Saving Cicadas

by Nicole Seitz

  One day she found Baby Jesus hidden in Rainey’s drawer. I wondered if she might be mad at Rainey stealing it, and I almost ran to go find Rainey and tell her she’d been found out. But Mama picked up Jesus and studied his face, his halo. She lay him down on Rainey’s bed and fell to her knees. She cried then, longer and harder and sadder than I’d ever seen her. She asked for forgiveness. She pleaded. She clenched her fists. She cried until there was nothing left but my name on her lips.

  “Lilly Gray,” she said, breathless.

  “I’m here, Mama.”

  “Oh sweet child, I am so sorry. I’m just so sorry.”

  “I know, Mama. I know you are.”

  “I promise you that I’ll do right. I will never do anything bad again.”

  “I know you won’t, Mama. I’m proud of you.”

  “Oh, dear God. Please forgive me for what I did. Please, how can you ever forgive me?”

  “God can forgive you anything, Mama.”

  She took a deep breath and said through clenched teeth, “I love you, Lilly Gray. You are my angel in heaven. I am just so sorry. Oh, dear God . . .”

  And in that instant, even though I was hearing what I’d longed to hear my entire life from Mama, I knew she’d finally made her peace with me. Like she’d done with Poppy.

  And I was free to go.

  Funny thing about making peace. One person can make it and think okay, we’re done here. We can move on. But the other person, me, might think but wait a minute, I don’t feel peaceful. I don’t want to go.

  That’s how I felt. Mama was my mama no matter what. She and Rainey and Grandma Mona were everything I’d ever known. The fact that I was only half-living here in Forest Pines wasn’t cause enough for me to want to leave.

  “If I’m supposed to go to heaven, wouldn’t I want to leave?” I asked Grandma Mona one morning, sitting on the front porch in the gazebo. We were feeling the air turn cooler and watching mockingbirds play in the sky and the younger Mrs. Shoemaker’s new cat chasing a squirrel through our yard.

  “Yes. I believe you would want to leave. I imagine God’ll put the desire in your heart when it’s time to go.”

  “That day . . . in Fervor,” I said, “he told me, heaven is forever, but Mama needs me now. He hasn’t told me anything different yet.”

  “Just wait on the Lord,” said Grandma Mona, rocking. “That’s what I’m doing. You just sit here with me and we’ll wait together. However long it takes.”

  Mama had a nice little belly by the time she found her a good job. Mrs. Arielle had a friend who ran an activity program for children and seniors and adults with special needs. Mama answered the phones in the front office of the Rainbow House, and Rainey got to come for free. She did arts and crafts and made new friends just like her with Down syndrome. She hit it off with one girl in particular, Brenda. Brenda had really bad eyesight and wore thick glasses. She could pronounce her words and read a little better than Rainey, even in glasses, but physically, she was much more impaired. She and Rainey would laugh at nearly everything, at the pictures they drew and funny parts in books. Rainey was making a real friend, and the funny thing was, I wasn’t jealous. The old me would have been upset and pouting about losing some of her attention, but no more. Brenda gave me hope that if and when I ever did leave, Rainey would be all right without me.

  Mama was doing better too. She liked having a job where she didn’t have to stand all day. She was pleasant and pretty and friendly with the people at work. It seems she had finally found herself a good place in the world. We began attending Fritz’s church on Sundays. He was a real good preacher, serious sometimes, funny too. I would sit there next to Mama in a pew and close my eyes, listening to his voice. I would play this little game with myself. I knew what Fritz’s words would be. Like they came through me a second before they flowed out of him.

  “For those who have no eyes for heaven, the taste of Truth is bitter,” he said, and I mouthed right along with him. “But for those whose names are written in the Book of Life, the Truth is sweet like honey. It drips from our tongues and covers the world in a froth of joy and glory hallelujah. And all God’s people said . . .”

  “Amen.”

  I felt connected to both heaven and earth in the Covenant Church in Forest Pines. Mama did too, and she could finally hold her head up there, knowing the choice she’d made.

  Come Christmastime, Fritz offered Rainey “a most important job” in the real, live nativity scene. He said she could be the angel who watched over the baby Jesus. This, to Rainey, was akin to winning the lottery. She’d already returned the plastic baby doll she’d stolen over the summer, but on Christmas Eve, she and I both stood there, angels watching over that real, live baby Jesus. It was a boy named Michael, but nobody really cared about that. People came from far and wide to see what God had brought to Forest Pines, the miracle of the Christmas season. Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus, two stinky sheep, three wise men, a donkey, and us—me with my golden wings spread out, and Rainey with the big fluffy white ones Mama had sewed by hand and Rainey swore she’d never take off as long as she lived and breathed.

  My mother had a baby girl on March the second and named her Lilly Gray. I understood why she did it, and I was happy to have my baby sister named after me. She was small though. For some reason, they had to keep her in the hospital an extra day and give her oxygen. She was yellow, so they put her under lights.

  I’ll never forget the first time I saw her face. Uncle Fritz, Rainey, Grandma Mona, and I were there in the hospital, waiting for the baby to be born. After three hours, we heard a little wail from the other side of the door, and we cheered in the hallway. A few minutes later a nurse came out, holding the baby in her arms, swaddled up. She didn’t let us touch her or look real close while she whisked her to another room, but I saw her, and that was enough. My whole life had been for that moment when my little sister would finally show her face in the world.

  Over the next week, Mama was very protective of her. She held her a lot. She let Rainey hold her too, showed her how to hold her head and told her all about the soft spot. She had to ask Rainey to stop kissing the baby, for it was all Rainey could do. She was completely in love with her. She lived and breathed for that baby. If she cried and Mama was holding her, she didn’t cover her ears. Instead, she patted her back, her tiny hat-covered head. When Rainey held her, she had to sit down and prop her just so. I would sit beside her on the sofa and touch the baby’s tiny fingers. They were cold in my hands, and I’d never been so happy to be holding a cold hand in all my life. It meant she was a real, live baby, not an angel child like me.

  Then one night, I was watching over Lilly like I always did. Grandma Mona and I took turns, and this night was mine. I studied how her breathing was slow. How she was dreaming of something wonderful, I was sure. Her crib was lavender, green, and white. Fritz had repainted it for Mama after finding it in the attic, stuffed with boxes. Grandma Mona said my mother had slept in the very same crib when she was little, so it was a special find.

  Lilly looked so tiny in that crib. The light coming in from the window grew brighter as if day was coming. But it was the middle of the night.

  I moved to the baby’s side and put my hand on her little face. It was not quite so cold anymore. Her tiny chest heaved, then once again. “Baby?” I said. “You okay?” Her little chest was not moving anymore.

  “Mama!” I screamed.

  The door flew open, and Grandma Mona came rushing in. She looked me in the eye and said without words, It’s time. Then she opened her mouth and smiled a sad smile. “She’s losing her will to live.”

  “But why? Mama needs her!”

  “I don’t know, honey. There are some souls who can withstand anything, survivors at all costs. And there are others, like this sweet child, who want nothing more than to go back to heaven, to lie in the warm arms of Father God.”

  “But this is awful!” I began to cry. I knew how much Mama had been through to have this baby. I kn
ew how hard the whole thing had been, how she’d tried to make peace with what she’d done to me and was ready to move on. But this . . .

  “Isn’t there anything we can do?” I whimpered.

  Grandma Mona stayed quiet until she said, “What does the Lord tell you?”

  I listened but heard not a word except the pounding of my own heart. And then we heard a commotion in the hallway, and Mama came in, panting like she’d woken up from a terrible dream. She was clutching her nightgown with one hand and staring big-eyed at the crib. Somehow, she knew.

  I leaned over and touched that sweet baby, and all of a sudden I felt her warmth. She felt like Poppy or Grandma Mona had to me. And in an instant, I heard-knew in my soul these words: You are a survivor, Lilly Gray Macy. Heaven will wait for you, child.

  And I was at peace.

  I reached back between the baby’s shoulder blades and felt these two little nubs, tiny baby wings. I knew she was too small to fly, so I picked her up and carried her. Across the room we went toward the window, then I heard a cry. I turned back and saw Mama standing at the crib, pleading with her eyes. For just a split second, she saw me, as if peering through a window, and knew who I was.

  “Take me instead,” she shrieked. “I’ll do anything, just leave the baby!”

  Grandma Mona wasted no time and grabbed Lilly from me. She handed her to a beautiful glowing angel waiting outside the window.

  “No! Please!” Mama wailed. “Please, God!”

  And with that, I felt the warm breath of God on the back of my neck. He breathed life into my lungs, my limbs, my heart. Grandma Mona grew cold as she held me in her arms, and she kissed me and lay me back in the crib where all was lavender, green, and happy—where my baby sister lay for nine whole days before me.

  In those first moments, the scents of the world overcame me, and it was the most glorious thing I’d ever felt. I cried my first real, live tears when Mama touched my moving, breathing chest, and I finally felt how warm she was. She wept a river for both of us then, for herself and her real, live girl.

  Epilogue

  THE WINDOW

  {Mona}

  In every life there are windows. Between then and now, between dead and gone. There are windows of opportunity, too, chances to see what life could be like—if only. Chances to make things right again, to rebirth, renew, redeem. But timing is everything. And only God knows when the timing is right for you, for me. Knowing when our windows will open—and why and how—is impossible. But being able to recognize a window for what it is, now that is crucial—for when some windows close, they may never be opened again.

  It’s said there’s none greater than he who lays down his life for another. This is the mark of a true hero. The baby I handed out the window that night? That was actually my sweet granddaughter Bonnie Kay. Her name is written in the Book of Life that way, and she’s safe in heaven with Poppy now. In my book, she’s a hero, because she gave her life for her sister, Janie. And Janie’s a hero because she saved her sister’s life and her mother’s fragile heart. Oh, she’ll always be Janie to me, no matter if they call her Lilly Gray at school or in heaven. Rainey knows her too. The next morning after Janie was born, Rainey came in to find Priscilla holding her in her arms, rocking and still crying. Rainey got one look at the baby and scrunched her eyes up. She bent down close and kissed her on the forehead, then took her fingers in her own and grinned. “Janie!” she said. She knew her immediately and has called her Janie, not Lilly, ever since.

  Right now, Rainey and Janie are playing chase in and out of the pews of the Covenant Church. Rainey’s a young woman now, twenty-two years old. She’s lovely. And Janie’s a handful at almost five. Wild blonde hair and blue eyes like her Mama. She might look different, but she’s still the same child to me. I’ve never seen so much energy in all my life. She sees me and knows me. She knows Rainey too. She’s stubborn and smart and loving—and she remembers her life before she came here. She articulates it too. How, I do not know. I do not understand all the mysteries of God.

  As for Harlan, I imagine he’s out hiding somewhere in the North Carolina mountains, unable to face Priscilla and everything that comes along with her—Rainey, Janie, leaving again. How the man can live without his flesh and blood by his side, I’ll never know. They’re angels, those girls, I tell you the truth. And as such, they’ll probably welcome him with open arms if and when he ever does return.

  Priscilla and Fritz are sitting in his office with the door slightly ajar so they can hear if there’s trouble in the sanctuary. Priscilla’s hair is long again, and she’s pulling it, twisting it in her fingers. She’s asking him about past lives, and I’m sitting here in the shadows grinning because I know what he’ll say. He’s my son, after all, and a preacher, to boot.

  “But she talks about my father, Fritz. You and I both know she never saw my father alive.”

  Fritz looks at her and says nothing. He’s amused.

  “Rainey refuses to call her by her real name,” says Priscilla. “She insists she’s Janie. Remember her invisible friend? As if she’s come to life or something . . .”

  “I guess I’ve heard stranger things, Priscilla. Invisible friends can be very real.”

  “Oh really? Well, do you know she talks to our mother as if she’s here in the room with us? Grandma Mona this and Grandma Mona that. As if she’s still alive. And Rainey does the very same thing! I feel like I’m outnumbered. Haunted. What if the house really is haunted?”

  “Oh, Priscilla. After all this time, what does it really matter? If something wanted to get you, it’ve gotten you by now.” He smirks and crinkles his eyes.

  “No, really, I . . . I hear doors creaking and . . . and water running. I go to check it out but it’s not running anymore. I’m—maybe I’m going crazy.”

  Fritz stops and clears his throat. “You’re not going crazy.” I wait to see if my children will look for me or at me, but they don’t. They’re blind as ever. Priscilla stands and moves to the window. She bites a nail and watches three mockingbirds chase off doves on the church lawn.

  “The house is old,” says Fritz. “Very old. It’s settling. And your girls? They’re special. God made each of your girls exactly the way he wanted. Who knows? Maybe they have some ability to know things or see things that you and I cannot. Children have a faith that you and I find hard to come by. Rainey has a heart of gold, and that Lilly, well, she’s practically a prodigy with her speech and memory. Brilliant, if you ask me.”

  “But the window, Fritz!” Priscilla turns and glares at him, clutching her chest. “Lilly can’t know about that, no one does. She draws pictures of a window with a heart in it—the very same one that shows up in my dreams. Here. See?” She pulls a folded piece of paper from her purse. “Lilly wasn’t even born yet when . . . There’s no possible way she can know about the window. Right?”

  “Priscilla,” says Fritz gently. He stands and moves to her side, never touching her. His voice gets very low. “I’m your brother. Yes, I’m a preacher, but I’m your brother first and foremost. Please tell me what happened with this window. Just confess it and get it out in the open. It will lose its power over you if you simply speak of it. I promise you, this window will lose its power.”

  “I . . .” Priscilla shakes her head and crosses her arms, holding herself.

  “Oh, come on, honey,” I say from my chair. “Do us all a favor and just tell him what you did. You can talk about it now. You can tell him how I was the one who put that awful idea in your head the first time. You can tell him how angry you are at me, at yourself still. Just say it, child, and I’ll be on my way. Please say the word . . .”

  Priscilla looks at Fritz with blurry eyes and opens her mouth. Then the door swings open and Rainey chases a giggling four-and-a-half-year-old child to her mama’s side. She’s clutching a handful of colored construction papers.

  “Look, Mama! See? I drew you and me and—”

  “Oh, how nice. I’ll look in just a minute, swee
tie. Okay?” Priscilla wraps her arms around Janie and hoists her to her hip, smiling and kissing her on the neck. Then she says, “Maybe someday we can talk about it, Fritz. But not yet. Maybe someday.”

  And just like that, I watch as her window closes again—and mine too. For how long, I don’t know. I suppose I will be here in Forest Pines alongside my loved ones until tomorrow or forever . . . whichever one comes first. The way it looks now, I’ll be watching over my grandbabies for years and years to come. But I imagine there could be worse things than that. Oh yes, I imagine there are worse things.

  “Come over here by the light,” I say to my sweet Janie, “and show your Grandma Mona what pretty pictures you drew. Oh, this one here’s my favorite. Is it a car?”

  Acknowledgments

  This book was not an easy one to write, though honestly, none of them are. As always, I have people in my life who helped me in the making of Saving Cicadas. I’d like to thank a dear teacher I had in grade school, Sunny Littlejohn, for reminding me to read To Kill a Mockingbird. To Phyllis Sippel at Sun City, thank you for being so open and supportive, and for inadvertently providing me with the most powerful part of this book. To Julie Weinheimer, my blessing of a neighbor, I appreciate your prayers for my writing. They helped me through. And to God, thank you for sending the cicadas in full force near Black Mountain, NC . Your timing is always perfect.

  Thank you, Amanda Bostic, for allowing me to write such a story, and Rachelle Gardner, for helping me shape it into a finer book. At Thomas Nelson, there is an amazing fiction team that packages and produces on a superbly professional level. I am grateful to you and so pleased to be partnering with you on both the inside and outside of my books.

  To all the booksellers who support me, to my agent, Mark Gilroy, who believes in me, and to my lovely publicists, Marjory and Peter Wentworth, and Katie Bond—God bless you for all that you do to spread the news about this Southern girl and my fancy words.