Where Bluebirds Fly

Chapter 18



The voices follow me. I’m running, dodging them, dodging the stocks. One slashes my cheek, but I don’t miss a step.

The orphanage roof is visible. I’m almost there.

A deafening flutter hits my ears. The bluebirds are giving chase.

I glance back, stumble and look forward again; afraid the voices will catch me.

As one, they leave the path and fly above the corn-tops. The squawks and shrieks are deafening. They’ve grown in number; they’re uncountable. The flock folds in and on itself, reminding me of the ocean’s tumbling surf.

I break out the corn’s mouth and the congregation halts, fluttering about the entrance. As if they are bound to the corn.

Only here. In Salem, they go where they please.

“They do travel through the doors.”

My heart is in my mouth and I bolt for the house.

The worry is a part of me now, like an arm or leg and the hornets feast on my anxiety.

I stand on the porch, trying to catch my breath.

The bluebirds are slowly leaving, and I can’t hear the voices. They are trapped in the corn as well.

The tears on my cheeks are almost dry, but I swipe them again. No sense upsetting the children, they have their own worries.

I open the front door. Raised voices filter from the kitchen. I turn the corner and hesitate, watching.

Ram and True have managed to get every boy at the table—more or less.

A few smaller children crawl under tables.

“We’re losing the battle, I sense a mutiny,” Truman says to Ram, grasping a four-year-old boy by the scruff and placing him back into his seat. “Eat.”

Ram sees me first and nods to Truman; his eyes narrow and scrutinize his friend’s expression.

Truman looks up from tying Anthony’s shoe, and relief floods his face.

His half-smile constricts my chest.

He slides his chair back and his eyes never leave my face.

It’s as if I’m the only person in the room.

My skin burns under his touch as his fingers grasp my elbow. He leads me into the hallway-away from ten sets of staring eyes.

A collective, “OOOO!” echoes down the hall.

“Zip it or no dessert!” Ram’s chastises.

Truman leans in so close, his breath tickles my cheek.

He kisses it gently.

I lick my lips, which feel suddenly dry.

“I’m so thankful you’re all right,” he breathes quietly, “I was about to go to the corn—you were gone quite awhile. And it’s getting dark. All I got was static on the talkie.” He kisses me again, feather-light on my lips and pulls away.

He eyes tighten. “It wouldn’t open, then?”

“I saw….” I close my eyes, trying to name it. “The cyclone of sounds. Of voices.”

Truman’s hands rub up and down my arms. His eyes scan my body as if checking for injuries. “Did it speak?”

I nod. “It said, face your fears.”

Truman’s face drains. His eyes widen in comprehension. “Of course. I was so stupid.”

“What do you mean? Speak plainly.”

“Never mind. I’m going with you. The townsfolk will capture you, put you on trial. I’ve been studying Salem—we’ll talk tonight, okay? After the tribe’s in bed.”

“Yes, of course.”

He takes my hand, leading me back into the fray with a reluctant glance.

I give Ram a tentative smile, which he returns.

“Hi Miss Ver-i-ty,” Anthony says.

I ruffle his hair and sit beside Truman at the table.

* * *

Next morning



They were sequestered behind the barn. Away from the tribe of prying eyes which currently gawked from every window of the farmhouse.

The words privacy and orphanage were oxymorons. He should know.

“Is there ennythin else I need to know before we open the door?”

“Remember, you cannot touch me in anyway. It will land you in the stocks. Remember you are a gentleman; they shall be more likely to heed your words if they think you wealthy. So, I am beneath you—don’t show too much interest in me. Like you do.” Her face flushed.

He smiled. “That is so ludicrous.”

“Truman, it’s vitally important—”

He silenced her, placing his index over her lips, stealing another kiss.

“Sorry. I know it’s important. I’ll play my part. It’s just barking to think the most important person in my world is beneath me because she wasn’t born to wealth.”

Anxiety raised its head. It was becoming real. This wasn’t a game.

He paced beside her, thinking out loud.

“So I am to buy your service from the Putnams.”

“Yes. You obviously don’t have the right currency. You will have to barter.”

He slid his hand in his pocket and extracted his great-grandfather’s watch.

“We’ll start with this, and I’ll bring more heirlooms, for insurance. We’ll find John, and bring him back. Hopefully without anyone getting hurt.”

“I’m worried. I’m dreaming of him every night, now.”

“We’ll try every day, Verity. Starting now. Let’s go see if it is open.”

He glanced back at the orphanage. He felt the guilt on his face and covered by rubbing his growing beard.

“I hope Ram will get on without me.”

Verity gave his arm a shake. “True-this isn’t your battle. You do not have to come—everyone in that house depends on you.”

Her mismatched eyes dropped to the ground.

He touched her chin, and was momentarily distracted by its softness.

He waited till she met his gaze. “And who can you depend on, love? Annethin that affects you, affects me. C’mon, we’re losing daylight.”

They headed north, to the top of the maze. And the bridge.

* * *