Sparrow Road

by Sheila O'Connor

  “This barn is amazing,” Josie said. Her patchwork dress was smudged with streaks of dirt. “I could spend a year just searching.”

  She pointed to an old piano. “A little out of tune, but it still works. Try it out, I’d love to hear a song.” So far all the songs that Lillian had taught me were little kids’ songs. Nursery rhymes to music.

  “We’re not to ‘Happy Birthday’ yet,” I said. I’d promised Josie that as soon as I learned “Happy Birthday” she could hear me play.

  “Here!” She handed me a suitcase, child-sized, brown and battered at the edges, with a little leather handle and a sticker that said Austria peeled back on the front. “It’s a stash of music. You can use it when you’re finally done with that kid book Viktor found.” I was learning from an old piano book that once belonged to Viktor, with the silver stars he earned for every perfect lesson still stuck on the page. It was hard for me to think a prodigy once learned songs that simple.

  I snapped the metal latches open; inside a stack of old piano books was piled to the top. Teaching Little Fingers. Ten Christmas Tunes. Songs for Happy Children. None of these looked much better than playing “Twinkle, Twinkle.” “I bet these were Lillian’s,” I said. “She probably used them for her lessons.” I picked up Ten Christmas Tunes; maybe Lillian could teach me “Silent Night” before the summer ended.

  A folded piece of paper fell out on my lap. Yellowed. With a single penny taped down on the front. Inside, the writing was from a kid in first or second grade. The kind of perfect printing Mrs. Swanson made us practice.

  Dear Miss Hobbs,

  This penny is for you. You gave it to me, but I don’t want to keep it. I’d rather leave the luck with you and Lyman. I wish it wasn’t only me who had a family now. I left a marble under Lyman’s pillow. No matter how far away I have to go, I’ll still miss Sparrow Road. Tell Lyman the same thing. I hope you won’t forget me. Or all the songs you taught me. I know I never will.

  I turned the paper over. No name. Not anywhere. I thought about that penny sitting on the attic floor, the one Diego found that first day that we met. A penny didn’t seem worth much, but maybe it was then.

  “What’s that?” Josie looked up from her sorting. She had old tin cups hooked from every finger.

  “A note that someone left. A child. Someone who loved Lillian.”

  “I have the feeling that they all did,” Josie said. “Just the same as us.”

  40

  It was the day before our party when I woke up with the sun. While Mama was asleep, I snuck out of our cottage, tiptoed through the main house, and went up the servants’ staircase. I crept down the shadowed hallway. Josie’s door was open, her bed was made, but Josie wasn’t there. I crossed the hall and knocked on Diego’s bedroom door.

  “Raine?” he said, surprised. He stood there in the doorway, his wide face creased with sleep, his striped bathrobe knotted closed over his stomach. “Is something wrong?”

  “Josie’s gone already,” I said. “I thought that you could help me.”

  “Of course,” he yawned. “What is it you need?”

  “Just someone to open up the attic.”

  “The attic?” Diego looked confused.

  “The key’s up on the ledge,” I said. “It’s too high for me to reach.”

  “The key?” Diego yawned again. “Is it even morning yet?” Except for us, the artists’ house was silent.

  “Sort of,” I said. “But Grandpa Mac will be here this afternoon. And the party is tomorrow. And I still don’t have any art to show.”

  “No?” Diego rubbed his sleepy eyes. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Raine.”

  “But I want something there to show.” Most of all I wanted a story to go with Lyman’s drawing, a story that would capture all the things I imagined Lyman felt. What it was like to be an orphan in the attic, a boy who had a marble left beneath his pillow. But so far nothing that I wrote seemed to get it right. I needed to go up and sit still in the silence. Wait. Hope Lyman’s words would come.

  “You’ve been writing words for weeks,” Diego said. “Just pick a piece closest to your heart. That’s all art really is. Your feelings sent out to someone else.” He pulled the silver key off of the ledge and unlocked the attic door.

  “The trouble is—I need this to be good. Good enough for other folks to see. Not just my dreams. And nothing that I wrote yet really works.”

  “Ah,” Diego yawned again. “Good will goof you up from the beginning. Art just has to be. Dream your dreams. Trust the words that come.”

  “I’ll try,” I said. And then I closed the door.

  It was hours after I’d come down from the attic, hours after Mama had gone to town for groceries, and all of us had done a thousand things to get ready for the party, that Grandpa Mac finally pulled into our driveway, got out of his big Buick, and wrapped me in his arms.

  “Raine, Raine, Raine, Raine, Raine,” he said. He hugged me so hard my feet flew off the ground; he must have kissed my head a hundred times. “I’ve never been so glad to get somewhere.” He smelled like I remembered—spearmint gum and Irish Spring and coffee. “This has to be the longest trip I’ve ever taken.” He let me down, then squished my cheeks between his hands. “Well, look at you!” He stared hard at my face. “I want to make sure you’re the same girl that left me in Milwaukee.”

  “You look the same,” I said. He was still big bellied like Diego, his gray hair shaved into short bristles. I squeezed his big warm hand; I was glad to have his great strength close again.

  “This must be the welcome wagon,” Grandpa Mac said. Everyone was lined up on the porch, Mama and the artists, even Eleanor. Lillian leaned on Viktor’s arm.

  “Grandpa Mac!” Josie shouted. “We’re so thrilled you’re finally here!” She bounded down the stairs, her patchwork dress waving in the rush. I was glad Grandpa Mac knew about the boots, the neon braids, Josie’s wild ways. He didn’t look surprised at all.

  “Josie, yes?” he said. He gave her hand a giant shake. “Mac’ll do the trick. I’m only Grandpa Mac to Raine.”

  Josie and I pulled him toward the porch. I wanted Mama to rush right down the stairs with a giant hello hug, but instead she just stood quiet.

  “Molly,” Grandpa Mac called. “How you doing, honey?” It used to be Mama didn’t come or go without a quick kiss on Grandpa’s cheek.

  “Dad,” she finally said. She walked down the steps and gave Grandpa Mac a careful hug.

  “Mama.” I raised my eyebrows at her. If Mama couldn’t be kinder, our family troubles wouldn’t be better before the Arts Extravaganza.

  “Did you find the place okay?” Her stiff voice softened some.

  “No problem there.” Grandpa Mac laughed. “I just followed all the flags.” Josie and Diego had hung bright flapping flags all the way from the house out to the highway.

  Grandpa Mac slung his arm over Mama’s shoulder, and the three of us walked behind Josie to the house.

  “Let me guess,” Grandpa Mac said. He shook everybody’s hand and knew them all by name. Lillian, Viktor, Eleanor, Diego. “Raine writes quite the letters,” Grandpa Mac said. “I’ve had the play-by-play. She’s sure loved her time at Sparrow Road.”

  “It certainly would seem so.” Eleanor wrapped her arms around her stomach. “She’s been a busy child.” I wanted Eleanor to go back to her essays. I tugged on Grandpa Mac; there was too much happy to let Eleanor put a cloud over my day. Mama’s distant friendly worried me enough.

  “Come on,” I begged. “I want to show you everything.”

  “Raine,” Mama scolded. “Grandpa Mac is probably tired. You should let him catch his breath.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Molly,” Grandpa Mac said. “I haven’t felt this good for weeks!”

  41

  I gave Grandpa Mac the tour Viktor gave us our first day. We started with the meadow, the steep path to Sorrow Lake, the rowboat, the dock where Mama and I sunned. Then I walked him past the artists’ sheds,
showed him Viktor’s turtles floating in their pond. Mama’s fancy flower gardens. The infirmary. The barn. At every spot he listened to my stories, and then he added what he remembered from the letters—the Comfort Cone, Lillian’s poems, my night swims with Josie and Diego.

  He looped his arm around my shoulder and gave me a big squeeze. “Your letters sure do paint a picture.”

  “There’s still our cottage and the attic, the tower, the servants’ staircase, the library where I get Lillian’s books. And before you leave, I’m going to take you on a rowboat ride. Just us all by ourselves.”

  “Oh my!” Grandpa Mac sighed. “I haven’t seen you in so long. Could we take a minute to just sit?” Grandpa Mac’s steps seemed too slow and hobbled. As much as I loved Lillian, I didn’t want Grandpa Mac to grow that old.

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll rest.”

  I led him to the bench beneath the willow where I first heard Lyman speak. I’d told Grandpa Mac about most of Sparrow Road, except for Gray and Lyman. Lyman, because imagination and what if and what was or what could be was too confusing to tell Grandpa Mac long distance. And Gray? Because first Grandpa Mac had to see that I was safe. See that I could be okay with Gray James in my life.

  “This place is really something, Raine.” Grandpa Mac wiped his face off with his sleeve. “I see it’s got a few legs up on old Milwaukee.”

  “I like the way the hills roll most of all. And how far you can see into the distance.”

  “It’s nothing like the city, that’s for sure.”

  I leaned in against Grandpa Mac’s damp shirt. It seemed so strange to have him here at Sparrow Road. “I have more freedom here.”

  “I guess we kept you on a pretty short leash. I suppose you won’t be in a hurry to come home?”

  I sat quiet. There wasn’t a good answer I could give. I wanted to go home to Grandpa Mac, but I didn’t want Sparrow Road to end. I wanted Diego and Lillian and Josie and Gray and Lyman and these green fields and everything I’d come to love. Maybe that’s why the orphan said he’d still miss Sparrow Road. Even with a family. I’d ask Lyman that this week.

  “Grandpa Mac.” I looked up so I could see him face-to-face. “I met Gray.”

  Grandpa Mac didn’t blink or smile or frown, he kept his face completely straight and steady. “I expected that you would, Raine. It’s what your mama wanted.”

  “Not Mama,” I said. “It’s what I wanted. Mama left it up to me.”

  “So?” He raised his bushy eyebrows. “You make it through okay?”

  I nodded. “Gray’s been sober for a year now. I know about his drinking.”

  Grandpa Mac clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I’m not sure you had to know about that, Raine. Those are grown-up problems.”

  “I’m old enough to know it, Grandpa Mac. And kids are always part of grown-up problems. Even when the grown-ups think they aren’t.”

  “Maybe so.” Grandpa Mac stared at me. “Though it’d be better if they weren’t.”

  “I’m glad that I met Gray. I really am.” I grabbed Grandpa Mac’s warm hand. “I really, really am. And I look a little like him, my dark eyes. I have his teeth. And I’m small like him.” I wanted Grandpa Mac to know Gray James was part of me.

  “The O’Rourkes aren’t exactly giants,” Grandpa Mac said. “And my mother had brown eyes.”

  “Grandpa Mac.” I gave his hand a squeeze. “Gray James is my dad.” The second that I said it, tears came and Grandpa Mac’s eyes clouded up with mine. I knew it hurt him just to hear it. It hurt me worse to say it, because Grandpa Mac had been more dad to me than Gray. For twelve good years. But none of that would change. “And tomorrow when you meet him at the Arts Extravaganza, I don’t want you to punch him in the face.”

  Grandpa Mac frowned. “Did Gray tell you that?”

  “He did,” I said. “And I know about the park. The day he drank and lost me.”

  “Oh no,” Grandpa Mac growled. “He told you that? That’s a horrible story, Raine.”

  “It was,” I said. “But now I know the truth. And I don’t think you should have hit him, Grandpa Mac.”

  “He’s lucky he got off with just one punch—,” Grandpa Mac started; then he stopped. “Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have hit him quite so hard. But your mama did her best to keep you safe. We both did. And then that yahoo comes to town and—”

  “I know,” I said before Grandpa Mac got too worked up again. I could hear all of the old anger rising in his voice. “You did. And I’m safe. I am. It all worked out okay. And I just want to be a family now. Again. The way we used to be. You and me and Mama.”

  “We are,” Grandpa Mac said.

  “No,” I said. “Not really. Not with you and Mama.”

  “No?” Grandpa Mac said.

  “You need to say you’re sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Grandpa Mac stiffened on the bench. “To whom? Not Gray James?”

  “No,” I said. “To Mama. You need to let her know she did the right thing coming here this summer. Letting me meet Gray.”

  He folded his big hands; Mama always told me sorry was a bitter pill for Grandpa Mac. “Okay.” He tapped his thumbs together. “I’ll do my best. But I’m not sure your mama wants my sorry. If her mind’s made up already, I might as well say I’m sorry to the moon.”

  42

  Early the next morning, Grandpa Mac’s breakfast basket was waiting at our door. Painted eggs, fresh blueberries, and Josie’s trademark golden glitter WELCOME. “Will you look at this?” Grandpa Mac held up his hand-stitched napkin. “G.M.” He laughed. “That Josie’s something else.”

  When Mama stumbled sleepy eyed downstairs, Grandpa Mac got up from the table and handed her a cup of steamy coffee. “You sleep okay, sweetheart? You stayed up awfully late working on that party.” I’d forgotten Grandpa Mac watched and worried over Mama, just like she watched and worried over me.

  “Not so late, Dad.” Mama smiled at the welcome basket.

  Grandpa Mac cradled Josie’s egg. “I couldn’t stand to crack a thing this pretty. I think I’ll take mine back to Milwaukee, show the customers. They’d want to have a look.”

  “Sparrow Road won’t seem real in Milwaukee,” I said. “It’ll be more like a dream.”

  “You might be right about that.” Grandpa Mac set the egg back in the basket. “Raine sure is lucky that she got a chance to live here, Molly.”

  “Really, Dad?” Mama said, surprised. “Is that what you really think?”

  “It is,” he said. “And you were right. Sparrow Road, the country, it was a good place for a child.” I was so happy I wanted to jump up and knot my arms around his neck. It wasn’t quite a sorry, but it was as close to an apology as Grandpa Mac would come.

  The three of us were lounging in pajamas when Josie and Diego showed up at our door. “Josie’s like a kid at Christmas,” Diego moaned. “She won’t even let me sleep. That’s two days in a row I’ve been yanked out of my dreams.” Diego gave me a quick wink. “Doesn’t anybody sleep past sunrise anymore?”

  “Sleep?” Josie threw her arms up toward the sky. “Who can sleep?” She was so wide awake it looked like she couldn’t stay put in her own skin. “We get to see Diego’s art this morning! And after all these months locked up in my shed, I get to show you mine. Come on.”

  “In our pajamas?” Mama said. “I haven’t even showered.”

  “Molly!” Josie stamped her feet.

  “I’m good to go,” Grandpa Mac said. He was dressed in plaid pajama pants and the World’s Best Grandpa T-shirt I bought for him this Father’s Day. “And thank you for that basket, Josie. It’s beyond my wildest dreams.”

  Josie looped her arm through Grandpa Mac’s. “We’re just so glad you came. Raine’s sure missed you a lot.” She pulled Grandpa Mac out through the door, and left the rest of us to follow. “Our sheds have been off-limits,” she told Grandpa Mac. “So everything inside them is a secret. Raine’s the only person who’s seen my work in progress.”
r />   “Raine?” Mama frowned. “You went into Josie’s shed?”

  “Oh, forget about it, Molly,” Josie interrupted. “It’s too late for Raine to get in trouble. And I needed Raine’s great wisdom to go forward with my art.”

  Inside Josie’s shed, everything looked different. The scraps of cloth were gone. Every inch was clean. Still there was the smell of cinnamon and Christmas. On the table in the corner, Josie’s pile of memory patches sat waiting to be stitched into a quilt. “Ta-da!” She pointed toward her artwork on the wall. “So?” She threw her arm over my shoulder. “Did I get the feelings right, Raine?”

  We all stood there silent, staring. Josie’s fabric scraps and shapes had turned into a story. A giant wall quilt covered with the haunted shapes of orphans, the rows of beds, the hills, and above the house their parents floated through the sky. A long black strip of ribbon split the quilt in half. There was Sparrow Road on one side, and on the other was the world.

  For Lillian and Nettie and Lyman and the children. Josie’s embroidered words were scattered like dust across the quilt.

  “Wowee, woo-woo-woo,” Diego whistled. “Josie girl, you’re totally amazing. It takes my breath away.”

  “Mine too,” I said. “What was or what could be?”

  Diego caught my eye. “Yep,” he said.

  “But it’s so sad,” Mama sighed.

  Grandpa Mac put his palm on Mama’s back. “Very sad indeed.”

  43

  Before we stepped into Diego’s shed, I reached up and blinded Mama’s eyes. “Wait!” I said. “Before you see Diego’s work, you have to promise me one thing.”

  Mama tugged my hands away. “What?” she asked like she didn’t trust me.

  “You have to show your art today. You have to sing at least one song at the party. One song with your guitar. And if you do, I’ll read my story to the group.” All week, Mama had been begging me to read my writing at the party. One story. Anything. And now that mine was finished, I was ready to trade it for her song.