by Ashton Lee
There was more laughter, and then Mr. Hannigan’s face grew solemn as he took a deep breath. “What I really wanted to tell y’all about was something that happened to me after my mother died a few years back, and I’d been living up here in Cherico for over twenty years. First, a little background for those of you who may not know: I am the youngest of six brothers, and we were and still are a close-knit, Irish Catholic family. My mother, Theresa, was very strict with all of us, and she needed to be. We were a rowdy bunch, and she really had her hands full. But we knew she loved us, and we all loved her in return.
“The summer she died unexpectedly in her sleep shortly after Maura Beth took over the library here, I hadn’t seen Mother in several years. It was one of those things where you have every intention of visiting, but something always comes up that gets in the way. Of course, I’d sent birthday and Christmas cards and talked on the phone now and then, but I hadn’t taken the time to visit her face-to-face. My brothers all got married and had loads of grands to show off, plus they stayed to make a living in Natchez. Me, I set off on my own and just never found anyone, and my mother was always on me to find a nice Catholic girl like all my brothers had—”
He broke off and appeared to be smirking about something. “Do any of you know of a catalog where I can order one?”
This time, it took a while for the laughter to die down.
“Well, Mother was almost that bad about it. I don’t know—maybe I was tired of every visit being dominated by why I hadn’t gotten married yet. But anyhow, she died in her sleep, and no one got to say good-bye the way we’d all like to when a loved one leaves us. Even my brothers. But at least they had all seen and talked to her recently. I was the odd man out and completely without closure. I can relate to what Miss Voncille said earlier. It’s tough to make your peace when you don’t have it.”
“Amen,” Miss Voncille called out, smiling at him affectionately.
“I remember that Maura Beth helped me find some books on grief at the library, and I read them all. They did give me some comfort. But I’m now going to share something I’ve never told anyone before. I was—well, I was afraid of ridicule and that people would say I’d just made it all up because I was hurting so much. I changed my mind when Maura Beth came up with this exchange of inspirational stories.
“I need to backtrack just a tad bit, though. When my brothers and I were very young, Mother and our aunt Margaret came up with a delightful little trick to keep the magic in our lives. Or at least that’s what they told us later on. What they did was to buy two large, silver-plated birds with long tails, but we weren’t told there were two of them. Mother kept one on the fireplace mantel, and Aunt Margaret did the same at her house. Mother called it The Magic Bird and told us that it was capable of coming to life and flying to Aunt Margaret’s house to greet us when we got there. And that’s what we believed had happened when we saw The Magic Bird on Aunt Margaret’s mantel. Eventually, both of the birds got broken and couldn’t be repaired. But the fond memories continued and—”
“What an adorable story!” Miss Voncille interrupted.
“Thank you, but I haven’t quite gotten to the point yet, Miss Voncille.”
“There’s more? Well, how delightful!”
“Yes, well, now comes the part that I’ve never told anyone about before, and it involves this matter of closure. I was beside myself at the funeral, even though everyone did everything they could to console me. But then, something happened to give me that closure, and it involved the idea of The Magic Bird coming to life. I wasn’t looking forward to Christmas that year, but I dutifully decorated the house as I always had. I put up a tree in the living room, put a wreath on the front door, and was in the midst of stringing some small white lights throughout the azaleas that lined the walk leading up to my front porch.
“And that’s when something remarkable happened. I heard a knocking noise coming from behind me as I faced the street with my lights. When I turned around, a large bird with a long tail was pecking at one of my front window panes. I immediately dropped the lights and approached this bird—if that was indeed what it was. Finally, I was less than six inches away, but the bird did not take flight as I would have expected it to do. Instead, it hopped down from the window, and without even thinking about it, I said, ‘Mother?’
“The bird followed me halfway down the path to where I had dropped the lights and stood there watching me string them. I continued to talk to it. ‘You see? I’m going to have Christmas just like I always have.’
“That bird did not fly away until I had completed all of my yard decorations, but when it finally did, I knew I had closure. I don’t pretend to understand exactly what happened that day, but I can tell you that I fully recovered that childhood sense of magic Mother and Aunt Margaret gave to us when they created The Magic Bird. Was this Mother’s way of letting me know everything was fine so that I could go on with my life? I know there are those who will say that I was just guilty of wishful thinking and that there had to be a scientific explanation for what happened. Maybe there was, but I don’t care. All I know is that I definitely had the closure I desperately needed, and the beliefs I was brought up with were only strengthened in a quiet, internal way. I was content with those, but it didn’t matter if no one else in the world understood. That bird was meant for me, and the message was received.”
Connie McShay raised her hand. “Did you ever see the bird again?”
“Never. Just that once. But that was all I needed. I guess you could say—mission accomplished.”
“Well, anyway, I’m glad you chose to share the story with us tonight,” Connie continued. “We take a lot of things on faith in this life, but the notion that birds can be messengers of some kind is not out of left field to me. I don’t think we fully understand the role that some animals can play in our lives. Do they see and hear versions of reality that we don’t? Do they share their special gifts with us? As our pets, it’s well-documented that they cheer us up and even warn us from time to time. Is it so unreasonable to think that they know things we don’t know?”
Mr. Hannigan seemed relieved and nodded with a grateful smile. “Thank you for saying that, and I hope my story helps all of you in some way.” And with that, he returned to his seat to the applause of the club.
“I’m convinced my cats hold the secrets to the universe,” Audra Neely said, subtly waving her hand. “I wish I could tap into their brains. Maybe they could tell me how to keep my store open.” She paused for a little giggle as she stood up in the front row and turned to face the group. “I’m only kidding about my cats, of course, but I would like to take this opportunity to wish everyone a Merry Christmas. I’ve loved being here in Cherico and making so many good friends.”
“Will you stay in touch with us after you get settled?” Maura Beth added.
“Of course I will. You’re all exceptional people.”
“Audra, I’ll miss your special lobster orders every now and then,” Mr. Hannigan said.
“What can I say? I have extravagant tastes, but I guess you could say my antique store wasn’t keeping me in lobsters.”
Everyone laughed, and then Maura Beth resumed her duties as moderator. “All I can say is that each new story seems to top the previous one. Now, who would like to go next?”
Connie raised her hand again. “I would, if you don’t mind. In a strange way I think my story and Mr. Hannigan’s might be first cousins in the take-it-on-faith department; and it has something in common with the moving words Locke read from his late wife’s journal.”
Maura Beth smiled and gestured to her invitingly. “Then by all means, come on up and don’t keep us in suspense.”
19
Bonjour Cheri
Evie Sparks noticed that her beloved poodle, Bonjour Cheri, was acting strangely on their evening walk along fashionable Perry Street. The dog was dawdling and whimpering where before she had always been straightforward about doing her business. She had already pass
ed up two of her favorite spots on the sidewalk median strip close to the edge of the curb where Evie would always clean up after her with her pooper scooper and doggie bag. As Cherico’s perennial First Lady, she had continued to be the impetus behind a beautification program that included dog-walking responsibilities and protocol, among many other trivial things.
“What’s the matter, girl?” Evie had said more than once. “I know you have to go, so why don’t you?”
But Bonjour Cheri continued to delay the inevitable, occasionally looking up at her mommy with sad eyes while refusing to sniff and circle.
“Come on, now, sweetie, you have to go. It’s really cold out here tonight. No more nonsense, okay?”
Finally, Bonjour Cheri complied in a spot she had never chosen before. But the puzzling drama was far from over. All the way back home, she continued to whimper, going faster and faster and pulling on her leash as if driven by some powerful but unseen force.
“Slow down, girl! Stop it, now!”
But all of Evie’s commands were completely ignored.
Once the two of them walked into the kitchen, Bonjour Cheri’s agitation only increased, and Evie struggled mightily to unhook the leash from her collar as her pampered pet refused to sit still for a second. It was almost as if the ordinarily calm and well-mannered poodle was possessed.
“What in the world is the matter with you, sweetie pie? Mommy has never seen you like this.”
Bonjour Cheri started barking the way dogs bark when they spot a squirrel in the yard and then give chase. Next, she sprinted straight for the door to the den where she began pawing at it frantically. The sound of the dog’s claws scratching the wood grated on Evie’s nerves like the fabled fingernails across a chalkboard. It was almost too much to bear.
“My goodness, sweetie, I almost feel like we’re in one of those Lassie rescue episodes,” Evie said, trailing after, as Bonjour Cheri continued acting completely out of character.
But Evie’s fleeting moment of humor was quickly replaced by more troubling thoughts. She could not forget that her Durden had toyed with his food and then excused himself to do some work after hours. But she had never known him to bring the office home with him over the many years of his political reign in Cherico. She tried the doorknob and found that he had locked himself in. Meanwhile, Bonjour Cheri took her constant barking and whimpering and pawing to yet another decibel, another level of frantic activity.
“Durden! Durden!” Evie cried out, continuing to work the doorknob with one hand while she knocked insistently with the other. “Open up, please! Durden, you’ve got to open up!”
But there was no answer. The silence behind the door was frightening, causing her pulse to quicken even more.
“If you’re playing some kind of joke, it isn’t funny!”
The duet of urgency from both dog and wife was at a fever pitch now. It was difficult to tell who was more agitated.
“Durden! Can you hear me, sweetheart? Please, Durden, open up! What’s going on in there?”
Finally, Evie broke away from the door while Bonjour Cheri remained at her post like the good, loyal dog she was. At that point Evie had only one thing on her mind—calling 911. Something bad was going on in her house, and she sensed that there was no time to lose.
20
Connie McShay and Cara Lynn Mayhew
To say that everyone in the library lobby was intrigued by the opening statement of Connie’s presentation was an understatement. “I’m here tonight to tell you all a remarkable story of unfinished business that resulted in saving someone’s life,” she had already told them all. She was careful to let everyone sit with that for a few moments before speaking again.
“Of course, I’ve seen my share of people leaving us, being the retired ICU nurse that I am. But this is about someone who stayed with us. I was always overjoyed when that happened, of course, and this particular recovery is one I was given permission to share a long time ago. Lucianne Connor was a patient of mine the one year I was transferred to the oncology wing of my hospital up in Nashville. I saw her during the period of time she was undergoing chemo, and, of course, it was difficult for her, as it is for everyone. Lucianne was an active, beautiful mother of two young boys and had just turned forty when she first got her diagnosis of ovarian cancer; and I was with her as she lost her lush brunette hair and the drugs began to distort her good looks.
“But despite all the nausea and everything else she went through, she never complained. I mean, not even once. Instead, she told me all the time how grateful she was that her cancer was being treated before it advanced to stage four, which gave her a fighting chance for the remission she eventually achieved. Ovarian cancer is extremely difficult to detect until it’s gotten out of hand, but it’s how hers was caught in time that makes her story so remarkable.”
Connie paused once again to let her last statement sink in, and she could easily see that she continued to have the entire gathering on the edge of their seats.
“At any rate, Lucianne was from New Canaan, a little town about halfway between Nashville and Clarksville. She was a regular library user there, which turned out to end up saving her life. Lucianne told me that the previous librarian who had worked there for many years—a sweet, dedicated lady who everyone simply called Miz Trilby—had the misfortune of waiting too late to go to the doctor when she discovered a lump in her breast; and when she finally did go, her cancer had metastasized, and unfortunately, she didn’t make it.”
There were soft, sympathetic murmurings from the audience, and then Connie continued.
“But Lucianne visited the library quite often to check out the latest best-sellers. As it happened, she had to walk along a row of nonfiction on her way to the ‘new releases’ display. The first time several books practically jumped off the shelf and landed in front of her feet, she said she picked them up quickly and stacked them neatly at the end of a row that had a little room. I guess she was just like me—always obeying those signs about letting the staff do the reshelving. That’s sometimes a problem for you, isn’t it, Maura Beth?”
“More than you know,” Maura Beth said. “We find our books in the strangest places all the time. But we just shrug and do our jobs. Emma and Renette can vouch for that, can’t you, ladies?”
Both women nodded in agreement, and Renette said, “Even on our slowest days, someone always seems to come in and rearrange things.”
“I’m sure,” Connie added. “So, anyway, the next time Lucianne walked that way and those same books fell off the shelf at her feet, she was more than puzzled. This time, she paid more than passing attention to those titles as she picked them up. To her astonishment, they were all about some aspect of ovarian cancer. Lucianne said that one was even about the importance of early detection. It was then that she began to put two and two together, for lack of a better way to put it. She already knew what had happened to Miz Trilby, and this poltergeist effect that kept happening to her was just too weird for her to ignore. I imagine all of you can guess what happened next. She went to the doctor, told him what had happened at the library, and asked to undergo a battery of tests, and that was when they detected her ovarian cancer in the nick of time. It was one of those things that everyone around her called a miracle.”
Maura Beth was the first to sigh in astonishment. “Is Lucianne still with us, I hope and pray?”
Connie sounded as proud as a grandmother talking about her grandchildren. “She sure is. I just got a beautiful, newsy Christmas card from her yesterday. I thought to myself, ‘How perfect, since I’m going to be telling her story to everyone at the library tomorrow night!’ More than anything else has, it has really put me in the Christmas spirit. Because no matter how hard we try, there are just some things that can’t be explained in conventional terms, and I know I’m okay with that. I firmly believe we aren’t meant to know the answers to everything.”
This time, it was Jeremy who spoke up, nodding approvingly. “You’ll have to excuse me
for being the English teacher that I am, but as William Shakespeare once put it: ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ That old chestnut from Hamlet just seemed to fit in well here, don’t you think?”
Connie flashed Jeremy her warmest smile. “I couldn’t agree more, and Lucianne also mentioned in her Christmas card that she was thinking of trying to write a memoir called Miz Trilby Saves the Day. She said she’s just not sure she can get the words down the way she wants, though. She has absolutely no experience writing anything more than a note to her sons’ teachers, but she believes her story could help promote cancer awareness and prevention.”
“I’d like to offer to help her, then,” Jeremy continued, feeling suddenly inspired and generous. “I haven’t made much progress on the novel I’ve been trying to write. Maybe she and I could collaborate on her concept. Do you think you could possibly put me in touch with her?”
“Well, I could tell her all about you, see what she says, and then get back to you, Jeremy.”
“That would be wonderful. The worst that could happen is that she’ll say she’s not interested, but maybe something great will come of this.”
Maura Beth shot her husband an understanding gaze. Only she knew how much he had been struggling with the manuscript he had unwisely tried to begin on their honeymoon. The newlywed distractions had been way too much for him, and perhaps he should have anticipated that. But, ah, to be young and very much in love! “Who knows what all we’ll set in motion because of getting together and sharing these stories with each other?”