Skyward. Mary Monroe Alice

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 see. And where do you sleep?”

      Marion pointed up. “It used to be the attic. But Daddy made it my room. It’s pink. That’s my favorite color. There’s a stair in the back, by the kitchen.”

      “Is there a room for me up there?”

      “No-o-o,” she drawled, looking at her as if she was crazy to ask. “There’s only my bed up there. And a closet where Daddy puts all his stuff.”

      “Ah, I see.”

      Did she, she wondered? The house was much smaller than she’d imagined it would be and there didn’t seem to be any other rooms. She chewed her lip, seized with a sudden fear that she’d misunderstood Mr. Henderson’s job description.

      “Coffee?” Harris called, stepping into the room carrying a tray from the kitchen.

      She settled herself on a hard chair by the warm stove. He’d thoughtfully put leftover holiday gingerbread cookies and chunks of cheese on crackers on a plate along with a blue pottery pitcher filled with milk. He poured a glass of it for Marion and set a few chunks of cheese on a napkin before her. She quickly gobbled them up. Ella took a sip from her mug, glad to have something to do with her hands in the awkward silence. The coffee was good and strong, not that black water some people made. Restored, she waited until he was settled on the sofa with his coffee before speaking.

      “Mr. Henderson,” she began, sitting straight in her chair. “Allow me to get right to the point. This is a live-in situation, isn’t it?”

      He hesitated with his mug close to his lips. He placed it back on the table and put his hands on his knees. “Yes.” A faint blush colored his cheeks as he chose his words. “I realize that the house is small. Not too small, I hope. It might be a bit cramped at first, but once the weather warms, I figured…well, there’s a small cabin by the pond. There’s no heat, you see. But come spring, I could move there. And use the outdoor shower.”

      “Oh, I’m sure the house will be fine,” she replied hastily, relieved that she hadn’t misunderstood. “But…Mr. Henderson, which is to be my room?”

      Understanding dawned on his features and he brightened. “I guess I should have showed you that right away. I gave you the main bedroom. It’s the largest and it has a nice view of the pond. I put a little television in there, too. And a small rolltop desk. I thought, well, I figured you’d want some privacy.”

      “I hate to put you out.”

      “It’s no problem. There’s a bed in my study for me. I’ll sleep fine there, and besides, I’m at the clinic most hours, anyway.”

      Ella was enormously relieved. It would be cramped, indeed, but manageable.

      She