The Spirit of Cattail County
Page 18
She looked at her friend. The Boy looked like he always did. Black pants too short, boots unlaced with the tongues flapping. He had died in the marsh, trying to hold on to a piece of his old life. And more than anyone, Sparrow understood why, but she also knew the sadness it had brought him. He’d gotten stuck in place. He couldn’t go back and he couldn’t go forward. If Sparrow kept his watch to save Dalton House, she’d be trapping him in his sorrow forever. He’d never be allowed to move on. Never find peace.
Sparrow drew back her arm and hurled the watch deep into the depths of the marsh.
She heard the sound of the watch hitting the water and reached for the Boy’s hand. It felt like trying to hold mist.
Wispy spirits began to gather around him. They alighted on him, landing on his arms and shoulders like dewdrops. More and more wispy spirits encircled the Boy, and Sparrow knew they were coming to guide him home.
Sparrow released his hand.
With a touch that felt like the fluttering of butterfly wings, the Boy kissed Sparrow’s cheek.
And he was gone.
The morning after the Boy left, Sparrow found the papers from Wesley Monroe strewn all over the yard. She picked them up and gave them to Auntie Geraldine. Auntie Geraldine said she had finally started to see Dalton House the way Sparrow and Mama did and threw the papers in the trash. They were staying at Dalton House.
That same day, Maeve and Johnny came to see Sparrow, and together they walked down to the marsh. Sparrow told them everything that happened after she left the party. Johnny listened in his quiet way, while Maeve voiced disappointment that she’d missed it all.
Sparrow told Maeve she was sorry she wasn’t a Casto, and Maeve told Sparrow to stop being ridiculous. She said she had too many cousins already. She said it was better to be friends with a Dalton than to be related to one, and just like that, the divide between them vanished.
About a week after the Boy left, Sparrow asked Maeve and Johnny to meet her at the graveyard.
Sparrow arrived early with flowers for Mama’s grave. Auntie Geraldine had offered to get Sparrow cut roses, but she declined. Sparrow knew Mama would prefer the messy perfection of the flowers she gathered along her way.
Sparrow placed the flowers at Mama’s headstone and scrunched them together until they looked right. She still ached for Mama. A part of Sparrow would always miss her. But Sparrow knew she would eventually see Mama again, when it was Sparrow’s turn to become a wispy spirit. Until then, Sparrow was going to live the way Mama would want her to—striving to see beauty where others did not.
When Johnny and Maeve arrived, Sparrow led them to the swamp-touched gravestone.
Waiting beside it were Auntie Geraldine, Miss Ruby, Eli, Elena, and the Monroes.
Maeve waved enthusiastically at Elena and Eli. “I thought they left town.”
“I asked them to stay on for a few days, and they agreed,” Sparrow said.
Then Maeve noticed the Monroes. She squeezed Sparrow’s arm. “What are they doing here?”
“I invited them,” Sparrow said simply.
“Why?” Maeve asked.
“It’s Sparrow’s gathering, Maeve. She can invite whoever she wants,” Johnny said.
Maeve huffed.
“They have a good reason for being here. You’ll see.” Sparrow led Maeve and Johnny to the gravestone.
When they got there, Sparrow pointed at the headstone. The Boy’s name had been etched on it, and underneath his name, the words Beloved Son, Loyal Friend, Brave Soul had been inscribed in the granite. At the base of the tombstone there was a statue of a lamb.
“That’s real nice,” Johnny said.
“It really is.” Maeve reached out and ran her hand over the Boy’s grave, but no swirling spirits encircled her this time. Now that the Boy was at peace, the spirits seemed to be at peace too.
“Eli figured out the Boy’s name. Auntie Geraldine arranged the inscription, and the Monroes added the lamb.” Sparrow had told Mr. Monroe the Boy’s story and she was surprised to find an ally in him. He agreed it was time for his family to make amends. Sparrow suggested a service for the Boy, and Mr. Monroe offered to purchase a lamb for his grave.
Auntie Geraldine and Sparrow had already decided they should be the ones in charge of the inscription because they knew him best.
When Sparrow mentioned to Miss Ruby that she was planning a service for the Boy, filling her in on the story of his life, not on the ghostly part of his existence, Miss Ruby offered to preside over it. As it turned out, Miss Ruby was an associate pastor at her church. She didn’t preach every Sunday, but filled in on occasion.
Miss Ruby did a wonderful job. The Boy had a lovely service filled with comforting words and old country hymns.
Afterward, Sparrow walked Elena and Eli to their van.
Elena slipped a piece of paper into Sparrow’s hand and gave her fingers an affectionate squeeze. “I couldn’t leave without giving you my address. I foresee a visit to New York in your future.”
“Thank you.” Sparrow loved the idea of visiting Elena in New York.
“We’d love to have you and your aunt come visit us sometime,” Eli said. He had taken off the sport coat he wore during the Boy’s service and rolled up his sleeves. Sparrow was close enough that she could finally read the tattoo on his arm. The words Love never says goodbye were written in sloping script.
Sparrow’s heart skipped a beat. She pulled the picture of Mama out of her back pocket. She may have accepted her death, but she still hung on to her memories. She turned the picture over and looked at the words on the back, even though she knew them by heart.
“What do you have there?” Eli asked.
A marsh breeze blew, wrapping Sparrow in the scent of Beulah. She smiled and slid the photograph into her back pocket. “A history puzzle for the future.”
Eli nodded. “Those are my favorite kind.”
Sparrow hugged Elena goodbye.
As the periwinkle van began to drive away, Sparrow joined Auntie Geraldine. Auntie Geraldine put her arm around Sparrow’s shoulder and pulled her close. “I suppose you’ll want to visit New York.”
“I will. But when I do, we’ll go together.”
The setting sun illuminated Auntie Geraldine, casting her in a warm glow. Auntie Geraldine wasn’t Mama, but Sparrow knew she was the next best thing. Beside Auntie Geraldine were Maeve, Johnny, Miss Ruby, and the Monroes—Sparrow’s Beulah family.
I owe a deep debt of gratitude to my amazing agent, generous mentor, and cherished friend, Laura Rennert, and the whole Andrea Brown family, especially: Andrea Brown, Caryn Wiseman, Lara Perkins, and Jennifer March Soloway. To a woman, they are fierce, smart, and loyal, and I feel incredibly lucky to be included in their circle of love.
I truly believe fate brought my brilliant, lovely editor, Mallory Kass, into my life. I see her guiding hand on every page. She made this book better, and I am so thankful she loves tarot cards and believes in ghosts—or does not not believe in ghosts. Mostly, I’m thankful that she believed in this story enough to give it a home at Scholastic. For that, I will always, always be grateful.
Without my sister, Beth, there would be just page after page of words, words, words, and no book. She is my first and last reader, my champion, my cheerleader, my confidant, and my best friend. Thanks seems too meager of a word for all the late-night edit sessions, advice, childcare, encouragement, laughter, tough love, and love-love, but I know she knows how deep my gratitude runs, because that’s the thing about sisters, they just know.
I am fortunate to have an interesting, quirky, funny family that likes to talk. Their stories—often wonderfully exaggerated—inspire me in big and small ways. Over the years, my family has expanded and our hodgepodge of connections and intersections make the love feel bigger. I am especially thankful for the support of my mom, Elizabeth; my dad, Joel; my sister, Angie; my cousin, Storm; my brother-in-law, Per; my mother-in-law, Kate; and my grandfather, Tom, and my grandmother, Clarice
, who are no longer with us, but whose love has never said goodbye.
Most of all, I am grateful to my husband, David Piontek, who can fix anything, even a bad day; my son, William, whose insightful poet’s soul makes being in his presence restful; my daughter, Clarice, whose unending optimism lifts my spirit in even the darkest moments; and little Gavin, who is no longer so little, but whose carefree happiness always makes me smile.
Victoria Piontek spent her childhood on the east coast of Florida listening to her mother’s stories of strong southern women, family secrets, and ghosts. She now lives in Northern California. The Spirit of Cattail County is her first novel.
Copyright © 2018 by Victoria Piontek
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available
ISBN 978-1-338-16705-4
First edition, June 2018
Jacket art © 2018 by Rebecca Green
Jacket design by Nina Goffi
e-ISBN 978-1-338-16707-8
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