“We are all secretive about certain things.”Corinthia reached out to Rosemary, and for a few moments, they held hands without moving or speaking, the gulf between them bridged by simple human contact.“Don’t be afraid,” Corinthia said.Those eyes of midnight stars watched her as she spoke.“I know what it is to be different.”
“Do you?”A hint of a smile passed over Rosemary’s lips, as fast as clouds over the moon.“I believe that you do,” she said.“Come outside with me.I have something to show you.”
17
Theystoodintheclearing in front of the snug cottage, where the ground was cushioned by dry, fallen pine needles.Lightning was not close, but it was close enough to scatter flashes of white light across the water in the Ephemeral Wetland.
“Stand back a little,” Rosemary said.
Corinthia took a few steps back, careful not to trip over a fallen branch or tangle herself in the long stalks of grass.If went too far and fell in the water, it would be Rosemary’s turn to fish her out.
The night noises harmonized: wind in the trees, sleepy doves deep in the underbrush, leaves falling on water.Rosemary raised her arms, and it looked like she might conduct a chorus.
From all around came the cries of scrub jays.One by one they appeared at the tops of the trees, like small shadows trimmed out in paper by a silhouette maker, until it seemed every scrub jay in the Refuge had converged around the Ephemeral Wetland.
She’s summoning the birds, Corinthia thought.
And then, one by one, the birds descended.
They perched on Rosemary’s outstretched arms.On her bare shoulders.On her straw hat with its jeweled brooch.All the while they murmured and chirped, and when they ran out of room on Rosemary herself, they landed at her feet like feathered courtiers around a queen.
A queen with a rumpled straw hat, topped with a single scrub jay with an endearingly worried expression.
Rosemary held steady and looked Corinthia in the eye.“This,” she said, “is my family.”
At first, Corinthia could think of nothing to say to this.There were no established social guidelines for responding to someone who thought their family was a flock of rare birds.But because she had seen more of the unexplainable in the last week than most people see in a lifetime, she did her best to improvise.“What do you mean?Do you take care of them?”
Rosemary chuckled and shook her head.The bird on her hat flapped its wings and hung on.“If anything, they take care of me.”She paused.“I’m… one of them.”
Surely she meant “one of them,” as in one of God’s creatures.This was an acceptable metaphor, Corinthia concluded, which anyone could conceivably use.“You’re… one of them?”
“I’m a bird, Corinthia.”
I’m a bird.
The acceptable metaphor shattered.
The three words repeated in Corinthia’s mind—I’m a bird, I’m a bird, I’m a bird—as if the words themselves were a bird call.
But this person was clearly not a bird.This person was—strange, special, beautiful,magic, even, but a human being with arms and legs and a straw hat.Not a bird.
I found the perfect woman,Corinthia mused,and she thinks she’s a bird.
And yet…
There were things she did not understand, but had discovered to be as real as anything mundane.Corinthia knew she was convincing herself and still she did not stop: A forest had reached for her as she slept and knocked down her fence.An author had been lost and found.A hidden house had grown in the forest.If those were real, then why not this?
“I would show you,” Rosemary said, “but it doesn’t work that way.I can’t transform in front of a human.”
Of course not, Corinthia thought.
“Do you believe me?”Rosemary said, her sweet voice filled with hope.
There had been stories about shapeshifting women for as long as stories had been told.Whether Rosemary had learned them or lived them, Corinthia did not know.Humor her, she decided,and maybe it’s true.“Of course I do,” Corinthia said.“No wonder you said your family doesn’t drink alcohol.”
“Well,” Rosemary said, “unless the blueberries ferment.Then you might see a few drunk birds.”
Corinthia laughed.She didn’t need to believe in magic, but she desperately wanted to believe in Rosemary.
