Skyward (28 page)

“I’m sorry,” Harris said to her after their bodies had cooled. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

He slid from her arms and moved to sit, stirring the close air of the tent. The storm had continued for what seemed like hours, but at last the rain had stopped. The humidity in its wake was as thick and heavy as a wool blanket. Outside the tent, a chorus of crickets and frogs swelled. It was a lonely sound.

Ella felt the emptiness of his leaving and shivered. She moved to sit as well, tugging the thin blanket higher up over her bare shoulder to drape her nakedness. She felt suddenly exposed.

“What shouldn’t have happened?”

“I didn’t bring you here for this.”

“I know you didn’t,” she replied with a nervous laugh. “Don’t be silly.”

He sat motionless, looking at the ground.

She licked her lips, swollen and tender from his kisses, and voiced her deepest fear. “Are you sorry it happened?”

“Me? No!”

Ella could have wept for the relief that surged through her.

“But I had no right.”

“Because I’m your child’s nanny?” she asked, amused that he could be so concerned about such a minor technicality.

“No.” He looked up at her. “Because I’m married.”

Ella sucked in her breath. She felt blindsided. “You’re married?”

“I thought you knew. We’d talked about Fannie.”

There it was. Her name. His wife’s name. It floated in the air between them.

“No! We didn’t. Not really. I mean, I knew who she was, of course. But I’d just assumed you were divorced.”

He shook his head.

Ella rested her forehead in her palm while she fought off a chill that was spreading throughout her body, causing her to tremble with despair as her happiness imploded within her.

“Do you still love her?”

Harris hesitated and suddenly he looked older. “I don’t know. I suppose on some level, of course.”

“But she doesn’t live with you, right? Hasn’t for years.”

“No. Or, yes. Whatever,” he said, exasperated. “She left when Marion was born and comes back periodically. Usually unannounced, when she needs money or a place to crash. She stays for a little while, long enough to get Marion’s hopes up, then splits again.”

Ella heard the bitterness in his voice. She also heard that he did not say Fannie had gotten his hopes up, too, as his mother had. She nearly reached to touch him then, to comfort him, to wipe the sadness from his face—but she could not bear to touch him again.

“Why haven’t you divorced her?”

“I asked myself that question every time I found a note on the kitchen table saying she was sorry in some new way.” He sighed then said plainly, “She’s my wife.”

“What kind of wife leaves her husband and child?”

“Ella.” He said her name in the manner of wanting her to be patient, wanting her to understand. “Fannie’s a drug addict. She had a problem with drugs before we were married. Her childhood was pretty messed up—I told you about that. Of course I knew about it and got her some help. She stopped using for a long time, and when we got married she really tried to make a good life for us. When she got pregnant she was so happy. I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful than Fannie when she was carrying Marion.”

“Did she—”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “She didn’t do drugs when she was pregnant. That’s one of the things I’ll always be grateful to her for. But after Marion was born… Maybe it was postpartum depression, I don’t know. She’d sneak it and we’d have terrible rows when I found out. But when she started stealing drugs from the clinic, I went ballistic. I knew I couldn’t handle it anymore and arranged to put her into the hospital, to help her. What else could I do? But she ran off before I could take her.”

“Harris, I still don’t understand. Why do you stay married to her?”

“I’ve known her since she was a kid, Ella. I’ve always looked out for her and she’s done a lot for me. And for my mother. It’s been hard but I’m no saint. I’ve asked myself, what if she was injured in some accident? Left paralyzed or in a coma. Would I divorce her then? Or what if she was schizophrenic and in a mental institution. Would I leave her then? The answer is always no. The vow says for better or for worse.”

“What are you telling me?” she asked.

He took a deep breath. “That I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Ella brought her knees to her chest and wrapped the blanket around herself. Putting her chin to her kneecaps, she thought long and hard about all that Harris had just told her. The most wonderful thing in the world had just happened to her and he didn’t mean for it to happen. She had to squeeze her eyes shut against the pain.

“Oh, Harris,” she replied, feeling defeated. “Where does this leave us?”

“That’s totally up to you, Ella. I don’t want you to leave, but I can’t ask you to make love to me again. I want to. God, I want to. But I won’t ask you—I swear it.”

His eyes held hers for a long while, but she could not reply. His shoulders slumped slightly and he bent at the waist to retrieve his clothes and crawl out of the tarp.

Fresh air stirred and eddied the stale dampness inside the tarp. Ella grabbed her clothes and drew them near. They felt cold and wet and smelled of the river. She had no choice but to put them back on, half bent over, struggling with the drenched, clinging fabric.

He stuck his head back in as she was zipping her shorts. “I wish we had time to start a fire and dry them.”

“No matter.”

“You’ll need to drink this,” he said, handing her a cup of hot soup. “I guess you were right, after all.”

The tomato soup was warm and soothing. She held the cup with both hands, relishing the warmth.

“We should eat, too, and drink water. We need to get our strength back so we can head home as soon as possible. We don’t want to get stuck here if it rains again. Is that okay with you?”

“Whatever you think is best.” Her voice was indifferent.

“That storm was pretty intense and the river’s fuller than I’ve ever seen it. But it’s really beautiful. There’s a good cur rent and we should make it to the next bridge in good time.”

“Okay.”

“Ella…”

“Don’t say anything more,” she said, lifting her face. “Please.”

He tightened his mouth, nodded curtly, then left the tent.

They ate the meal she had so cheerfully prepared. Was it only yesterday? It felt to her that they’d been on this journey for days. They only spoke to discuss the plans for their river trip home. Then they took down the wet tarp that had been their salvation, packed the gear and dragged the canoe through the thick, slushy mud back to the water. Before they shoved off, as she bent to step into the canoe, Harris’s arm shot out and he grabbed her hand. She turned her head, her gaze sharpening, surprised by his sudden action. He seemed earnest, even desperate.

“Ella, you have to know. Today meant a great deal to me.”

He kept his eyes on her face, as though searching for some answer.

She had none to give him. She could only nod as if she understood, though she did not. She thought of the young owl, sitting alone in the tree on the dawn of his freedom, his throat bobbing, eyes wide, afraid of what was to come.

She looked at his hand on hers, holding tight, then tugged free and climbed into the canoe, settling herself in the front.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he said, and went to pick up any litter, any sign at all that they had ever been there.

The sun had begun its descent on the South Santee River and an anticipatory hush settled in the Lowcountry. Waiting in the front of the canoe, Ella floated soundlessly in the water. The colors of the sky darkened around her, deepening from rose to a brilliant ochre that was mirrored in the glassy waters of the river. In that moment, she could not tell where earth ended and heaven began.

She dipped the tip of her paddle in the water. Just one touch. It created a ripple that moved out in concentric circles, farther and farther, changing the reflection, breaking the stillness. She thought of her life with Marion, and with Harris, and how everything she did, and would do, had consequences that stretched out beyond what she might expect.

She prayed for guidance. She prayed for forgiveness.

She prayed for the strength to make the right decision.

Hovering.
This is the most energy intensive form of flying because there is no lift and flight must be generated by pure muscle power. Falcons, kites and osprey hover efficiently, and the American kestrel is so proficient it is nicknamed “Windhover.” Kiting is similar to hovering. Used primarily when hunting, red-tailed and ferruginous hawks essentially face into the wind and fly in place by constantly flicking wings and tail to maintain position.

17

POOLS OF LIGHT POURED FROM THE HOUSE AS they drove up. El la’s hand had been resting on the door handle for the tense, silent trip home. She climbed quickly from the truck, eager to escape the dark silence they’d suffered since the river. She was cold, damp, smelled of mud and river, and her heart was breaking. Yet she felt comforted by the sight of a place she’d come to call home and walked eagerly toward the light.

The screen door slammed open and Marion came flying from the house. Ella stepped aside to get out of the straight path to Harris. She was stunned when Marion ran to her, clasped her little arms tight around her legs and cried a heartfelt “I was so worried! I thought you weren’t coming back.”

A million emotions spiraled through Ella and the tears she’d held at bay for hours began to leak. She lowered to her knees and wrapped her arms around the sobbing child.

“We just got caught in the rain,” she said in a husky voice. “Nothing to fret about.”

“Don’t ever leave me again,” the child scolded. “Stay with me. Forever.”

Ella kissed her forehead and held her close, rocking her. She glanced up to see Harris with his arms crossed and his chin low upon his chest. She couldn’t read his expression.

“Look! I’ve brought you a present,” she said to Marion. She sniffed and swiped her eyes, then reached into the bag at her side and pulled out a book she’d found at a small shop near where they’d stopped for gas. The moment she saw it, she knew Marion had to have it.

“It’s full of Gullah stories,” she explained, delivering it to the child’s eager hands. “Buh Crow, Buh Rabbit, the whole gang’s in there. I thought we might have fun reading them. Who knows? Maybe we can tell Lijah a story for a change.”

She looked toward Lijah, who had walked up from the cabin to greet them. He stood beside Maggie and her two children.

“I don’t think you’ll be finding a story in that book I don’t know,” he said.

“Can we read one tonight?” Marion asked.

Ella nodded, despite her exhaustion. “Of course. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“So what am I? Chopped liver?” Harris asked with his arms out.

Marion ran to his arms and was swirled around, squealing. Ella rose, grabbed her bags and went from the darkness into the house. Maggie hurried to her side.

“I was worried, too,” Maggie told her, linking arms.

“I’m sorry. What idiots we were to leave the cell phone in the car.”

“Marion didn’t really catch on to how late it was getting until the sun set, so don’t be too concerned. She actually had a great time while you were away. She and my Annie have become fast friends. I’m all amazement! Whenever I tried to get them together in the past, Marion never wanted to play with Annie. She just wanted to be left alone. Now she’s all for playing games and loves to tell stories.”

Ella managed a weak smile. Even this good news was unable to chip through the depression that cloaked her like lead. “So, she’s learning how to play.”

“You’re doing a great job with her.”

Ella’s smile fell and she looked away.

“What’s the matter?” Maggie asked, quick to catch the nuance.

“Nothing.”

Their eyes met and they shared a glance that revealed that her pat response was a lie.

What might have led to a heartfelt conversation was cut off when Harris and Marion followed them into the house, chatting about the travails of the river. Immediately, Ella brought her bag close to her chest.

Maggie’s glance shifted from her to Harris, knowing something of significance had occurred. However, she proved her self a friend by letting the subject drop. Instead, she looked over her shoulder to say something to Harris that made everyone laugh. Marion started running from person to person, pink-cheeked and bursting with happiness. She made silly statements and demands that were quickly met, clearly ruling the roost. Soon her new friend, Annie, joined in the silliness.

A buzz of chatter filled the house, punctuated with bursts of childish laughter. Ella felt herself withdrawing. All the voices seemed muffled, like white noise. Lijah stood quietly, his shoulders slightly stooped, watching all with a vague smile. He turned toward Ella and their eyes met, his gaze searching. Ella looked down, stepping back from the group.

“I’m so tired, and I ache all over and smell so bad,” she said, hand on the hall door. “Forgive me, everyone, but I need to get clean.”

The hour was late. Ella lay on her back, stretched out on her mattress, her hands across her chest, like a body in state. The bedroom window was open and soft breezes fluttered the curtains and flirted with the hem of her pristine white cotton nightgown. She lay with her eyes open because every time she closed them, the image of Harris came up as if on a movie screen. Then she’d recall in exquisitely painful detail every moment spent under the tarp. They had lain, wrapped in each other’s arms, for a long while after the explosive passion was spent. That tender closeness had been sweeter, and brought her a more profound pleasure, than the physical bonding they’d shared. It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Was this what it was like to be addicted? she wondered. Once given a taste of something so mind-blowing and freeing, you simply cannot garner the strength to give it up?

For the first time in her life, she began to understand why some women could have an affair with a married man. Ella looked at the ceiling and reasoned why it wouldn’t be wrong to love Harris. After all, Fannie had deserted him. She didn’t even live with them and she certainly didn’t care for them. Harris and Fannie weren’t
really
married.

Yet, Harris stayed married to her. That bond was the unalterable fact. The lump in the crop that couldn’t be swallowed. He’d said he felt committed to her, for better or worse. He loved her. Ella groaned with frustration and rubbed her forehead with her fist. She would think him a fool if she didn’t find his decision so damned noble.

She’d been right about him that day at the pier. He
was
like the osprey and the eagle, birds he professed to have an affinity for. They were site loyal and monogamous. He’d told her that day! It was one more truth that had surfaced, glaringly evident. Only she’d been too blinded by her love for him to see it.

It was all too infuriating to think about. But if she allowed herself to carry that bird analogy to its conclusion, the other truth was that the eagle’s mate was gone. The nest had been empty and now
she
was in the nest and caring for the young. If that was the way of nature, then let it be! Why should she feel so guilty?

The image filled her with hope. She told herself she was in the right. There was nothing immoral about a relationship with Harris. She’d not give Harris up without a fight.

Besides, what would happen if she
did
have an affair with Harris? she asked herself. Would anything change other than his coming down the hall to share her bed? She would still take care of their home and Marion, still assist in the clinic. No, she told herself, nothing would change.

Ella squeezed her eyes shut and wished she could convince herself of this, but a traitorous voice kept whispering in her mind that
everything
would change.

The night was quiet, void of birdcalls. She turned to her left side, then, restless, turned to the other. It didn’t matter; her mind refused to settle. She opened her eyes, exhausted yet giving up the struggle for sleep. What was Harris doing now? she wondered. Was he lying awake, worrying about her decision like she was? Or was he lying in his narrow bed down the hall, sleeping soundly, oblivious to her suffering? She shifted her weight to lie once more on her back and stare through the pewter-colored night at the ceiling.

Men didn’t have to worry about the reputations of the women they slept with. She’d be the
other woman.
The
home-wrecker.
And those were the kindest words that would be spoken about her. What would Maggie say, she wondered, then sucked in her breath, realizing with a burst of clarity why Maggie had been uneasy the day she and Harris had gone to the dock. Maggie
knew
that Harris was married.

Did everyone know but her? She moved her hands to cover her face, heated with shame at her stupidity and blindness. Why had she simply assumed?

Her fingers tapped her chest as her mind worked on and on. Hours passed. The moon rose high in the sky, casting its pale light in patterns across her room. Ella knew it had to be past midnight. The hour of the hants. Hag holler time.

The quiet was broken by the eerie, resounding call of the barred owl. There came no reply. Lijah had said that the call of the owl during hag holler time was a bad omen. She shivered and thought it wasn’t the dead she feared. Traveling spirits held no worries for her. It was the ghost of the living that haunted her and prevented her sleep.

She sat up in her bed, frustrated and exhausted by her running thoughts and the restlessness that would not let her sleep. Only the weak believed in such tales, she told herself as she rose to her feet to close the window against the owl’s lonely, repetitive call. She was not weak. She was strong and always had been. What was it that Harris had said? Something about how she didn’t need taking care of? “Well then, so be it,” she said with decision.

She opened her bedroom door and walked barefoot down the narrow hall toward Harris’s room. The hall door was open to the living room. She reached out to close it tight, careful not to let it slam. Marion had been difficult to settle that night. She didn’t want the talking she knew would begin soon to awaken her.

For she had a purpose this night. She would go to his room. Demand that he explain why he hadn’t made his relationship with Fannie clear. Ask him why he’d wooed her these past weeks by holding her hand and exchanging hooded glances. Why he’d made her fall in love with him if he knew that this love would destroy her? She’d listen to his answers, no matter how hard they’d be to hear, because she needed closure.

Then she’d tell him she couldn’t stay. No matter how she played it out in her mind, the one paramount truth was that he was married. She wasn’t going to have a relationship with a married man.

All this she had in her mind to tell him. With each step her heart pounded so hard she opened her mouth to breathe in soft pants. She raised her fist to the door and knocked twice, in rapid succession, expecting him to call out a sleepy “Who’s there?” from his bed. She sucked in her breath when the door immediately swung open.

Suddenly he was standing before her in long plaid pajama bottoms with his chest bare, stubble on his cheeks and his hair disheveled. He obviously hadn’t been sleeping either; his red-rimmed eyes looked vulnerable. As they stared at each other in the dim light of a half moon, she heard her heart howling in her head, drowning out her well-rehearsed intentions, and she felt the trail of tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Do you love me?” she demanded.

It wasn’t the question she’d come to ask him, but it was the only one she needed to know the answer to.

“Yes,” he replied.

Ella released a long sigh as the inner howling subsided.

Sometimes decisions are made easily. Sometimes they are arrived at after stewing long and hard. And sometimes, she realized, they aren’t really made at all. Sometimes you coast along like a leaf floating down the river and get caught in an eddy. Then you’re spinning endlessly, helplessly, until some act of chance cuts you loose.

Love cut Ella loose. She took a breath, stepped into the current and said, “I love you, too.”

The following morning at dawn, Ella rose from Harris’s bed and slipped into jeans and a T-shirt. She’d slept a miserly few hours yet felt refreshed and eager to accompany Harris on his habitual morning walk. They walked closely together with arms entwined as lovers did, bumping hips. They couldn’t bear to be apart, not even for a moment. First they took a swing around the pens, then he fetched Cinnamon from the mews. The sleek mahogany hawk was alert and ready for her morning outing, but she eyed Ella with scrutiny.

“I think she’s jealous,” Ella said with a light laugh.

“She’s just not accustomed to anyone coming along on these morning strolls.”

She exchanged glances with the wary-eyed hawk. “No, I think she’s jealous.”

“Interesting,” he said, eyeing the hawk on his fist with haughty amusement. “She could be picking up on vibes. Hawks are territorial, you know.”

So am I, she thought, but didn’t say it.

The three of them took off on their walk. While Cinnamon sat on Harris’s fist, Ella carried a mug of steaming coffee in hers. Eventually, Cinnamon seemed to accept her presence and stopped glaring. When they reached the point where the road widened, Harris lifted his arm and let Cinnamon fly free. She took off with purpose for a high branch of a pine. Ella could see the hawk was feeling quite pleased with herself as she shook her feathers in the early morning sun, jingling the small bell on her tail. Harris and Ella grasped hands and walked down the road as the hawk followed them—just like any dog on a walk—flying from tree to tree.

“Cinnamon is your favorite,” she said, leaning into him. “You can’t deny it.”

“I have to admit, she’s a charmer. And I’ve always had a soft spot for Harris hawks. My mother named me after them. She loved hawks, too, and I think she knew even at my birth that I was the cooperative sort.” He smiled ruefully. “That I’d take care of her.”

“Count your blessings. She could have called you Merlin. Or Cooper. Or Red.”