Ivy of Our Hearts

Thirty

Some days we'd leave our thoughts of Nora at the cabin. Braving the cold; we'd head out in search of all the beauty and wonder the woods had to offer. Sometimes we'd go back to the field to pick flowers to keep around the cabin, every so often we'd go someplace new, other times we'd hike the terrain.

Phillip had grown up in these woods and knew its secrets. At the front, he would call back to us whenever we came across something worth noticing, a forgotten graveyard, a hole in the side of a tree large enough for the three of us, or a tunnel made by entwined branches. He'd point out strange flowers, telling us their names and what they could do. He knew where mother birds kept their young and eggs the same color as the sky.

We had to distract ourselves somehow and so, along with Manderley dipping and bobbing through the trees above us, we became haunters of the woods, nemophilists.

But as the frigidness grew, Margaret wanted to stay in a lot more. I disliked being in the cabin with nothing to do but read or play board games or flip from station to station on the radio. I liked being out there. In the mornings, I would get ready for my day outdoors. I'd pull two sweaters on over my long dress and lace my boots up extra tight. The collar on my coat would be turned up against the wind. On the breast pocket, I now wore a pin Manderley had brought me, a small blue bird. I kept her nameless because I'd since adopted Manderley.

As I left for the day, I'd hold out my arm for her. "Come here, girl." She'd flutter to me, excited to be out again. The scratches on Phillip's door confirmed that crows didn't make good indoor pets.

"Be careful out there." Phillip would look up over his book. He and Margaret had gotten into their own routine. After breakfast, they'd settle down with tea and books.

"I will be," I said. And Manderley, on my shoulder, would caw, reiterating me.

At first, Phillip wanted me to take her with me. "Just in case," he'd said. Now, I welcomed the crow as my companion.

But we never did get into trouble out there, except on one morning, two weeks after we'd found Nora's letters. I'd been trudging through the fallen leaves, daydreaming, while Manderley soared from branch to branch, keeping a close eye on me. The cold autumn air pinched my ears, my toes, and fingers, although they were all covered. I'd been daydreaming of the lake. Phillip said that once the weather got colder, it would freeze over, and we could go ice-skating. I'd been so lost in my thoughts, so pleased with them; Manderley's obnoxious cawing bothered me.

"What is it?" I asked, not realizing that the thing she'd cawed at was right beside me, covered with leaves.

Manderley landed at my feet. She hopped towards what looked to me like a dirty pile of yellow and orange. "It's a pile of leaves, Manderley," I said.

But she knew better, as crows often did.

When she cawed again, the pile of leaves moved. I leaned closer to it, waiting for it to move again. It did. Manderley cawed, which might have meant, "See, I told you so."

"Let's see what it is." I shoved the leaves aside. Underneath them lay a baby deer, his fur paler than any I'd ever seen. His eyes were closed, as if he'd been born minutes before we'd found him. "Maybe his mom left him here," I said. If it hadn't been for Manderley, I would have never seen him. The leaves were a good hiding place. Manderley hopped closer. "We should leave him," I said. "In case his mother comes back." I picked up a bundle of leaves to cover the fawn with, but he moved and I saw his leg, the fresh bruise right above his hoof. "You're hurt," I said. The deer's tail flicked. I scanned the trees, the ground too, for any sight of another deer or hoof prints, but I couldn't find either.

"What do you think we should do?" I asked Manderley.

She tilted her head, an expression I thought meant, "Why are you asking me?"

"He might die if we leave him," I said. We'd come too far to hurry back to the cabin to get Phillip. I wasn't sure I would find him alive if we did try to come back. "I'll bring him back with us," I said, taking off my coat. The cold breeze wrapped itself around me. I shivered. I had to do this fast. The deer wouldn't stay still as I attempted to wrap him in my coat. He had every right to be afraid, but I couldn't leave him. "Come on. It's okay," I said, to calm him down. He struggled, kicking his legs so hard he struck my knee. Manderley made a noise that didn't sound like a caw, but rather a clicking noise, a rattle. I'd never heard her make that sound before, not even for Phillip.

At this the deer went still. "It's okay. It's okay," I said, picking the deer up in my arms. He struggled a little but not enough to break free. He weighed less than I thought he would. Manderley flew ahead as I carried the fawn back to the cabin. He didn't move the whole way, so I assumed he'd fallen asleep. From listening to Margaret talk about her mother, I knew animals could get a fever. This little guy was burning up in my arms.

Manderley scratched at the front door and Phillip opened for us. "Back already," he said, moving out of the way to let us in.

I lay the fawn down at the foot of the couch. He lifted his head only to rest it on the floor.

"What is that?" Phillip asked.

I sat beside the fawn, adjusting my coat around him. "A fawn," I said. "I found him. He's hurt."

Margaret came over. "Aww, I've never seen an albino before. You okay, little guy?" The fawn blinked but was otherwise unresponsive to his new surroundings. "What's wrong with him?" she asked.

I lifted the coat to show her his leg.

"I'm I the only one who thinks we shouldn't have a baby deer in our living room?" Phillip asked.

We ignored him.

"I'll get some supplies," Margaret said.

Margaret had been to work with her mother many times, and I supposed she would know what to do in a situation like this one.

"What are we going to do with it after?" Phillip knelt beside me. We drew back as the fawn tried to stand, but his legs gave out underneath him.

"Got them," Margaret said. She held up the stuff in her arms.

Phillip stood. "We'll have to keep him outside. I don't think Manderley would like another pet in the house."

Manderley sat at the sink preening herself. I didn't think she would mind, but Phillip was right. We couldn't keep the deer, who I'd already named Winter. The kindness of Manderley had softened my heart for all woodland creatures. I saw the cabin with Phillip, Margaret, and Manderley as my home now. I wanted everything to do with the woods. In its creatures, the trees, Phillip, Manderley, and Margaret, its faint heartbeat prevailed.

"Right here. Right now," It said. "This is where you're meant to be."