Bird Page 3

  “One day, Miranda, when you have attained your full weight and stature, you may perhaps once again venture forth into the world unaccompanied, but not until then” was the only consolation Wysteria offered me.

  I followed her mandate, not only because there was no other choice, but also because I had begun to fear the wind as she did. Fear is a strange thing. It can creep quite unnoticed into your mind, seize hold of your reason and take root. Gradually, I grew accustomed to Wysteria’s distinct brand of fear, taking it upon myself like an extra layer of wool. Until the day the Dragon broke free, I had forgotten that it was possible to live any other way.

  As I stood on the walk, watching for any sign of the kite, my eyes caught hold of a small dot moving rapidly along the beach. There were times when an otter from the creek would lose its way and head along the shore. I had watched several amble about in search of food and familiar smells, avoiding the seabirds. The gulls ruled that piece of sand and had a tendency to dive at any creature that did not belong. This dot, however, was no otter, unless otters could stand and run on two legs. I wished that I had had the captain’s spyglass with me to see in more detail, but I had only my own eyes. With considerable squinting, I made out the figure of a boy in a red cap. I could tell he was a boy not because of the length of his hair, for it was wild and unkempt and curled from under his cap like an ocean’s wave, but because of the exuberance with which he ran. In town, the boys ran farther and faster and wilder than any girl ever did. They never seemed to care whether their clothes got soiled or their pants torn. I envied them this and had secretly decided that if I had any say in the matter, I would like to come back in my next life as a boy and spend my days at sea.

  From the widow’s walk, all sounds were merely echoes by the time they reached my ears. I could never have heard him, even if the wind had been blowing to the east, but I could tell that he was yelling something as he ran in the direction of the downed kite. He vanished around the bend and quickly reappeared, holding it triumphantly over his head so that I could see. I waved at him, excited that the Dragon, except for the loss of its tail, looked intact.

  So thrilled was I at its rescue that the sound of the bell was almost inaudible. Wysteria had taken to keeping a bell at her side to summon me from my room, where she assumed I spent my time. At the sound of the bell, I was to drop whatever I was doing and make her tea, or fetch another blanket for her lap, or commence some tedious chore she had devised for me. I waved to the boy and sadly left the walk, sliding swiftly down the ladder.

  All during lunch—for that was the reason Wysteria had called me—I wondered about the boy, where he’d come from and what he intended to do with the Dragon. If he was a typical boy, like the ones in the village, with their slingshots and marbles, he would no doubt run home with it, not knowing what he carried in his hands. He would take it apart to see how it worked and put it back together again, forgetting some important piece. He’d fly it until it was broken and full of holes and no longer of use to anyone and then abandon it to the garbage heap. If I hadn’t been so careless, I would still have had the kite in my possession.

  “Miranda, this soup is too salty. Whatever have you put into it?”

  “Nothing, Wysteria. It is the same as always.”

  At that moment, the Hounds suddenly stood up and began to growl and I returned to the kitchen to try the soup myself. It was no saltier than any other soup I had made, but I added another cup of water just the same.

  “I will do better next time,” I said, bringing out a new bowl and placing it on the table beside her.

  “Never mind,” she sighed. “It will have to do.” The Hounds continued growling.

  “Get ahold of yourselves!” Wysteria scolded them. They whimpered, standing rigid with attention, their noses pointing toward the front entrance. There was a faint scuffling sound outside, followed by a firm knock. The Hounds went wild, baying and running about in circles. I noticed a shadow descend over Wysteria’s ashen face. I started toward the door, but she snapped her fingers at me.

  “I will answer it.” She stood slowly, wrapping her shawl about her thin shoulders, and, with considerable effort, walked toward the giant oaken door, grasped the handle and pulled it open. The Hounds made a dash for freedom. They were not guard dogs by nature, and after running around the visitor a few times, realizing that he did not fear them and had not come bearing food, they lost interest and bounded off.

  On the threshold stood the boy with the red cap, holding the Dragon at his side. He was thin and wiry, with a splash of freckles across his nose, and wild, curly black hair. From his stance and apparent lack of trepidation at the sight of Wysteria and the Hounds, I could tell that he knew nothing about us.

  He swept off his cap. “Good afternoon, mum,” he said, a slight accent gracing his speech.

  “I found this on the beach.” He proudly held up the Dragon in one hand and its tail in the other.

  “That is fortunate for you, young man, but I fail to see how that has anything to do with me.” Wysteria’s tone was sharp, and I flinched as I always did at the acidity of her words, but the boy did not hesitate.

  “Not you,” he said. “The girl. The pretty one, with the long, dark hair.” I peered out from behind Wysteria. “Her,” he said, pointing to me. “The kite is for her.”

  “Miranda?” Wysteria turned to me. Her eyes narrowed. She seemed perturbed, not only by the boy’s intrusion, but also by the reference to my hair and my being pretty, for of course we never spoke of such things. Fortunately, I could see that she had no interest in kites or knowledge of her husband’s creation.

  “I know nothing of it,” I said calmly, surprising even myself. She turned back to the boy and I smiled widely and gave him a nod.

  “There, you see, young man. We know nothing about the owner of your kite. We are very busy here and must get on with our work. Please do not intrude upon our solitude again.”

  “Oh,” the boy said, clearly puzzled. “ ’Tis a grand kite.” His voice rose in admiration at the end of the sentence, and I knew that he must be from far away, perhaps another country entirely, though, never having been anywhere, I had no idea where that could be. “I’ll return it to its owner when I find her,” he said, putting his cap back on and tipping it at me.

  Wysteria closed the door abruptly, without bidding him good day. “Bothersome,” she mumbled, coughing into her handkerchief. “How dare he walk up here with no warning, no introduction! Doesn’t he know who we are?”

  “Apparently not, or he wouldn’t have come,” I said, only meaning to state the obvious, but Wysteria took it as impertinence and glared at me.

  “Why do you think he came here, Miranda?”

  “I have no idea. Perhaps it is because we are the only house along this stretch of beach.”

  “Perhaps,” Wysteria said, though she seemed to doubt that possibility and began pacing the floor. She was upset by the intrusion. No stranger ever came knocking on the door of Bourne Manor. Never. But if any ever did, they would venture cautiously and address Wysteria with a certain degree of apprehension and deference.

  “Perhaps you should not spend so much time in your room and instead concern yourself with your work. There is plenty to keep you occupied, is there not?”

  “Yes, Wysteria.”

  She eyed me curiously. “Hold out your hands,” she demanded. I held them out to her. She examined them thoroughly, turning them over and checking for calluses. “Why will they not callus over?” she asked aloud. “They only blister and then crack. What a terrible nuisance.” Still, after several minutes, she nodded, clearly appeased by my cracked and dried skin.

  “There will be a new delivery of nets tomorrow,” she said with satisfaction. “Sixty in all.”

  “Yes, Wysteria,” I replied, but I did not feel the same oppression that normally accompanied such an exchange, for in my mind I could see clearly the boy’s cap tipping in my direction, and I knew that regardless of Wysteria’s dislike of in
trusions, I would see him again.

  6

  I was awakened by a soft scratching, a creaking twist of branches. The limbs of the elm outside, bent down almost beyond their natural limit, were rubbing against my windowpane. Squirrels. They regularly rattled the branches and scurried along the ledges beneath the windows of the Manor. Spring was their season. Having nestled all winter in the holes and crevices that the house so amply provided, they had finally emerged and were busy training their young to search for food.

  I wasn’t bothered by their play. In fact, I often sat and watched them chase one another up and down the trunk of the great tree. I only feared for the birds, whose nests were frequently disturbed by the squirrels’ exuberance. For, more than the squirrels, it was the birds that fascinated me.

  Being so close to the lake, the grounds of Bourne Manor were home to an abundance of waterfowl—cormorants, ospreys, mergansers and herons—as well as raptors. Above the cliffs I had seen hawks and falcons, and once, a bald eagle, soaring over the harbor. But the birds closer to the Manor, the ones brave enough to nest within its walls, were the ones I viewed most intimately.

  A pair of robins had, that particular spring, constructed a nest in the branches just beneath my window. I had watched as their babies hatched from their sea blue eggs and were carefully tended by the mother robin. I found myself at times wishing that I, too, had a mother who would tenderly look after me and patiently teach me to negotiate the breezes. But the boundedness of my life was far distant from the freedom of those winged creatures. I viewed them only from behind a thick layer of glass, for I spent a great deal of time merely looking out at life through the leaded panes of the Manor’s multitude of locked windows.

  Wysteria detested birds and squirrels and any other creatures that created a racket and disturbed her quiet. Her hearing was sharper than a knife and she was often irritated by the smallest of sounds.

  “Miranda, what is that infernal ticking?”

  I had to strain to hear what it was she referred to. “It’s only the clock in the hall, Wysteria.”

  “Has it always been so offensive?”

  “I’ve never noticed it before,” I confessed.

  “Close the door, Miranda,” she commanded. “And let us return to some semblance of peace.” I did as she requested.

  “How is one to concentrate with all these disturbances?” I knew she referred not only to the clock in the hall, but also to the boy, for it was his disturbance that still lay heavy on her mind.

  I, on the other hand, hoped for his return. I knew deep in my heart he would come. And to my delight, it was in fact the boy and not squirrels causing the disturbance in the elm.

  Just above my window, the boy perched precariously on one of the upper limbs. I could not imagine how he had reached such a height, as there was a scarcity of branches the higher one climbed. I watched him as he attempted to reach the roof below the walk with his outstretched hand. Knowing the gap too wide to breach and unable to warn him through the closed window, I threw on a sweater, combed my fingers through my hair and ran quietly up the stairs to the glass house. I burst into the room, out onto the walk and peered over the railing.

  “Oh, miss, it’s you!” the boy said, startled by my sudden appearance. He looked up at me, a broad grin spreading across his face. “I’m returning the kite as I said I would.” I could now see the kite strapped securely to his back.

  “That’s honorable of you. And brave. But I’m afraid you’ll never reach.”

  “Can you catch the tails, then, if I toss it to you?”

  “It is too far a distance,” I said. “Wait.” I retrieved the anchor line and threw it down to him. “Tie the tail to the line, and keep your voice to a whisper.” I nodded in the direction of the house to indicate Wysteria’s presence within it.

  “Quiet as a lamb, miss.”

  He undid the ties that held the kite to his back and then secured the tails to the line. I pulled it up and wrapped my fingers around the colorful ribbons, which the boy had artfully reattached. I held the railing with my free hand, realizing that in my haste I had forgotten to put on my boots and stood only in my stockinged feet. I placed the kite safely on the floor inside the glass house and closed the door.

  “Safe home,” the boy said with satisfaction.

  I smiled.

  “I’m Farley.”

  “Miranda,” I said in turn.

  “I’d shake your hand, if I could reach it.”

  “You’d lose your balance.”

  “I never do.” He looked up, studying me curiously. I’m sure I must have appeared odd to him, with my wild hair and strange mix of clothes, for Wysteria had yet to sew me a proper spring coat, and I wore several layers of sweaters over the top of my nightdress. I smoothed out my hair and tried pulling it into a knot at the back of my head, but it was hopeless. The wind was too strong.

  “I forgot my ribbon.”

  “It looks better that way,” he said.

  “It’s too wild,” I insisted.

  “You live in this big house with only the old woman?” he inquired.

  I nodded.

  “Does she ever let you out?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, though I realized this was not true. Wysteria rarely let me out any longer, not even to accompany her to town, but it seemed important that this boy not think me a captive.

  “Can you come to the beach with me, then, to fly the kite? It’s a much better run you’ll get along the sand.”

  “I’d like that,” I said, “but I’m not allowed out on my own.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “It’s rather difficult to explain.”

  Just at that moment, the bell rang. Never had Wysteria rung the bell at that hour of the morning.

  “Is that the old woman? Does she know I’m here?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “May I come back, miss?”

  “Yes, I’d like that. But don’t let Wysteria or the Hounds see you. Neither favor strangers.”

  He smiled. “I’m as quick as a hare in the brush and twice the man besides.”

  “I hope so.” I started to leave and then turned back. The boy was still looking up at me. He took off his cap.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For bringing the kite back. It’s a special kite, you know?”

  “I know, miss, ’tis very special.”

  By the time I reached Wysteria, the bell was no longer ringing and I knew immediately she had no knowledge of Farley’s presence. She was in her own room, bent over in a chair, recovering from a bad fit of coughing. She could not yet speak but held out her hand to me. The hand was bony, the skin over it like tissue paper, harboring rivers of veins that rose up blue and magenta against the pale surface.

  As I waited for Wysteria to catch her breath, I stole a quick glance about the room. I was rarely allowed inside Wysteria’s bedchamber. She never rang for me from there, only from the great room, and her door was always locked. It was smaller than I had imagined, and modestly furnished except for the bed, a giant four-poster with curtains draped around it, an ornate nightstand cluttered with myriad bottles and small jars and, against the far wall, an enormous armoire, which held her many black dresses. Though Wysteria apparently had little love for her deceased husband, she had carried her mourning well past the usual duration, the captain having been gone now more than twenty years. Still she continued each day to dress in her widow’s weeds, which afforded her a certain status in town and provided her protection from any man interested in acquiring her assets.

  “I prefer black,” she always insisted. “It is neither boisterous nor plain and accompanies one anywhere with elegance.”

  “But do you not grow weary of wearing the same color?” I had asked once.

  “Never. It is a mark of distinction.” Wysteria’s nightgown was the only piece of clothing she owned that was not black but instead a crisp white linen.

  “Miranda,” she whispered, clutching at the nightdress and pre
ssing her hand firmly upon her chest. “I can barely find my breath.” She looked up at me. Her eyes hollow and dark. I had never seen her in such a state, and it frightened me. As much as Wysteria bossed me about and kept me from the open air, she was the only semblance of family I had, and I could not possibly do without her. She collected and delivered the nets; she kept the Manor running. She was my only companion in that drafty house. As well, Wysteria, as long as I had known her, had always maintained a firm grasp on her own health, refusing to bow down to illness or surrender to infirmity. She wished never to appear weak in any regard or to cast a single doubt upon her ability to govern her affairs.

  “Should I steam some water and bring a towel?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Do that.”

  For the rest of the morning and well into the late afternoon, I brought bowls of hot water and made a tent over Wysteria’s head so she could take in the moist air. By the time her breathing finally eased, the sun was beginning to set and I left her to go light the lantern.

  As I struck the match and lit the wick, I noticed on the beach below a small fire built close to the cliffs. Although I strained my eyes, I could make out no figure beside it. Perhaps it was Farley or one of the fishermen who slept outside, for I had heard that some did in good weather, liberating themselves from the shacks on the pier. Wysteria had warned me never to traverse the beach at night for this very reason, for the men were often drunk and out of their heads and could bring harm upon a young girl. I am not sure why she told me this, as she knew I never left the Manor alone even in the daytime.

  Looking down upon the warm and glowing fire, I felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps I was not entirely alone and the person making the fire was indeed a friend. I might signal to him and he would come and sit with me through the long night, helping Wysteria breathe until the sun rose.

  Though I kept a light burning to guide others safely in off the water, I had never signaled distress from the Manor itself. Tentatively, I moved my hand in front of the lantern’s flame, blocking the light from view and then bringing it back again. I did this several times, deliberately altering the rhythm and duration of light and darkness. I had no idea what I was doing, only hoping the tender of the fire might see my signal and possibly inquire as to its meaning. I waited for a response, but none came.