Halley obeyed, juggling Pooh-Bear in one hand, the feather in the other. The child's heavy eyelids drooped as soon as the tousled red curls touched the pillow. Time was short.

Beatta settled on the edge of the bed, tucking the covers beneath Halley's chin. "I'm goin' away soon, child, and I need to tell you somethin'." She watched Halley's bottom lip tighten into a pout. "Things are gonna happen sometimes you won't understand. It'll be confusin'. You won't know which way to turn."

A wide yawn contorted the little face. Beatta talked faster. "You're not gonna remember tonight, or even me probably, but I want you to remember my words. You always have to follow your heart. Can you remember that one thing for me?" The lids closed over the child's violet-hued eyes then, but she managed a nod. "Good girl. Now remember, follow your heart."

The tiny hand relaxed its grasp on the feather. Beatta took the limp form, so pale and smooth against her withered one. As she stroked it, a storm brewed in her soul.

Halley was too young, just as she herself had been. That's why she couldn't explain what happened. She didn't understand it. She and Halley were special, meant for a higher calling. What it was they were called to, she couldn't rightly say. She'd felt the call, a restlessness with her life the way it was, but the time to heed the call had never seemed right. Seth, the farm, the children, and now it was too late.

The storm broke then, shaking her core with silent sobs. She'd failed. She hadn't followed the calling in her heart, and now that heart was burning out.

Of course, the child had accepted the feather willingly, joyfully, but she hadn't pondered the situation, hadn't considered the consequences. She was three. To her, there were no consequences. She'd opened the window and nothing could change that fact. The matter was in the Lord's hands now.

Maybe it was true what some people said, that things heard during sleep would stay in the memory for a long time. "Please Lord," Beatta prayed, "let it be true in this case. Remind her occasionally of what I told her, and give her the courage she needs to face her callin'."

As Beatta sat watching the sleeping child, the storm dissipated into calm. Could it be this child was her calling? Maybe it all led here.

Her shaking hand became oddly still. She rested it on the child's head and her thumb moved to the spot where the feather had landed. The V-shaped birthmark just like her own--by legend, the sign of a healer. She studied the mark for a moment, rubbing gently, and then leaned forward to plant a kiss there.

A sharp pain down her left arm made her straighten with a gasp. She concentrated on the peony in her lap, waiting for the pain to subside. When it eased, she laid the flower on Halley's pillow along with the white feather. "Good-bye, child," she whispered. "Nanna has to go now." She slipped quietly from the room.

"Nanna? Is everything okay?"

Beatta met her granddaughter in the hallway outside Halley's door and forced a weak smile. "Everything's fine, JoAnn, just fine. The child had a dream, that's all," she lied. If Halley said anything tomorrow morning, it would all just be part of the dream. No use telling JoAnn. She wouldn't understand. No one else ever would. Only Halley. Perhaps Halley would understand in time.

JoAnn started into the child's room, then stopped, and Beatta saw the scrutinizing gaze sweep her face. She lowered her eyes so her granddaughter wouldn't see. Too late.

"Are you okay? You're so pale!"

The loving concern in her granddaughter's voice made the tears flow faster. Tender fingers touched her cheek.

"Why, you're crying! What's the matter?"

Beatta wanted to face this with dignity. After all, she herself must have somehow summoned the owl. Leaning against the wall, she drew sharp breaths. "Just havin' some kinda spell. I need to lie down." The words trailed off to little more than a whisper.

JoAnn's strong arm encircled her waist, supporting her as they moved across the hall. "So Halley had a dream? Was she out of bed again?"

Her granddaughter's tone now held a tinge of anxiety, a hoarseness that belied she was trying too hard to sound nonchalant. Beatta hesitated. Where should she go next with this tale? "Yeah. I heard her awake, so I went in to check." She gasped for breath. "I found a white feather today, so I gave it to her, and told her the story of the white owl." Another lie. A sharp pain through her chest came as quick retribution. She flinched. Sins of commission and omission were equally bad, yet she always omitted the truth behind the story of the white owl.

"The white owl. That was one of my favorites." JoAnn's voice sounded as if it was being raked over a washboard.

The trip across the hall seemed interminable, but at last Beatta felt the security of her bed. She surrendered her weight to it and accepted help to get under the covers, robe and all.

JoAnn tucked the blankets around her. "I'm calling an ambulance." Her voice shook, the nonchalance gone.

Beatta closed her wizened hand around her granddaughter's wrist. "No need." The light around her grew dim. "Everything's as it should be. Some are chosen to go, others remain. We can't fight destiny."

With a slow, final exhalation of earthly breath, her essence followed the owl into the night.