tidbits of wisdom with the grace and generosity of a
loving mother feeding her newborns in the nest. She
lectured authoritatively, like a professor in the school
of hard knocks. When she got too despondent or
waved a tattered flag of lifelong regrets, her loyal
employee of fifty years. Trevor Washington, would
just shake his head and say.
"You c'mon now. Mrs. Westington. None of
that doom and gloom talk or you'll scare the poor girl
outta here."
Most of the time she ignored him or dismissed
him with a short wave of her hand.
And the only other person who lived in the old
vineyard home, her fourteen-year-old granddaughter.
Echo, was deaf, and in many ways a birdlike creature
herself, hovering in her private corners waiting for a
song she would never hear sung.
Mrs. Westington had invited me to move in and
live, with them to help her with Echo and be Echo's companion. Echo's mother. Mrs. Westington's daughter. Rhona, had left Echo here more than ten years ago and Echo was without any brother or sister, any friends or any parent. I couldn't imagine a lonelier person than Echo, who had already been locked away
within the four walls of silence.
"My daughter named her Echo when the doctor
said her baby was deaf. 'It'll be like hearing yourself
whenever you talk to her. It's a perfect name for her,'
she told me when I complained," Mrs. Westington
said. "Truth is, I kinds like her name now."
It's different. I like it. too," I told her.
"I knew you would. I knew you would be a
good friend to her. too. She should have a friend.
Goodness knows, that poor girl longs for a real
companion."