Skyward

“Of course, I want to ask you what kind of meals you and Marion prefer, and what kind of things you hate, like onions, peppers, that sort of thing. You’re not allergic to anything?”

“No, but Marion’s not great with vegetables. Especially not okra.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t know an okra from a collard green, anyway.”

“Oh.”

Ella thought it sounded more of a groan than a comment. She tapped her fingers on the rim of her cup before setting it down and folding her hands on the table. “Mr. Henderson, I suppose now’s the time to tell you I’m not the best cook.”

He looked up with a worried expression.

“It’s just that I grew up with my aunts, you see,” she hurried to explain. “They own an inn and they just love to cook. My aunt Eudora is a master chef. She can make a béarnaise sauce that would send you swooning. And her desserts!” Ella rolled her eyes. “Not to be believed, all made with fresh Vermont cream and butter.

“Aunt Rhoda is a baker. She has no interest in anything but breads, rolls, cakes, pies and the most delicate pastries. She always smells of sweet flour and has these big strong hands that can knead out a kink in your shoulders as readily as a glob of dough. They received a four-star rating from Fodor’s,” she added with pride.

Harris was now looking at her with an air of hopefulness. Realizing what he was thinking, Ella shook her head and smiled sheepishly. “So, you see, there was nothing left for me to do but clean up after them. That’s what I’m good at. Cleaning. Really, I know more household hints than Heloise and my specialty is getting rid of germs. I’m organized, too. Even as a little girl I could take charge of the pantry, and let me tell you, I ran a tight ship at the hospital.” She glanced around the room, narrowing her eyes in speculation. “And I can see I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

“But, you do know how to cook?” Concern deepened the creases in his long forehead.

“Sort of,” she confessed. “After all, I’ve lived on my own for years.” She refrained from telling him that, other than the hospital cafeteria, she existed mainly on food that came out of boxes, the freezer or from care packages from the aunts. “My aunts taught me the rudiments, of course. I mean, I can boil water and I know what bake and fry mean. I figure with a good cookbook, how hard can it be?”

Harris looked at the congealed, undercooked bacon on the plate like a condemned man.

“This Lijah,” she asked, eager to go back to the earlier subject. “Does he work here?”

“He’s the fellow I was telling you about. The one who carried that eagle in his bare arms? Had to be him coming out of the cabin, that cagey old coot,” he added, the affection in his eyes belying the scold in his tone.

“You didn’t know he was there?”

Harris shook his head. “He’s a strange man, decent and hardworking, but it’s an unusual situation. He lives in St. Helena, but he followed this eagle north to its nesting area. They have this…relationship, I guess you’d call it.” He paused, recollecting the night he came upon Lijah standing outside Santee’s pen, anxiously peering in. “It’s a rare and beautiful thing to witness, actually. He says he’ll stay only as long as his eagle does. I doubt he expected to stay this long. Then again, he didn’t expect for his eagle to get shot, either. I’m not sure where he’s staying, or even how to reach him, for that matter. When I asked him about it, he just said, ‘I do all right.’ I accepted that and let him be. He’s Gullah.”

Ella shook her head, not understanding what that meant.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching long legs in jeans under the table. “Gullah is both a local culture and a language descended from enslaved Africans. I guess you could say it’s a legacy that was born during the slave trade, flourished on the plantations and, because of the isolation of the Sea Islands, survives to today. You see evidence of the culture all throughout the Lowcountry. The sweet-grass baskets, hoppin’ John, music.” He smiled with recollection. “Every once in a while I hear Lijah slip into Gullah when he’s talking to the birds—especially that eagle he likes to think is his. I can’t understand most of what he’s saying, but I’ll be damned if the birds don’t.” He shook his head, chuckling softly at the memory. “They sit and listen like children with a bedtime story.”

“Does he come around often?”

“Ever since he brought that eagle in he’s been volunteering his time here at the clinic most every day. He does odd jobs—carpentry, fixing perches, general maintenance. There doesn’t seem to be anything he can’t build or fix. We’re damn lucky to have him, truth be known.” He frowned at his plate. “But I can’t have him sleeping in the cabin.”

“Why not? It’s a perfectly nice living space.”

“For one thing, there’s no heat. It’s freezing out there.”

“Couldn’t we get a heat source for him?”

“Probably,” he allowed. “But that’s not the point. The cabin was constructed for fair weather only. We often have students and interns come in the summer, and the cabin is where we put them up. I can’t be having the volunteers sleeping here.”

“And you have no idea where he’s staying while he’s here?”

“No. And quite frankly, I don’t think it’s really any of my business to look into the private lives of my volunteers. They come here to give their time and energy to help these birds. I don’t pay them. Some stick around for a long time, others get bored, or figure it wasn’t what they’d thought it would be, or just get busy and drop away.” He paused. “But Lijah, he’s one of the dedicated ones. At first I had to point out where the supplies were and what had to be done, but pretty soon he just seemed to find out for himself what needed to be done and did it. People like that are hard to find. I’ll hate to lose him.”

“So don’t lose him.”

“You don’t understand. He’s made it clear, he’s only temporary.”

“But if he’s as good as you say, surely you can find an agreeable arrangement? Perhaps you can offer him a job?”

He steepled his fingers and stared at them. “Miss Majors, I have my own way of doing things.”

“Well, you really should find out if he needs a place to stay. There’s not a hotel or motel for miles. Does he even have enough food?”

“I’ll handle it,” he said, effectively cutting off her questions. He reached for his coffee, taking a long sip as he ruminated the problem.

Ella picked up her own coffee cup and debated in her mind whether or not she was overstepping her bounds by pursuing this. She felt certain that she was starting to antagonize him again, even though she’d promised herself she’d start off on the right foot this morning. She looked at him through the rising steam of her coffee. He was staring into the distance, the rigid set to his jaw giving clue to his personality.

“I realize my job is to tend to Marion in this house. And I don’t mean to interfere with what goes on at the clinic next door.” She took a deep breath. “But you simply can’t turn your back and pretend we didn’t see anything. What if that poor man hasn’t anywhere to go? He can’t sleep in that cabin another night without heat, that’s for sure and certain. It’s just not right. Why, it was so cold in here this morning I could see my breath. Imagine what it must’ve been like in there last night?”

“Sorry about the fire,” he said quickly. “I don’t usually let it go out.”

“No matter. I’m accustomed to woodburning stoves. I’ll check it at night before bed from now on. And sweep the ashes in the morning.” She saw him about to object and added with finality, “It’s my job, Mr. Henderson.”

He studied her face for several moments and she felt he was taking her full measure. “You like to have things your way, don’t you, Miss Majors?”

“And you don’t?”

He set down his cup and looked at her with an expression of exasperation. He didn’t reply. Instead, he tucked in his legs and rose from the table. Ella remained sitting straight-shouldered in her chair, looking at him and wondering how the two of them were ever going to abide being in the same house for a year.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he said without a hint of sarcasm. “It’s been a real long time since I woke up to the smell of coffee I didn’t make myself.”

Her shoulders softened. “You’re welcome.”

He walked to the door, where he grabbed a thick navy-blue peacoat from the wall hook. “Marion likes to sleep late sometimes,” he said, pulling his arms through the sleeves. Then, pulling up his collar close to his ears, he added, “I’ll be back in a few hours to settle the budget with you.”

He spoke in declarative sentences and she worried that she’d annoyed him. She thought back to the morning long ago when she’d told the local pastor of her church—after his stirring sermon about original sin—that she couldn’t believe in a God that would send poor little unbaptized children to a horrid nowhere place called Limbo. So either the pastor was wrong or she was giving up coming to his church. She was nine at the time and distinctly remembered wagging her finger at the pastor as she spoke. Her aunt Eudora had studied her with pale gray eyes more sad than critical behind wire-rimmed glasses and said, “Child, when will you learn to curb your tongue?” Ella never had learned, and this facet of her personality was both her strength and a curse.

“I’ll be ready to discuss the budget whenever you are,” she replied. “Oh, and Mr. Henderson…” she said, catching him before he turned away.

He stood with one hand on the door and a look of uncertainty on his face.

She looked at the untouched plate of bacon. “I’ll try to do better with the cooking.”

His smile came reluctantly, but when it blossomed, it transformed his face, lighting up his pale blue eyes like a sunny blue sky against white clouds.

“Miss Majors,” he said, seemingly moved enough to venture a small confidence.

Ella waited expectantly. The words seemed pried from his mouth.

“I care about my volunteers. They’re good people, just private individuals going out of their way to help. All I can offer them in return for all the work they do here is to work as hard or harder than they do and to respect their reasons for being here. We come from different places but we’re all bound together by our common love of raptors. We count on one another.” He opened the door, paused, then added before leaving, “And right now, I’m off to find out what’s what with Elijah Cooper.”