Skyward. Mary Monroe Alice

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СКАЧАТЬ of her car. It was January in the Lowcountry, yet she didn’t need more than a fleece jacket. She didn’t even need gloves or a hat. Yet, for the first time since leaving Vermont, she felt a twinge of homesickness. These southern trees had to compete with sand and marsh for bits of scrubby soil to exist and their leaves were paler and scrappier compared to their northern cousins. Still, she was surrounded by the familiar smell of grass, moss, mold and damp earth. Songbirds called in the trees. Her senses came alive, awakening dormant memories under her skin.

      She followed the curving road to a clearing in the woods where a few cars were parked. She stopped here and got out to stretch her legs and look around. Beyond a barrier of leafless trees, she caught a glimpse of a pod of small wood structures. Up front and closer, and a bit larger than the others, was a Cape Cod house.

      She crossed her arms and studied the white clapboard house nestled snug between two enormous longleaf pines, rather like a scene from a Japanese woodblock print. At first glance, the little house made a welcoming impression with its long, narrow veranda, the low-slung roof above it and a solid base of red brick. The porch pillars stood as straight as a spinster’s back and white smoke curled from a blunt chimney, filling the air with the delicious scent of cedar. But the house was weathered gray in spots and the surrounding yard barely held back the wilderness. On the porch, two handsome twig chairs, iron garden tools, all-weather boots and a wooden barrel filled with scrap wood lent the house that shabby-chic, comfortable feel of a home truly lived in.

      It was a man’s house, she thought.

      Leaving her bags in the car, she removed her eyeglasses and gathered her long brown hair into a clasp, even as she gathered her courage. If all went well, she thought, smoothing the wrinkles from her long khaki skirt, this little house nestled in these woods would be her home for the next twelve months. She would become intimately involved with the family within those walls, help a child adapt to the lifestyle of a diabetic and, if she was lucky, in the process she might regain a measure of joy and purpose in her own life, as well. Straightening her shoulders, she walked across the scrubby yard, with each step hoping that the people who lived in this house were decent and kind. She climbed the six red-brick stairs, relieved to see that the porch was well swept and tidy. A small index card was taped to the door.

      Please knock. Doorbell broken.

      From somewhere in the trees she heard the song of a mockingbird, and from inside, the canned voice of the television. Reaching out to knock, she smiled at the normalcy of everything. She didn’t wait more than a minute before the door swung open.

      A slender girl about five years of age with flyaway hair hung on the door and stared at her with cornflower-blue eyes narrowed in speculation.

      Ella smiled and said, “Hello there. You must be Marion.”

      The child didn’t reply.

      “I’m Ella. I’ve come to see you.”

      The child released the door and blurted, “You’re not pretty.”

      A short laugh burst from Ella’s mouth. “No. No, I’m not. But I’m bright. And that’s ever so much better.”

      The child glared at her, uncertain of what to say next.

      Behind her, a man came forward from the shadowy hall to fill the doorway. Ella sucked in her breath and straightened her shoulders, filled with anxiety. He stepped into the light and met her gaze. He was tall and lanky, what her aunts would call a long, cool drink of water. She guessed him to be somewhere in his late thirties, but it was hard to tell with men. Most important, he appeared clean and mannerly. She almost sighed aloud with relief.

      “Hello. I’m Harris Henderson,” he said, extending his hand. “You must be Miss Majors. Please, come in.”

      She took his hand briefly. It was warm with long, slender fingers. The cuff of his white shirt was frayed. “Yes, I am.”

      “I see you’ve found your way. A lot of people miss the turn.”

      “The directions were fine. Thank you.” She dragged her gaze to meet his, clasping her hands before her. He had a pleasing-enough face, even handsome, and it touched her that he went to the trouble to put on a freshly ironed shirt and tie for their first meeting. But it was his eyes that arrested her. They were blue, like Marion’s, but without all her distrust. Rather, his were wide spaced and wary. She suspected he was as nervous of this first meeting as she.

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ