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Haddie’s thin shoulder trembled against her body and she dropped down in front of her daughter, shielding her from the creature. But when she saw that Haddie was looking with something akin to horror, not at the bird, but something else behind her to the left, she glanced back, a concerned frown on her face. A Skittles wrapper lay discarded near one of the front pillars. She stared at it for a moment. She’d bought Haddie Skittles on the drive there. The wrapper had obviously been dropped during one of the many trips inside. Haddie must have looked away from the sadness of the dead baby bird, her gaze affixing to the bright candy package.
“It came right to our door,” she heard Haddie murmur behind her.
She turned back to face her daughter to see Haddie had moved her gaze to the forest. “The bird? No, Haddie. It must have dropped out of a tree somehow, or maybe it tried to fly. An animal could have gotten hold of it and then dropped it here . . .”
Haddie was looking at the bird again, seeming to only be half listening to Scarlett. Her eyes suddenly grew wide. “It’s alive,” she breathed.
“What?” Scarlett turned around, looking at the still creature. “No, honey. It’s not.”
Haddie nodded her head. “I can feel it,” she said. Scarlett opened her mouth to speak when, sure enough, she could see the bird’s tiny breast rising and falling slowly.
“Mommy, it is. It’s alive. We have to help it!”
Scarlett only hesitated a moment before standing and going over to the helpless baby and very delicately scooping it up into her hand. It was so tiny, it fit right in her palm. “Come on,” she said to Haddie. They could at least get it out of the sun, make it comfortable.
Inside, she went into the kitchen and found a square Tupperware container, using her one available hand to line it with a clean, soft, kitchen towel. She laid the bird gently inside and then handed it to Haddie, who took it, gazing down at the baby. “Is it going to die, Mommy?”
“Probably, honey. We should expect that it will, okay?”
Haddie looked up at her, her gaze so somber and adult-like. “Okay,” she said. “But we can love it before it does.”
Scarlett’s throat felt tight. “Yes, baby, we can do that.”CHAPTER THIRTEENScarlett pulled the string connected to the bare bulb hanging over the basement stairs, the narrow stairwell flooding with light and exposing decades of cobwebs. She screwed up her face as she batted a few away, taking the rickety steps slowly, one hand gripping the rail which—miraculously—still remained solidly connected to the wall.
As she rounded the corner and stepped into an enormous space littered with boxes and old castoff furniture, her phone rang, making her jump. “Jeez,” she murmured to herself, pulling her phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt. She was surprised she got any reception down here.
Merrilee’s name and photo displayed on the screen brought a smile to her face. “Hey,” she said, hitting the speaker button.
“Scar!” Merrilee’s voice rang out in the dead, still basement. “How are you?”
“Good,” she said, leaning precariously over an open box and peering inside. A part of her expected something to jump out and scare the living daylights out of her. This place was spooky in the way all old, dark, unused spaces filled with the relics of other people’s lives were. But only dusty fabric greeted her . . . old curtains, or clothing, or linens that might very well be nesting mice if she reached her hand in to find out. Which, no thank you very much. “If I sound echo-ey,” she told Merrilee as she moved on from the open box, “it’s because I’m down in the basement.”
“For what reason, pray tell, are you digging around in the basement of an old, dusty mansion?”
Scarlett let out a soft laugh. “My old dusty mansion. And I’m just looking around. I have a contractor coming out tomorrow and I wanted to get a better lay of this land, so to speak, before he starts drafting plans. This place is huge, Merrilee, and it feels like a mausoleum right now.” She walked through a makeshift aisle, weaving between junk, her eyes peeled for anything that might be of interest. Something that could potentially be salvaged and brought back to life for posterity’s sake.
“What does Haddie think of it?”
Scarlett sighed, stopping for a moment. “She seems a little wary of everything right now.” Scarlett frowned. “I’m not sure, Merrilee, it’s like . . . she’s keeping something from me . . . or, oh I don’t know. You know Haddie. She’s secretive.”
“I don’t think she’s secretive, Scar. Or at least . . . not because she doesn’t trust you. I think it’s just that Haddie feels things more deeply than most children and she has to let those things simmer before she finds the right words.”
