The Spirit of Cattail County

by Victoria Piontek

  “Quit messing around, Maeve,” Johnny hollered, and choked up on his bat.

  “Just bring me home, brother.” Maeve rubbed her hands together like she could already taste victory.

  “No cheating, Castaway,” Andrew called.

  “What’d you say?” Maeve asked, leaving third base and making a beeline for Andrew.

  “Maeve, get back on base. It’s what they want.” Johnny dropped his bat and started after his sister.

  “I said, no cheating, Casta-way,” Andrew answered, emphasizing the long-running insult. Beulah regularly called the Castos the Castaways behind their backs, but few dared to say it to their faces. Doing so was asking for a whipping. Both the girls and the boys had quick tempers and even quicker fists, and Maeve was the meanest of the bunch.

  Maeve took one step closer to Andrew and met him eye to eye, her freckled nose just above his. Maeve was going to be a sixth grader in the fall, the same as Sparrow, Johnny, and the twins, but only because she’d been held back a year. This meant that even though Andrew was tall for his age, Maeve topped him by four fingers. She also fought better.

  Maeve poked Andrew in the chest. “No one calls me a cheater or a Castaway.”

  “I call it like I see it,” Andrew said, and then tagged Maeve with the ball. “OUT!”

  Ansley whooped.

  Maeve looked ready to spit fire.

  Sparrow felt riled up herself.

  Mama’s death, Auntie Geraldine’s ill nature, the threat to Dalton House, the heat—all sparked and crackled like kindling, feeding an anger she’d been unaware of moments before. She was tired of things she couldn’t control. She wanted to exert her will on something and a cheating Monroe fell smack-dab into that category.

  She started toward Maeve and Andrew just as Johnny trotted up beside his sister. Johnny tried to pull Maeve away. “Forget it. We’re still ahead.”

  If Maeve was the meanest of the Castos, Johnny was the kindest. Sparrow had never seen him start a fight. In fact, he’d often try to broker peace if it could be found, but if it couldn’t, his fists were as hard and as swift as any Casto’s.

  Andrew grinned. He seemed to think the odds had swung in his favor now that Johnny was there to control Maeve. “Yeah, Maeve. Be a good girl and listen to your brother,” he said, his good ol’ boy drawl as plain as his good ol’ boy smirk.

  Sparrow reached the pitcher’s mound just as Maeve shoved Andrew.

  In seconds, the entire outfield rushed toward them to watch the impending fight. They formed a tight circle around Andrew and Maeve. On either side of Sparrow, shoulders pressed close. In their excitement, the kids beside her forgot to keep their usual distance, and for that single moment, she belonged.

  Then a sulfurous breeze traveled across the marsh and touched Sparrow’s hair. A tendril tickled her face. She moved to brush it aside, reminding the kids on either side of her of her presence. The kids pushed away, forcing the circle into a crescent. Sparrow, alone, remained in the yawning space like a raft adrift on an unfriendly sea.

  She ignored the rejection. The idea of Andrew Monroe thinking he was better than other folks made her blood boil. “Andrew Monroe, apologize to Maeve right now!”

  “Andrew? Maeve started it, swamp rat,” Ansley said, tossing her glove on the ground and planting herself in front of Sparrow like she wanted a fight too.

  “You know that’s not true,” Sparrow said.

  “Swamp rat and Castaways sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Ansley singsonged.

  “Shut your mouth, Ansley,” Johnny said. “For goodness’ sake, her mama just died.”

  Sparrow didn’t know what shocked her more: a Casto sticking up for someone outside of their family or the embarrassed flush that turned Ansley’s cheeks red. Sparrow had never known Ansley to regret an insult.

  Maeve looked from Ansley to Andrew, balling and unballing her fist as if she couldn’t figure out which Monroe she disliked most. Suddenly, she seemed to decide and flew at Andrew, pouncing on him like a wild animal.

  They toppled to the ground, brawling like tomcats.

  Andrew yelped in pain. “She bit me!”

  “Oh, boy.” Johnny reached down to grab his sister by the arm.

  Sparrow pushed past Ansley and reached for Maeve’s other arm. She’d about gotten hold of it when the spectating kids scattered.

  “The grown-ups are coming,” Johnny said.

  Sparrow glanced toward the house and instantly regretted taking her eyes off the fighting pair, because in that second of inattention, Maeve and Andrew rolled toward her and knocked her off her feet.

  She tried to scramble out of the way, but before she could, Andrew’s elbow slammed into her mouth, making her teeth rattle, and her head hit the ground.

  To Sparrow’s relief, a hand grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her out of the fight. Gratitude washed over Sparrow as her limbs disentangled from Andrew’s and Maeve’s, but when she turned to face her savior, her relief turned to dread. She hadn’t been rescued. She’d been caught by Auntie Geraldine.

  Auntie Geraldine’s alabaster cheeks burned a furious red, and her eyes bulged in disbelief. “Sparrow Dalton! I believe you have just about lost your mind!” That she yelled in front of company gave testimony to the depth of her anger.

  Sparrow’s lip throbbed, and she tasted the metallic tang of blood. Andrew’s elbow had cut her lip. She opened her mouth to say something, but one look from Auntie Geraldine silenced her.

  Mason Casto hauled Maeve off Andrew. Mason Casto was Maeve and Johnny’s uncle, and he looked as angry as Auntie Geraldine.

  Wesley Monroe reached out an elegant hand to help his son up. “You all right?” he asked kindly. As the town’s only lawyer, he owned the biggest, prettiest house in Cattail County. He did all the law in Beulah, of course, but also worked in Havisham, which was why, according to Auntie Geraldine, they had so much money. A tidbit Sparrow knew to be fact since Auntie Geraldine kept track of things like that.

  “Fine,” Andrew said through gritted teeth.

  He didn’t look fine. Dirt covered his white dress shirt, and both eyes were swelling. He did his best to brush himself off and then turned to Auntie Geraldine. “Sorry for the trouble, Ms. Dalton.”

  “I know it wasn’t your fault.” Auntie Geraldine smiled at Andrew in a kindly way that made her look like Mama. When she smiled like that, her ice-blue eyes warmed, and her hair seemed more blond than gray, but it was a smile Sparrow rarely saw since Auntie Geraldine never bestowed it on her.

  “What happened here?” Wesley Monroe asked.

  “Nothing,” Sparrow, Johnny, Andrew, and Maeve said in unison. None of them would talk to the adults about what happened. Every kid in Beulah lived by one rule—tell the grown-ups nothing. Kid business was kid business, and as such, they dealt with things in their way. There’d be paybacks, but they would happen far from the adults’ watchful eyes.

  “Welp, if no one is talkin’, I’ll take these two home,” Mason Casto said. “You can rest assured, Geraldine, we’ll handle this at our place.”

  “I would hope so.” Auntie Geraldine turned her stony gaze toward Sparrow. “As for you, young lady, we’ll discuss this in private.”

  “Go easy on her. No real harm’s been done and she just buried her mother,” Mason Casto said.

  “I most certainly will not. Acting in such a despicable way on today of all days. It’s inexcusable! My sister is probably rolling over in her grave.”

  The reminder of Mama in her grave felt like a punch in the stomach, and Sparrow’s knees buckled. Auntie Geraldine didn’t need to say such awful things. She only did it to hurt Sparrow.

  Mason Casto reached over and steadied Sparrow to keep her from falling. “Geraldine,” he said softly.

  “I’ll not be lectured at by a Casto,” Auntie Geraldine snapped, and everyone felt the yoke of Beulah’s social structure. Castos didn’t tell Daltons how to act, even when the Dalton was in the wrong.

  Mason nodded
, and after an uncomfortable pause, he offered his hand to Wesley. “Sorry about your boy there.”

  Wesley returned the gesture, and the two men shook. “He’s tough. Aren’t you, son?” He slapped Andrew on the back.

  Andrew nodded miserably. Maeve had clearly beaten him.

  The Castos turned to leave, and everyone watched as they walked away. They got in their truck, and Mason Casto maneuvered it out of the long line of cars parked in the Dalton drive.

  He started to pull out onto Route 17. Then he stopped to make way for a vintage van, the color of periwinkles, hauling a teardrop camper. It zoomed down the rural country road toward town.

  “Flea market folk,” Wesley Monroe said.

  “Charlatans,” Auntie Geraldine corrected him.

  As Sparrow watched the blue van speed by, a girl leaned out the window and released a piece of yellow paper, as if setting a bird free. The paper took flight. It fluttered back and forth, making the most of its freedom. Just when it looked as though the paper would land in the middle of the road, the swamp sent a breeze its way and the paper picked up momentum again, hurtling toward the funeral party like tumbleweed. As it flew by, Sparrow snatched it from the sky.

  It was an advertisement. THE GREAT MADAME ELENA was typed in bold at the top of the page, and below the words were three tarot cards. Under the cards, more text said, Be amazed. Be astounded. Child psychic. Sees all. Knows all. Have your fortune foretold and all your questions answered. Appearing for a short time only at the flea market. Then much lower down and in much smaller print: All readings $20.00. Cash only, paid in advance.

  A quiver of curiosity quickened in Sparrow’s stomach—sees all, knows all.

  Auntie Geraldine ripped the paper from Sparrow’s hand. She scanned the page and then tore it down the middle. “Fortune-tellers,” she said, her disdain clear.

  Fate, Sparrow thought.

  On the third day after Mama’s funeral, Sparrow awoke to a bright blue sky streaked with cotton clouds stretched so thin they were almost mist. The sun hummed with heat and Sparrow felt betrayed by nature’s reminder that life marched on.

  The night of the funeral had been awful. Auntie Geraldine claimed Sparrow behaved so abysmally that she must not have any Dalton blood running through her veins whatsoever. A hateful comment that stayed with Sparrow in the days that followed, burrowing like a beetle since she feared the truth of it. Sparrow had always known she was half Dalton and half something else, but she always thought of herself as a Dalton. Now, without Mama to tether her to the only family she’d ever known, the connection felt fragile. Especially when Auntie Geraldine questioned her suitability to the family name, and the mirror cast its own doubts.

  Sparrow sometimes wondered if Mama had conjured her out of the swamp, creating a creature entirely of her own invention. An invention with parts so unlike any Dalton ever crafted, Sparrow struggled to see how she fit. Where Mama was fair, Sparrow was dark. When Mama’s blue eyes sparkled, Sparrow’s brown eyes cast shadows that threatened black. While Sparrow’s dark curls twisted in tangled brambles, Mama’s blond hair rested in quiet repose. Sparrow didn’t want to change the way she looked. She simply wanted her looks to profess her Daltonness.

  She needed Mama now more than ever.

  Mama had yet to show herself to Sparrow, and the waiting tore at her in a way that frayed her edges. She missed Mama so hard her insides hurt and her bones ached. She wanted Mama back, and the Boy’s presence proved Mama’s death didn’t have to be the final goodbye.

  Before Mama passed away, the Boy had simply been part of Sparrow’s world like the oak trees, the porch swing, and the wetlands. Like these things, he had existed as just another thread in the tapestry of her life at Dalton House, but now his manifestation hinted at more—a bridge to the other side, a key to a locked door, a promise of what could be.

  Sparrow wanted the Boy’s reborn existence for Mama, but she didn’t know how to make it happen. She wished the Boy would seek Mama out and show her how to become like him. She wondered if there was a way to get him to teach Mama his tricks.

  She sighed, unsure. The Boy had always refused to be controlled.

  Sparrow thought about the yellow flyer drifting her way the night of Mama’s funeral. To Sparrow’s knowledge, a fortune-teller had never come to Beulah before. Her arrival, at the very moment Sparrow needed help, was a bit of luck too good to be coincidence. A fortune-teller must know a thing or two about spirits. She might even know how to make the Boy help Mama, or better yet, how to lure Mama back. To find out what the Great Madame Elena knew, Sparrow simply needed to visit the flea market in Beulah.

  And today she was going into town with Auntie Geraldine.

  Sparrow generally preferred to walk to town, but Auntie Geraldine liked to drive. She owned a gold Buick. A large, gas-guzzling car so pristinely clean and icebox cold that riding in it felt a lot like being trapped in the frozen food aisle at the big supermarket over in Havisham. Traveling in the Buick rated among the more unpleasant experiences in Sparrow’s new life with her aunt, but the cold interior wasn’t the only reason Sparrow disliked the car rides. They also took forever.

  Sparrow could have walked to town faster than Auntie Geraldine drove there. Auntie Geraldine took her time on a drive, savoring every inch of the short distance between points. When it only took ten minutes to get everywhere they needed to go, there was never a reason to rush. This meant that Sparrow sat uncomfortably close to Auntie Geraldine for an uncomfortably long period of time.

  Auntie Geraldine put the key in the ignition and the car in drive. The automatic locks clicked assuredly, and they were slowly on their way.

  Sparrow spun around to look out the rear window. The Boy leaned against a massive oak, staring out at the marsh as if soaking up the view. Apparently, he disliked Auntie Geraldine’s car rides as much as she did since he had chosen to stay behind. The Boy did what he wanted, and in that moment, Sparrow envied his freedom.

  Auntie Geraldine swatted Sparrow. “Sit right.”

  Sparrow sighed irritably. Auntie Geraldine’s touch stung like nettles. She rubbed the spot, trying to soothe her skin, and then slid around, turning her back on the Boy.

  When they got to Main Street, Auntie Geraldine pulled up in front of Long’s Drugs and stopped.

  Auntie Geraldine reached into her purse and handed Sparrow four dollars. “You go on in there and buy yourself some lunch while I meet with Wesley Monroe. I’ll pick you up when I’m done.”

  Sparrow couldn’t buy lunch at Long’s with four dollars.

  “Is he going to read Mama’s will?”

  Auntie Geraldine snapped her purse shut. “What do you know about wills?”

  “I watch TV and read books. Mama might have said Dalton House was mine.”

  Auntie Geraldine tapped her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. “We’ve been over this. She didn’t leave a will. You’re going to live in Havisham with me, and if Dalton House can be sold, it’s going on the market.”

  Sparrow toyed with the four dollars, folding and unfolding the bills. “Mama loves Dalton House.”

  “And I loved my sister, but she never thought ahead. Lord knows why a woman dying of cancer wouldn’t prepare a will, but that sums up your mama. Now I’m left trying to fix what should have never been left unfixed to begin with.” Sparrow knew Mama had loved Auntie Geraldine, but she never thought about Auntie Geraldine loving Mama back. She doubted Auntie Geraldine had it in her to love anyone.

  Sparrow stared out the window at Long’s. Surely, Mama had a better plan. Leaving her in the care of grouchy Auntie Geraldine seemed haphazard at best, and Mama never would have considered selling the house.

  Sparrow reached for the door handle and paused. “Maybe I should hear what he has to say anyway.”

  Auntie Geraldine pinched the bridge of her nose. “For heaven’s sake, Sparrow. Do as you’re told for once. You make everything too hard.”

  Sparrow got out of the car and stuffed the
four dollars into the pocket of her shorts. In Sparrow’s opinion, Auntie Geraldine was the one who made things too hard.

  Auntie Geraldine rolled down the passenger-side window and leaned across the seat. “Wait for me here.” She looked at her watch. “It’s eleven now. I should be about an hour. And no wandering. That shady flea market is in town and I don’t like those people.”

  Sparrow dug her hands deep into the pockets of her shorts. Mama never had a problem with the flea market or the flea market people. In fact, Mama and Sparrow went together every year.

  “All right,” Sparrow said.

  Auntie Geraldine cleared her throat. “Yes … ?” she prompted.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sparrow answered.

  Auntie Geraldine rolled up the window and drove off.

  Sparrow watched the car glide leisurely down Main Street like a boat drifting in a current. When the Buick faded out of sight, Sparrow turned and hightailed it down Main Street.

  She had an entirely different destination in mind—the flea market.

  The flea market came to town every July and set up in the empty field near the 76 station. Vendors drove in from all over. Like nesting birds, they erected makeshift booths next to their vehicles, and for that one month, tourists from the far reaches of Cattail County and beyond flocked to Beulah.

  Beulah folks loved the flea market too. Everyone enjoyed poking through the bric-a-brac with the hope of finding a priceless treasure. Every July, Mama and Sparrow would spend Sunday afternoons wandering through the stalls looking at the wares for sale. Sparrow always got the sense that Mama searched for something in particular that eluded her year after year, but whenever Sparrow asked, Mama declined to confess disappointment. Instead, she’d say, I have everything I could ever want and pull Sparrow close, kissing the top of her head.

  Sparrow didn’t have time to poke around for treasure this trip, though. She needed to find that fortune-teller and return to Long’s before Auntie Geraldine. Like an army colonel, Auntie Geraldine demanded obedience. Disobeying a direct command was unwise.