Skyward

“You’ve met Marion,” he said, rubbing his palms together.

Ella smiled at the child, not the least dismayed that she didn’t smile back. “Oh, yes.”

“It’s cold out there today,” he said, closing the door behind her.

“I don’t find it cold. Where I come from, this weather would be considered positively balmy for January.”

“Vermont, is that right?”

“That’s right. South central. I’m from a small town called Wallingford, but I’ve been living in Rutland for several years now. That’s where the hospital was, you see.”

“Right. A long way to come.”

“Ayah, it is. I wanted a change and started with climate. I had to go a ways from Vermont to find a palm tree.” She smiled tentatively.

He nodded noncommittally and rubbed his hands again. “Would you like some coffee? Or do you prefer tea?”

“Coffee would be great, thank you. With milk, please.”

“Make yourself at home. I’ve got some freshly made. It’ll only be a moment.”

While he went for the coffee, Ella unclasped her hands and looked around the room. The low ceilings, dark wood paneling and thick red curtains gave it a heavy feel. At the far end near the kitchen sat a round wood table surrounded with four hardwood chairs. A few more mismatched chairs and a sagging sofa clustered before a stone fireplace that dominated the eastern wall. Inserted into this, like an afterthought, was a black iron stove. There were dramatic framed photographs of large birds in flight on the walls, and several wood shelves overflowing with books took up the rest of the space. It was a small, compact room and the wood-burning stove was doing its job, for the house was warm and cozy. She removed her fleece jacket, aware that Marion was watching her every move.

“Where do you sleep?” she asked her with enthusiasm.

Marion’s curiosity apparently got the better of her resentment because she walked over to open a door on the side wall. Ella followed, fingers crossed, peeking her head through the doorway. A narrow hall divided the small house in two. Directly opposite the hall door was a yellow-tiled bathroom. It was spacious but spare, with a tub that stood on clawed feet. The towels hanging on the metal rail were mismatched, but he’d made the effort to supply new bars of soap for the bath and sink. It was, from what she could see, the only bathroom.

“That’s where Daddy sleeps,” Marion said, pointing.

Through the partially opened door Ella saw a black iron bed covered with a bright white matelasse coverlet that looked brand new. She turned her head to look down the opposite end of the hall at a closed door. “What’s in there?”

“Daddy’s office.”

“I see. And where do you sleep?”

Marion pointed up. “It used to be the attic. But Daddy made it my room. It’s pink. That’s my favorite color. There’s a stair in the back, by the kitchen.”

“Is there a room for me up there?”

“No-o-o,” she drawled, looking at her as if she was crazy to ask. “There’s only my bed up there. And a closet where Daddy puts all his stuff.”

“Ah, I see.”

Did she, she wondered? The house was much smaller than she’d imagined it would be and there didn’t seem to be any other rooms. She chewed her lip, seized with a sudden fear that she’d misunderstood Mr. Henderson’s job description.

“Coffee?” Harris called, stepping into the room carrying a tray from the kitchen.

She settled herself on a hard chair by the warm stove. He’d thoughtfully put leftover holiday gingerbread cookies and chunks of cheese on crackers on a plate along with a blue pottery pitcher filled with milk. He poured a glass of it for Marion and set a few chunks of cheese on a napkin before her. She quickly gobbled them up. Ella took a sip from her mug, glad to have something to do with her hands in the awkward silence. The coffee was good and strong, not that black water some people made. Restored, she waited until he was settled on the sofa with his coffee before speaking.

“Mr. Henderson,” she began, sitting straight in her chair. “Allow me to get right to the point. This is a live-in situation, isn’t it?”

He hesitated with his mug close to his lips. He placed it back on the table and put his hands on his knees. “Yes.” A faint blush colored his cheeks as he chose his words. “I realize that the house is small. Not too small, I hope. It might be a bit cramped at first, but once the weather warms, I figured…well, there’s a small cabin by the pond. There’s no heat, you see. But come spring, I could move there. And use the outdoor shower.”

“Oh, I’m sure the house will be fine,” she replied hastily, relieved that she hadn’t misunderstood. “But…Mr. Henderson, which is to be my room?”

Understanding dawned on his features and he brightened. “I guess I should have showed you that right away. I gave you the main bedroom. It’s the largest and it has a nice view of the pond. I put a little television in there, too. And a small rolltop desk. I thought, well, I figured you’d want some privacy.”

“I hate to put you out.”

“It’s no problem. There’s a bed in my study for me. I’ll sleep fine there, and besides, I’m at the clinic most hours, anyway.”

Ella was enormously relieved. It would be cramped, indeed, but manageable.

She saw Marion eyeing the cookies. Ella reached out to place a few more crackers and cheese on the child’s plate. These she ate without argument. Ella made a mental note to toss away all the gingerbread cookies, cakes and other sugary items that might tempt a five-year-old.

“Can you tell me about Marion’s diabetes,” Ella began. “What are her current insulin levels?”

Harris wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Marion,” he said, turning to his daughter, “why don’t you go in your room to play for a while. Miss Majors and I need to talk.”

“Do I have to?”

“She can stay,” Ella added.

“I think we should be alone to discuss this,” he replied firmly.

“It’s healthy for Marion to be a part of this discussion. She might have questions of her own.”

“I don’t think she has any questions.”

“No? After all, the disease is happening to her.”

He paused, and she wasn’t blind to his growing annoyance “I don’t want her to be afraid of the disease,” he said with finality.

“She might already have fears that need listening to.”

The two adults stared at each other, each recognizing the stubborn strength in the other.

Harris turned again to his daughter. “Marion, do you want to hear this or do you want to play in your room?” His tone clearly was trying to persuade her to play.

“I wanna stay,” she replied without a moment’s hesitation, settling farther back into the sofa with a smug gleam in her eye.

Harris pursed his lips, his eyes flashing his irritation, but conceded.

It was hardly a victory, thought Ella, since there was no real battle, yet it established her position in the house. She couldn’t possibly stay if he was going to dictate her job. The house may be strange and new, but managing a diabetic child was her field.

They moved into a lengthy discussion of Marion’s diabetes, during which Ella noticed that, though the child picked at a scab and looked at the ceiling, she was listening intently. Ella had experience with children of all ages who had diabetes. Though they all reacted differently according to their personalities and level of maturity, they had one thing in common. They each wanted to know what was going on in their own bodies, and most of all, they wanted to know how many shots they needed to take each day.

“Would you like to take a walk and look around before it gets dark?” Harris asked after they were through.

“When did Marion last have her blood checked?”

Ella saw Marion tuck her legs in close and her face grow mutinous. Harris’s face visibly paled.

“I checked it before you arrived,” he replied.

Ella looked at her watch. “There’s been lots of nervous excitement since then. Let’s give it a look-see before we go out.”

Harris cast a wary look at his daughter. Ella saw this—and how Marion watched and waited for it. On cue, Marion began to howl like a banshee, kicking and screaming. Harris went toward her, but Ella stuck out her arm, warding him off. She stood abruptly and slammed her hands on her hips.

“That will be quite enough of that, young lady,” she said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the wails. “I will be testing you four, five, six times a day, and I’ll be giving you your shots, too. Every day. That’s my job and…Marion, listen to me.” She moved quickly to grasp hold of the child’s shoulders and lift her to a sitting position. She held tight, ignoring the pummeling.

“Marion!” she said louder, in a command.

Marion sucked in her breath, silent for a second.

Ella rushed, “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m a nurse. I know exactly what to do and I’m good at this. Really, I’ve given lots of shots to hundreds of children.”

“But it hurts.”

“It will hurt a little, I know, but not that much if you sit still. And pretty soon, you will get used to it. I promise.”

Ella spoke quickly, while she had the child’s attention. “I want to show you something. I have a special little tool.” She looked over her shoulder at Harris, who stood with his arms by his side, waiting to assist. “Could you bring my purse over here? Quickly, please.”

Marion was still crouched in the corner of the sofa, but her screaming at least had ceased. She watched warily as Ella dug into her purse.

“What’s that?” she asked with panic when Ella pulled out a little plastic box.

“It’s a kind of magic box that will prick your finger so fast you’ll just be surprised, that’s all.” She held it in the palm of her hand and was pleased to see Marion lean closer to inspect it. She knew the child wouldn’t see the needle.

“But first, come with me. Oh, don’t balk, you silly goose. We’re just going to wash your hands. Come along.” Without waiting for her to agree, Ella took Marion’s hand and half dragged her to the bathroom. She looked over her shoulder and mouthed “test strip” to Harris. He nodded his understanding and went to fetch them. While she rubbed soap onto Marion’s hand, she surveyed the bathroom. An effort had been made to keep the tile and sink decent, but it was a far cry from hospital clean.

“Okay, now let’s check those nails.” While she looked at the short nails she milked the finger she planned to prick. “Hmm…I see we’ll have to clip those little nails later. Maybe paint them, too. Pink? Isn’t that your favorite color?”

Marion brightened, distracted.

“Now rinse,” Ella said, waiting for Marion to turn her back before slipping the lancet box from her pocket. She raised her brows at Harris and he nodded, holding up the test strip.

“All ready? Inspection time!” She took hold of the hands. “Very good job, Marion. Nice nails, too. Okay, then, let’s do it, shall we?” Before Marion had time to go into her fight mode, Ella brought the box up and with a quick, precise movement pricked the side of her fingertip and swooped in with the test strip.

Marion’s mouth popped open in a gasp, but she was too stunned to cry.

“All done!” Ella knew it was the sight of the needles that frightened children most. Looking up at Harris, she was amused to see that his expression wasn’t that different from his daughter’s. She handed him the test strip to check with the meter.

“She’s good to go,” he replied with obvious relief.

“I think we’re ready for that walk now, aren’t we?” She took Marion’s hand again, squeezing it gently. Just as quickly, Marion yanked her hand away and made a face at her, full of reproach. Ella let the snub slip by. She couldn’t blame the child for being miffed. After all, Ella had just outmanipulated her. “Marion, will you lead the way?”

They strolled at a child’s pace through the grounds. The mantle of dark was falling, and as she walked through the shifting shadows and shapes of early night, Ella felt again the strong sense of place she’d experienced when she first passed the gate with its watchful gatekeeper. This strange place was a sanctuary in a harried world. She felt safe here in the cocoon of trees and wondered as she passed a pen of owls that stared back at her with their wise and all-knowing eyes if perhaps coincidence and destiny were intertwined, after all. If perhaps her long journey to this small outpost of healing was written in the stars.

She followed Harris around a cluster of shadowed trees to a few wood structures of various sizes and shapes.

“It’s late and the diurnal birds are settled so we’d better not disturb them. I’m afraid this will have to be an abbreviated tour tonight. Over there,” he said, pointing to an L-shaped white house with a low-slung roof, “is the clinic where we treat and house the critically injured birds. We only take in birds of prey, though we sometimes get a wood stork we just can’t say no to.”

“And the crows, Daddy.”

“Yes, we have two crows,” he conceded, smiling at the child. “Marion likes the crows.”

“There’s a baby crow,” she said.

“We try to keep Marion away from the birds,” he said, in such a way that Ella understood this was part of her new duties. “It’s dangerous and she might disturb them.”

“I saw a rooster at the gate,” Ella said. “That’s not exactly a bird of prey, either.”

“Him!” Harris said with a laugh. “We don’t know where he came from. He just showed up one day and never left. We think he roosts in one of the pines and comes down to scrounge for insects. I toss feed his way, too, especially now that it’s winter. He’s quite a character. Very vigilant. We’ve grown pretty fond of him.”

“What’s his name?”

“We don’t name the birds. It gives the wrong impression. We feel we need to reinforce that they’re wild creatures, not our pets.”

“Cherokee has a name,” Marion said.

He shrugged. “See? Children catch you lying all the time. She’s right. Some of the birds do have names, but only the resident birds, those that won’t be set free for one reason or another. Sometimes they come to us with names already and, frankly, with them living here year-round, it’s easier for us to remember names than numbers.”

He began walking again, pointing toward a series of smaller pens grouped together in pods. “Over there is where the resident birds live. We can see them tomorrow. And over there,” he said, pointing to larger wooden structures to the right, “are pens for rehabilitation.”

They walked in that direction as Harris talked on about how the birds were moved from place to place based on their stage of rehabilitation. They began in the critical-care kennels in the clinic and, if they survived, they were moved to the larger pens in the medical unit, then finally to the flight pen where they could exercise and test their hunting ability with live mice.

“This is the final checkpoint to determine if the bird is fit to be released,” he said when they reached the long, narrow flight pen. It was screened with the same heavy black wire mesh and framed in wood. “It’s too small. We hope to build a bigger one soon. Maybe two, if we’re lucky. That would give the larger birds a chance to really test their wings. So, that’s about it,” he said by way of conclusion. “Our goals here at the center are to observe, heal and release.”

As he looked over the grounds she saw in his eyes the pride and satisfaction he felt at having achieved this much. Ella was also keeping an eye on Marion as she meandered along at their sides. What was it like to grow up surrounded by all these wild and ferocious raptors, she wondered, then made a mental note to discuss safety issues with Harris.

He moved closer to the flight pen, bending at the waist to see between the slats. “Look at them back there. Red-tailed hawks. They’re fit and ready to go. I’m hoping to release them soon.”

She squinted, trying to focus in the dimming light. Perched at the far wall, the three hawks were an impressive group, robust and muscular, much larger than they appeared flying in the sky. The hawks glared at them menacingly.

“I think they know they’re being spied on,” said Ella.

“Count on it,” he replied. Then, catching sight of something over her shoulder, he said, “Hold on a minute. There’s something I need to check on.” He hurried off to meet a woman volunteer who appeared carrying a tray of fish and mice on her way to the medical pens.

“Mmm…dinnertime!” Marion said with a giggle.

Ella wasn’t squeamish, but she made a fake shudder to play along. “I hope that’s not for us.”

“It is!” Marion giggled harder, putting her hand up to her mouth.

Enjoying their first friendly exchange, Ella gave a look that said, you dickens! She went too far, because immediately the smile faded from Marion’s face and the wariness returned.

Around them, the day’s light was fading fast. Looking at her watch, Ella was surprised to see that they’d been walking for half an hour. She looked again at Marion. The child leaned against the wall and had a tired, hangdog expression, which, in a diabetic child, could signal much more than fatigue.

Harris talked on with the volunteer, apparently about some problem with an osprey. His hands gesticulated in the air as he spoke. Ella wondered how he could be so attentive to the needs of the birds yet be blind to the signals his daughter was giving? The birds weren’t the only ones needing their dinner.

“I’m getting hungry,” she said with decision to Marion. “How about you?”

She nodded, scratching her head lethargically.

“Let’s you and I see what’s planned for dinner.” She reached out her hand and was gratified when the child took it. “Do you think we might find something in your refrigerator other than mice?”

To her horror, mice were exactly what she found.

Ella opened the fridge to find a container of milk, a carton of eggs, a half loaf of bread and myriad condiments. There was also a large Rubbermaid plastic bin. Curious, she bent closer to open it. The seal burped, releasing a pungent odor as she removed the lid.

“Oh!” The lid fell to the floor as Ella slapped her hand to her mouth with a shriek.

She stood panting before the fridge, her eyes wide with disbelief. Inside the container were dozens of dead mice, black, white and bloody, packed high to the rim. Seeing mice outside on a tray for the birds was one thing. But here in the refrigerator next to a wrapped package of butcher’s meat was another thing entirely.

“Is everything all right?” Harris asked, entering the house. His voice was winded, as though he’d come running. “I heard you shriek.”

“There are mice in the fridge!” she exclaimed, standing in front of it and pointing accusingly.

“I know.”

“You know?”

“I put them there.”

“Well, that’s not right! It’s…it’s totally unacceptable.”

“I didn’t think nurses were so squeamish.”

“Squeamish? Squeamish?” she repeated, her voice rising. “I can think of a thousand reasons why dozens of bloody, dead mice should not be in the family refrigerator that have nothing to do with being squeamish.” She moved her hand to her forehead, catching her breath. After a minute, her lips twitched and she said, “But let me tell you that one top reason is that they are an absolute appetite killer.”

He reached up to scratch behind his ear, holding back a grin. “I guess they are at that. I sometimes keep the overflow in this fridge when the one at the clinic is full. But I didn’t mean for you to cook tonight. You’re our guest. I have steaks thawing.”

Her stomach turned at the thought of eating any meat that came from that fridge. “Marion needed to eat,” she explained. “I thought I’d fix up something quick.”

His face reflected understanding, even approval. “I’ll get the grill started.”

“Mr. Henderson,” she called out, halting his retreat. “Please, before you do anything else, could you take these mice out of here? It really isn’t sanitary. And…” She gathered her courage. “It’s not my business how you manage things at the clinic, but as this will be my workplace, I simply cannot have dead animals in my refrigerator.”

He paused to consider, then nodded and came to retrieve the offending container. Marion was leaning against the sofa in the next room, watching with keen interest.

“Thank you,” Ella said with heartfelt sincerity as he took the bin. Then, wanting to be helpful, “Is there anything I can help make for dinner?”

“No. I’ll do it. Like I said, you’re a guest.”

“But I’m not. I don’t like sitting around uselessly and Marion should eat as soon as possible. Why don’t I season the steaks while you start the grill? And I could make a salad. I see fixings.”

“You certainly are a go-getter,” he replied in a flat tone that she couldn’t decide was complimentary or critical. “All right, I’ll leave it to you, then. It’s your kitchen from here on out. I’ll just get rid of these and start the grill.”

Later that night, Ella sat on the edge of her bed staring out at the night from her open window. Her long hair flowed loose down her back and ruffled in the occasional breeze. The night was nippy and she’d opened the window to hear the hooting of courting owls. Harris had explained over dinner that it was the mating season for owls. He’d told her how at dusk, when the rest of the bird world was settling in, the owls were just waking up, becoming active and vocalizing.

Harris. She’d been pleased to find that her employer was an appealing, well-mannered man. Yet she’d not been prepared for her reaction to him. The attraction hit her hard and caused her heart to beat so fast in her chest that when he was near her she had to wrap her arms around herself to try to still it, sure he might hear its thundering. At this moment he was lying in his bed down the hall from her and she was painfully aware of every noise she made in this small bedroom, exquisitely aware of his nearness.

Ella wrapped her robe tight around her neck and leaned forward while listening intently to the melodious series of low hoots. The melancholy cries moved in a synchronized manner from one pen to another. Occasionally, an owl from the trees answered the calls. Over and over, east to west, calling and answering, the mysterious, erotic song circled her in the night.

She closed her eyes and put her face to the chilled, moist breeze. The ghostly moon shone overhead, and it felt to her as though it opened up her chest and drew out her neatly folded and stored memories like so many antique linens and gowns being removed and aired from a dusty trunk. They hung, suspended, around her in the mist, leaving her feeling empty and lonely. Love sang all around her, and she sat, utterly alone, on her bed.

As usual.

Ella was thirty-five years old. She could say that to anyone who asked without stuttering, blushing or trying to fudge a year or two. For fifteen years, Ella had worked as a pediatric nurse with all the tenacity and devotion that was in her nature to give. On the eve of her last birthday, Ella had, in typical practical manner, made herself a cup of tea, lit a fire in her fireplace and, while staring at the flames, laid out her realities as neatly as sums on a ledger.

She was a plain woman with a good education and solid job prospects. She hadn’t had a date in eighteen months, a boyfriend in four years, and her romantic prospects weren’t rosy. She’d told herself that it was time to face the likelihood of a life lived alone.

The reality was not so much frightening as it was chilling. While she stared at the embers, her private dream of a family of her own thinned and dissipated like the wisps of smoke that curled from an old fire grown cold.

On that birthday evening spent alone, she’d dragged herself up from the edge of despair to arrive at a decision. She couldn’t change her lot in life, but she could alter its course. Her life would have meaning, success and joy. If she couldn’t dedicate herself to a family and children of her own, then she would dedicate herself to her career and the children placed in her care.