The-Hummingbird-s-Cage(26)

Finally Laurel called out from the porch: “Here he comes!”

I peered through the screen door at a man heading toward the arching footbridge, a big tan dog at his heels.

He was taller than most, slim, his hair springing up in short, woolly waves—light brown, with streaks of sun-bleached blond. He was wearing a butcher-style apron, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and a fistful of flowers in the other. I could hear him talking to the dog as they neared.

He noticed Laurel, now chafing at the porch railing, and smiled and waved to her.

“Laurel,” I murmured. “Come inside.”

“But, Mommy, I want to say hi.”

“Now.”

She grumbled, but obeyed. I pulled her close.

Olin stepped outside to greet Simon like an old friend. “Go on in,” Olin told him. “The ol’ woman’s waitin’.”

I retreated with Laurel to the far side of the room.

The man stepped through the door, where Jessie was waiting to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“’Bout time,” she said, and there was rare affection in her voice. “That your apple wine?”

He handed her the bottle. “Yours now.”

With a word he sent his big dog to lie on a hook rug by the fireplace. Then he looked up. Something flickered in his eyes when he saw me—recognition? I certainly didn’t recognize him.

But he did surprise me. He was younger than I’d expected—mid-thirties, maybe. I imagined he’d be closer in age to Olin and Jessie.

His face was tanned, his eyes a gray-blue, heavily hooded in a sleepy sort of way, with creases that deepened when he smiled.

Laurel twisted her hand from mine and rushed to him.

“I’m Laurel,” she said.

He crouched to one knee. “Simon. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Those flowers are pretty,” she said. “Are they for Miz Jessie?”

“Matter of fact, they’re for you. Picked them in a meadow behind my cabin this morning. You look like a field of wildflowers yourself, so I figure they’ll feel right at home.”

“Come on, honey,” Jessie said as Laurel took the bouquet. “Let’s go put those in a vase. Won’t they look nice on the table?”

Simon straightened and turned to me.

“This here’s Joanna,” said Olin. “But I reckon you two already met, after a fashion.”

“How’re you feeling?” Simon asked.

He sounded too earnest to be making small talk, and it unsettled me. “Good,” I said. “I’m good. And you?”

He smiled. “Just fine, thanks.” He looked quizzically at Olin. “Mind?”

“Go on up,” Olin said.

Simon nodded as he passed, heading for the stairway. I turned in confusion to Olin.

“He needs to wash up before supper, workin’ a grill all day,” Olin explained. “This way, he don’t have to drive out to his place, turn around and drive all the way back.”

I could hear the shower start upstairs.

Laurel and Jessie returned with the flower vase and set it between the candlesticks. Then Laurel ran to the dog, still lying on the rug. As she stroked his neck, his tale thumped the floor. “What’s his name?”

“Pal,” said Olin, settling into a chair beside her. “Golden retriever mostly, but collie and shepherd in there, too.”

“We had a dog once,” Laurel said thoughtfully, running her fingers through the fur. “She ran away.”

“Now, that’s a pity,” Olin said. “Pal here—he must’ve strayed from his people, too. Simon gives him a good home, though. No dog could have a better.”

Jessie returned with the wine bottle, uncorked now, and two glasses. She handed me one and poured. “Just taste,” she said.

“Simon makes this?” I asked.

“With apples from his own orchard,” Jessie said. “Doesn’t lay in many bottles every year, but that just makes them worth the wait.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Why, I met that boy when he first entered this world, bare beamed and buck nekkid.”

Laurel whooped.

“Helped deliver him,” Jessie said with a smile. “Women did, in those days. Doctors were scarce.”

Upstairs, the shower shut off.

“Has he worked for you long?” I asked.