The-Hummingbird-s-Cage(34)

I shrugged, feigning indifference. “I haven’t made any plans.”

I was sure Jim had alerted Laurel’s school by now, and they’d let him know about any request to transfer her records. Enrolling her anywhere else would be firing off a flare.

“If it’s a matter of documents, I wouldn’t worry,” said Bree. “I’d never turn a child away because of paperwork.”

“And don’t forget,” said Jessie. “We’re not county. We do things our own way out here.”

“But there must be a school board,” I protested. “Officials to account to.”

“Honey”—Jessie gestured around the circle—“most of the school board is sitting right here.” She looked meaningfully at Liz and Molly, who nodded in return. “All right, then. It’s settled.”

Apparently the discussion was over. And Laurel was enrolled in school.

“You been to town yet?” Liz asked. “No sense putting it off,” she said when I shook my head. “We don’t bite. Come on up and visit the store. We got everything you need, and most everything you’d want.”

“Check out the hotel, too,” Bree urged. “A lovely old Victorian. High tea on weekends. Very authentic.”

“Yes, indeed.” Liz smirked. “Authentic.”

Molly’s cheeks reddened. “And why not?” she said. “George has been very helpful.”

Liz and Jessie said nothing.

“Who’s George?” I asked finally.

“Oh,” said Jessie. “He’s Molly’s gentleman caller.”

“George is from Bristol,” Molly said stiffly. “England.”

I didn’t ask how they’d managed to meet, but couldn’t imagine it was through any online dating site. In fact, I couldn’t picture Molly—or her sister or Jessie—on a computer at all. Jessie didn’t keep so much as a microwave in her house.

What I could picture—quite suddenly and with utter clarity—was one or the other placing a lonely-hearts newspaper ad. I could see photos exchanged—formal poses in sepia tones—then letters back and forth over many months, many years. The progression of their courtship washed over me with surprising surety.

Jessie laid down her needle and gazed about. “Storm broke.”

It had broken long ago over our heads, of course, but now it was breaking in earnest over the rest of the valley. Lightning streaked soundlessly far off to the west, where thunderheads were in galloping retreat.

I paused, too, taking in the aftermath. The valley appeared to be standing still, catching its breath, set loose from time and space. It felt as if every clock in the world had wound down and suddenly stopped.

Even the air was motionless, leaving the valley as composed and vivid as a diorama. As wild and reckless as the storm had been, so profound now was the calm that followed it. The lull was contagious—it washed over me and through me in a wave of warmth. I’d never felt so at peace. I didn’t want it to end.

None of us spoke. None of us moved. We sat together in stillness and silence under the oak tree, caught up in a consecrated moment.

A second passed. Then another. And with the next, the clocks began to tick again. Rain began to drip from the leaves and the rooflines. Birds stirred in the branches, and in the distance Willow Creek rushed noisily from the downpour.

The valley felt purged. Revived.

“Well, ladies.” Jessie sighed. “Gather up.”

Sewing bags opened up again, and back went needles, thread and thimbles. Liz and Molly unframed the quilt, folded it and slid it back into its fabric bag.

Olin still sat with Laurel at the far corner of the barn. He turned toward me and raised his pop bottle in salute.

And I knew what he was telling me: You’re welcome.





A Still, Small Space





After the storm, after the sisters had left with Bree, I packed the last of the deck chairs back in the barn and stood alone in the open doorway. Dusk was falling, and lights were switching on in the farmhouse. Scraps of voices drifted outside, rising and falling in conversation. The radio broke into a twangy two-step, something about “Too Old to Cut the Mustard.”

I stared about me at every homely and familiar object, every bit of landscape, as if they had suddenly become alien to me. As if at any moment they could transform into something else altogether, or vanish outright. Plow, tiller, scythe. Fence, tree, house. Even as I turned from one to the next, they seemed to pulsate, their lines blurring. I blinked, and they were back.