We Were Birds

Fern's leather shoes crunch satisfyingly on the dirt road leading away from the train stop and she stares at the crystalline blue sky with content eyes.

Around her shoulders is the thin blue cardigan that she died in. The only three things she's wearing are the dress, the shoes and the cardigan. There is a good enough breeze that she should be chilly, but she's not. It's strange. The prickly beach grass hurt her a bit but the wind does not chill her. Still, out of habit probably, she wraps the cardigan around her body and her hand brushes her pocket. There is a small lump within it. Furrowing her brow, Fern sticks her hand in the cardigan pocket. And pulls out a gold ring with a small diamond on top.

Oh, Fern thinks with a sudden sigh. It's that. She puts the ring on her left ring finger because well, that's what it was, wasn't it? An engagement ring? They never had wedding bands, though. There was never enough time for that. It's ironic. When Quinn gave her that ring, they figured they had all the time in the world. When Fern left it for him the day she left, she still thought they had time. And when she came back, they realized there was no time.

It was a cheap ring, but Fern had been mad enough that Quinn had bought it at all. He'd come home one day and had given it to her with a glance and a shrug. There never had been any words, but they'd always known, or at least, thought, that they were going to get married. Strange then, the way they actually did.

At the hospital there was chapel. But since Quinn was too weak to even get out of bed at that point, they made the Justice of the Peace come to them... Oh lord, it had been a bizarre affair. The only witnesses they'd had were the attending nurse and the one-eyed Janitor who wore an eyepatch underneath wire-framed glasses. Fern had held a bouquet of flowers that she'd bought for four dollars down at the hospital giftshop. They were wilted but they smelled nice enough, and even better, they were white.

The wedding was nothing more than a legal thing. Fern had gone out earlier that day and had procured the wedding liscence and was still trying to accept the fact that the only reason she was getting married was so that it was easy enough for her to get Quinn's belongings, money and insurance when he died. There was no question anymore of 'if,' it was now only 'when.' So they'd been married and Quinn's lips had tasted like a desert - dry, hot, and terrifying.

There were never any proclamations of "I love you" or "Oh darling, I shall miss you!" which was, incidentally, what the nurse had been hoping for (she was a hopeless romantic, of course). Instead, they'd just looked at each other and they'd understood. The Justice of the Peace had sighed, for he knew what passed between them. It was something that few couples had. Most would gaze dreamily into each other's eyes, some would cry, and there would always be lots and lots of smiling. But when the Justice of the Peace saw the knowing look between Quinn and Fern, he realized what it was. True Love. Very rare, and often quite mistaken. True love was not some beautiful, romantic, perfect thing. The Justice knew that. He knew there had been fights and there had been tears. But he also knew that the two of them understood each other perfectly.

He'd turned away from them, But Fern swore she saw a tear from his wrinkled eyelid. The same could not be said for the one-eyed Janitor.

The story still brings a smile to Fern's lips. She looks at the ring and then looks ahead of her. She is still walking along the water, mostly because the smell gives her a pleasent pain within her heart. Looking up, she sees fluffy clouds perusing the sapphire sky. Everything is peaceful and from beside her, a flock of seagulls laugh. There is a small sense of urgency thrumming inside her, and she is walking fast enough, but the feeling isn't so strong that she is scared.

At this moment she is confident that Quinn won't leave without her. He was her husband and he took her back even when she thought all hope was lost. He had told her "It wasn't your fault, it wasn't your fault" even though she'd been stupid.

Ahead is a small cottage with a plume of smoke coming from the chimney. Fern gazes at it, mildly interested, and plans to walk by casually when she is suddenly assaulted by a...thing. Except it is not a thing, it is a small boy. And he is hugging her around the waist. "Mama!" he shouts and Fern pulls away from him in surprise. She looks down at the little boy's enthusiastic, bright face. On his head is a mop of straight dark brown hair.

"Mama?" Fern asks, and then she laughs and leans down. "I'm sorry, but I really don't think I'm your mother," she says to the boy. His face falls, but before he has a chance to say anything else, a woman comes out of the cottage. She is older than Fern by ten years or so, and has a kind, beautiful face and long red hair.

"Oh, sorry, did he attack you?" she asks and Fern smiles and nods pleasantly. "That's sort of his custom. He does that to all the women to walk by...he's looking for his mother." Fern looks down at the little boy, who beams up at her. She turns back to the woman. "She died a year ago and Henry is convinced that she wouldn't have gone on without him."

The boy, Henry, looks indignant. "She wouldn't have! She's my momma! She loved me more than anything, and she would have waited for me!" he says, making a face to the woman. Then he turns back to Fern. "Well, I see now that you're not Mama." He sighs, "You don't look anything like her." With that, he takes off, back into the cottage. Fern watches him go and then laughs a slight laugh.

"I do apologize for him," says the woman. She pauses and then comes up to Fern and puts out her hand. "I'm Jane, by the way. Jane Milton, although I suppose that whole name business doesn't really matter here..."

"Fern Whitelaw," Fern replies with a shake of the hand.

Jane starts into the cottage and Fern understands that she is to follow her and does so accordingly. In the cottage there is a small, round table, two chairs and two beds with old mattresses on them. "It's not much, but it's what I've found over the years." Fern shrugs. She's lived in much less, this is a palace compared to the dump they lived in the first time they were in the City. "Can I make you some tea?" asks Jane. Fern must look surprised, because Jane laughs. "It's just from the herbs that I've found on the hill behind the cottage. I keep water heating over the stove. That's why it's like an oven in here."

"I see," says Fern. "I would love some tea." With that, she sits down in one of the chairs at the table and Jane gets two small porcelin cups - the type that Chinese Food Restaraunts serve tea in, or of course, the kind they have in China (she wouldn't know, Fern's never been to China) - and from a cloth bag that sits next to the fireplace, she scoops out a small amount of the crushed herbs and leaves and puts it at the bottom of Fern's cup and then her own.

"So how long have you been dead?" asks Jane.

"One day," replies Fern. Jane is shocked.

"I was scared silly my first day. I thought I was going crazy, or that I was having a hallucination or was trapped in a dream. But after three years, I have learned to accept it." Three years. "I know what you're thinking," Jane continues, taking Fern's cup and ladeling some of the hot water that is over the stove into her glass. She does the same for her own cup and sits down. Finally Fern notices that her eyes have the kindest look about them. An innocence. "I know it must be strange, most people go on quickly. But me..." she hesitates, "I am looking after Henry."

Fern smiles. A lie. "It is okay," she answers. "You can be afraid of death."

Jane is quiet. Fern sips her tea and swallows a few bits of what she's pretty sure is lavender. It brings back a nice memory of the days proceeding her and Quinn's escape. They were forced to see each other in places that no one knew of at times that no one suspected and one day they had hiked through the woods to this grassy knoll where wild lavender had grown. Fern had smelled like it for days and Quinn had constantly made excuses to smell her. Of course, he always did that anyway. "Are you?" Jane asks and Fern comes back from her daydream.

"I would be, if I went alone," she says. "But I am looking for someone to come with me." Jane looks skeptical. "I mean, of course, someone I know," Fern amends with a grin.

Henry comes in through the front door. "Janey, I'm bored," he says. He runs up to Fern. "Do you want to do something? We could go down to the beach! The Piping Plovers are back. They're these little birds who run around on the beach, they're my favorite." Fern is still for a moment, and then laughs. Jane and Henry look at each other, but Fern is remembering the day, the first day, the day when Quinn kissed her in the aviary and she thought her heart would melt from happiness. She remembers what he was like after that kiss, too, and it makes her even more happy.

Fern nods and answers that, yes, she would love to see the Piping Plovers, and the three of them take off out of the cottage. Sunset is now descending on the water. The sun is still fairly high in the sky, but low enough so that it bathes everything in a warm orange glow. It is a warm sun and the cool breeze from before has vanished. Everything is still...everything, that is, besides Henry, who is bounding and singing towards the beach.

He'd been so careful with her after the kiss. It was like she became untouchable. Every movement was monitored, he made sure she was happy at all times. At school they commenced an indifferent yet sometimes friendly outlook with each other, but it was just to fool their friends. Fern had told Quinn about exactly what would happen if her father found out.... Everytime they saw each other it was light, tender kisses and Quinn barely ever touched her. Only on the face, sometimes on the arm, but never the way she'd sometimes seen with his past girlfriends. With them it had been free happiness and laughter and boisterous behavior. It was like he was trying to be a different person for her.

And then one day in the afternoon, with the warm afternoon sun pouring into Fern's room, when the Professor was gone, Quinn was upstairs. And they were talking and Quinn was holding her hand almost limply within his own. And finally she had stood up and she'd turned away from him.

"What's wrong?" he'd said quickly. "Is it something I did? Am I doing something wrong? Was I hurting you? What?" he'd inquired. Fern hadn't known whether to laugh or cry, and so she felt herself doing a little of both.

When she'd turned back to him, there had been tears in her eyes but chuckles in her throat. "What's wrong is that you don't even want to touch me. It's like you can't stand me, like you're repulsed by me! I know it's because you want to be gentle with me, but please, just be yourself. I am not fragile, I will not break, I promise. I just want to feel you, the real you. I am falling in love with the person I know you are, but I am so very disappointed with the person who are being with me.

Quinn had been quiet, and she knew he'd heard her say 'falling in love.' Then, with the all the force that the young man could muster, using the strength that he had, Quinn pulled Fern roughly to him and kissed her the way he'd always wanted but never knew he could and she felt herself slipping away into nothing and into forever, all at the same time...

This is another memory that Fern keeps close to her heart. She has fallen behind Jane and Henry now, but she watches them. Jane holds out her hand, a motherly gesture, and Henry takes it easily. There are Piping Plovers dotting the beach, their shadows long in the waning sun. They remind her of so much. Fern blinks and feels that in the back of her eyes there are unshed tears and she feels as if understands everything, even if she knows nothing.

Her heart is so full, it feels like it is going to explode.