“Stop singing or they might follow.” His breath caught in his throat and he squished me tighter. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life.”
“Daddy, I can’t breathe.”
“I’m sorry, honey.” His grip loosened and he gave a weak chuckle. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
I put my hands on his cheeks and gazed into his dark eyes. “I was always safe, Daddy. They wouldn’t hurt me. They came for the concert.”
He made a sound between a cough and a laugh. “Well, my crooner, I think it’s best to keep the snake concert between you and me, or your mother won’t allow you to come on a hunt ever again.” He hugged me tighter. “Where did you learn the song?”
“I didn’t learn it, I just sang it.” I nestled my cheek against his. “I remembered the story you told me about when Chief Yellow Snake died and the words came out.”
Daddy carried me out of the creek, set me down, and took my hand.
I kicked my boot through the leaves. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, honey. You can always ask me anything.”
How should I ask so he wouldn’t get upset? “Why does Mama not want me to touch snakes when she handles them every time we go to church?”
Daddy’s cheeks puffed out as he exhaled. “That’s quite a question, Melody. And it’s not an easy one to answer.”
Great. Not easy to answer meant I wouldn’t be getting one. I scuffed the toe of my boot in the dirt and waited for him to tell me he’d answer it when I was older. The way he usually did when I asked a hard question.
He took off his hat and ran a hand through his shoulder-length black hair before settling the hat on his head again. “But my little girl is growing up and you’re getting old enough to need some answers.”
My heart stilled for a moment. Would he tell me the truth? Or would he tell me a Cherokee fable instead?
“Your mama has a strong faith in God.”
I nodded. “It’s why we go to church every Sunday and Wednesday night.”
He took my hand again with a smile. “Your mama and Uncle Harlan were raised to believe they have to do certain things to show God they believe in Him.” He nodded toward the nest we had chased the snakes from. “Let’s go get our catch, then we’ll head back on the trail.”
Thank goodness we didn’t have to be quiet anymore. My boots crunched across the twigs and fallen leaves.
“And while your mama will pick up snakes to confirm her faith in God, she’s frightened of them.”
Why would she be afraid of snakes? The snakes wouldn’t hurt anyone unless they had reason to. I struggled to keep my tongue still. With Daddy, it was sometimes best to keep my questions to myself and let him tell me in his own way.
Daddy looked to the sky for a few moments before continuing. “When she was about your age, at church one Sunday, the preacher picked out a big canebrake rattler during his sermon and he held it above his head and swung it around for everyone in the congregation to see.”
Pastor Wolfson showed the congregation snakes all the time.
“And it twisted and bit him in the face.”
Ugh. I’d never forget the time Sister Wolfson, Pastor Wolfson’s wife, had been bit. She had come to the front to handle the snakes and started doing this weird dance. Most folks who handled danced with the snakes, but this was different. Instead of dancing to the music, she’d stared down the snake, holding it with one hand. She used her other arm like a serpent, wiggling it all around the snake’s head. And she shouted words, but not in a language I had ever heard before.
The snake had watched her for a few moments, as if in a trance, but when she’d made a striking motion, it had struck back getting her hand. The blood seeped out of the puncture wound and it trickled down her arm. She’d raised the snake over her head and screamed she had been blessed by the Lord. He would show the congregation His strength by healing her.
Afterward, Pastor Wolfson said she had been filled with the spirit of the Lord and had been speaking in tongues.
I wasn’t afraid of the snake as much as I was afraid of Sister Wolfson.
“The preacher dropped the snake as he fell to the ground and it slithered to the front row and rose to a striking stance. Well, your mama sat front row center with a snake staring her in the face, ready to strike again.”
Kinda like the one by the bank. Except I hadn’t seen someone bitten in the face. I shivered as the wind whipped through. “Oh my gosh. What happened?”
Daddy frowned at me.
Whoops. “I meant, oh my goodness ...”
If Mama had heard me, I’d be in trouble. Kids at school said gosh all the time and nobody said a thing.
He raised one eyebrow and grunted. “One of the elders grabbed it and put it in the serpent cage before it lashed out. But your mama had nightmares about the snake biting the preacher and staring her down for years.”
Kree-eee-ar.
The cry startled me. Tilting my head back, I scanned the sky until I spotted the red-tailed hawk gliding in front of the clouds.
“And Harlan used to tease her with them. He’d chase her around with a milk snake trying to get it to snap at her.”
How mean. Uncle Harlan, always so straight-laced and strict, it was hard to picture him as a boy pulling nasty pranks. But my cousins, Jeb and Samuel, were always nasty to me, so maybe they took after their dad.
We reached the can and Daddy grabbed it. The rattle vibrated against the metal.
Daddy cleared his throat. “The preacher didn’t survive the bite which made it worse for your mama.”
He died? No wonder Mama didn’t like snakes.
“And she loves you so much. She doesn’t want you to ever be hurt. She wants you to share her faith in God, but doesn’t want to see you handle.” He rested his hand on my head. “And before you start objecting about how you’re getting older and are big enough, I know you are good with animals. And have always been good with snakes. But you’re our only daughter, and you’re not going to overcome your mother’s fears easily.”
Mama was too overprotective. But it’s not like I wanted to jump around in church with a snake in my hands anyway. I didn’t want to hurt them, and I didn’t think they’d find all the bouncing much fun. If some giant came along and held me in his hand and jumped around, I think my stomach would hurt.
But I didn’t understand. “If Mama is so afraid, then why do we keep the snakes? And why do you go hunting for them?”
He peered at the sky, tracking the flight of the hawk. “The Cherokee believe rattlesnakes are sacred and are not to be killed unless absolutely necessary. And the snakes used in the church services get sick. So I told your mama I’d go to church with her, as long as I could do my part to keep the snakes healthy.”
Would the snakes die if Daddy didn’t take care of them?
“When I notice a snake getting sick, it’s time to find a replacement. Then we nurse it back to health and release it back to the wild.” He patted my shoulder. “It’s the right thing to do. The snake should not die as a declaration of faith to God. The same god we worship created all the earth’s creatures, and we must show our respect for the gifts God has given us.”
He dropped to one knee next to me and pointed at the hawk. “Watch.”
The red-tailed hawk tilted its wings and zoomed downward. My heart pounded as it plummeted. Was it going to crash?
It skimmed the ground, then pulled up and soared into the blue sky, something dangling from its claws.
“Nature is raw and violent. Don’t ever forget, Melody. The hawk is a hunter—it sets its sights on its prey, waits for its opportunity, then strikes. All animals act according to their nature. Some are the hunter and others are the hunted.”
He hugged me and whispered, “People put on masks to hide their nature, so you must learn how to look behind the mask for your own protection. You have many gifts. Follow your passion and soar like the hawk.”
Chapter Three
Spri
ng 2015 – Melody, age 16
“This one here never says a peep.”
Mrs. Langdon gripped Melody’s shoulder and propelled her over the threshold. Melody clutched her MP3 player tight and tucked her chin to her chest. Her long, black hair fell forward and curtained her face. With a light shove, Mrs. Langdon let go. Melody rolled her shoulder to ease the discomfort.
“She won’t write nothin’ down, neither. So good luck to ya in tryin’ to figure out how to talk to her.”
Melody shot a glance through the fringe of her bangs at Mrs. Langdon.
The doctor continued to make notes. “I take it this is Melody Fisher.”
Mrs. Langdon slung her purse back on her shoulder. “An’ you can’t tell what she’s thinkin’.”
Melody unwound the headphones, which had been tightly wrapped around the player, and used the controls to select a song.
Mrs. Langdon’s glare caught her halfway to putting the buds in her ears, and her arms dropped to her sides.
“’Course, with some of the chatterboxes I’ve fostered, having someone who ain’t whining all day long is nice.” She moved the long, frizzy lock which covered her eye and stumped forward a couple of steps. “So how does this work? I leave her here and come back in an hour?”
“Two.” Dr. Kane laid his pencil on the desk.
“What’s that?” She gripped the back of the chair, then leaned forward and held out one hand. “Name’s Doris Langdon, by the way, but you can call me Dory. Everybody does.”
He pumped her hand once and released it. “Please give me two hours before you return, Mrs. Langdon.” He pushed his glasses into place and smiled at her. “Melody and I will need the time to get to know each other.”
“Well, like I said, she never makes a sound, unless you do this.” Mrs. Langdon whipped around and ripped the music player from Melody’s grasp.
Immediately, Melody dropped her mouth open, arms rigid at her sides, and high-pitched shrieks penetrated the air. Short blasts of ear-piercing sound at regular intervals reverberated throughout the room.
Mrs. Langdon stretched over the desk, boobs jumbling the papers on top, and yelled to be heard. “She’ll go on like this for hours. Won’t stop until she gets the music player back. I know ’cause I took it away and wasn’t gonna give it back until she spoke. She kept on like this until she was hoarse and even then wouldn’t stop.”
Holding the MP3 player in front of her, Mrs. Langdon heaved herself upright. “Watch this.” She thrust the player back into Melody’s hands.
The shrieks stopped and silence assaulted the senses.
Melody gripped the music player tighter than before and scuttled out of Mrs. Langdon’s reach.
“Thank you, Mrs. Langdon. I’ll take it from here.” Dr. Kane rose from behind the desk and straightened the lapel on his navy suit coat.
Mrs. Langdon settled a fist on her hip. “Well, if yer sure.” She lumbered toward the door then turned and pointed at Melody. “You listen to the doc and do what he says. I’ll be back for ya in a couple hours.”
The door closed with a bang. Dr. Kane sank into his chair and busied himself with straightening the disarranged papers on his desk. After a few moments, he peered over his glasses. “Take a seat, Melody, and relax. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He waved toward a couch and chairs grouped around a coffee table with a box of tissue on the top. “I won’t take your music from you.”
She shuffled to the couch and sat at the farthest point from the doctor, clutched her stomach, leaned forward, and gently rocked.
He tapped the papers on the desk, grabbed a leather binder, then joined her in the alcove. “Do you mind?” He slipped off his suit jacket to reveal a crisp white shirt, folded the jacket, and draped it over the arm of the vacant chair.
He sat in the plump leather chair opposite the couch, smoothed his burgundy tie, and crossed his legs. He slid the pen from the holder of his leather binder and jotted something on top of the yellow notepad inside.
Setting the pen down, he looked directly at her. “We’ll start with introductions. I’m Roger, or you can call me Doctor Kane.”
A squirrel scampered up the tree outside the window.
“I like having the bay window on the green. Gives me a chance to pretend I’m outside and communing with nature when I spend most of my day cooped up in this office.” A wistful smile crossed his face. “But back to the reason we’re here. The letter from the court states we’re to have daily sessions until you are able to share your side of the story with the court.”
Melody rocked faster.
“We’re not going to delve into what happened right this minute.”
Dr. Kane had altered his tone to the same kind used to calm a flighty horse.
“The first thing we need to do is establish an environment where you feel safe enough to talk. You can talk ... our job is to allow you to be heard.”
Her agitation decreased, but she stared at the blue and burgundy braided throw rug beneath her feet.
“We’re going to take our time and figure out what is so frightening about speaking and give you the tools to help you overcome your fears. Why do you think you stopped speaking?”
Melody pressed the buttons on her music player to change the song.
Dr. Kane allowed the silence to stretch for a few minutes before continuing. “Your case file arrived this morning, so I haven’t had much of an opportunity to review it before you came in. I know you’re in foster care and you’ve bounced around from place to place. Do you want to tell me about it?”
She changed her song selection.
The rays of afternoon sun filtered through the trees, turning the grass into a dancing patchwork of light and dark. A light breeze rustled the leaves and made the petals of the early blooming irises, spring beauties, and yellow violets, flutter. The fox squirrel raced down the tree trunk and over to the flower beds. He reared to full standing height and checked for predators. A small cone clamped in his jaws, he used his paws to furiously dig a hole next to a purple iris.
Dirt flew up in spurts with periodic pauses while the squirrel checked the depth. Once satisfied, he dropped the cone into the hole and covered it.
“I wonder whether he’ll remember where he buried his treasure come winter or whether another tree will take root.”
Melody jumped at the sound of Dr. Kane’s voice.
“Half the time, they forget and the gardener winds up weeding out the sprouting trees from the flower beds. Seems a waste after all the effort.” He scribbled on his notepad.
The squirrel darted back up the tree.
He shuffled the papers in his lap. “You were first placed in foster care when you were nine?”
Melody looked away.
The silence between them grew, marred only by the ticking of the doctor’s big, gold wristwatch, and the occasional whish as he flipped through the pages.
After ten minutes, he glanced at his watch then at her. “Do you like my watch? It was my grandfather’s and he gave it to me when I opened my practice.” He ran a thumb along the band. “Grandpa kept this watch in tiptop working condition. I wasn’t allowed to touch it when I was a kid. His company gave it to him as a token of appreciation when he retired.”
He raised his right eyebrow and quirked the corner of his mouth. “You’re good, kid. Not even an eye roll to show me how sappy my story is.” Dr. Kane tapped the end of the pen on his pad. “You know I have thousands of lame stories to regale you with, and will ... until you start talking and telling me your stories.”
She navigated the menu on her music player.
“Another thing I’ll do is read aloud. You’ll find I delight in lamentable fiction.” He pointed to the bookcase next to the bay window.
A wide wooden bookshelf overflowed with paperback books. The top had paperbacks held upright between two agate bookends. Agatha Christie, Dick Francis, and Barbara Cartland graced the top and the first shelf and were stacked three deep. James Patterson and Tom Clancy pe
ppered the lower shelves, while the classics populated the middle.
Shadows crept across the grass outside the window. Flashes of light reflected off the ripples on the pond, barely visible from the window. Almost like the pond wanted to take part in the conversation through some variation of Morse code.
Melody held an earbud between her fingers. An inch at a time, she raised the bud to her ear and shoved it in.
Dr. Kane shook his head. “I don’t have many rules for our sessions, but one non-negotiable rule is you can’t deliberately block me out.”
She yanked the headphone out of her ear.
He ran his forefinger along the stubble on his tanned jaw. “Tell you what. Tomorrow we’ll hook your player to speakers and you can share your music with me.”
She stared into his blue eyes.
“I know you probably think the time we’ve spent together so far has been a complete waste, but I assure you—”
The door flew open and banged against the wall.
Melody jumped.
“Well, get a move on girl. I got things to do that don’t revolve around you.”
Mrs. Langdon didn’t make it five steps into the office before Dr. Kane leaped to his feet. His receptionist trailed behind Mrs. Langdon, her face flushed.
“Lily, please escort Mrs. Langdon back into the waiting room. Melody and I are not quite finished.”
“I’m so sorry, Doctor. She didn’t stop at the desk, but barreled right past.”
Mrs. Langdon’s mouth popped open like a fish about to take the bait.
Dr. Kane held up his hand. “We still have time left in our session and Melody and I are not finished discussing what we need to. I cannot have you bursting through the door in the middle of our sessions, Mrs. Langdon. Our discussions are confidential.”
She snorted. “Got her talkin’ already, Doctor? An’ I told you, you can call me Dory.”
Dr. Kane strode to where Mrs. Langdon stood and placed the palm of his hand flat against her upper back. “You must respect Melody’s time with me. Melody will be out when we have finished. I will not tolerate any further interruptions to our sessions.” By the time he finished speaking, he had ushered her through the door and closed it behind her. Then he turned the lock.
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