Bird (4 page)

“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 intrusions, 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 pressing 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.

Gradually the fire on the beach died down and the wind came up, surrounding me in that little see-through house so far away from the world, so far from any kind of human warmth and comfort. As the growing darkness moved across the lake, I slowly closed the latch on the lantern and descended back into the Manor.

7

F
arley did not return and Wysteria grew worse. There was no indication that anyone had seen my signal or if they had any idea how to interpret it. Every morning I ran to the walk, looking for Farley’s red cap along the beach. I even checked the tops of all the trees about the Manor in hopes that I would spot him hanging out of one, but the days passed and still he did not come. Perhaps he’d heard the stories about the Manor and had had a change of heart. Perhaps he had learned something more about Wysteria or myself and now felt it too dangerous or foolish to set foot on the property.

I was accustomed to isolation and solitude, to spending hours with only my thoughts and the nets to occupy me. But since the day Farley had returned the kite, I had experienced a new and strange feeling I could only define as loneliness. I felt it everywhere I went. I grew listless and uneasy, and even found myself missing Wysteria’s nagging and sour disposition, though it was not her company I craved.

One morning in early May, Wysteria’s condition turned grave. She was unable to rise from her bed, even to lift her head from the pillow to drink. She was delirious with fever and called out bizarre commands to me. “Get my bannock!” she yelled. “Fill the lake water with tide!”

“Wysteria,” I pleaded, trying to settle her, “you’re not yourself. Please, lie back and rest and I will bring you a cool cloth.”

It became clear to me as I placed the cloth on her burning forehead that I must do something, for it was evident that I could no longer continue to care for her on my own.

“I must find a doctor,” I said, pouring a glass of water and urging her to drink.

She pushed it away from her parched lips. “No! No!” she protested. “No doctor. He won’t come. The doctor was called, but the lady wasn’t home. Fill the water. Fill the tide,” she raved.

I placed the glass back on the nightstand and held her firmly by the shoulders, looking intently into her watery gray eyes. “Wysteria.” She stared back, hot with fever. “Wysteria, look at me!”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Miranda.”

“Where have you come from? What are you doing here?” Her raving frightened me.

“I live here, Wysteria. You found me. Remember?” She looked at me blankly.

“I must go to town for help. Do you understand?” She did not. “I will leave you for only a short while and return as quickly as I am able. Two of the Hounds will remain here with you and two will come with me.” I did not wish to abandon her in such a state, but she needed a doctor, that was certain. She should have seen one days earlier. I had put off taking any action in hopes that she would recover. I feared now that she would suffer from my delay.

I made her drink from the glass of water and laid an extra blanket over her. “Hush now,” I said, as if to a small, unruly child. “Do not fret, I will return with help.” She settled back into sleep and I gathered two of the Hounds, positioning them close to her bedside and ordering them to stay. Then I took the other two and tied the thick leather leashes to their collars. I dressed in my heaviest wool coat, though the day was warm. The coat and my boots, along with the Hounds, would hopefully protect me from the wind.

Much time had passed since I had walked unaccompanied in the world, and I feared I would lack the fortitude to face it. Those first few steps away from the Manor, I admit, were difficult ones. It was as if a strong magnet pulled at my heels. I was overcome with dread at leaving the protection of the Manor’s walls and at the same time longed to be free of its grasp. Yet once I stepped beyond the shadow of the massive oak doors and through the front gates, my courage was renewed.

The day being mild and the Hounds knowing the way, I was able to walk freely and quite quickly down the long driveway to the railroad bed. The Hounds pulled endlessly on their leashes, but I held firm. They had caught a scent along the tracks that pleased them, and this kept them on course.

The air was full of the smell of hyacinth and elderberry flowers, the ground soft and muddy in places, and the fields, now free from the grip of snow and ice, prepared themselves once again for the growth of a new season.

As the Manor disappeared from sight and its grip on me loosened, the open air and the aromas consumed my senses. This happened so suddenly and thoroughly that even the image of Wysteria in her desperate state fell away, replaced only with thoughts of spring. Had I not had the Hounds with me, I might have forgotten my mission altogether, so entranced was I with the beauty and freedom of the outdoors.

In the flat terrain near the lake, ospreys resided, building their giant nests at the very tops of the dead pines. I waited each year for the first glimpse of these regal birds. I loved to watch them patrol the shore, diving for fish with their great talons poised and ready for the catch. I found them loyal and steadfast, for they returned each year with the same partner to the same nest, adding to its breadth until the tops of the trees resembled giant broad-brimmed hats.

As there was yet no sign of the ospreys, I turned my attention fully to the journey at hand and proceeded down the rails at a steady pace. I kept my focus on our forward progression, guiding the Hounds around the numerous bends and keeping my eyes upon the tracks. We moved along smoothly until the Hounds stopped short and I looked up to see several figures walking toward us. Had I known a shorter way or a trail through the brush, I would have taken it to avoid an encounter, but I could not risk being led off course and getting lost in a thicket with Wysteria in such dire need.

It was a group of six or seven boys, and I knew that in a very short time, they would spot us and block our way, as the railbed was narrow and the banks dropped off steeply from the sides. And indeed, that is how it happened.

“Who is that?” I heard one of the boys shout to the others upon catching sight of me.

“It’s the Bourne Mouse,” another answered. They walked closer to examine me, but not too close; I could tell they feared the Hounds. When they had reached a sufficient proximity, a stout and sullen-looking boy with a scarf loosely tied about his neck, obviously the leader of the small group, stepped forward.

“Does the Mouse speak?” he inquired. Why he addressed me by this strange name and spoke to me in such a disrespectful manner, I could not comprehend.

I looked up at him and the rest of the boys. They were, of course, taller than I, bigger in every way, and I could see now that my nickname was familiar to them, though my face was not. They were most likely the sons of local fishermen who lived on the pier. I surmised that, like me, they were outcasts in their own way. They had been teased and struck and hardened. I could see it in their eyes. They felt it their right to tease and strike in return anyone smaller than them, as if size were in itself a reason for punishment.

“Let us pass,” I said, boldly lifting my chin and nodding to the Hounds, for they were the reason for my courage.

“Maybe we can help you, Little Mouse.”

“I don’t think so.

“Tell us where you’re going in such a hurry.”

I shook my head.

“Then you cannot pass.”

The Hounds began to growl and the boys stepped back.

“I am going to find a doctor, if you must know.”

“Are you ill?”

“No. Not for me.”

“Is it the Witch? Is the Witch sick?”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” I said, though I supposed they referred to Wysteria.

“The Witch of the Manor. The old woman. The one who keeps you as her slave.”

“I am no slave,” I protested, and the boys laughed.

“That’s right. You are her heir. Her Highness the Mouse.” They all bowed deeply.

I narrowed my eyes at them.

“Don’t tease her,” one warned. “She might curse you like the Manor is cursed.” With this comment, they drew back and regarded me more seriously.

“I don’t believe in curses.”

“You should,” the stout boy said. “The Manor in which you live harbors a great and cursed fortune, and anyone who tries to claim it is driven mad. That house kills all that come to it. It keeps them bound until they suffocate inside its walls, or sends them hurtling over the cliffs, like the captain.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My father told me of it,” the boy retorted.

“What did he tell?” But the boy would say no more.

“They are just stories,” I said.

“Some stories are true.”

“Some are not,” I replied.

“Why are you so unnaturally small?” another boy interjected, regarding me as if I represented a strange and rare species.

“Because the Witch put a spell on her so she wouldn’t grow,” said one tall boy. “So the old widow can pick her up by the collar and toss her about. Place her on the mantel as a decoration.” They all laughed.

“She’s the little heir girl.”

“So little you can barely see her.” They laughed again, but with a certain wariness, for just at that moment the Hounds began to growl more fiercely and push forward.

“Let me pass,” I said again. “If you do not, I will set my dogs upon you.”

The Hounds were eager and the boys backed away.

“Let her pass,” a smaller boy chirped, and the rest of the boys grumbled and stepped aside.

My legs shook as I walked by them, their jeers following me down the tracks until I turned off onto the main road. Once I was out of sight, I stopped to collect myself and bent down to the Hounds.

“Thank you,” I whispered, and patted each on the head. “I would not have had the courage to face them without you.” The Hounds wagged their tails and licked my face, then resumed pulling forward on their leashes.

The rest of the way to town, the boys’ words jostled about in my mind. What had they meant about the captain? He had drowned in a storm on the lake. Everyone knew that. The Manor had not killed him. They were full of lies. It was rubbish. Wysteria was certainly strange, and the Manor forbidding in appearance, but people feared what they didn’t know and went about making up fables and stories.

As for the fortune, I knew there was no truth to that. Wysteria had searched every crevice of the Manor to no avail. “Do you think, Miranda, that if there was a fortune inside these walls, I would bother for one moment with the mending of nets? Certainly not!”

“Stories,” Wysteria had said. “Rumors. The working of idle minds.” That was all there was to it. Nothing to fear. Nothing to go on about. How silly to think that the Manor, in which I had lived these many years, could harm anyone.

At the edge of town, I tied the Hounds to a thick tree trunk and left them a handful of biscuits to feast upon.

“I will return shortly,” I assured them. “Do not howl or make a nuisance of yourselves while I am gone.” I had heard Wysteria talk to them in much the same manner and they always obeyed. I hoped that in her absence they would do the same.

I had no idea where I might find the doctor, though I knew the town had one. I had seen his carriage driving by once when I’d accompanied Wysteria to the shops. She had nodded in his direction and identified him as the town’s physician, though she had appeared nervous at the sight of him and had quickly turned her head away.

As much as possible, I kept to the back streets and alleys, but I could not entirely avoid the curious stares of the shopkeepers and the jeers of a few schoolboys on their way home for lunch. The town was not large, but it was large enough that I had to ask several people for directions to the doctor’s office.

Dr. Mead was his name, and he resided in a small house near the center of town. His office occupied the first floor, and although the door was open, he was not in. His nurse directed me to sit and wait, as he was expected back after lunch, but I could not. The Hounds would not remain patient for long, and every moment away from Wysteria meant she could lapse into a coughing spell and not recover. I let the nurse know the urgency of the matter.

“The doctor is out on the islands,” she informed me briskly. “He is visiting a patient and there is nothing I can do to bring him back sooner than he intends to return.” She was a tall woman with broad shoulders. Her face, which perhaps had once been pretty, was drawn and weary. Lines of worry marked her forehead. She nervously fussed about the office, visibly uncomfortable with my presence. She gazed at the ceiling or the ground when she spoke to me, but when she thought I wasn’t looking, she openly stared, as if recording for some future use the exact details of my size and manner.

“Please,” I said. “I must go back and see to Mrs. Barrows. Send the doctor as soon as he returns. It is urgent. I fear that without his help, she will not last the night.”

“I will send him, but I cannot say that he will be pleased to come. Many years have passed since he ventured down the road to that unfortunate dwelling, and he carries no good memories from his time there. I can guarantee you that it is the last place on earth he would wish to visit.” Though I wondered greatly at her words, I did not have the luxury of time to stop and inquire further into her meaning.

“If he comes after dark, tell him to mind his step, as the earth is soft in places about the Manor and his horse may find it difficult to navigate. I will light the lantern for him.”