Skyward (20 page)

The two crows roused their feathers and hopped with animation from one perch to the other, their shiny black eyes alert with curiosity. Marion giggled and covered her mouth.

“Sounds just like an alarm, don’t it?” he said, grinning slyly. “Sometimes when they migrating south, the winter roosts number a thousand, maybe more. When they take high, high to the sky…” He shook his head, grinning wide. “It’s something to see.”

“But how can I teach it to talk?” she asked with persistence.

“It’s not hard, but it takes a heap of patience. You got patience, child?”

She nodded her head with the positive confidence of a five-year-old.

“Okay, then,” he said, eyeing her seriously. “Let’s do like this. Come every day to visit Little Crow. He be young and has the temperament for it. Don’t be in a hurry. Bide your time till things are peaceful between you and Little Crow. Then, when you sure you got his eye, go on and tell him hello.”

Marion burst from his side and ran up to the small crow and called out, “Hi, Crow!”

Little Crow cawed and flustered, flung open its wings and joined Big Crow on the opposite perch. Both crows glared back at her while nervously hopping from the perch to the wall and back.

“They never like me,” she cried.

Lijah waved her back to his side. She returned, shoulders drooping and mouth downturned.

“They don’t like the way you scared them, is all.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, missy, but that don’t change things. First, you have to tie your mouth and listen, ’cause here’s the way you got to do. You ever see Buh Rabbit out in the field?”

“My daddy showed him to me.”

“Then you know how it is. Buh Rabbit’s daddy tells him he mustn’t jabber or hop all the time if he wants company. He tells little Buh Rabbit to come up real quiet on soft feet when he come visiting so he don’t scare off his friends. Then he just sits real peaceable, his whiskers as still as the grass.”

“But how can he play if he just sits there?”

“That’s the way they like it. It’s a heap of fun, if you play right. You like to try?”

“I guess,” she replied, not at all convinced.

“Come on, then.”

They sat on the pea gravel of the pen. Lijah leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh. Marion sat close to him, Indian style. After only a few minutes, Marion got antsy.

“Say, how long do we have to sit like this?”

Lijah turned his head and looked into her eyes, then slowly shook his head.

She squirmed a bit but got the message. After that, they sat quietly for what seemed to her a long spell while the two crows cocked their heads and eyed them with curiosity. Her bottom was getting cold and she wanted to scratch her nose, but next to her Lijah didn’t move a muscle. Thinking of Buh Rabbit, she tried to keep very, very still. Eventually, the crows hopped to a closer perch for a better look. Marion looked at Lijah expectantly, but the old man didn’t move.

Then, to her utter delight, Little Crow hopped to the gravel and began pacing in a circuitous route, closer and closer, eyeing her with his shiny black eyes. Marion felt bubbles of excitement race under her skin. It was so odd because her heart was pumping and it felt like she was running through the field, hopping and laughing, even though she wasn’t moving a single muscle. When Little Crow stopped smack before her and stared right at her, she knew it was time.

“Hi, Crow,” she said in a very soft voice.

Little Crow cocked its head but he didn’t scamper away. Then Big Crow hopped closer and landed smack on Lijah’s shoulder.

When she looked up at Lijah this time, she saw his dark eyes gazing at her with a sparkle in them, and a wide, knowing grin stretched across his face. She grinned, too, from ear to ear. She suddenly understood why she was having so much fun just sitting still and quiet like Buh Rabbit.

The crows were playing with her.

That evening after dinner, Harris stepped out into the darkness to do his evening rounds of the pens. Clouds were moving in, carrying sweet-smelling rain and moist breezes, the kind that makes a lonely soul long to search out another. And for him, the other soul he wanted to walk with that starry night was Ella.

The sound of high-pitched laughter drew his gaze back through the window into the house. Ella and Marion were at the sink, laughing. A smile formed at his lips.

He smiled a lot lately. In the mornings, when he awoke to the smell of fresh coffee. In the afternoons, when he came home for lunch to find Ella and Marion working together in the flower beds or painting pictures on the back deck. And in the evenings, when they did simple everyday things like cleaning up the dishes or folding laundry or washing hair. He felt a nostalgia that was absurd because such simple family joys had never been part of his life’s experiences. They were only memories of dreams he’d had as a boy.

Ella and Marion were always together, and whether they were laughing or Ella was firmly dealing with one of Marion’s outbursts, the bond between them was tangible. The kind of connection he’d always envisioned between a mother and child. The way it never was for Marion and Fannie.

Why couldn’t Fannie have felt this way for her own child? he wondered. What aberrance of nature could cause a mother to leave? Did
he
drive her away?

He turned sharply from the window and began walking from the house—away from the guilt that always stabbed whenever he thought of his wife.

Instead he put Ella back to mind and the image of her was as soothing as the touch of her fingertips on his brow. He smiled with chagrin. Before she’d come, he had worried that she’d be an intrusion into his life. Little did he know how true that would turn out to be—and for reasons he’d never imagined. He looked over his shoulder as he passed the rear of the house. In the soft glow of interior light he could see her face in the window, animated and full of life as she played with Marion. He’d never known anyone so vital and with so much eagerness to share. He paused to take the sight in and it occurred to him that he’d never seen anyone more beautiful.

Ella. He chuckled and shook his head in wonder. She was like a terrier. Small, determined—and stubborn. Lord, had he ever known a more stubborn woman? She’d turned his whole life around. All he’d wanted was help and support with Marion. He’d hoped for a simple routine in his home life, a little less mania and a lot more peace. Ella had brought all this into this life, it was true. But she’d brought so much more.

She’d brought joy. Despite him. Marion hadn’t been her biggest obstacle—he was.

Ella. What was he going to do with his feelings for her, he wondered as he began walking again? He couldn’t deny them any longer. Even a five-year-old child could tell which way the wind was blowing. Most nights he lay in his bed tossing and turning, or with his hands behind his head just staring at the ceiling, listening to the spring love songs outside his window and wondering if she heard them, too, in her bed just down the hall. Hell, he was no better than one of the thousands of courting, testosterone-filled songbirds claiming out a bit of Lowcountry turf. He sighed and pounded his heels into the soft soil as he walked over the grounds. This was a complication he hadn’t planned on. He hadn’t been looking for love.

But love had sure found him.

Harris was completing his rounds when he heard a low bass singing, barely audible, coming from inside the med pens. He recognized it as a Gullah spiritual he’d heard in his youth. He followed the sound to Med 3 and was not surprised to find Lijah sitting on the pea gravel inside Santee’s pen. What did surprise him was seeing the eagle resting mere inches away in a roost position, feathers fluffed.

As he drew near, however, Santee’s proud beak rose and her breast feathers filled out as she stared at him with her yellow eyes shining fierce. When Harris looked away, Santee lowered her chest and settled, but her eyes remained wary. Lijah only looked up and smiled that wide, open grin of his.

“I swear, Lijah, there’s no way I could tell someone what I’m seeing right now without folks saying you’re doing the voodoo on these birds.”

He chortled, amused at the notion. “I ain’t hold to that no more. Used to. Back when my wife was doing poorly. Chewed the root and all.” His gentle shrug told the rest of the story. “Even in my heart I know everything happened like it should.” He slowly turned his head to look at the eagle. “No, ain’t no fix between me an’ Santee,” he said, affection ringing in his voice. “We’re just friends. I’m worried about her though. Something ain’t right.”

“Not right? How do you mean?”

“I can’t specify. I’d appreciate it if you’d check her out tomorrow.”

Lijah’s eyes flickered with worry, like a father with a child. In a flash, Harris recalled the horror of sitting in the emergency room, waiting to hear news about Marion. He’d never known that kind of fear before.

“Can you bring her in first thing?”

“We’ll be there.”

Harris looked at the eagle. To him, Santee looked well enough. But come to think of it, Maggie had reported that Santee had more than the usual leftovers the past few days. Besides, if Lijah said something was wrong with that eagle, then it was a fact.

“That bird does dote on you,” he said, drawing closer to the pen. “Makes me wonder. I’ve not been blind to the way
all
the birds act with you, not just Santee.”

“They know me same as I know them. See,” Lijah tried to explain, “every bird has its own self, same as people. Spend enough time with them, you can see it, clear as day. Take Chance,” he said, referring to the golden eagle. “He the bully. You never can turn your back upon him. Cinnamon…now, that hawk can sulk and whine if you let her. But give her the chance and she’s sweet as syrup. Oyster the sport. All you have to do is watch him soar to know that it be pure fun for him. And Risk?” he said, with a shake of his head. “That falcon be the teacher’s pet. And don’t she know it. Loves to show off.”

Listening to the descriptions of the birds, Harris realized Lijah was right on the mark.

“They show who they is and how they feel all the time,” Lijah continued, “if we watch close. And you know with their sharp eyes, a hawk can figure what mood we be in before we even reach the pen, just by the way we walking or the way we move our hands. It the same with people as birds. Problem is, we don’t pay enough mind. Most folks look, but they don’t see.”

Harris grew agitated. They were getting close to what he really wanted to learn about. Whether this something extra—this gift—he coveted so desperately really existed. He’d heard tell of it, wondered about it, but had never really witnessed it—until he’d seen Lijah with the birds.

“When we exercise the birds, if there’s no tidbit on my glove, sometimes they won’t come. But with you, they do come. Every time. Even without the food.” He leaned forward against the wood frame. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s habituation. The birds got used to you tending them. So they didn’t bate and come to you expecting a reward. It’s a simple form of bird learning.”

“Is that a fact?”

Harris saw the humor shining in his eyes and chuckled in a self-deprecating manner. “Well, old man, how do you explain their coming to you when you call?”

“I never claimed I could explain anything. I just ask the bird to come and it comes.”

“You mean, you
will
it?”

Lijah opened up his palms in a gesture of frustration. “I mean
I
just do and
they
just do. I can’t put words to it. Son, why you have to work things till you agonize the brain so? You have to learn to let things
be.
You have to be natural, not control nature.” He shook his head as a smile played at his lips. “Your little missy, she’s a lot like you. If you just settle and listen and watch, you’ll get what I’m talking about by and by.”

Harris shifted his weight, then cleared his throat. “Will you teach me?”

“Son,” he asked, troubled. “What can
I
teach
you?
”

Harris’s mouth felt dry. He licked his lips. He had to ask. “Teach me how to communicate.”

“With who?”

“The birds, of course.”

The old man’s eyes seemed to grow cloudy in rumination. When he spoke, he appeared weary. “See, that’s the thing right there. Ain’t nothing you can do just with the birds. Or just with people, or pets, like some folks think they can. It be about
you
and how you do with everything around you. Even the elements. Like this,” he said, holding up his hand and showing two long, brown fingers entwined. “It don’t work like this.” He separated the fingers in two. “Don’t work like this, neither.” He brought the fingers in to form a tight, angry fist. “Just like this.” Again he relaxed his hand and raised the laced fingers.

Harris stepped closer to the wood bars that separated them. “I’d like to learn how.”

Lijah nodded his snowy head and sighed heavily. He rose in a stiff manner to a stand, putting his hand to his back. Be side him, the eagle shook open its wings, startled, and honked its guttural cry.

“Hush now, Santee, and mind your manners before you wake the others. Good night,” Lijah said to the eagle on leaving the pen. “Good night, Harris,” he said as Harris fastened the door behind. “I’m weary, my bottom done gone cold and I’m heading for my bed. Santee and I will see you in the morning. And after, maybe we can go to the birds together, if you want.”

“I would. Thank you.”

“I ain’t done nothing yet.” He turned to leave, then quickly turned back. “Oh, one more thing I been meaning to ask. That boy, Brady?”

Harris tilted his head. “What about him?”

“He got the gift for true. He needs to do more.”

“Are you forgetting what he did to that bird in there?”

Lijah’s face grew solemn. “I know exactly what happened that morning. And I’m telling you, I been watching that boy real close. He be healing same as my Santee.” His face set in resolution. “And if the birds trust him, that’s good enough for me.”

Still, Harris was resistant. “Ella’s already after me to have him help Clarice with the feeding and leftovers, which is more than I’d ever intended. Just what else do you have in mind?”