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.