1
For only the second morning in over fifty years, Barney Moore woke up alone. He had taken up residence at Mabel’s bedside even in the days after her stroke, making sure her covers were tucked and the beeps from the monitors were steady and her chest rose and fell. Sitting in that worn vinyl hospital chair, helpless to do anything, his heart had been cradled by two unshakable truths—God was in control, and things could be worse. Now, as he rolled over and his arm found only the soft cold of Mabel’s pillow, another unshakable truth took hold of his heart and squeezed—the best part of his life had ended.
He kept his hand on the pillow and rubbed it as he’d rubbed Mabel’s shoulder so many times before. It was a hard truth that an end stalks us all, and no amount of wishing could make that end more bearable for those we leave behind.
The gray shade over him lifted enough that Barney saw himself gazing upon his wife’s open casket the night before. He heard soft disembodied voices telling him that Mabel was in a better place. That she suffered no longer. That there was a blessing in everything, and Mabel’s death was a kind of blessing to her.
He remembered the music Mabel so loved, the old hymns that spoke of love and hope and grace. He remembered the people who had stood up to speak of Mabel’s kind heart and good soul. He remembered Leah. Leah holding that painting up, showing everyone that horror. He remembered hating her for it.
The mockingbird called from outside the window. It had done so all night. What little sleep it had allowed Barney had been filled with strange dreams that now dissolved like dew in the morning sun. He rose from bed and looked out to the vacant buildings beyond, but he could not find the source of the singing. There was only the song, as if it were a lost spirit calling out for a home it was destined to never find. Barney looked once more to the bed and plodded to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and emptied his bladder. The small linen closet beside the toilet sat ajar, revealing three unopened boxes of adult diapers.
Barney closed his eyes and waited for the shade to lower over him again and plunge him into deadness. Only when it had done so did he find the courage to leave the bathroom. He managed to make it into the living room before the shade snapped upward with a violence that nearly rocked him. It fluttered in his mind, and Barney winced at the sudden light that now blinded him, revealing in flashes of sudden knowing everything he did not want to know at all.
It was the answering machine. That dad-blasted, soul-stealing contraption from which no good had come. The one now blinking at him with its cold red eye, flashing a repeating 26, beckoning him closer.
26, 26, 26.
Barney stood at the living room’s entrance and dared not get closer. The shade in his mind still flapped, that light of knowledge still shone, and to him it was as if it illuminated not only what he had lost but also what he’d never had. His mind belched memory after memory like some broken old movie—Barney and Mabel waving to passersby on the street who turned the other way, Barney and Mabel stranded on the side of the road after Leah’s party while vehicles rode past, the cobwebs and stale air of the Treasure Chest, standing in front of the church with ticket held high, the mound of white slips he’d found in the cash register.
He did not have to play those messages to know what they would say.
26
(“Sorry for your loss, Barney.”)
26
(“How’s my easel comin’ along, Barn?”)
26
(“Because times are tough, oh yes they are.”)
It could be nothing else. Because while most of Barney Moore was now as dead as the part of his wife that in a few short hours was going underground, another part had somehow come alive. He looked out the window, saw the town awaken, and Barney understood that everyone out there loved him not for him but because they believed whatever magic had reared itself up dwelt more in his craftsmanship than in Leah’s rainbow man.
He retreated from the red light as if it were noxious and walked back to the bedroom. His blue suit hung from a hanger on the closet door. The pants and jacket were riddled with wrinkles from the night before. Barney decided that was okay. He turned to place the suit on the bed and heard a crinkle from under his foot.
When he looked and found his discarded lottery ticket, it was as if God Himself had spoken. Barney knew what he had to do. But first, he had to call Reggie.
2
Reggie did not know the Norcross family’s routine, but he knew Tom worked on Fridays. He also knew that given the events of the night before, the good doctor would likely be staying close to home. That was both good and bad. Reggie had hoped Ellen would be the one he’d talk to, but he knew telling Tom would be best. Tom was the father and the husband, even if he didn’t always act as such.
There was no one to meet him on the porch this time. That too was both good and bad. Reggie had spent the drive over pondering what Barney had asked of him and how he’d asked it, but now as he parked in front of the garage and slowly got out, he began pondering the likelihood of some sort of altercation. One could never tell with people from Away, but Reggie thought he could keep things civil. Besides, it didn’t take long to deliver six words.
The steps to the front porch may as well have been a mountain ascent. The week had been hard, the last four nights sleepless. Reggie gripped the handrail and heard voices and a thumping from the backyard. He followed the noise and found Tom mounting a plastic owl decoy next to the maple by the house. The doctor’s jeans and T-shirt seemed to settle the question of whether he would be working that day. He swung a mallet down onto the wooden stand the owl sat upon, driving it into the sun-baked dirt. The thunk was rhythmic and solid until he happened to pause in a down stroke and see Reggie by the side of the house. Ellen followed Tom’s gaze and stepped in front of Leah. Her back was straight and her chin out, confident now that she was at her own home rather than in a strange church. Leah peeked around her mother and smiled.
“Huh-hello, Ruh-Reverend Goggins,” she said.
Reggie nodded. What followed next was an awkward silence that was punctuated by the morning birds and a few wayward cicadas from the bushes. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked and an unseen airplane droned.
“I apologize for the intrusion,” he said. “I’m not here to argue or threaten. This won’t take long.”
Leah studied him as she had studied the painting of Christ the night before. Tom leaned on the plastic owl and considered the request. He turned to Leah and Ellen and said, “Why don’t you two go inside for a minute?”
At first Ellen didn’t budge. Reggie felt the spikes at the end of her stare. It was a sensation that was both hot and cold at the same time. She took Leah’s hand and led her toward the back porch.
Leah turned and said, “Huh-hurry, Puh-Pops. Yuh-you’ll be luh-late for work.”
“Not going today,” Tom said. “I’m going to cancel my appointments.”
Leah stopped, extending Ellen’s arm outward behind her until it wheeled her around.
“You huh-have to g-go, Puh-Pops.”
“Why?”
“You huh-have to,” Leah said.
Tom looked at Leah and then at Reggie. He said, “We’ll talk about it in a little while, okay?”
“Okay,” Leah said. And then, “Chuh-cheery-bye, Ruh-Reverend. See you suh-soon.”
Reggie didn’t answer. Answering seemed wrong in a way, as if it would somehow lend a measure of credence to Leah and what she professed. It would have also betrayed the anger that burned in him at the sight of the little girl’s grin. The town had been torn asunder, lives had been tilted upside down, all because of her, this small one who thought it all some sort of game.
Tom waited until they were inside before he said, “You step on my property again, I’ll have you arrested.”
The words were as solid as the thunks Tom had given the owl, but Reggie smiled nonetheless. “Sheriff Barnett knows me a whole lot better than you, Tom.”
“Maybe. But from what I hear
, something happened a couple years ago that might lead him to back Leah rather than you.”
Something inside Reggie buckled. His confidence wavered. How did Tom know about Jake? Who had told him, and how much?
“Speak your mind,” Tom said, “and then get out of here. Nothing good ever seems to come out of our close proximity, Reggie. I think it’s best if we just keep our distance from each other.”
“Probably so.” Reggie looked at the owl. Not the greatest decoy, but passable. Probably another of Henrietta Fox’s left-behinds. “Mockingbirds giving you trouble too?”
Tom straightened the post beneath the owl and tamped down the dirt around it. “Haven’t slept in a few days. What’s on your mind, Reggie?”
“Barney called me this morning. I don’t mind saying I’m worried about him, Tom. Loss is a hard thing for anyone, more so for him. He didn’t have many friends left in town.”
“Seems to have plenty now.”
“Yes, but I think you know what kinds of friends those people are. Don’t you?”
Tom’s silence was all the answer Reggie needed.
“He wanted me to pass along something,” Reggie said. “He said, ‘Tell Leah not to come today.’” Reggie watched as those words sank in. Tom didn’t seem to be surprised. “I’ll ask—ask, mind you—that you abide by Barney’s wishes, Tom. Give him a chance to say good-bye to his wife. This thing that’s happened, it’s gone too far. You know that. So do I.”
Tom lowered his eyes and kicked the dirt. He nodded. “Since Leah’s not here, I’ll say I’m sorry about last night. Neither Ellen nor I knew any of that was going to happen. If we had, we wouldn’t have been there. You tell Barney that for me, Reggie. And you tell him we’ll stay away.”
He went back to his fake owl. There was no good-bye, no have a nice day or see you soon. Reggie thought that was the best that could happen, given the circumstances. He turned, offered only, “Hope that decoy gets you some sleep,” and walked back around the house.
As he was pulling away, Reggie turned toward the house. Leah stood in the living room window like a lonely ghost mislaid between two worlds, watching.
3
It wasn’t the chirping that kept Allie awake as much as it was Leah’s painting, and it wasn’t Leah’s painting as much as it was that Leah had chosen to keep the Rainbow Man’s revelation to herself. A part of her still-dozy mind said that was wrong, that she should be more concerned with what the painting meant than the slight she felt, but the slight hurt more. It hurt like a deep bruise.
“Because we’re in this together,” she told the ceiling, and then nodded as if in agreement with herself. “That’s what it means to be friends. There ain’t no secrets, and you share even the bad stuff.”
She pulled her knees up, transforming the bedsheets from plains to peaks, and rubbed her eyes. Outside, the morning sun was already above the trees on the edge of the yard. Allie had no clock in her room, but she knew it was late. She also knew the phone hadn’t rung. She would have heard that, just like she’d heard her daddy say before leaving for work that he was going to kill that dang mockingbird.
What did it mean that Leah hadn’t called? And did that matter now anyway? No, she thought. Because it was too late now. It was too late for a lot of things.
Maybe Mr. Doctor or Miss Ellen had grounded her from the phone because of what she’d done.
Allie didn’t know why not, seeing as how she’d never witnessed such a conflagration of fury and disgust as she had the night before. The fact that it had all happened at a church during a remembrance had only made things worse. Why Leah had deemed that the best time to tell everyone a storm was coming and they’d all die if they didn’t heed the Rainbow Man was beyond all logic.
“Maybe that’s why Leah didn’t tell me before. Maybe she wanted all those people to see my shock was like theirs”—And my dander, she thought, because there was plenty of that on my face too—“so the hate they carried for her wouldn’t spill over to me. Maybe she just wanted to protect me like I done for her.”
Maybe. Allie sighed and told the ceiling that she didn’t understand why everything had to be so knotty.
She got out of bed and dressed. If Leah didn’t call, then Allie would have to go over there. That wouldn’t be a big deal. Miss Ellen had practically adopted Allie over the last week, and Mr. Doctor would be at work because he loved too much. Allie thought the only person who might object would be Leah, and that confused her even more.
Mary pigtailed Allie’s hair and pronounced her fit to be seen in public. There was no talk between them of the night before, nor a reminder of what Allie must do. There was only a motherly hug, a peck on the cheek, and the promise of a prayer that things would go well.
“Thanks, Momma,” Allie said. “They will.”
The bike ride was short enough to keep Allie’s legs from burning but long enough for her to consider everything that had happened in the last week—the party, the magic, Mr. Barney and Miss Mabel, Preacher Goggins’s anger, the list Allie had shared with Mr. Doctor, the calling down of the Spirit, the mockingbirds. Her opinion of Leah’s lying/Leah’s telling the truth seemed to change depending upon the position of the pedals, but in the end Allie decided everything hinged not on Mr. Barney’s ticket or Leah’s paintings, but on the kiss she’d shared with Zach Barnett. Leah had known about that. Or the Rainbow Man had. Either way, it was impossible. It was impossible, and it also didn’t matter anymore.
No one was waiting on the old Victorian’s porch. Leah’s bedroom window was empty. Miss Ellen opened the door just as she reached the porch.
“Hi, Allie.”
Her voice was tired, and the words came out like they’d been spoken through a wind.
“Hey there, Miss Ellen. Is Leah here?”
“She’s on the hill in the backyard. It’s been a rough morning.”
Ellen guided her inside and through the living room. The glass on the table looked like it was full of grape juice, but Allie thought it held something stiffer, given the fancy shape.
“Where’s Mr. Doctor?”
“At work. He didn’t want to go today, but Leah insisted.”
“Really? Why?”
Ellen shrugged. “She said it’d be good for him. Especially after Reverend Goggins came by and said Barney wants us to stay away from Mabel’s graveside service today. And though I can understand that, I know it hurt Leah.”
“I didn’t know the painting was of that, Miss Ellen. I swear it.”
“I believe you.”
The two of them stood at the back door and gazed out over the spacious but mostly empty backyard. Mr. Doctor had taken the swimming pool up, though the grass where it had stood was still flattened. The two pines on the hill sagged in the summer heat. Two feet poked out from beneath the maze of branches like two pale dots.
“I wish I knew what’s happening,” Ellen said. It was mostly to herself, but Allie nodded anyway.
“Me too.”
“Do you really think God’s touched her with magic?”
“I think something’s touched her,” Allie said, though whether it was magic or not she no longer knew. That was a question much harder for her to answer than it had been a few days ago. “But I don’t know if it’s God. My apologies if that ain’t what you sought to hear.”
Ellen nodded as if she’d had the same thought but not the courage to confess it.
“I’m gonna go talk to her,” Allie said. “My folks were plenty mad last night at what Leah done, Miss Ellen. I gotta tell you that. And I gotta tell you they ain’t so sure I should be friends with Leah anymore, even if she’s got nobody else to tell her of the Higher Things. They like her, and they like y’all, but I reckon it’s like Mr. Doctor in that they love me too much. So I’m just gonna go and set things right.”
Allie didn’t know if Ellen had heard her or not but got a pat on the head nonetheless. Ellen opened the back door and Allie stepped out. She stared out at the pines, trying to figure what f
elt right and what felt wrong, but everything felt knobby again. Allie supposed this must be what being a grown-up feels like, having to do things you’re not sure you should be doing at all.
She took the space between the house and the hill with the steely resolve of a martyr, then paused where the shadow of the pines ended and said, “Well, this here looks familiar.”
The toes peeking out from beneath the branches wiggled. A voice came back that answered, “I wuh-was afraid you’d c-come.”
“That ain’t no way to be, Leah Norcross.” Allie stooped down and spread the branches with her hands. Leah was huddled inside. She drew her legs into herself and rested her lips on a knee. “You ain’t ever gotta be afraid of me.”
“I’m n-not afraid of you,” Leah said. She looked at Allie with eyes that had accumulated a life’s worth of pain in a week’s worth of time. “C-come in here and suh-sit.”
Allie wriggled herself between the trees, where Leah had spent so much time hiding from the world that the branches had bent and curved into a rough outline of her slumped body.
“Everybody’s muh-mad at m-me,” she said. “Even Muh-Mommy and Puh-Pops. Mr. Buh-Barney. Ruh-Reverend Goggins. And you. You’re muh-mad too.”
“I don’t wanna be,” Allie said. “Maybe I wouldn’t be if I knew all that’s goin’ on. You shoulda told me about what you drew, Leah. And you really shoulda told me when you were gonna show it to everybody before you did it.”
“I duh-don’t want to t-talk about that,” Leah said.
“Why?”
“I juh-just don’t.”
Allie looked around, careful of any wayward branches that could poke her eye. “Is the Rainbow Man here?”
“Yuh-yes, but I duh-don’t want to t-talk about huh-him either.”
“Well, I’ve had about enough of this.”
Allie crawled out from the pines and took hold of Leah’s feet. Leah let out a sharp cry as Allie began to pull. She grabbed for the nearest branch or root or rock, anything that would keep her in place. Nothing could. Allie was too quick and too strong. She dragged Leah out of the shadows and into the sunlight.
When Mockingbirds Sing (9781401688233) Page 22