Birds of a Feather (Sunday Cove)

by Webb, Peggy

  She knew she was chattering, but Sally, being the chatterbox that she was, didn’t seem to notice.

  “He finally left us for the greater joys offered by his skunk companion,” Mary Ann finished with a flourish.

  Sally was laughing so hard she was crying. “That’s a super funny story, Mary Ann, but I think you left out the best part.”

  “Oh?” Mary Ann kept her expression as blank as possible. She knew that when Sally sniffed romance, she didn’t give up.

  “I want to hear the part about ‘minding your own business.’ I can spot romance a mile away. And if I ever saw two people in love, it’s you and Bill.”

  That word hit Mary Ann in the pit of her stomach. Delight in Bill’s company, yes. Joy in their intimacy, definitely. But love? Of course not. Sally had blown the whole thing out of proportion.

  “Nonsense, Sally. You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

  “Bill looks at you as if he could eat you with a spoon, and he touches you like you’re the crown jewels. You can’t fool me. I know love when I see it.” Sally laughed. “I ought to. I’ve studied it for years.”

  “He’s just being nice.”

  “There’s nice and then there’s nice. The way he looks at you just sends goose bumps all over me.”

  “Phooey, Sally. You’re just romanticizing. Bill will forget all about me the minute I leave for Sunday Cove.” Would he? And why did the thought disturb her so?

  “And what about you? I’ve seen the way you glow in his presence. Will you forget all about Bill? I know I wouldn’t. Why, I’d pack him up in my bedroll and take him home with me if I were you.” Sally chuckled at the idea of Bill trussed up in Mary Ann’s bedroll.

  “Speaking of kidnapping a man, I’ve seen the sparks flying between you and Otho. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a romance blossoming.”

  Sally warmed to her favorite subject, and began a long recital about Otho’s charms.

  Mary Ann was determined to listen to the whole recital, even if it killed her. And it just might. Every time she shifted to get more comfortable, the painful sunburn brought her back to the one thing she didn’t want to think about: Bill.

  Chapter 9

  “For she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fellow, which nobody can deny.”

  The melody rose and fell as the birders saluted their leader, Harriet. The retreat was drawing to an end. Tonight would be their last night in the woods.

  “I’m going to miss watching for red-cockaded woodpeckers with you,” Bill teased Mary Ann. “Among other things.” He handed her a cup of punch.

  Sunday Cove beckoned, but the faint scent of citrus swirling around Bill sent tendrils up her legs and around her waist, tethering her to the man she would soon leave behind.

  She sipped her drink, trying to rid herself of the smell of orange blossoms. But it seemed to be coming up from the bottom of her cup, winding around her head and wiping out every thought except of the man standing before her.

  “I wonder what they put in this punch.”

  “You’re not going to believe it.”

  “Try me.” She studied Bill over the top of her cup. He looked solid and comforting and altogether wonderful. The ending of a temporary affair shouldn’t hurt so much.

  “As long as I’ve been coming to these retreats, somebody always spikes the punch.”

  “Who?”

  “I’ll never tell.”

  “You?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He took her cup. “Let me get us a refill.”

  “Bill.” She put her hand on his arm. “Doesn’t Harriet know?”

  “All I know is that Harriet thinks the cooks outdo themselves with the farewell party punch. She always drinks more than anyone else. She has even been heard to say bathroom while under the influence.”

  “Harriet? You must be kidding.” A mental image of Harriet turning red in the face while discussing the facilities flashed into Mary Ann’s mind and she giggled. The mirth helped dispel her mood.

  Bill took their cups and walked toward the punch bowl. Mary Ann watched him for a moment then let her glance slide across the room. The Doctors Cottonby were holding hands and carrying on an animated conversation with Harriet. Several birders were swapping stories about what they had seen that week. Mary Ann was going to miss them. She had come to this retreat expecting a week-long endurance test. Instead, she had made new friends and learned to love the solitude of the woods. Even the birds weren’t so bad.

  “Mary Ann!” The cheerful voice hailed her from behind. She turned to see Sally and Otho, arm in arm.

  “Well, hello, you two,” Mary Ann said. “Don’t you look happy!”

  “We have some wonderful news,” Sally gushed. She pinched Otho’s cheek fondly. “Don’t we?” She and Otho gazed into each other’s eyes, forgetting for a minute the news they had to tell Mary Ann.

  “Absolutely wonderful,” Otho finally said. His face was perspiring earnestly.

  “Well, come on, Sally. What is it?”

  “Where’s Bill?” Sally asked. “We want him to hear it too.”

  “Did I hear someone call my name?” Bill appeared beside Mary Ann with two glasses of punch. “Hi, Sally. Otho.” He handed one glass to Mary Ann and put his free arm possessively around her shoulders.

  “Otho is coming home with me to help run my Montessori School in Tupelo. Isn’t that wonderful?” Sally beamed at Mary Ann and Bill.

  “You see,” Otho went on, “I’ve retired from my law firm, and there’s nothing like a change to keep a man young and lively.”

  Mary Ann was genuinely happy for Sally. “I think that’s terrific. You two make a great team.”

  “I think so too.” Bill inched Mary Ann closer. “Birds and people were meant to live in pairs.”

  Mary Ann was saved a response by Sally, outlining her plans.

  “I live in a huge, rambling house on Jackson Street near my school. There’s plenty of room for Otho to have his own apartment.”

  “If Sally will consent, sometime in the near future I might...” Otho stopped and cleared his throat. “That is to say...”

  “I think what he’s trying to tell you is that I’ll marry him if he ever gets up enough courage to ask.” Sally grinned at them. “Then you two can use that apartment when you come to visit.”

  “Now, sweetheart,” Otho chided. “Come on dear. I think I heard a bird calling our names.”

  Bill stood quietly for a moment, then gave Mary Ann a look that permanently sizzled her roots.

  “I think I heard that same bird.” He ushered her through the small group of jolly birders and out the door.

  The night was brilliant with stars, as if some careless child had spilled them across the sky. Distant sounds of night birds punctuated the stillness. Bill and Mary Ann held hands as they left the lodge behind.

  Stopping under a canopy of interlocking pine boughs, he gathered her into his arms. His lips, cool from the crisp mountain air, brushed across her forehead, down the side of her cheek, and came around to nuzzle her ear. “I almost made a fool of myself back there in the lodge,” he murmured into her ear.

  “Don’t talk, Bill.” Turning her head, she found his lips. She could feel the rhythms of their hearts join as they pressed together under the trees.

  “I love you, Mary Ann.”

  “Don’t say that, Bill. Please.”

  He stood back, studying her without touching.

  “It’s time,” he said quietly. “I love you and I want to marry you.”

  “No.”

  “No what?” His voice was gentle as he pressed his case without pushing her. “You don’t love me or you don’t want to marry me?”

  “Just no. I don’t want to talk about it.” She closed her eyes, shutting out his face. She didn’t want to see the trust and tenderness and love there. And she knew she would. Bill loved her. She guessed she had known it for a long time.

  “Look at me, M
ary Ann.” She risked the look. “I think I knew all along that this would not be a casual affair. I should have told you sooner. That day the skunk held us captive.”

  She smiled in spite of herself.

  He cupped her face in his hands. “Don’t deny us, Mary Ann.”

  “I’m not denying anything, Bill. I agreed to a casual affair, and now the retreat is over. My life and my boys are in Sunday Cove. You’ve never met them, never seen where I live, never set foot inside my dress shop, never met my mother.”

  “I want to meet your family. And I plan to. I know I will love them every bit as much as I love you.” He brushed his lips across her. “My offer still stands. And you still haven’t given me an answer.”

  “I thought I said it—loud and clear. No.” She turned her face to the darkened woods. She couldn’t look at him.

  “That means you don’t love me. Right?” His question was quiet, probing.

  “Quit pushing. Bill. I never knew you were so pushy.”

  “And I never knew you were so stubborn. I haven’t heard you say you don’t love me.” His face was set in lines as stubborn as her own. “I want to hear you say the words I don’t love you. Bill. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Good. That’s what I want. Just go. I’m sleepy and tired.” She had never been more awake in her life.

  “The words, Mary Ann.” He reached inside his sweater pocket for his pipe.

  The small domestic movement almost undid her.

  “I’m not going to stand here on the side of this gosh-awful mountain and discuss love with a man as stubborn as you.”

  “Me? Stubborn? I don’t hold a candle to you, Goldilocks.” He clamped his teeth down on the pipe stem. A small muscle twitched in his cheek.

  “Don’t call me that.” Goldilocks had a bear. A bear who loved her.

  “You just don’t want to admit it. I know you love me. I’ve seen it, felt it.”

  “What we’ve had together is good sex, Bill, not love.”

  “Admit it, Mary Ann. I love you and you love me. It’s as simple as that.” He realized his pipe wasn’t lit, removed it from his mouth, and stuck a lighted match in the bowl.

  The distinctive-smelling smoke drifted around Mary Ann, and so did the tell-tale scent of orange blossoms. She knew she would never again smell either without thinking of Bill.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  She shook her head, clearing away the smoke and the creeping conviction that Bill was right. She cast around in her mind, trying to come up with words that would usher in anger, a time-tested shield against love.

  “You pig-headed, blockheaded woodpecker-watcher!” She thrust her chin in stubborn angle. “You’re spoiling everything.”

  For a moment she thought he was going to walk away. But then he smiled, and she melted.

  “Truce, Mary Ann?”

  “Do you mean it? No more foolish talk.”

  “I don’t exactly have talking on my mind.”

  She wound her arms around his neck and snuggled her face into his shoulder. Her voice was muffled against his scratchy wool sweater.

  She could almost love this man. Almost.

  “Then you’d better hurry, Bill.”

  “Why?”

  “Before I change my mind.”

  Their laughter mingled in the night as he raced off to Mary Ann’s tent.

  o0o

  Mary Ann pressed her face to the bus window as the camp disappeared around the bend. All around her the homeward-bound birders were chattering in excitement. She could feel Bill’s solid presence next to her on the stiff seat. Suddenly, she spotted a flash of scarlet among the white dogwood trees on the side of the mountain.

  “Bill! Look!” She pointed the bird out to him as the bus eased around a sharp mountain curve.

  “Our elusive friend, the scarlet tanager.” He leaned across her and looked out the window.

  The male scarlet tanager was sitting on the tip end of a dogwood limb, his brilliant plumage in lovely contrast with the white blossoms all around him. The bird that had brought them together in the woods was showing himself at last, preening his bright feathers in the sunshine.

  Mary Ann watched the bird until the bus rounded the curve. She was acutely conscious of Bill beside her, of the solid warmth of his leg against hers, of the faint aroma of tobacco that clung to his sweater. If she could keep the bird in her sight, then nothing would have to end. That was the game she played with herself.

  That tiny speck of red among the white blossoms was a talisman. As long as that flash of scarlet was visible she would have the magic of this week with her.

  She knew she was being irrational, but it didn’t matter. She watched until the scarlet tanager was swallowed up by the changing landscape.

  She felt Bill’s hand brush lightly across her cheek. “Tears, Mary Ann?”

  “No.” He must not know that she was having second and third and fifty-ninth thoughts about turning down his proposal. “There’s a bug in my eye.”

  “Bugs are bad this time of year,” he said with a straight face. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “Let me see if I can get that bug out of your eye.” His touch was as gentle as the one she used with the twins over their disappointments. “There. That ought to take care of the bug.”

  “I hate goodbyes,” she whispered.

  “I know, Goldilocks. So do I.”

  Not long after, the bus lurched around the final curve to Gatlinburg. Soon she and Bill would unload their gear and go their separate ways, a thought made more unbearable by the sheer loneliness of separate ways.

  “In case you’ve changed your mind, the proposal still stands.”

  Oh how I wish...

  “I’m sorry, Bill. What happened this week has nothing to do with my life in Sunday Cove.”

  With a moaning of air brakes the bus pulled to a stop, and Bill studied her as if he could see straight through to her soul.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Was she? She might never be sure about another thing as long as she lived. Since meeting Bill she had become such an accomplished liar, she expected a thunderbolt to strike her dead before she reached home. She crossed her fingers behind her back.

  “Absolutely. Good-bye, Bill.”

  “Good-bye, Mary Ann.”

  He studied her for a long time before turning to walk away. She sat perfectly still long after he had disappeared out the door. And then a whole army of bugs got into her eyes. She pressed her face to the window and watched Bill toss his gear into the trunk of a sturdy blue sedan and drive off.

  He never looked back.

  Chapter 10

  Mary Ann cried the first fifty miles home, and then she told herself to buckle up.

  It wouldn’t do for the twins and her mother to see her this way, especially her mother. Judy would have a million questions, and she wasn’t about to mention Bill Benson. For one thing, what they’d shared was private. For another, her mother would latch onto the idea of Bill as he next son-in-law and worry Mary Ann to death with suggestions ranging from the common-sense - why don’t you give him a call - to the utterly absurd - let’s all just drive up to Mountain City and surprise him!

  Mary Ann would not be calling Bill, and she most certainly wouldn’t be planning any surprise visits.

  She stopped for gas and decided to let the top down on her convertible, hoping the sun and wind would cheer her up. She was driving Harvey’s red Mustang, a car she’d kept because Judy and the boys, and even the dog, loved riding with the top down. Mary Ann used it for short trips along the beach road, but for the serious business of transporting her family to play school and church and doctor’s appointments, she used her safer Chevrolet station wagon.

  Another fifty miles, and she was feeling considerably better. By the time she came into view of Sunday Cove, she could hardly wait to see her boys. She broke the speed limit the last few miles home.

  When s
he parked the Mustang, her whole family spilled out the front door, Mitch and Mike in the front, racing along on sturdy legs, and Judy trailing behind trying to control the dog, who strained against his leash.

  Mitch and Mike launched themselves at her, and the three of them went down in a laughing heap on the front lawn.

  “I told them to wait for you inside...Rover, NO!” Judy yanked on the leash as the dog tried to jump into the pile of giggling people. “If he breaks a nail, I’m going to kill him. I just had them done.”

  Trust Judy to worry about the small stuff. Mary Ann sat up and pulled both boys onto her lap.

  “Were you good while I was gone?”

  “I was, but Mikey put peanut butter in Gramma’s shoes and she said a bad word.”

  “Mitch!” Judy gave him a scowl that both he and Mary Ann knew she didn’t mean. “There’s no need to tell everything we did.”

  “Can I tell ‘bout Mikey flushing his hot dog down the toilet?” Six year old Mitch prided himself on being better behaved than his twin, though it would be stretch to call either one of her mischievous boys well behaved.

  “No, you cannot.” Judy rolled her eyes.

  “Mom, what happened?”

  “Mikey spotted an alien in the mustard and had to send him to the Dark World Below.” Judy ran her hands through her short, streaked hair. “Stop laughing, Mary Ann. You only encourage them.”

  “But it’s funny, Mom.”

  “You won’t think so when you get the plumber’s bill.”

  She was so glad to be back home, back to normal, she’d have paid any number of plumber’s bills. Grabbing her boys by the hands, she headed into the house.

  “What you say we all go down to Clara’s Cafe’ for a celebration?”

  They boys began to jump up and down, yelling, “Yay, yay, yay,” and Judy asked, “What are we celebrating? Finding Mr. Wonderful, I hope.”

  “Mother, please! We’re celebrating homecoming, and the end of going new places and meeting new people.”