But after thinking a minute she said, "No, I cain‘t leave the gulls,
the heron, the shack. The marsh is all the family I got."
Sitting in the last of the candlelight, she had an idea.
Earlier than usual, she got up the next morning when the tide waslow, pulled on her overalls, and slipped out with a bucket, claw knife,
and empty tow bags. Squatting in mud, she collected mussels along thesloughs like Ma had taught her, and in four hours of crouching andkneeling had two croker sacks full. - P75
Buying her own gas and groceries surely made her a grown-up.
Later, at the shack when she unpacked the tiny pile of supplies, she sawa yellow-and-red surprise at the bottom of the bag. Not too grown-upfor a Sugar Daddy Jumpin‘ had dropped inside. - P76
To stay ahead of the other pickers, Kya slipped down to the marsh bycandle or moon-her shadow wavering around on the glistening sand-and gathered mussels deep in the night. She added oysters to her catchand sometimes slept near gullies under the stars to get to Jumpin‘s byfirst light. The mussel money turned out to be more reliable than theMonday money ever had, and she usually managed to beat out otherpickers. - P76
Mostly she looked for the fishing boy. A few times over the years, she‘d seen him in the distance, but hadn‘t spoken to him since she was seven, three years ago when he showed her the way home through the marsh. He was the only soul she knew in the world besides Jumpin‘ and a few salesladies. Wherever she glided through the waterways, she scanned for him. - P78
But she only stared, didn‘t move. She felt a strong pull toward himand a strong push away, the result being stuck firmly in this spot. Fi-nally, she eased toward home, her heart pushing against her ribs.
Every time she saw him it was the same: watching him as she didthe herons. - P79
In the center of the clearing was a rotted-down stump, so carpetedin moss it looked like an old man hiding under a cape. Kya approachedit, then stopped. Lodged in the stump and sticking straight up was athin black feather about five or six inches long. To most it would havelooked ordinary, maybe a crow‘s wing feather. But she knew it was ex-traordinary for it was the "eyebrow" of a great blue heron, the featherthat bows gracefully above the eye, extending back beyond her eleganthead. One of the most exquisite fragments of the coastal marsh, right here. She had never found one but knew instantly what it was, havingsquatted eye to eye with herons all her life. - P88
Yet as soon as dawn crept between the trees, she felt a strong pulltoward the feather, at least to look at it again. At sunrise she ran to theclearing, looked around carefully, then walked to the stump and liftedthe feather. It was sleek, almost velvety. Back at the shack, she founda special place for it in the center of her collection—from tiny hum-mingbird feathers to large eagle tails—that winged across the wall. Shewondered why a boy would bring her a feather. - P88
Every smack a stab in the turkey hen‘s heart.
Against the wall, Kya wanted to whimper but held her breath. Theycould break through the door easy. One hard yank, and they‘d be in.
But they backed down the steps, ran into the trees again, hootingand hollering with relief that they had survived the Marsh Girl, theWolf Child, the girl who couldn‘t spell dog. Their words and laughtercarried back to her through the forest as they disappeared into thenight, back to safety. She watched the relit candles, bobbing throughthe trees. Then sat staring into the stone-quiet darkness. Shamed.
Kya thought of that day and night whenever she saw wild turkeys,
but she was thrilled to see the tail feather on the stump. Just to knowthe game was still on. - P91
And yet here was an extra spark plug, to be set aside until needed. Asurplus. Her heart filled up. The same feeling as having a full tank ofgas or seeing the sunset under a paint-brushed sky. She stood abso-lutely still, trying to take it in, what it meant. She had watched malebirds wooing females by bringing them gifts. But she was pretty youngfor nestingAt the bottom of the carton was a note. She unfolded it and lookedat the words, written carefully in simple script that a child could read.
Kya knew the time of the tides in her heart, could find her way home bythe stars, knew every feather of an eagle, but even at fourteen, couldn‘tread these words. - P97
Tate couldn‘t help staring. She must be thirteen or fourteen, hethought. But even at that age, she had the most striking face he‘d everseen. Her large eyes nearly black, her nose slender over shapely lips,
painted her in an exotic light. She was tall, thin, giving her a fragile, lithesome look as though molded wild by the wind. Yet young, strap-ping muscles showed through with quiet power. - P98
Her impulse, as always, was to run. But there was another sensa-tion. A fullness she hadn‘t felt for years. As if something warm hadbeen poured inside her heart. She thought of the feathers, the sparkplug, and the seeds. All of it might end if she ran. Without speaking, she lifted her hand and held the elegant swan feather toward him.
Slowly, as though she might spring like a startled fawn, he walked overand studied it in her hand. She watched in silence, looking only at thefeather, not his face, nowhere near his eyes. - P98
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