Speak No Evil

by Liana Gardner

  “Happy Birthday. I’m so glad you shared this special occasion with me.”

  Sick as she was, she’d remembered. It took a moment to find my voice. “I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather see on my birthday.” I squeezed her hand. “Remember, we had plans.”

  Quatie nodded and brushed her hair off her face. “Things have changed a lot in a short time, Atsila, but we must move forward.”

  I didn’t want to move forward. I wanted Quatie to get well and for us to go back home.

  “How are you doing?”

  A coughing spasm racked her body. I grabbed the tissue box from her bedside table and ripped out a few sheets and handed them to her. She held them in front of her mouth and spat into the paper. When her head relaxed against the pillow again, I grabbed the glass of water and held it toward her.

  She took a sip, then handed the cup back with the red-stained tissue to throw away. My heart lurched. Coughing up blood couldn’t be good.

  After tossing it, I sat next to the bed and gripped the rail. The blips and beeps of the monitors underscored how sick Quatie Raincrow must be. It had been a mistake to come. I didn’t want to know she was dying.

  She patted my hand. “Don’t fret. Things will happen as God decides.”

  She always knew what I was thinking.

  Pushing up with her hands, she resettled in the bed. “I want to hear how you’re doing.”

  I tore my eyes from hers. She had a knack of looking straight into my eyes and seeing the truth and I didn’t want her to know how bad things were at the Jacksons’. I stared at the white tile riddled with green specks. “Things are fine. I’m getting used to my new school.”

  Boyd made it hard to make new friends. He was such a little creep, the other kids stayed away from me, too. Like I was a carrier of his brand of nastiness. Or maybe they thought he’d unleash the ugliness if they tried to be nice to me.

  “Atsila, look at me and tell me the real story.”

  I hung my head. She always knew. “I don’t fit in with the Jacksons. I just want to come home and take care of you.”

  Her gnarled hand cupped my face. “Nothing would make me happier, but for now our higher power has different plans for us.”

  The room shimmered as I blinked to keep the tears from falling. “But I don’t want a different plan.”

  “Listen with your heart. Learn from your experiences, and always be open to new ones. Such are the words of wisdom from our ancestors.” She took in a raspy breath.

  How could I listen with my heart when it was breaking?

  “Never forget you are blessed, Atsila. Perhaps you have been put with the Jacksons to fulfill a purpose. Maybe you are to help them to be better people.”

  “They’re not going to listen to me. They barely talk to me unless they have to.”

  I bit back the rush of words. All the things I wanted to tell Quatie about the Jacksons but couldn’t. Not while every beat of her heart was monitored. Not while she needed help with every breath. If we were home and sitting on the porch, I could tell her everything, and then she’d say something to make everything seem right again. But we weren’t home and might not ever be again.

  “Never forget who you are, child. Keep the love you carry safe inside you and don’t allow others to destroy it. You are strong and beautiful. Never forget.”

  I didn’t feel strong or beautiful. Without Quatie Raincrow, I felt almost as empty as I had after Mama died. If this experience had taught me anything, it was as a foster kid, I had no say in what happened to me. How could I be strong when I had no voice?

  When Miss Prescott left me with the Jacksons, she’d told me it would be a temporary placement until they could find somewhere else more permanent. They told me the same thing when they left me with Quatie Raincrow. But I quickly hadn’t wanted to leave Quatie and they hadn’t bothered moving me until she got sick.

  And as far as beautiful went ... Quatie saw me through the filter of love. She didn’t see the gangly, just-turned-teen who hadn’t developed much yet. She didn’t see the girl who couldn’t turn a boy’s head with two hands and a crowbar. Not that I wanted boys’ attention anyway, but still, I was far from beautiful.

  In looks, I took after Daddy more than Mama with dark hair, eyes, and skin. Although Daddy always said the shape of my eyes came from Mama along with the wave in her hair, the dimple in her cheek, and the sparkle in her smile. I’d never match Mama’s beauty.

  “Atsila, what has happened to my whippoorwill?” Quatie stroked my hand. “You haven’t been this quiet since you first came to live with me.”

  A wry smile tugged at my lips. Quatie called me her whippoorwill because she said I chirped around the house as much as the whippoorwill sang in the night. The first time she’d said it, I’d thought she meant I was talking too much. But she explained just as she enjoyed hearing the birds call to one another, she enjoyed my chatter.

  “What is wrong, child?” Quatie’s voice was its most soothing.

  An inner struggle broke out. I didn’t want to add a burden to Quatie Raincrow. She didn’t need to worry about me. She needed to get well. But the want to tell her how awful I felt staying with the Jacksons swelled. I wanted to tell her my troubles, as I always did.

  I bit my lower lip as the inner war raged—my will to do the right thing and keep quiet battled the child within. Today was the beginning of my journey toward adulthood, so I should be able to make an adult decision.

  But one glance into Quatie’s eyes and my will lost the battle. “I don’t want to live with the Jacksons.”

  She gave me a sorrowful look. “Are you sure it’s the Jacksons you don’t like and not the need to adjust to living with them?”

  “No, it’s them. Mrs. Jackson might be okay, but she won’t do or say anything Mr. Jackson wouldn’t like. And he doesn’t call me by name. He calls me girl.”

  Once I started, the words kept coming—I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. “He is super strict and doesn’t allow any back talk, but anything I say he thinks is talking back.” No matter what, nothing I ever said was right.

  Worse, he hated my heritage. I’d overheard him telling his wife that had he known I had Cherokee, white, and black blood all mixed together in me, he’d never have agreed to take me. He said nothing good ever came from that combination.

  “And their son, Boyd, is the worst of all. He’s twisted and cruel.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment and the flash of the guillotine blade burst into my head. He had graduated from cutting worms in half to executing insects. And I had caught him tying a stick doused in gasoline to the neighbor’s cat while carrying a lighter in his pocket.

  Quatie frowned. “Have you talked with Rebecca about how you feel?”

  I nodded. “She says there isn’t an appropriate placement yet.”

  Pressing her hands to her lips, she sighed. “Atsila, you know I would take you out of there if I could. I want you to be happy.” She held her hands out toward me, palms up. “Give me both hands.”

  I placed my hands in hers. Maybe this would help warm them.

  Her eyes closed, she breathed deeply and called on her spirit guides. Quatie was asking them to show her my future. She gave readings to those on the reservation who came to her for advice, but she had never read for me before.

  Her grip tightened on my hands and her breathing took on a harsh quality.

  She opened her eyes and a tear trailed down her weathered cheek.

  My stomach twisted into knots. What she had seen couldn’t be good.

  She cleared her throat. “Oh, my sweet child. You have many challenges ahead of you. Be strong.”

  Another coughing spasm convulsed her. After it stopped, she opened her mouth to continue, the corners of her lips partly glued together, her face pale with a sheen of perspiration across her forehead.

  “No. Don’t speak yet.” I gave her the cup of water and she sipped it through the straw. After a few sips, she looked stronger and some of the color
had returned to her face.

  When I put the plastic glass back on the tray table, I was startled to see a priest standing in the corner of the room, head bowed and hands clasped in front of him. Where had he come from? I hadn’t seen him enter the room. I didn’t want to interrupt his prayer, so I turned back to Quatie Raincrow.

  “You don’t have to tell me any more. Please rest.”

  She shook her head. “You know I cannot keep it to myself. It is my job to share what the spirits tell me.” She swallowed, then took a ragged breath. “You will face great adversity. I want you to remember these words from an old Cherokee proverb. ‘The pain you feel today is the strength you feel tomorrow. For every challenge encountered there is an opportunity for growth.’” Tears flowed down her cheeks as she grasped my hand in both hers. “Do not forget your gifts. Music and singing will see you through. And you will get through even though it may not feel like it sometimes.”

  I had never seen Quatie Raincrow get so worked up about someone’s future before. Fear made my heart pound faster. The tears I had yet to cry bubbled over.

  The priest approached the bed and stood beside me.

  Why was he there? Quatie wasn’t Catholic. Maybe he visited all the patients and prayed for them.

  She squeezed my hand. “Don’t forget what I have taught you.”

  “I won’t. But you need to get better so you can teach me more.”

  “I must warn you—” Her eyes widened as the priest placed his hand on her head. The beeps and blips on the monitors went crazy.

  She crushed my hand and gasped as if she couldn’t catch her breath.

  The priest simply watched Quatie in her distress.

  “Pray for her.” The words I screamed briefly drowned out the mechanical sounds.

  She took a huge shuddering sigh and her hand went limp and slipped from mine. The monitor stopped spiking and flat-lined and the noise changed to a solid beeeeeeep.

  An alarm went off in the hallway. “Code blue. Room 232. Code blue. Room 232.”

  Running footsteps sounded outside the room.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Quatie Raincrow. The tears flowed down my face unchecked. I grabbed her hand. Please breathe again. Don’t die on me.

  Please, don’t die on me.

  I closed my eyes and prayed as hard as I could, asking God and the Grandfathers to please spare Quatie Raincrow. I needed her. She was my second mother. I couldn’t lose her, too. Not today.

  Several people rushed into the room. My eyes flew open as hands gripped my shoulders firmly and moved me out of the way. They shoved a cart next to the bed, ripped the bedding down, and opened her gown. I scanned the room. The priest was nowhere to be found. How could he leave?

  One glance at Quatie and I covered my mouth. Her spirit had left her body while I prayed.

  “Clear.”

  The doctor held two paddles in his hands and placed them on her chest.

  Stepping backward, I hit the wall. The jolt through the paddles caused Quatie’s body to jump. I wanted them to stop. She was gone. Didn’t they know?

  After watching the monitors, the doctor readied to attempt to start her heart again. I couldn’t watch anymore. Stumbling into the hall, I couldn’t stop my tears.

  I rubbed my eyes and hurried as quickly as I could away from the room. I couldn’t listen to them torture Quatie’s body anymore. A flash of black caught my attention as the priest disappeared around a corner. I chased after him because I wanted him to tell me why she had to die. I rounded the corner, ready to call out, and faced an empty hallway.

  After bolting into the bathroom, I collapsed against the wall and sobbed. She died because I had come to see her and let her know I wasn’t happy. Looking into my future had caused her too much stress. She wouldn’t have read my future if I hadn’t told her about the Jacksons. My legs wouldn’t hold me any longer and I slid to the floor.

  She was the last person on this Earth who loved me, and she was gone. And her spirit had left before I said goodbye.

  Chapter Twenty

  Spring 2015 – Melody, age 16

  Melody sighed.

  Mrs. Langdon glanced her way. “What’s wrong with you? Cat got your tongue?” She cackled like an old biddy hen fussing at her brood.

  When would she get tired of the same old jokes? Melody clenched her hands and chose not to react. She’d had a lot of practice over the past few years; never let them know they got to you.

  “Oh, you’re givin’ me the silent treatment. I get it.” Mrs. Langdon snorted at her joke.

  Melody stared straight ahead, counting the blocks to the doctor’s office. Too bad they weren’t close enough for her to walk.

  It had become part of her ritual to jump out of the car as soon as Mrs. Langdon pulled it into a parking slot. Most days she made it through the door and into the inner sanctum before Mrs. Langdon managed to wrestle the suitcase masquerading as her purse out of the car. Today she didn’t wait for the car to come to a full stop. Once out, she slammed the car door.

  Lily grinned when she saw Melody. But her smile faded when Melody slammed the office door and rattled the windows.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Melody didn’t break stride as she pushed past into the office.

  When the door bounced against the wall, Dr. Kane raised one eyebrow and smirked. “You’re eager to get started today.”

  Without bothering to close the door, she reached the chair in front of his desk and toppled it over.

  Dr. Kane jumped to his feet. “Whoa. What has you in such a temper?”

  Melody crossed her arms so he couldn’t see her shaking hands.

  The thudding footsteps and asthmatic wheeze of Mrs. Langdon preceded her into the office.

  Dr. Kane looked from Melody to Mrs. Langdon. “I see.” His lips pressed into a thin line.

  Mrs. Langdon dropped her purse in the upright chair. “Don’t think you’re getting away with this.” She jammed her fists on her hips.

  Dr. Kane held his hand up. “What is it this time, Mrs. Langdon?”

  “Dory.” She made the correction while continuing to glare at Melody.

  Jutting out her jaw, Melody narrowed her eyes and stared back.

  “I’ll tell you what.” Mrs. Langdon threw her arm out. “This one here decided to jump out of the car while it was still moving.” She took a step forward. “What if something woulda happened to you? I’da been blamed.”

  Dr. Kane’s mouth popped open. “Melody, is this true?”

  She turned her back on his disappointed gaze.

  “You shouldn’t get out of a moving car. You could have been hurt.”

  “It’s about time you sided with me, Doc.”

  The piercing tones of Mrs. Langdon’s voice shot through her. Melody stomped to the couch and plopped on the cushion.

  Dr. Kane cleared his throat. “This is not, and never has been, a contest or anything to take sides over. We are all here to help and support Melody. That is all.”

  Melody’s insides churned. Something inside her had cracked and she no longer had the ironfisted control over her emotions she was used to having. She queued a Dixie Chicks song on the music player, plugged in the speakers, and turned up the volume.

  Dr. Kane righted the tipped-over chair with a soft thud. “I’m sure you have things to do, and it’s time for Melody and I to have our session.”

  Mrs. Langdon gave her usual grunt when she hefted her purse to her shoulder. “I can take a hint. Make sure you get her to understand about the car.”

  As the door closed, Melody moved to the bay window and stared out. By leaning her forehead against the glass, she had a better view of the pond. The glass felt cool and soothing. Sunlight glinting on the rippled water and grass bending in the breeze gave her momentary peace.

  The leather chair sighed as Dr. Kane settled in. “You seem to be having a rough day.”

  Her shoulder twitched and she turned her body slightly more toward the window. Rough wasn’t
the word. Shadows cast by fluttering leaves undulated across the grass, echoing the ripples on the pond.

  “I’m sure that woman said something to set you off.”

  She pushed play on “Not Ready To Make Nice” and glared at Dr. Kane while she sang along. When the song ended, she faced the window.

  “I get it. You’re mad as hell. That woman would try the patience of Job.”

  He didn’t get it and never would. He couldn’t. A winged shadow skimmed the grass and Melody looked skyward. It took her a moment to spot the hawk circling the treetops.

  To be free to soar ...

  “Melody, we need to get started.”

  She closed her eyes and didn’t move. The afternoon sun shone through the window and warmed her skin. He could start. She didn’t want to do this anymore.

  Not that she had a choice. She never did.

  The note app clicked when he started it. “I’m still blown away by your voice. Have you had singing lessons?” He waited a moment for her response. “Last session we talked about why you left your first foster placement.”

  She hadn’t left, she had been forced to leave. And it had been her home, not a placement.

  Papers rustled as Dr. Kane shuffled through them. “Even though it was an emergency placement, there were several qualified applicants, so I’m not sure why you were placed with a woman too old for long-term placement care. There aren’t any notes to explain why you were left with that woman for nearly four years.”

  That woman?

  Quatie Raincrow had been nothing like Mrs. Langdon. Tears bubbled up and her breath caught in her throat.

  With one sweep of her arm, Melody toppled the books from the top of the bookcase and growled. How dare he? She pulled individual books off the top shelf and flung them across the room. Dead Cert, Risk, and 10LB Penalty by Dick Francis landed near Dr. Kane’s desk. She scooped up an armful of Agatha Christie and threw them like Frisbees. And Then There Were None skimmed the top of the couch before scudding along the floor. Murder on the Orient Express and At Bertram’s Hotel quickly followed suit.