On Little Wings Read online

  A shiver racked my shoulders and shot down my spine but it wasn’t the temperature, it was the desolation. She denied me her story, which left an ice cold curiosity sliding down my stomach. I had no story, nothing interesting to set me apart.

  The front door opened, and every loose object in the kitchen rattled as the wind made a frantic dash through the room. Nathan shut it firmly behind him and wiped the water from his dripping hair as I stood up gratefully. “It’s letting up. My house lost power, but that doesn’t take much. It’s still standing, at least. I’ll take you home now.” He called out, “Little, I’m taking Jennifer home. I hope you didn’t scare her.” He smiled conspiratorially at me and gestured to the door.

  “Hah!” Little called from the other room, “She’s tougher than she looks. She’s a Dyer.” She appeared in the doorway in a fresh housedress. “How’s your mama, Nathan? Are the girls all right?”

  “Grumbling about the storm like all good New England women. Except Claude. She’s ranting and raving. She lost her internet.” Little waved her hand as if the mention of the internet offended her and wasn’t worth a reply. I slipped off her robe, thankful that my t-shirt was thick and dark blue and headed for the door.

  “I’m all here, Jennifer.” Little’s low voice stopped me as I reached for the handle. I started and turned back to her at the sound of my name. “Some people think that all old people start going soft in the head but I’m not old. Only my skin got old and I can’t help that. Ugly, I know, but you should have seen… Boy, tell her that she should have seen me seventy years ago.” She continued without pause so she didn’t really expect him to say anything, which seemed fitting, considering. “I’ve got stories for you and when you’re ready I’ll be here. You’ll want to talk sometime. I’ll be here. I’m not really old.” She sat back down at the kitchen table, staring me down for a moment and then turned back to her water. “Take her home, Nathan. I’ll be fine.”

  “No more walks tonight. I mean it,” Nathan ordered and started to open an umbrella.

  “What’s the point,” I asked, looking from the umbrella to my wet clothes. “Let’s just go. Bye, Little.”

  She gave me a slow and steady nod, her liquid blue eyes watering between folds of loose skin, but still lit with some unrelenting flame. The door opened and I sprinted out after Nathan, trying to navigate the slick, rocky ground with my eyes squinted against the rain. The small porch light beside Little’s front door threw strange shadows across the yard. We made it to the more consistent glow of the streetlights and jogged the long stretch to Sarah’s house without speaking. Nathan beat me to the front porch and Sarah opened the door looking relieved. “All accounted for?” she asked us as we stepped in.

  “All’s well,” Nathan said. “Little was just taking a stroll.”

  Sarah handed us towels and smiled. “So you met Little?”

  I toweled my hair a moment longer before answering slowly, “Yes.”

  “Well,” she said with high arched eyebrows, “I’ve been wondering how I should introduce you. I knew she’d want to meet you. How much did you meet her?”

  “Oh, pretty much all of her,” I answered under my breath. “She seemed to know me already.”

  “She knows your place in an old family, that’s all,” Sarah said.

  “Were she and Grandma friends?”

  “No, she’s as old as your great-grandmother. But everyone here knows her. Little is a town legend. In fact…” she paused and looked to Nathan, “should we show her?”

  “I’d love to but I better go help with Darcy and Hester. You go ahead.” He handed her the towel and waved good-bye to me before stepping outside into the stormy night.

  I looked back to Sarah to find her studying my dripping clothes. “Go clean up,” she instructed. “I’ve got something really good to show you.”

  CHAPTER 19

  I grabbed the flashlight and followed its wobbly glow up the creaking stairs and narrow hallway to my bathroom. With full authority I can declare that showering by flashlight is a unique experience. I set the light on the counter, the beam focused in a wide circle on the ceiling that barely lit my body as I shampooed the cold rain out of my hair. I watched the foamy white bubbles slide down my stomach, catching tiny pieces of light in their iridescent domes. Even the noise of the running water could not compete with the torrential rain hitting the roof above my head or the thunder that shook the walls. I finished in less than five minutes, threw on warm sweats and hurried downstairs.

  Sarah looked up from the couch where she sat with her laptop cradled on her legs.

  “I thought internet was out,” I said.

  “I’m not on the internet. I can’t show you on the television because the power is still out, but I have some battery life in the laptop.” I sat down next to her and she hit the play button.

  A black and white movie came on to the screen in the middle of a scene with a man and woman deep in conversation. “Little comes in right here,” Sarah said pointing as a young lady with elaborately curled hair burst into the room with a telegram.

  “That’s Little? The Little I met tonight?”

  “Oh, trust me, Dear, there is only one.”

  I watched in wonder as Little spoke her lines. I could not tell the color of her hair, except that it was light. Her lips were beautifully shaped, full, but not wide, and her eyes glimmered beneath thick black lashes.

  “Pretty, don’t you think?” Sarah asked.

  “Very, but … Little was a movie star?” I remembered the sagging tattoo.

  “What else could she be with a name like Lillian Fairborn? But star is stretching it too far. She was an actress. A pretty good one. This was her first movie. 1942. Just a few years after she ran away.”

  “She ran away from Smithport?”

  “When she was only 17. Just like your mom. Legend is that she went to Coney Island first. Lied about her age and entered a bathing suit pageant. Someone found her there and told her she should go to L.A. She wrote home to say that she was in a commercial a few months later. The pride of Smithport for the next ten years. Everyone in town went and saw every show she was in. “

  “Then what?”

  “She came back one day. Never went back to Hollywood. Never said why. She spent years in the drama department at the University of Maine. Her brother Joe died when I was a teenager and she came back to Pilgrim’s Point. That’s her house.”

  “So what has she been doing all that time?”

  Sarah laughed. “Stomping around town and telling us all off, is what. And we’ve loved every minute of it. We still get together every August and show one of her movies in the theater. We call it Little Day.” We watched the movie until the battery died and then went to bed late, a misshapen, canned candle lighting the way to my room. At three o’clock, right as I was dreaming of the movie, the power came back on and the television clicked to life in the middle of an infomercial, along with most of the lights in the house. Sarah met me downstairs where we grinned groggily at each other and hurried to turn everything back off. By the time I pulled myself out of a fitful sleep the next day the rain had stopped, leaving a wet, gray sky filtering the weak rays of late morning sunlight.

  I hopped downstairs, grateful to find the dreaded black shutters open and the view of the washed world unobstructed once more. The only evidence of the storm was the branches scattered across the ground.

  “Quite the night?” Sarah asked as she handed me a bagel. “It has a bit of a dream-like quality for me today.”

  “Agreed,” I said trying to talk around my bite. “I dreamt about the movie, by the way. I was in the house and everything was black and white and it was raining outside.”

  Sarah stared at me too long and a small smile crawled across her face. “You cannot possibly know how nice it is to wake up and have someone sitting at this table and telling me about a dream. I haven’t had morning company in … I don’t know if I’ve ever had it.” She paused while I gave her a shy grin. “I
get my students at school and the Beckers visiting and Nathan in the evenings, but no one ever shares my mornings.” To assuage my embarrassment Sarah pointed to Charlie who was flopped by the back door. “Except that fool dog.” He cocked his ear and rolled his eyes happily in her direction.

  At that moment the doorbell rang and Charlie’s limp body popped up like a marionette with its strings pulled tight and bolted for the door.

  “You expecting anyone?” Sarah asked as I followed her out of the kitchen.

  “Not a soul.”

  Sarah opened the door and there stood Little, enveloped in a housedress and wearing clunky walking shoes with white socks poking out the top. Her hair was neatly arranged in a tiny bun at the back of her head and held along the sides by at least forty bobby pins.

  “Little!” Sarah exclaimed in surprise.

  Little curled her lip in displeasure and asked in a lifeless voice, “Can Jennifer play?”

  My jaw dropped in open surprise, but Sarah laughed her best laugh, loud and light and contagious. “I don’t know if she wants to play with an old grouch like you.”

  I threw Sarah a quick, panicked look, but she was too tickled to notice or care.

  “Well?” Little demanded, looking at me.

  “What do you want to do?” I choked out.

  “Walk into town. Make fun of the fishermen.” She glowered down at Charlie and he stopped mid-jump, rolled onto his back and pulled his mouth into an ingratiating grin.

  “Good Grief, Little, I wouldn’t miss that for anything,” Sarah said. “You better let me tag along. Are you in, Jennifer?”

  “Sure,” I answered, surprised that Little could make a mile walk. I eyed her bony ankles with serious reservations.

  “Well, we can’t get there standing here,” she barked and Sarah and I hustled to locate our shoes. Unfortunately, mine were still cold and damp, but I tried to ignore that.

  “So you guys like being ordered around?” I whispered to Sarah as I tied my laces.

  “Not many people can order around a Smither. It’s nice to see someone try,” Sarah answered under her breath.

  “Just cause I can’t hear ya, don’t mean my eyes are broken. I see your cussed lips moving. I’m not an idiot,” Little growled.

  Sarah looked up at me, her eyes twinkling. “Let’s go.”

  Little turned and began a surprisingly brisk shuffle up the road, not looking like she cared if we followed or not. Charlie slinked behind her, his rear end constantly dipping close to the road as he tried to figure out how to walk and look submissive at the same time. Some kind of power emanated from the small woman that even the dog could sense. I kept my eyes on her thin, veined legs, sticking out from her housedress.

  Sarah made several attempts at conversation (look at the wildflowers, Little. Aren’t they pretty? So you didn’t lose your power last night? Jennifer grew up in Nebraska) and to Sarah’s great amusement, Little fended off every attack (Look like they always looked. Didn’t have power at all when I was little. Never heard of it.) It was easy to see that it was a game they played. The more caustic the ancient woman got, the giddier her audience became. But beneath it all was a partnership, someone to listen to complaints, someone to laugh with. A friendship.

  Before we got to the town a horn beeped behind us. We all turned to see Nathan’s dented, white truck bumping down the road. He pulled up beside us and called through the passenger window. “Little, I always give a pretty girl a ride. How ‘bout it?” I stared in amazement as he flashed her a charming smile untainted by his usual sullenness.

  “You idiot, boy! Honk your horn at me like that and I could fall down dead. Would you wanna die in the middle of the street? You think that’s fittin’?”

  Nathan raised his hand in surrender. “Don’t want to kill you. Just want to give you a ride.” His laughing eyes slid to my face, but never met my gaze.

  “Why? Cause I’m old?” Her blue eyes flamed dangerously.

  “No. Cause you’re pretty. Like I said.” He leaned over even farther and popped the passenger door open, making it swing on its squeaky hinges.

  The corners of her mouth put up a valiant fight against a smile. “Idiot,” she grumbled as she walked toward the truck. Sarah gave her a hand up into the cab.

  “Jennifer and I will take the bed,” Sarah called as she hurried to the tailgate. She dumped Charlie into the back with an unceremonious thud and then in a fluid leap, swung herself up. I followed her, slower and clumsier.

  “Is this legal?” I scanned the rickety vehicle.

  “Jed won’t care. It’s just a mile and no traffic.”

  “Jed?”

  “Our sheriff. Don’t you love it- a sheriff named Jed? I try to work his name into casual conversation whenever possible because it does my heart good to say Sheriff Jed.” I laughed as the truck gathered speed and rocked us in the fresh, windy air. Moments later Nathan parked on the main street, close to the docks to let us out.

  “Where are you headed?” I asked him.

  “Not far. I’m power-washing a fence today. I’ll stain it tomorrow.”

  “Oh. I’m apparently taking an old woman to make fun of fishermen.”

  Nathan nodded and grinned. “Have fun,” he said.

  “Oh, loads and loads, I’m sure.” I paused and then asked, “Can I see what you’re doing?”

  I don’t know where the idea came from. Furthermore, I don’t know where I got the courage to ask. Maybe two people can’t rescue an old woman from an ocean storm and not feel like some of the barriers are swept away.

  “You mean come with me?” He said it like I’d suggested something insane.

  Sarah overheard and jumped in. “I can take Little to breakfast at the Sturgeon. Jennifer should get away from us old folks for an hour.”

  “Dirty, boring work,” Nathan said, peering at me like I was a subject under a microscope – mysterious and maybe a little dangerous. “Suit yourself. Whatever floats your boat.” He grabbed a machine that resembled a canister vacuum cleaner and started down the street without another word. I threw one hesitant look at Sarah, trying to decide if I really wanted to go and she gave me a coaxing nod. Nathan was several yards ahead of me and gaining speed so I swallowed once and trotted after him, feeling like Charlie following Little. For a fleeting moment I thought of confronting him with a loud, “What’s your problem,” but the compulsion burned hot and brief, dying before it reached my lips.

  Nathan surprised me when he broke the silence and said, “Did you get to see Little in a movie last night?

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah, part of one.” Little’s face in the storm flashed in my mind. “Nathan, when we found her in the storm . . . she wasn’t trying to … you know …”

  “Off herself?” he scoffed as he stopped in front of a small, yellow house.

  “I don’t know.” The mocking in his voice made me timid.

  His face softened. “Truth is no one knows why she does it. We’re all used to it by now. A little crazy, maybe.”

  “I don’t think so. She seems clear-headed to me.”

  “Okay, not clinically crazy. Just conventionally crazy.”

  “I think that’s a contradiction. I don’t think you can be conventionally crazy.”

  “Well, what’s your guess then?” He looked up from where he knelt with a garden hose with a smudge of dirt beneath one eye. I stared too long before answering.

  “I’ll just ask her.”

  That made him laugh as he stood up and turned the rusty spicket. “That’s original.” I opened my mouth to defend myself when he held up a hand and motioned me to stand back. “Don’t let the water hit you. It will take skin off. Better back up a little more.” He hit a button and the machine jumped to life, vibrating on the grass and a sharp line of water hit the ground, making mud fly. Nathan pointed the sprayer at the grey fence and fanned his hand up and down in a steady, fluid motion. Wherever the stream hit, the gray, surface wood dissolved, revealing a richer brown. He made it
to a spot covered in a green, scaly lime and with the touch of the water it burst from the wood.

  “Can I try?” I asked loud enough to hear over the power washer.

  “Why would you want to?” He asked.

  “For fun,” I shrugged.

  From the way he eyed me he probably classified me as the same kind of crazy as Little. “If you must. Don’t keep it on any one spot for too long. Keep it moving. Keep it even. Here’s the off button if you panic.”

  “I’m not going to panic,” I grabbed it from his hand and mimicked his slow movement. It was oddly soothing, the easy change of old to new, rotten to healthy. Neither of us spoke for several minutes while I worked on the fence, wondering how many years of storms I was washing away.

  “Not too bad. For a girl,” he qualified.

  Keeping my serene expression I answered, “You can be a real jerk. Even for a boy.”

  The hose shuddered in my hand before coming to a limp rest as he shut off the machine.

  “Do you just say everything that crosses your mind?”

  “Not even close.” If I said everything you would know I think you’re rude, reclusive and scared to death of exposing your real feelings. “Why? Do you think I talk too much?”

  His poker face faltered. “Not too much as in quantity. You just don’t, I don’t know. You don’t play the game.” He leaned against the wet fence, his eyes trained on my face.

  “What game? Another Smithport thing?”

  His mouth lifted into a smile. “No, a human thing. Everyone else plays the game. Hides the bad stuff, the stupid stuff, the sad stuff. You are … you just radiate …”

  “What?” I met his intense stare, fascinated that he saw anything other than utter ordinariness in me. “I radiate bad, stupid stuff?” I laughed in spite of myself.

  “No,” he grinned. “You just say it like it is, is all.”

  “Huh,” I said, pursing my lips and assessing the comment. I made a special effort to hide the surprised pleasure unfurling in my chest.