Night Bird Calling

by Cathy Gohlke

  “Hold on. Didn’t say I wouldn’t help. I know what it is to be hungry. Besides, it appears this fella’s been doin’ some of my work while I get paid.”

  Hope sprang in Celia’s heart.

  “I’ll wring its neck and we can both pluck. I reckon Granny Chree might be up for handling the stewpot if we bring it clean. Least we can ask her.”

  Celia’s smile swelled from the center of her being. “Thank you, Marshall.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  “I’VE COME FOR MY GIRL! I know she’s here.” Rhoan Wishon’s words carried his menace straight to my heart, but I stood my ground and blocked the front door. I’d protect Ruby Lynne with my dying breath.

  “Ruby Lynne’s not well, Mr. Wishon. She needs rest and nourishment. I don’t believe it’s safe for her to stay with you. She’s welcome here.”

  “She’s not sick, just clumsy, fallin’ into walls and such. Says so herself. You layin’ that at my door?” Fury built in his eyes.

  “Only you can answer that.” But I knew. In my heart, I knew it was him.

  He stepped closer, so close I could smell his cigarette-stained breath, foul but sober. “It’s you brought that buck into your home—you and that Percy girl. Don’t imagine you all won’t answer. Now let me see my Ruby Lynne, before I force my way in.”

  Gladys’s words flew through my mind again, a raven chased by a hawk. But I couldn’t believe it. I’d trust Marshall twice over Rhoan Wishon. “The fact remains that Ruby Lynne needs care and you’re not there to give it. Let her stay here long enough—”

  He cut me off, shoving past me.

  “Pa! Don’t hurt her. Please! I’m coming. I’m coming, Pa. Miss Lilliana just took me in for the night. I got lonesome being home by myself. That’s all.”

  I hadn’t heard Ruby Lynne come down the stairs. Her face was white as a sheet, except for the bruise under her eye—so white her few freckles stood out like soot on snow. “Ruby Lynne, you need help. You need to tell—”

  “I’m goin’ home with Pa now, Miss Lilliana. Thank you for taking me in.”

  “Ruby Lynne—”

  “I’ll be all right. Don’t fret. Pa’ll take care of me, won’t you, Pa?”

  She looked up at him, so helpless and small. For a moment he looked at her with the concern I might imagine of a father, but then spoke gruffly. “Ida Mae told me she saw that nephew of Olney’s slinkin’ around the house before she left. He been out there while I been gone? Tell me the truth now!”

  “No, Pa. Not once. I swear it.”

  He raised his hand as if to strike her. “Don’t you lie to me, girl!”

  “I’m not, Pa! I swear! I haven’t seen Marshall.”

  “Mr. Wishon!” All the horror I felt came out in my voice.

  Rhoan glared at his daughter but paused. “Get on out to the truck. I don’t want you hangin’ around here. You understand me? I said, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Pa.” I barely heard Ruby Lynne’s reply.

  “Mr. Wishon—”

  “Stay out of my business, woman!” he shouted as he followed Ruby Lynne down the steps and to the road. “I won’t tell you again!”

  He barely allowed Ruby Lynne time to close the door to the truck before gunning the motor and roaring off.

  I was relieved to see him go but greatly feared for Ruby Lynne.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  DUSK SWARMED OVER THE HILLSIDES and shadowed the glen surrounding Granny Chree’s cabin in the woods. She stirred the pot of chicken stew meant for Clay and Charlene. She’d always understood things before Celia explained. That meant the world to Celia now.

  “Mmm-mmm. Smell that, chile. That’s goodness and health—in the meat and in the broth. You tell your friends to eat every bite and drink every drop. It’s healing in their bones.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, Granny Chree. I wish I could pay you somehow for all you’re doing.”

  “Pay me? The good Lord don’t charge me for the gift of heaven. Why would I charge you for cookin’ a chicken? You’re a good girl, Celia. But you got to be careful, and you got to be careful involvin’ Marshall. What folks might forgive you for they never gonna forgive him. You know that.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Celia did know it. Sometimes she wanted to pretend that the people of No Creek were better than that, but she knew in her head that they were just people, fearful people. They’d share with others they saw as like them, but Charlene and Clay, from a different state—outlanders—and Marshall, whose skin wore a different color . . . never. As long as folks stared at the differences and not the sameness, Celia knew they’d never bridge the gap.

  It was the same, Doc Vishy had told her, with the Jews in Germany. People were getting all stirred up and stepped off into factions. Only now, Adolf Hitler, the bully in charge, was throwing Jewish people into camps, separating them from their families, taking their homes and all their belongings. Lots of Jews were beaten with no law coming to their defense according to news and the rare letter Doc Vishy had received smuggled out of Europe. Doc said that Jews were forced to wear Stars of David—yellow six-pointed stars cut from cloth they were to sew to their jackets, making them clear targets for the bullies.

  He’d read part of a letter to Celia on her last visit, though neither of them talked about it in town. It sounded like the Klan gone wild to Celia. Doc Vishy had only lived in No Creek four years, so he qualified as an outlander, too—a different religion and, according to the Klan, a different race. Even Celia couldn’t trust that the town wouldn’t turn against him at some point, no matter that he’d doctored more than half and saved the lives of some.

  What would they do to the Tates and Marshall and Reverend Pierce and the people of Saints Delight and even Miss Lill if Rhoan Wishon got them all stirred up about Ruby Lynne and if Ida Mae kept on about seeing Marshall over her way? It didn’t bear thinking on.

  “How be Ruby Lynne?” Granny asked as she stirred the pot.

  Celia didn’t know what to say.

  “She in the family way.” Granny made the statement as if fact, though how she knew, Celia didn’t know. “Three, four months along, maybe more, I’d figure.”

  “She came by Thanksgiving night. Scared near to death. I think somebody’d beat her again.” In Celia’s mind that was much more worrisome than expecting a baby.

  “Mmm-mmm.” Granny shook her head, her brow furrowed. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Her daddy came to get her.”

  “He know?”

  “I don’t think Ruby Lynne’s told him. He yelled at Miss Lill somethin’ fierce. Blames her for bringing Marshall into Garden’s Gate. Thinks she started something up between him and Ruby Lynne with those readin’ lessons. He called it a courtin’ school a while back and—and worse.” Celia swallowed. “I’m afraid for Ruby Lynne and for Marshall when her daddy learns she’s gonna have a baby.”

  “Marshall know this? Olney?”

  “I don’t think so. I heard Mama and Miss Lill talking. They’re scared what Rhoan might do, but Miss Lill says she knows Marshall didn’t hurt Ruby Lynne.”

  “You mean she wants it that way.”

  “She thinks Rhoan Wishon did wrong by his daughter.” The thought made Celia sick. She wondered again if all fathers were wicked deep down or if it was the drink that made them so. She couldn’t say much about her own.

  Celia had long ago given up the notion of waving down the railway owner and asking him to help get her daddy out of prison. She wasn’t even sure she wanted him to come home. His release would come too soon as it was.

  He’d seemed sincere and sorry when she and Chester and their mother had visited him in prison, like he wanted things to go right when he got out, like he wanted to be a better man. But Celia thought of Ruby Lynne and Rhoan. Wishing comes easy. Change don’t.

  •••

  Christmas play rehearsals started on the first Thursday of December. Janice and her brother, Coltrane, showed up on time for the first one and
did a good job, even though it galled Celia how Janice had manipulated the part away from her. Still, she considered it the director’s job to see that the show ran smoothly. If letting Janice play Mary and have lines was what it took for professional-looking costumes and the greater good, so be it.

  “I wrote a letter to my grandpa, asking about the camel. We just have to wait for an answer. He’s pretty busy, so it might take a while.” Janice smiled.

  Celia didn’t know whether to be excited or wary. Coltrane just shook his head. That didn’t feed Celia’s confidence about getting the camel.

  It was a relief knowing that Mrs. Richards was making the costumes for Mary and Joseph. Mrs. Richards was well-known and admired for her sewing skills and creativity, so Celia had no doubt they’d be spectacular, since her own kids performed the roles.

  That night, over dinner, Celia filled her grown-ups in on the play. “Other kids mostly have their costumes already. Near every boy or their brother’s been shepherds or kings—and every girl’s been in the angel choir, or their sisters were, or their moms can trade costumes and props around, so we’ll have at least some baby angels in white. The thing that always seems to go missing is halos. But Pearl Mae said she’d cut pieces of the baling wire behind the store for me to bend and make halos. They might be kind of crooked and a little bit rusted, but that might still be good, don’t you think?” Celia could hardly catch her breath for the excitement of it all.

  “Would you like to paint them gold—or silver? Maybe I can order some glitter to sprinkle on the wet paint. I wonder if the Sears and Roebuck catalog sells glitter?” Miss Lill seemed more than willing, even eager to participate.

  “Wow! So the candlelight catches it and makes them twinkle and shine.” Celia said that over and over to herself, thrilled with the pleasure of anticipation. “Won’t you come to church with us, Miss Lill? You can’t miss the Christmas play, and coming now builds up to it—all December. It’s the best ever. I’ll sit with you.”

  Celia saw that Miss Lill wanted to come, that for some reason she struggled with saying yes and she struggled with saying no. Why she’d refused for so long was still a mystery to Celia.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll see.”

  That would have to do. Maybe if Celia built excitement about the play, that would help Miss Lill slip in to join them. Celia knew that “slipping in” was sometimes easier than jumping two feet forward. “Joe Earl was in the store earlier today and promised to practice ‘Silent Night’ and ‘Hark! the Herald Angels Sing’ and ‘What Child Is This?’ on his fiddle. You’ll sing ‘Silent Night,’ won’t you, Mama? You’ve got the sweetest voice in all of No Creek!”

  “I’ll start the singing and motion for the congregation to join in,” her mama agreed.

  “It’s going to be wonderful!” Celia was sure and certain. “The thing we don’t have is a white robe or some kind of gown big enough and long enough to reach the floor so I can rightly perform the angel of the Lord. That worries me most of all.”

  “I’m sure we could fashion something out of one of the bedsheets here,” Miss Lill offered.

  “Cut up Miz Hyacinth’s pristine white sheets when we’ve only enough for the beds in use?” Celia’s mama retorted. “You walk over my grave first!”

  Celia appealed to Miss Lill with the eyes of a puppy. “I reckon they’re yours now, aren’t they, Miss Lill?”

  “Celia Percy!” Her mama pounded her fist on the table, a sure sign that the conversation was closed.

  Celia sighed. “Well, what am I gonna do?” No answer was forthcoming, so she reverted to old inspiration. “I still wish we could get ahold of one of those old Klan robes. That’d do in a pinch—minus the hood.”

  Miss Lill’s eyes shifted and she straightened just a little. Celia smiled weakly, figuring Miss Lill believed, as her mother did, that the very idea of angel attire being made from Klan robes was sacrilegious. Celia considered that might be true, but she was desperate.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  SINCE JESSE’D READ LETTERS from Biddy Chambers and written to her on Miz Hyacinth’s behalf all the years she’d been blind, it was natural that after Miz Hyacinth passed, he continued to write across the pond—natural and a joy for him. He considered it providential that he was sitting in the parlor at Garden’s Gate reading aloud his most recent letter from Biddy Chambers when Rhoan Wishon all but hammered down the front door, hollering for Lilliana.

  Lilliana and Gladys both jumped nearly out of their skins.

  “Perhaps you’d like me to answer that,” Jesse offered, clearing his throat.

  Lilliana paled but stood and straightened her skirt. “I—I should. It’s Rhoan Wishon.”

  That went without saying since he’d not stopped spouting off at the mouth. “Woman, get out here!”

  “I must insist, Lilliana.” Jesse walked toward the door. He couldn’t let a woman face the likes of an angry Wishon, drunk or sober, and he couldn’t yet tell which Rhoan was. Lilliana didn’t fight him on it, and for that he was grateful. Who did Rhoan Wishon think he was, behaving like a lunatic on a lady’s doorstep?

  Jesse hadn’t quite made it to the door when Rhoan pushed it open and thundered in.

  “Rhoan? Is that how you enter a lady’s home?” Jesse pretended to be shocked, hoping to settle the man down.

  “Reverend Willard. Day to you. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Nor I you. Certainly not in such a state.”

  “You would be, too, if it was your girl.”

  “My girl?”

  “Ruby Lynne. She’s gone and got knocked up, and it’s that Marshall boy—Tate’s nephew—what done it. Black as the ace of spades, and on to my Ruby Lynne.” Rhoan had turned redder and redder with every word till his face went from a Christmas cactus to a flaming beet.

  “What?” It took Jesse a moment to get his bearings. “I’m very sorry to hear about Ruby Lynne, but, Rhoan, those are strong allegations. Did Ruby Lynne tell you that Marshall’s the father?”

  “Didn’t have to. Ida Mae told me she saw him slinking round my place the day I drove her to the train over in Asheville. Now he’s run off.”

  “That’s a far cry from—”

  “You say. No offense intended, Preacher, but this ain’t your business! This is mine!”

  Lilliana apparently refused to listen to any more because she stepped to the center of the room. “That’s like saying you bedded Ida Mae because you drove her to Asheville.”

  “If you were a man, I’d punch you in the face. Did you hear that, Preacher? That woman’s got a devil in her and she’s spreading her filth up and down the street. Ruby Lynne’d never met that buck before she came here.”

  “You’re jumping to a lot of conclusions, Rhoan. You need to calm down and think this through, not run wild with accusations that have no ground.” Jesse stepped into the space between Lilliana and Rhoan. He didn’t trust that Rhoan wouldn’t hit her, woman or not.

  “I’ve got ground enough. You’re besotted and blinded by this woman, Reverend Willard. You need to rip those scales off your eyes before you go telling the rest of us what to do. She’s brought shame on this house, and now on mine! Old Mr. Belvidere would sit up in his grave if he knew. He’d set you all straight. He knew where folks belonged.” Rhoan stepped closer to Jesse but his eyes bored into Lilliana’s. “And since he’s not here to do it, I will. Mark my word!” He slammed his fist against the doorjamb and turned on his heel.

  “Rhoan!” Jesse called after him. “Rhoan!” But the man was off the porch and out to his truck, gunning the engine, never looking back.

  “What will he do?” Lilliana’s limbs shook despite her brave stance.

  “No telling.” Gladys pressed trembling hands to her face. “Somebody better warn Marshall. And Olney. I hope Marshall has run off, but he’s probably just out working for somebody.”

  “Rhoan Wishon is crazy! He’s guilty, and he’s barking up the wrong tree, making a show so nobody suspects
him!” Lilliana all but cried.

  “You can’t be sure it was him,” Gladys whispered.

  Sure or not, Jesse had no doubt what Rhoan and his “friends” would do to Marshall once they got ahold of him and, because he lived with them, the Tates.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  TWO THINGS HAPPENED the week of December 7 that changed every home in No Creek, the world, and Celia’s life forever.

  The first came during Sunday morning service, which had stretched into the afternoon, what with a church business meeting, then a coffee-and-fellowship hour before the preaching ever began. Reverend Willard was just finishing a long-winded sermon on repentance and forgiveness, which needed, in Celia’s mind, to be heard most by folks who weren’t there. He finished with the Oswald Chambers reading for the day—one he said he was partial to.

  “‘For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation.’—2 Corinthians 7:10 . . .

  “Conviction of sin is one of the rarest things that ever strikes a man. . . . Jesus Christ said that when the Holy Spirit came He would convict of sin, and when the Holy Spirit rouses a man’s conscience and brings him into the presence of God, it is not his relationship with men that bothers him, but his relationship with God—‘against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in Thy sight.’ . . . The surest sign that God is at work is when a man says that and means it. Anything less than this is a remorse for having made blunders, the reflex action of disgust with himself. . . . Examine yourself and see if you have forgotten how to be sorry.”

  Celia rubbernecked to find Rhoan Wishon and see how he took the reverend’s words, but Rhoan wasn’t there. Only Troy took up space in the Wishon pew, and he seemed mighty pleased with himself, as if none of the sermon applied to him, which Celia considered nothing more than a Wishon trait.

  It was a shame the ladies of Garden’s Gate held such worry for Ruby Lynne, because today was the first time Miss Lill had accompanied them to church since Miz Hyacinth passed. If not for the Wishons’ trouble, Celia believed the day would have been just about perfect, until the last hymn.