When Silence Sings

by Sarah Loudin Thomas

  “Sometimes God does His best work with unwilling tools. I think He does it to prove it’s Him and not us.”

  Colman nodded. “Alright then.” Maybe he could find something to say after all.

  Colman stepped up to the pulpit one more time. He was weary all the way to his bones. But then he spotted Ivy sitting in the front row. She’d come out of the shadows to sit among the people. Rubbing a hand across his face, he felt the way his cheekbones had sharpened, his face all jagged planes since he’d taken ill. He guessed these folks weren’t coming because of his good looks.

  “Let’s pray,” he began.

  As he lifted words up to God, he felt something like power flowing into him, and every sound of nature rang as distinct—from the rushing of a creek in the distance, to dogs barking up the holler, to spring peepers blending their voices with the sigh of the evening breeze. God’s chorus of creation.

  “Amen,” he said. “Ivy, will you lead us in a song?” He hoped to set an example for these folks by continuing to include her.

  She smiled, and it was as though she knew just what he needed as she began singing “Revive Us Again.” Colman fought tears as the people sang the second verse.

  “We praise thee, O God, for the Son of thy love,

  For Jesus who died and is now gone above.”

  He lifted his face to the sky so the people wouldn’t see the emotion washing over him.

  “Hallelujah thine the glory, Hallelujah amen.

  Hallelujah thine the glory, Revive us again.”

  During previous meetings, they’d sung three or four songs before getting started, but tonight, as the last notes of the song rose to heaven, Ivy sat down and shifted her attention to him.

  Colman inhaled long and slow. He had no idea what he was about to say; he just started speaking.

  “Once upon a time there was a man who lived in the prettiest place you can think of. He had all he wanted to eat, good work to do that wasn’t too hard, and lots of friendly animals to keep him company.” He smiled and looked around at the people gathered before him. “But as perfect as everything was, there was just one thing missing. He was lonesome. A hound dog can be real good company, but he doesn’t usually have much to say. And a good horse can be a big help around the farm, but he’s not much for sitting close beside you near the fire of an evening.”

  A few folks smiled and looked tickled.

  “So God looked down at that man and said, ‘It’s not good for a feller to be alone. I’ll make a helpmeet for him.’ He put the man to sleep and did a little operation, taking out just one rib.” Colman held up one finger. “And from that one rib he made a woman, which just goes to show God’s a whole lot smarter than the rest of us put together.”

  The audience chuckled, and Colman saw a few men wrap arms around the women sitting close beside them.

  “When that feller woke up, he had about the best surprise of his life. And he called that woman ‘bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.’” Colman paused. “I wish I could tell you they lived happily ever after, but I think most of you know what happened next.” Faces turned sad, and Colman figured he had them right where he wanted them.

  “But I’ll tell you this. Even after Adam and Eve got kicked out of the most perfect place ever created, they still had each other. If I remember right, Adam lived more than nine hundred years. I imagine having a wife by his side all that time was a comfort.” He looked from face to face, feeling a catch in his chest when his gaze fell on Ivy, still apart from the rest. “I guess what I’m telling you is that life is hard, and being sinners, we’re bound to mess it up. But when you have each other—whether a husband, a wife, children, or good friends—you don’t have to fight the battle alone. Seems to me God did a fine thing giving us people to love. Might be we need to do more of that.”

  As though the breeze carried words, Scripture verses came to Colman. “‘A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.’”

  He bowed his head and felt the exhaustion return, as if it had been waiting until he finished speaking. He wanted to sink to the ground right there and then, but first he had to extricate himself from this meeting.

  Ivy began singing like she knew he needed rescuing. The entire congregation came to its feet and sang along. Colman didn’t even notice what the hymn was, but instead eased to the side of the arbor where Hoyt stood, shoulder ready for him to lean on. As he slipped away, he looked back and saw that not everyone was standing and singing. There, in the back row, sat Jake McLean, legs stretched out and feet crossed like he was relaxing at home. He watched Colman the way a fox might watch a chicken. A shiver ran up Colman’s spine, but he shook it off. He lifted two fingers to his forehead and saluted Jake, who nodded in return.

  “He’s got ’em eating out of his hand,” Jake said. “Although he looks like a worn-out scarecrow. Seems like the last time I seen him, he was fit as a fiddle. But these days you might cut your hand if you slapped him, his face is so bony-sharp.”

  Serepta wanted to pace the room, but she refused to let her nervous energy show. “Sit up straight,” she snapped at her son, who lounged in the leather chair facing her desk.

  Jake obeyed, likely without thinking about it. If he’d thought about it, he would have refused just to be contrary.

  “How many are coming to these meetings?”

  Jake scratched his chin. “Looked to me like a hundred or so. Talked to some folks who’d been there before, and they said it’s more every night.”

  “And how many are McLeans?”

  Jake shrugged. “Most of ’em, I guess. Either McLeans or kin to us.”

  Serepta circled the desk, unable to remain still another second. She stood over Jake, who shifted as if trying to put some distance between them. “Would you say he’s preaching peace?” She enunciated that last word with great care.

  “Peace? He yammered on about Adam and Eve—although I didn’t get that’s who he meant right off. Then there was a bunch of mumbo jumbo about people loving each other.” Jake got a gleam in his eye. “’Course, that Ivy Gordon makes me think we could all use a little more loving. She might look spooky, but the shape of her—”

  Serepta struck him. The sound of her palm against his cheek echoed through the room and left a terrible stillness in its wake.

  Jake didn’t move for several beats. Then he stood as though it required much thought. He looked down at Serepta, the mark of her hand on his face. “Ma, I ain’t no child to be smacked. I think it’d be best if you didn’t do that again.”

  Serepta felt shaken. She’d whipped Jake when he was a misbehaving boy, but it had been years since she’d laid a finger on him. She walked back behind her desk and sat before her quivering legs gave her away. An apology rose to her lips, but looking at Jake’s stony face told her he would take advantage if she showed her soft underbelly.

  “Colman Harpe must be stopped,” she said.

  Jake glared at her.

  “I’ve left him alone up until now because he’s been in Ivy Gordon’s care, and she’s never been part of the feud.”

  The hardness around Jake’s eyes began to lessen. Serepta wished the angry outline of her hand would fade with it.

  “I need Ivy to help with Emmaline,” she continued, “and yet we can’t let Colman continue preaching peace, love, and forgiveness. The rest of the Harpe clan will see our allowing it as weakness.” She stretched her shoulders, trying to ease the tension in her neck where she fastened the clasp of her pearls each morning. “They may even have sent him to infiltrate and effectively neuter our cause.”

  Her word choice had Jake’s attention now. His manly pride ran deep, and he wouldn’t like her hint that he might be made to appear less of a man.

  She tilted her head to one side. “Spread the word but do it with care—quietly. Let it be known that I want Colman’s preaching to st
op. And I’ll be more than happy to handsomely reward the man who sees to it.”

  Now Jake looked downright pleased. “What if I was that man?”

  “I won’t say it shouldn’t be you, but you already have a bull’s-eye on your chest as far as Webb Harpe is concerned, so I’d advise you to look out for your own skin before you go chasing after someone else’s.”

  He narrowed his eyes and nodded. “I’ll get the word out, Ma, don’t you worry.”

  “Excellent. I know you’ll do a fine job.” Her legs had stopped shaking, and the mark of her hand on her son’s face had faded to a soft pink. “Just remember, Ivy Gordon must not know.”

  Jake nodded again, grinned, and left the room. Serepta watched him go, wondering if she’d trusted him with more than he could handle.

  chapter

  sixteen

  “You might as well tear that brush arbor down.” Colman lay on his pallet, shivering. “I’ve used up all the words I’ve got.”

  Ivy knelt beside him and bathed his face with water that smelled of flowers. “You have a fever.”

  “Well I’m freezing.”

  He knew he sounded testy, but he was tired of being sick. Tired of people expecting him to get up in front of them under that arbor. Tired of trying to do whatever it was God had sent him here to accomplish.

  Ivy ran the scented rag over his face again. He closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. “Why do you keep taking care of me? I should have left a long time ago.”

  “You need care and I’m able to do it. I think it’s my job—my calling maybe. I’ve been taking care of people for as long as I can remember.” She dropped the cloth into a basin and sat back on her heels. “I took care of my mother when she was dying.”

  Colman opened his eyes and considered her sweet face. “That must have been hard.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” She gathered her supplies and stood, moving to the table where she was making some sort of poultice. “It was the greatest blessing of my life. I was able to ease her final days.” She returned, pushed him gently onto his back, and tucked the poultice inside his shirt. “And I got to be with her when she died.”

  Colman inhaled deeply. The poultice seemed to be unknotting his insides in a way that let him relax in spite of his shivering. “You call that a blessing?”

  “It was. She’d been so sick, so weak, but just at the end she opened her eyes and looked right at me. ‘Do you see them, Ivy?’ she asked. I looked all around but didn’t see anything. Then she said she’d be waiting, and she was gone.”

  Colman didn’t know what to say to that.

  “The look in her eyes . . . well, whatever she was seeing, it was better than anything this world can offer. Although I was sorry to lose her, I was glad for her at the same time. And one day I’ll see her again.”

  “How old were you?” Colman asked.

  “Eleven.”

  “My mother’s gone, too.” Now, why had he told her that?

  “What was she like?”

  Colman shifted, the warmth of the poultice like having a kitten sleeping on his chest. “She was like a chorus of songbirds on the first day of spring.”

  Ivy laughed. “Well, she must have been wonderful then. Did she want you to be a preacher?”

  “She did.” Colman fell silent, and Ivy waited. “But I didn’t move that direction until after she was gone. I’ve been aiming for a church of my own. I think that’s what she would have wanted for me.”

  “I imagine she knows all about you. Do you think she’d be proud of your brush-arbor preaching?”

  Colman smiled and relaxed deeper against his pillow. “You know how to persuade a fellow, don’t you?”

  Ivy laughed again, the prettiest sound Colman had heard since his own mother had laughed. “I just go where the Spirit leads me.”

  “Hunh. Guess maybe I’m not completely done preaching yet.” He sighed. “But I think I might need a day or two off before we pick up again.”

  Hoyt entered the room in time to hear Colman’s last statement. “You need a break? I reckon that can be arranged. I’ll let folks know they need to come back next Friday evening, and you can preach at ’em all weekend. They ought to tend to their jobs and farms anyhow.”

  Colman wormed his shoulders deeper into his blankets and gave thanks for the reprieve. He only hoped he’d be feeling some better when Friday rolled around.

  Emmaline had been fractious lately. She hadn’t asked about her mother in over a week, and Serepta thought she was past the worst of her grief. But today the child was crying after her entire family. It was as though she’d finally come to the realization they were beyond her reach and she was powerless to do anything about it. Serepta could understand the frustration, but telling a four-year-old there was nothing to be done was useless.

  “Don’t want it,” the child said, pushing her cup of milk away. “Want Papa.”

  Her abrupt movement spilled some of the milk on Serepta’s freshly pressed slacks, and she had to force herself not to react. If it had been Jake or Mack doing that as a child, she would have whipped them, but she knew Emmaline was lashing out at something she couldn’t see or touch.

  “Milk will make you grow strong,” she said, dabbing at the spill with a handkerchief.

  “I am strong,” Emmaline said, spreading her legs and squaring her shoulders in a bullish stance.

  A smile quirked Serepta’s lips. “So you are. But don’t you want to be even stronger?”

  “Why?”

  Serepta stilled. Why indeed? “So that no one will take advantage of you. No one will make you do anything you would rather not. The stronger you are, the more control you will have.”

  Emmaline tilted her head. “Why?”

  Serepta sighed. “Trust me.” She lifted the silver cup and drank some of the milk. Emmaline crept closer and reached out a chubby hand. Serepta pressed the cup into it, and the child, with a last suspicious look, drank the contents down.

  “There now. Don’t you feel stronger?”

  Emmaline squinted her eyes and leaned against Serepta’s legs. The contact was weighty but in a pleasant way. It struck Serepta that this child trusted her when hardly anyone else did.

  “No.”

  “Well, drinking all your milk is the first step toward stronger. Now, let’s get ready for bed, because the second step is a good night’s sleep.”

  Emmaline sighed as though resigning herself to the inevitable and dragged down the hall toward the room that had been outfitted for her. Serepta followed, pondering the truth of her own words. Good food and rest were important, though she’d been getting little enough of either in the past weeks. Charlie had been doing his best to see to her needs, but she wasn’t hungry, and sleep remained elusive. The effects were clear when she looked in the mirror. Her dusky skin had taken on a grayish tinge, and her eyes—always startling—appeared larger. She’d even noticed that her expertly tailored clothing didn’t fit quite as well.

  She saw to Emmaline’s bedtime preparations, helped her into bed, and turned to leave the room.

  “Mommy prays with me.”

  “What’s that you say?”

  “My mommy prays with me.” Emmaline scrambled from under the covers and knelt on the floor beside her bed. “You pray.”

  “I have nothing to say to God.”

  Emmaline turned luminous eyes on her—eyes that pierced the shell she’d wrapped around herself so many years ago. “Pray.”

  Serepta took a deep breath and let it out with care. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Go ahead.”

  Emmaline gave her a fierce look of disapproval. “Here,” she said.

  Serepta wetted her dry lips. She should refuse. Be on her way. But something in the orphan child’s face drew her to kneel beside her on the floor. “Very well.”

  Emmaline folded her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. “Dear God, bless Mommy and Papa . . .” She went on to name her brothers and sisters, a few othe
r family members Serepta didn’t know existed, and a cow that must have provided the family with milk. Then there was a long pause. Serepta began to rise when Emmaline picked up again.

  “And bless this mommy and Mr. Charlie and I want a puppy. Amen.”

  Serepta could no more stand at that moment than she could fly. This mommy? Did Emmaline mean her? Or might she mean Ivy?

  “Now you.”

  She looked down at the child. “I already prayed in my mind.”

  Emmaline blew out a bit of impatient air. “You pray in your heart.” But she must have been satisfied nonetheless, because she clambered up onto the bed and slipped under the covers. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” Serepta whispered, and then she struggled to lever herself to a standing position. Slowly, she left the room, telling herself it didn’t matter who Emmaline thought of as her mother.

  Colman hadn’t been completely alone since he was inside the mountain. And now, standing above a rhododendron thicket, watching water tumble precipitously over rocks and down the mountainside, he had to fight a moment of panic. Yes, he was alone, but only for the moment, and after all it was solitude he’d been seeking.

  He just hadn’t expected being alone to bite so deeply.

  Glancing up at the sky, Colman squinted against the glare of the coming summer, grateful his eyes had recovered, even if the rest of his body had a ways to go. It was hot for June. His shirt stuck to his back after he struggled up the steep hillside. He wasn’t strong enough for this yet, but he’d wanted a mountaintop experience. And slipping away from Ivy’s doctoring and Hoyt’s watchful eye seemed needful.

  He sat on a rock outcropping and closed his eyes. The roar of the creek below filled his ears, but he knew if he gave it a moment, he’d hear much more. A crow’s caw. The lowing of cattle farther down the valley. Distant footsteps of a man or maybe a deer. The rustling of chipmunks in the leaves. And hopefully, the voice of God.

  But no—not that. It seemed he never heard from God when he wanted to. He laughed at himself, a scarecrow perched on a rock, waiting for a sign from heaven that would tell him what to do next. He knew better.