt, and matching slacks, gold chains and earrings, and her face a mess.

  Whatever had come over her? She washed her face, reapplied her makeup, and stopped in her room to change clothes. And make plans for the day. Walking into her mother’s bedroom, she glanced out at the still covered hanging baskets. “You want another cup of coffee, Mother?”

  “I thought you were going to church.”

  “I was, but I found the hummingbird lying on the sidewalk and I couldn’t quit crying. Silly I know, but I have enjoyed her so much.”

  “Sometimes the birds fly into the windows and that kills them, but sometimes they are just stunned and after a while will wake up and fly away.”

  “Adam said this might be torpor at work. I have never heard of such a thing before.” She leaned against the doorjamb. “I put her in a box in the pantry.”

  “I’ve seen them come alive again. Go out and bring the feeder in and set it in a sink of warm water. If she lives, warm sugar water will help her more.” Dorothy pushed herself upright against her pillows. “The hummingbirds are my favorites, too.”

  Then why did you…don’t go there, Gillian told herself. Just appreciate that your mother is actually talking with you and not telling you to go away. “I’m warming up a cup of coffee. If you want some, I’ll make fresh. Or there’s orange juice. I bought a half gallon yesterday.”

  “Orange juice, I think.”

  Gillian made sure her face didn’t show the shock she felt. What is happening here? She warmed up her coffee, poured the juice, and returned to the bedroom. Handing her mother the glass, she sat down on the chair. “When do you think I should take the covers off the baskets?”

  “Any time. Once the air has warmed past freezing.” Dorothy sipped her orange juice.

  “How about a shower?”

  “I will but after a bit.” Dorothy leaned back against her pillows. “Is Enzio coming today?”

  “I don’t know. Do you want him to?” A shrug was her answer.

  “You look like you’re feeling better.” Gillian glanced out the window and saw the male hummingbird hovering around the baskets. “I’ll be right back.” Outside, she removed the covers from the baskets and took one of the feeders down to take inside to warm up. “I hope she comes back to you.” Setting the feeder in the sink, she ran warm water to cover it and weighted it down with the wet dishcloth. Did she dare look yet? She returned to the bedroom. “Do you think I should check on her?”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Half an hour? I’m heating up the feeder in the sink.”

  “Give her a bit more time.”

  “I went online and found some books on hummingbirds. One is written by a woman who had a hummingbird winter over in her sun room. I thought I’d like to order it.”

  “You might try down at Wild Bird’s Unlimited. They carry books about birds, besides seeds and feeders.” Dorothy drained her orange juice and set the glass on the nightstand. “In answer to your question, I am feeling better. Weak, though.”

  Thank You, God. “You have some color in your face again.” You’re still so thin that I wouldn’t recognize you as my mother, but we can deal with that. “How about I change your bed while you take a shower? Do you want me to wash your hair?”

  “The chair is still in there?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can call you if I need you?”

  “I’ll be right here.”

  Her mother heaved a sigh. “Then we’d best get to it.” She flipped back the covers and turned to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “I’ll go start the shower.” Gillian did so and stared for a moment into the mirror. Was this a miracle? What had brought about the change? She turned to see her mother holding on to the door frame, so she opened the shower door enough to unlatch it and stepped back.

  “Can you help me take off my nightgown?”

  Dorothy sat down on the chair in the shower with a sigh, the water beating down on her chest and lap.

  Gillian took the shampoo off the rack. “If you tip your head forward to get wet, I’ll wash your hair. I know how good that feels.” After massaging her mother’s scalp with her fingertips, Gillian left Dorothy to rinse and wash. Gillian stripped off the linens and remade the bed, finishing just as the shower water turned off. With the sheet and blanket folded back on an angle, the bed looked inviting.

  Once Dorothy was in a fresh gown with her hair fluffed with the hair dryer, she walked back to the bed with Gillian beside her. She was breathing like she’d just run around the block or lifted weights, and when she sat down, it was more like collapsing than sitting.

  “How about if I rub some lotion into your arms and legs?”

  “If you like.” Dorothy lay back in her bed, huffing out a breath and rolling her head from side to side.

  Gillian found the bottle of lotion on the shelf under the nightstand and poured some into her hands. She began with her mother’s arms, working in long soothing strokes like the massage therapist did with her, massaging each finger. By the time she finished the legs and feet, her mother was sound asleep. She pulled the blanket over Dorothy’s shoulders and patted them. “You earned this rest, Mother. ‘Heavenly Father, thank You for bringing my mother back.’”

  After starting the sheets in the washer, she tidied up the bathroom and hung the towels on the rods, then returned to the kitchen just in time to answer the telephone. As always, Enzio’s voice made her smile.

  “She’s doing better. Sleeping now because she just had a shower and shampoo. Hard to believe how weak she is.”

  “It will take time to rebuild her strength. What do you think made the difference?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure grateful.” She told him about the hummingbird.

  “Have you checked on her?”

  “Just about to.”

  “Good. I’ll be over in a while. I thought I’d bring lunch.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know, but I want to. See you in an hour or so.”

  Gillian hung up the phone and glanced at the clock. Nearing ten thirty. She opened the pantry door and paused in delight. She could hear a scrabbling sound from the box. She took the warm feeder back outside and hung it, then returned for the box. Lifting one corner, she peeked in to see the hummingbird sitting and looking at her with one beady little eye.

  “You’re alive.” She felt like laughing but kept it to a smile, one that stretched her whole face. Stepping out the back door, she went to the feeder and gently lifted off the box lid. The hummingbird looked at her, shook her body to ruffle her feathers, tipped her head back, then fluttered her wings and flew out of the box, straight to the feeder where she sat drinking for the longest time. Gillian watched her without moving. She’d held the hummingbird so close to her that she could see every minute feather, the long thin beak, and the slight sheen of green on her back. So very precious and alive. I wish I had shown her to Mother. Earlier this little bird looked so dead and now she is alive. Like you, Mother, y
ou are coming alive again. Gillian raised her face to let the sun shine its benediction down on her skin and her closed eyes. She heard the male zoom by her shoulder. With her eyes closed, she could hear so much more. The hummingbirds clicking, the birds at the feeder, children playing up the street. A wealth of sounds, songs of life. A bumblebee droned by, his buzz different from the honey bees, heavier and more erratic.

  Gillian inhaled the perfume of a newly blossoming rose. She stroked the petals with the tip of her finger, soft but firm, not wet but not dry, either. All these things, gifts she never had in New York. But they were all here, in her mother’s backyard, in spite of the lack of water and care, they survived.

  Like Mother is surviving. Like I am a survivor. All these gifts on this Sunday morning. Lord, I am rich beyond measure. She sat down at the table to watch the hummingbirds now feasting at the hanging baskets, to let the sun warm her, the slight breeze kissing her face. She pulled another chair out so she could put her feet up and let all the tension drain from her body.

  So much to do, but she had time to do it tomorrow. Or the next day. Right now she could just enjoy. No lists. No rush. Time to just appreciate.

  “Well, talk about a beautiful picture.”

  She looked over her shoulder to smile at Adam. “Come on out.”

  “The door was unlocked and I didn’t want to disturb you by ringing the bell.”

  “Have a chair. Can I get you something to drink?” She started to get up, but he laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “You just sit there. I have a feeling you don’t do that very often.”

  “You’re right, I don’t.” Her shoulder felt cool as soon as he lifted his hand, but the warmth that went into her bones remained.

  “How’s the hummingbird?” He sat down across the table from her.

  She nodded toward the baskets. “Him and her over there. When I peeked in the box, she was staring right at me, so I brought the box out here. I had warmed the sugar syrup in the feeder, and she waited a few seconds, just watched me, and then flew out. She was not afraid at all.”

  “They aren’t. Dad and I’ve had them fly into the house several times. If the door is open we guide them out again with the broom. Half the time, they hitch a ride on the broom. I’m glad she’s all right.”

  “Me, too.”

  “How’s your mother?”

  “Doing so much better. Even talking, not just yes or no, but in complete sentences. She’s sleeping now; the shower exhausted her.”

  “You want to go for a walk?”

  She pondered for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. Enzio is bringing lunch any time and I said I would be here. But thanks.” She cocked her head to the side. “But another time, perhaps?”

  He nodded. “I’m taking the boat out this afternoon, I was hoping I could talk you into trying it.” He smiled and stood. “Another time.”

  She shaded her eyes with one hand since he was backlit by the sun over his shoulder. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “You could stay for lunch.”

  “Dad’s waiting and Jennifer and Lawrence are coming, too. Enjoy your day.”

  She watched him as he slid open the screen door and walked through the house. Could she go out on the boat and not be barfing over the side? She’d ridden on a boat once off Long Island. It had not been pleasant. But like Adam had said, perhaps there was a medication that could prevent seasickness. The real question was why did he insist she should want to go out on his boat?

  He and Jennifer were a striking couple. Had he ever thought of his sister-in-law romantically? Sometimes that happened. “I hope not,” she muttered as she stood up and pushed the chairs back in. She cranked up the umbrella and went into the kitchen for a wet cloth to wipe down the table. Why had that idea bothered her so? After all, she and Adam weren’t even really friends yet, but somewhat more than acquaintances. She laid her hand on her shoulder where his hand had been. Was it still warm or was she imagining things?

  Something was going on. Enzio had brought lunch as promised, and her mother has actually gotten up! Not only that, she had joined them for lunch in the backyard. Now Gillian stood at the kitchen window watching Enzio and her mother at the patio table, their heads together, his smile broad enough to split his face. Her mother was actually smiling and nodding. Dorothy leaned back in her chair, shaking her head, but Enzio was being his most charming. How could she resist whatever he was selling her? Gillian brought the iced tea pitcher outside to refill the glasses. “You two look like two kids plotting mischief.”

  “Oh, not mischief,” Enzio replied.

  “Is this part of the secret?”

  Her mother frowned slightly, started to say something, then caught Enzio’s slight shake of his head.

  “Well, when you get around to telling me…” Gillian swallowed a chuckle. Two kids, they really were acting like two kids. What a change. How could she say thank you enough?

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Gillian watched the hummingbirds while drinking her first cup of coffee on Monday morning. Hearing them click at each other made her smile. Since it was still chilly out, she wore rust-colored sweats with a down vest and kept her hands warm by holding the coffee mug. The lady hummer had already buzzed by to check out the red in Gillian’s clothes, flying back to the feeder when she discovered Gillian wasn’t a flower.

  Something strange had been going on yesterday, but Gillian had no idea what.

  The thoughts still made her restless. Here she should be rejoicing that her mother was improving and instead she was feeling confused. No, maybe concerned was a better description. Of course, she’d been concerned ever since she’d arrived here the first time. Now she felt more like apprehensive—there that was the right word. Like that old saying, “waiting for the next shoe to fall.”

  Her mother was sitting up in bed, her hair combed, and staring at the clothes she had laid out. “Good morning,” she answered Gillian’s greeting. “I cannot believe how weak I am.”

  Gillian rolled her lips together. Wait until she called Allie and told her all that had gone on. She wouldn’t believe it, either. “I guess sleeping so much does that to one. I can help you after you eat if you want.” She set the tray with two plates on the bed, smoothed out the blankets, and put the tray on her mother’s lap. “Enzio brought an extra loaf of bread yesterday, so we have good sourdough for toast.”

  “That Enzio.” Dorothy shook her head.

  “He’s quite a character.” Gillian sat in the chair and held her plate on her lap. Maybe this was the last time they’d eat in here. She took a bite of her toast. “You know, we can’t get as good a sourdough in New York as here. Must have something to do with the climate.”

  Her mother glanced up at the window where the hummingbirds were visiting the pink and red blossoms. “Determined, aren’t they?”

  Gillian nodded. That one comment made her investments of time and money worth every penny and minute. “I was so thrilled when she flew to the feeder yesterday morning, I nearly cried. I was sure she was dead.”

  “Good that you are finding interests here. Do you miss New York?”

  Gillian pondered the question. “Possibly, when I allow myself to think about it. But I don’t think I’ve felt so relaxed for years.” The corporate world is a pressure cooker for sure.

  “Good. You’re not in a hurry to leave then?”

  “I’m here as long as you need me.”

  “Then what?”

  Gillian stared out at the hummers. “I don’t really know.”

  “I always found that gardening is a good way to clear the mind, help one to think more clearly.”

  “I can remember you saying that years ago. But there aren’t a lot of places to garden in the Big Apple.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Dorothy removed the tray from her lap.

  Gillian picked it up. “If you want help dressing, I’ll be right back.”

  “Thank you, but I think I’l
l rest a bit first.”

  “I’ve made a list of things I want from the nursery. Thought I’d plant the pots by the back door.”

  “Get plants that don’t freeze. Pansies are really hardy.”

  “Okay.” Gillian felt like dancing her way back to the kitchen. Her mother was getting better, no longer talking about dying. When could she ask her what brought about the change? She answered the ringing phone as she set the tray down.

  “Hi, this is Roger. Your car is ready.”

  “Wonderful. Thank you, I’ll be right down.” She hung up and the thought hit her. How would she get the rental car back to the lot? Too late to call Adam, he’d have left for the store. Enzio? She dialed his number, but it went to the answering machine so she hung up. There was no way she wanted to listen to Allie get all excited about it. What am I going to do?

  She put the dishes in the dishwasher and went to change clothes. She no longer needed to wear sweats. That was for sure. A short time later, Gillian backed the rental car out of the garage and headed for Roger’s Auto Body Repair. While she had the address from the work order, she still made a couple of wrong turns before she found it. Another thing to add to her list. Either put the GPS service on her phone or buy a separate portable unit. Since she never drove in New York, she’d never needed one before.

  After she inspected the new bumpers, which looked perfect as far as she could see, she paid the bill. “I have a favor to ask,” she said as she put her credit card back in her wallet. “Is it possible someone could drive one of these cars over to the rental place so I can turn mine in?”

  Roger, his A’s baseball cap pushed back on his head, grinned. “Sure we can do that. In fact I will. I’ll drive the Buick and, if you like, lead the way?”

  “Thanks. Once this one is back in Mother’s garage, I will feel great relief.” She drove Roger back to his shop after turning in the rental, and he made suggestions on the easiest and fastest way to get to Pittsburg and Adam’s nursery.