She rose and slid the silk wrapper down across her nude body and went to the window. The light poured over her body in the open wrapper and she looked at herself in the mirror, admiring her flat firm belly. Always she had known deep in her heart that her beauty was her weapon and her only defense, and it comforted her to know she still held onto it. No one would have dreamed she had had a child.
She put on her diamond necklace, that extravagance, that proof of her power and skill. She began to sing a little song, only a nonsense thing she heard a long time ago when she was little and her Mommie still lived and loved her.
She drew the sash of the wrapper and went across to Greta’s room.
‘Gooseling! Time to get up, sleepy-heart!’
She opened the door.
‘Greta? Little goose?’
The room and the crib were empty.
Rayn picked up the blanket from the crib.
In the hallway she saw that the door to the dead woman’s room was open. She stood in the doorway looking in. Money Bags must have come in here in the night but he wasn’t here now and the bed lay undisturbed.
Tang-Tang came up and rubbed against her flank. She stroked his head and frowned, deep in thought.
‘Hello, puppy. Who let you in?’
She went downstairs into an empty house. She opened the back door.
‘Greta!’ she called.
But nobody answered and nobody was home. Looking out the front she saw the car was gone. The kitchen was a bit of a mess with jars and napkins and spoons on the counter.
On the mantel over the fireplace she found a note:
Dear Rayn,
Greta and I have gone to Tall Pines for the day.
B.
Rayn crumpled the note and threw it on the fire grate. She felt a breeze come in through the open door and shivered. She started laying a fire in the hearth. She lit it with a long match and watched the papers curl up in black flames and she breathed in the smoke. She was just beginning to feel calm again when the outside light happened to glint in through the window and she looked that way.
On a branch of the Juniper Tree sat a large bird, as big as a hawk or buzzard. The bird spread his black wings, showing green and gold iridescence.
Even with the flames crackling and the heat licking her body, Rayn felt a chill stab into her bones.
* * *
LATER THAT MORNING, far from the sea, Greta and Papa drove to the end of the dirt road flanked with pines to the cabin made of logs. Papa parked and Greta undid the straps to the car seat all by herself and jumped down. She turned about and danced a little. It always smelled so pretty here. She got her dinosaur and Papa got the basket and the juice jug and they went up the steps under the sign.
‘What does it say, Papa?’ she asked.
‘It says where we are. It says Tall Pines.’
‘Good, we’re here then.’
Papa laughed and pushed open the door.
They ate the rest of breakfast until Greta could eat no more. Then her Papa asked her if she wanted to go see and she nodded and he swung her up onto his shoulders horsey-style and made her laugh.
She pulled his hair and said, ‘Gid-ap,’ and he neighed like a horsey and started walking up the trail behind the cabin.
For a long time her Papa walked up the trail, and the tall trees marched down on both sides, until at last the trees fell aside and they climbed up into the clouds on the top of the hill.
‘This is Watch Hill,’ said Papa. He pointed. ‘There, can you see the Falcon’s Head Rock there? And over that way is the Lost Hollow. Do you remember last time when we went camping in there, and sure enough we got lost?’
‘Yes, Papa, I remember, Tang-Tang saved us!’
He went on pointing and naming all the sights but Greta lost count. She looked up overhead. The clouds hung so close Greta was sure that if she stood up on Papa’s shoulders and stretched, she would be able to tickle their tummies. But there was something odd about the clouds so she said, ‘Papa, let me down.’
Papa set her down on the heather on Watch Hill. He lay down with a stone under his head and his cap shading his eyes. When Greta tried to show him the wildflowers she had picked, he was snoring softly like a bumblebee.
* * *
BACK IN WHITE QUILL Rayn took a long bath and scented herself and put on a costly dress and made herself up. It was only a workday and a long one at that but she felt she had to dress to kill today and anyway it took her mind off what she had seen and helped to quell the beating of her heart.
Then she went down to the kitchen, strapped on her apron, cleared the boards and set to work.
This year she meant to make Thanksgiving Feast her finest and final accomplishment in this place. She would stuff Money Bags’s belly and set him at ease and play nice to him in bed all weekend and keep his mind off the brat and where he had gone. Then on Monday she would pack up and take Greta and Tang-Tang to a hotel and tell her lawyer, the fat sweating older man, to start divorce proceedings. And she would get as far away from this hellhole as she could.
The thought of going away made her feel light and easy. She had stayed here too long anyway and she had never meant to stay anywhere for more than a year or so. But then the foolish Money Bags had proposed, him with his big mill and timberland and the fat bank accounts her sweating lawyer assured her were in good standing and free of debt. So what could she do but accept and plan on sticking around a second year. Then Gooseling came, the little dear, and Rayn’s figure needed some work, and it had almost been bearable, almost a relief, not to be thinking and scheming all the time and on the lookout for the next one, the up and coming Money Bags. But now the little warning voice was saying almost all the time, Get out, get out and she knew she couldn’t bear to spend one more night in this place than she had to.
Well that was easy to do. Greta was almost big enough for school and Rayn’s figure was perfect again, even a little better than before, a little softer and more voluptuous, she thought, all the better to do what it had to do.
She got out all the food and started working on the sweet potatoes. They would be the first dish she prepared.
‘Yes, what a feast for you, Mr Money Bags! But I promise you, it won’t taste as good as what I fed you last night!’
After a moment she said, ‘I was right to do it. Little Goose needs taking care of. Money Bags was going to leave her high and dry. Everything to go to that horrid little boy? Not right. Not right at all.’
She felt content in the empty house – her house, hers – alone with Tang-Tang. Tang-Tang looked questioningly at her, as if unsure who she was.
‘Well if that’s your attitude, puppy, you can go back outside and do whatever you like,’ she said.
But when she slid the glass door shut behind him she happened to glance up, and there was the Juniper Tree and the great black bird was still perched in it.
And she couldn’t look away no matter how she tried. She just went on staring at the black bird, and he stared back at her.
Then the black bird lifted his head.
And he began to sing.
He sang what he had learned:
The Rain stole my Mother
She cut off my head,
The Bear took my Father
He ate me with bread,
The Goose, little Sister
Dropped my bones near the Sea,
A Bird I became by the Juniper Tree.
Something clutched at Rayn’s throat and she was choking. She staggered back from the glass. Darkness wove before her eyes. She could hardly see. She sprawled back on the sofa, her hair across her eyes.
She lay there for awhile, gasping for breath.
* * *
AND HIGH ATOP Watch Hill Greta heard the black bird’s song and it filled her with dread. She looked where Papa was sleeping, but he didn’t wake up and he didn’t seem troubled. His mouth turned up in a little smile and some of the sadness went out of the lines in his face.
Greta
looked out over the world. The bird’s song had seemed to come from far away. But at the same time it seemed so near.
Greta and Rayn heard the black bird’s song, but they heard only birdsong, they didn’t know the words. Greta almost caught the words the first time, but not even Greta knew the words right off.
* * *
A BIRD I BECAME… The black bird looked down at himself. He found that it was true. He had wings and not arms and talons not feet, and his body was covered with black feathers that shone with tints of gold and green.
He hopped to the end of the branch. He was filled with longing as though he had just woken up from the best sleep of his life.
‘Can I fly?’ he wondered.
He shook out his wings, leaped off the branch, and flew.
What was flying like? It went beyond words. It was like laughing in air. He soared up high, beating the wind beneath his wings. He soared above the Juniper Tree and the Beak and the house and the trees. He saw the sun high in the east.
Over the trees and over the hills he flew. He followed the road for awhile, as fast as the little cars that scuttled along, bound by the trees, way down there. He left them behind and crossed the wild woods. Something glinted through the branches, he wheeled head over tail-feathers and looped back round to it. The river shone under him, and he followed it up to where it narrowed and roared and his dad’s mill sat.
He opened his wings and let the wind carry him down until he perched on top of the sign over the gate of Hansen Lumber.
Nine cars were in the lot. Two cars he knew, they belonged to Mr Anders and Mary-Louise. Six were pickup trucks and they belonged to the foremen of the mill. One was a very shiny new car and it belonged to Mr Hodgekiss the banker.
Mary-Louise’s car had boxes tied on top, for she had only stopped in to say good-bye on her way east to go to her sister’s. Mr Anders was standing beside her with his briefcase. The foremen stood in a knot halfway to the sawmill, smoking and chewing and spitting and glaring at Mr Hodgekiss. Mr Hodgekiss held a sheaf of papers in his hand.
The black bird knew they were waiting for Bjorn Hansen. Mr Hodgekiss came because the loans on the company were due, and he wanted his money or he wanted the mill. The foremen came to see what plans Mr Hodgekiss had for the mill – they didn’t know that Mr Hodgekiss had no plans for the mill at all, because he meant to shut it down and turn it into a riverfront development. Mr Anders came in case Bjorn needed him, and Mary-Louise came hoping to see Bjorn one last time.
Bjorn hadn’t come. But the black bird had.
And when he saw them gathered there waiting, the black bird wanted to tell them somehow that a Hansen had come after all. His Mother’s Song filled his heart, and he sang it again:
The Rain stole my Mother
She cut off my head,
The Bear took my Father
He ate me with bread,
The Goose, little Sister
Dropped my bones near the Sea,
A Bird I became by the Juniper Tree.
And Greta squirmed and Rayn shook, but Bjorn smiled asleep on top of Watch Hill.
And in the mill yard they stood stock still and listened to that song, the saddest and loveliest bird-song they ever heard. They only heard a bird-song, they didn’t have a clue what it meant. But it haunted them, and they looked about until they saw the black bird perched atop the sign.
Mr Hodgekiss had a look of joy on his face. He had to hear more.
‘Please, bird, won’t you sing your song again for me?’ he asked.
The black bird was silent. He didn’t sing for nothing.
‘Please, bird, if you sing your song again, I’ll give you these papers, they mean nothing to me now.’ And Mr Hodgekiss held up the loan papers and the bonds.
Then the black bird bobbed his head and spread his wings and sang the song once more:
The Rain stole my Mother
She cut off my head,
The Bear took my Father
He ate me with bread,
The Goose, little Sister
Dropped my bones near the Sea,
A Bird I became by the Juniper Tree.
And Greta shuddered and Rayn shrieked, but Bjorn smiled in his sleep on the top of Watch Hill.
Mr Hodgekiss gave the bird his papers. The black bird stretched down his right claw, and the papers shrank into a gold band above the talon. It was crazy and unreal, in fact it was impossible. But the people in the mill yard didn’t think twice about it, any more than you might think about the impossible, crazy things that take place in your dreams.
Mary-Louise had tears in her eyes. She called to the black bird and said, ‘Black bird, won’t you sing your song once more, for me?’
The black bird was silent. He didn’t sing for nothing.
‘Please, black bird, if you sing your song again, I’ll give you this bracelet with three true hearts.’
The black bird bobbed his head, and spreading his wings he sang once more:
The Rain stole my Mother
She cut off my head,
The Bear took my Father
He ate me with bread,
The Goose, little Sister
Dropped my bones near the Sea,
A Bird I became by the Juniper Tree.
And Greta groaned, and Rayn clutched at her fiery red hair, but Bjorn smiled in his sleep on top of Watch Hill.
Mary-Louise gave the bracelet with three true hearts to the black bird. He stretched down his left claw, and the bracelet shrank into a green band above his talon. And the people in the mill yard didn’t think twice about that either.
Now the foremen felt their hearts eased by the hearing of that forlorn mournful song, that so fitted what they were feeling, losing their jobs and their livelihoods. It seemed to them the black bird sang for them and them alone, and they called to him and said, ‘Sing us your song again, black bird, won’t you?’
The black bird was silent. He didn’t sing for nothing.
‘Please sing us your song again, if you do we’ll give you this new sawblade, we won’t be needing it now.’
The black bird bobbed his head and sang for them once more the lovely, haunting song:
The Rain stole my Mother
She cut off my head,
The Bear took my Father
He ate me with bread,
The Goose, little Sister
Dropped my bones near the Sea,
A Bird I became by the Juniper Tree.
And the foremen were moved in their hearts when they heard the song sung just for them, and it seemed to lighten their troubles and waft them away. Willingly they gave the black bird their new sawblade. The black bird ducked his head, and the sawblade shrank into a red band around his throat. And that seemed the most natural thing in the world to the foremen.
So the black bird sang the song again. And Rayn swore and shattered her face in the mirror, and Greta leapt up and cried, ‘No, no!’ And she ran away down the hill.
But Bjorn smiled and snored in his sleep, and his eye winked open, and he saw dim and far away Greta flashing down into the woods and away.
* * *
HE SAT UP on the top of Watch Hill, alone.
‘Greta!’ he called. ‘Greta, come back!’
He started down after her.
Greta ran through the trees. The roots tripped her and she fell. Something big was chasing her and the song filled her head, for she had almost heard the words this last time, and the words were bad words, sad and ugly and burning with hate. They filled her with fear so she didn’t want to know what they said, but she couldn’t help it. It was like a puzzle that had to be solved.
And then the big dark thing was right behind her coming fast. It reached for her with big arms and scooped her up. She screamed and kicked and beat at it, but it only held her, and spoke softly to her,
‘Hush, Greta, it’s all right, everything is fine, what happened, did you have a bad dream?’
And the shadow lifted and she saw it wa
s her Papa. Then she hugged his neck and buried her face in his beard and cried.
‘Don’t let them take me and lock me away, Papa. Promise you won’t!’
‘Greta, what is it? What are you saying?’
She pulled back. She shut her mouth and pursed her lips. She had said too much already.
‘Greta, where did Falco go?’
She shook her head so hard she could feel her hair bounce around her face. ‘I don’t know. He went away.’
‘He isn’t at his friend’s house, is he? He’s still back at the house, isn’t he? Is he locked up somewhere?’
‘Uh-uh.’
‘Greta, where is your brother? What happened to him?’
‘No! No!’
She twisted in his arms but he held her fast. Something splashed against her cheek. It was starting to rain. The clouds scowled down at her, blaming her, hating her for it.
‘I didn’t kill him! I didn’t! It was an accident!’
‘Greta! Falco’s dead?’
‘I – I killed him, I killed Falco! Don’t let them lock me up, Papa. I touched his nose, only a little touch, and his head, his head—’
‘Greta, shush. You’re not to blame and nobody will lock you up. You didn’t kill him. Your Mama and I did that.’
Greta was struck still by the thought.
‘The birdie,’ she said, ‘the birdie in the Juniper Tree—’
‘Come on,’ said Papa. His face was stern as he settled Greta in his arms and started back down the path.
The light was failing under the dark clouds and the rain was heavier. The trees closed in around them like black walls.
‘Poor Falco,’ said Papa. ‘Poor kid!’
He tramped down through the woods with Greta in his arms, while the black bird flew back to White Quill on the Beak. By the time he alit in the branches of the Juniper Tree the rain had started falling there as well.
The black bird moved into the shelter of the heavy branches.
By the time Bjorn and Greta reached the cabin the rain was pouring down and the dirt road was a river of mud, so there was no going back for them tonight. They went inside the cabin and Bjorn made a fire while Greta changed into her old clothes in the dresser. Bjorn toweled her hair and then he changed too, and they sat before the fire gazing deep into it, each thinking his own sad thoughts.