Night Bird Calling

by Cathy Gohlke

  •••

  Our telephone line was out from the storm. It wasn’t right to send Celia or Chester out into the rain for the doctor, and Gladys insisted I wasn’t strong enough yet, but I couldn’t let her go and leave her children.

  “She’ll be okay till morning,” Gladys whispered. “Scared, more than anything.”

  But I wasn’t sure. I recognized the brutality of a beating. It wasn’t what you could see on the outside that worried me. There could be internal bleeding or broken ribs, not to mention the bleeding of Ruby Lynne’s heart. But she was too frozen and too frightened to talk.

  I had no doubt that Rhoan Wishon was at the bottom of this. My father had taken a belt to my back often enough, but the way Ruby Lynne clutched her stomach and sides, bent over, wincing without a sound, hinted at more.

  Ruby Lynne’s teeth chattered as we got her up the stairs, one painful foot in front of the other.

  Gladys took charge. “Celia, heat some water and bring me a basin and a towel.”

  Flanking Ruby Lynne, Gladys and I guided her into Aunt Hyacinth’s room and onto the poster bed. I pulled a fresh nightgown from the drawer, and together, Gladys and I helped her into it. The bruises extending down her back and torso were horrific. What terrified me even more were the blood and bruises between her legs.

  When we’d finally gotten her settled under the covers, we called Chester to build up a fire in the room.

  “I didn’t know where else to go,” Ruby Lynne whimpered, her teeth still chattering.

  “You did just right, coming here. You’re safe. No one can hurt you now.”

  Tears trickled from the corners of the girl’s eyes and my heart broke for her. I knew if Rhoan Wishon stood before me now and I had that gun Celia’d found, I’d be tempted to pull the trigger.

  Gladys placed a gentling hand on my arm. “Anger won’t do her any good now,” she whispered. “She needs to rest.”

  I nodded, barely able to contain myself. “I’ll keep watch till morning. We can send for Granny Chree then.”

  “Rhoan won’t stand for Granny to—”

  “Ruby Lynne needs a woman now. You saw those bruises.”

  “I did. But—I don’t know. . . . I’ll send Celia in with more blankets. You keep warm by that fire. You wearing yourself out won’t do Ruby Lynne or anybody else good now. I’ll make sure the doors and windows are locked.”

  “You don’t think he’d come here, do you?”

  Gladys shrugged. “He’ll come looking for her once he sobers up. Only a drunken man would do this.”

  I knew better than that. Either way, I’d protect Ruby Lynne with my life.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  IT WAS A LONG NIGHT FOR CELIA, who couldn’t stop thinking about the bruises and cuts on Ruby Lynne or the horror etched on Miss Lill’s face. Her mama took things more in stride, as if seeing a beat-up girl was nothing much out of the ordinary and they’d best just get on about the business of patching her up and going to bed. That bothered Celia, too.

  Who’d do such a thing? Nobody in No Creek, sure and certain. Maybe one of those drifters who come by the store from time to time. But what good would beating up a girl do if you were looking for work or food?

  The storm subsided. Celia was first to hear the knock at the back door, though it was still dark. “Mama, Mama! Wake up. Somebody’s out back. Want me to see who?”

  “No, I do not.” Her mother was awake in an instant and pushed her away. “Leave that to me.” But Celia felt her mother’s cold hands and didn’t like the idea of her opening the door and letting in the darkness. If that darkness took human form—worse yet. Celia pulled her blanket round her shoulders and trailed her mama.

  “Who’s there?” Celia thought her mama’s voice brave.

  “Gladys Percy, it’s a cold morning and I’ve walked three miles. You gonna let me in?”

  “Granny Chree! Come in and warm yourself. I’ll fill the coffeepot.”

  “Don’t need no coffee. Make me some black walnut tea. I brought my poultices.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Just got the feeling I’m needed.”

  “You are!” Celia’s eyes and mouth both went wide. “Upstairs in Miz Hyacinth’s room. Ruby Lynne Wishon—”

  “Ruby Lynne Wishon? I ’spected it might be Li—”

  “No,” Celia’s mother cut Granny Chree off, pulling her inside and taking the damp blanket draped over her shoulders. “Ruby Lynne showed up at our door last night, bruised from head to toe.”

  “Beaten to a pulp!” Pulp was a new word for Celia and this was the moment to use it.

  “Celia, hush that talk. The girl needs help, that’s sure. I think she might have a broken rib or two and—I’m not sure what else. I’m mighty glad you’ve come.”

  “Rhoan won’t stand for me tendin’ his girl. Best send for the doctor.”

  “I told Lilliana. But I guess Rhoan’s as like to stand for a colored granny as he is for a Jew doctor. Besides, you’re a woman—and here now.” Celia’s mama shifted. “Whatever that man says, we need you, Granny. Ruby Lynne needs you. I’m afraid the girl’s been—” She stopped. “Celia, you get some fresh towels up to Lilliana.”

  “But, Mama—”

  She swatted at Celia’s behind. “Don’t you ‘Mama’ me. You heard what I said.”

  Celia took to the stairs but leaned over the bannister, straining to hear what else her mother might say.

  “Lilliana believes it’s Rhoan what done it, but I have my doubts. I can’t imagine a father doing such a thing to his daughter.”

  Celia couldn’t hear more. She didn’t know what they were talking about, but it must be bad. Rhoan Wishon? Her daddy did this? The idea sent shudders through Celia. Better a drifter—somebody we don’t know. What could make a man beat his own kin—his own daughter—like that? Worse, Celia knew her mama and Miss Lill had hinted at something more. But what? Beating her black-and-blue and bloody’s bad enough. Can anything be worse?

  Chapter Forty

  GRANNY CHREE SOOTHED Ruby Lynne’s spirit and body to peace and sleep, just as she had mine.

  “You send for the doctor. Chile’s been raped and it needs to be known. You keep this a secret from her daddy now, there’ll be the devil to pay later.”

  “A secret from her daddy? Her daddy did this!” Wasn’t it plain as day? I couldn’t keep the fury from my voice.

  “Rhoan Wishon? Did the chile say so?” Granny Chree pierced me with her one good eye.

  “Who else could it have been?”

  “She ought to say. And you send for Dr. Vishnevsky. I have a bad feelin’ ’bout this.”

  “I’ll not put her through more. That kind of examination by a man at her age? No, I won’t do it.”

  Granny Chree grabbed my arm. “What if there be a baby? What then? Who her daddy gonna blame?” She shook her head. “It be better if it come out in the open now, what’s done and who did it.”

  I didn’t agree. What chance was there that a baby might result?

  “If it come to that, I won’t help her get rid of it.” Granny Chree tucked the last of her herbs in the sack she slung over her shoulder. “So’s you know. That not somethin’ I do.”

  “I’d never ask you to.”

  Granny Chree raised her eyebrows. “This not about you—this about Ruby Lynne. Don’t confuse that. You give this girl sanctuary, fair enough. But you not her keeper. You help her stand in the light of day, help her keep herself true—that the best thing you can do for Ruby Lynne.”

  I tensed and breathed deeply, both at once. She was right. This had been done to Ruby Lynne, not me. But it felt like a replay, as if I’d been there through the horror, lived it before, and I couldn’t let this happen to Ruby Lynne again. She needed someone to protect her. How could Ruby Lynne—so young and vulnerable—keep herself in this horrific situation? How could she prevent her father from doing this again if she returned home? “Ruby Lynne needs a way out of No Creek.”

/>   “Did you have a way out?” Granny Chree asked quietly.

  “Not till I came here. There was no one strong enough or able or willing to help me, but I can help her.”

  “You think on what you do here, Lilliana, and what you can keep on doing. You think on who you bring into this mess because the mess is here to stay. Are you?”

  “You don’t think I should help her?” That wasn’t the Granny Chree I knew.

  “I never say that. Don’t be puttin’ words in my mouth. Who you think they gonna blame for this? You think Rhoan Wishon take the blame—even if he did it—you got another think comin’.”

  And then I understood. “They’ll blame Marshall.”

  “Sure as I’m standin’ here.”

  “But that’s not possible. He’d never—”

  “Don’t matter. He’s colored. He’s convenient and somebody easy to blame.”

  “A scapegoat.”

  Granny Chree nodded. “You get Dr. Vishnevsky over here and get him to write down everything she say before her daddy get ahold of her. It go better down the road if she been seen by a white doctor. They more likely to believe him.”

  “Yes, I understand.” I hated what I understood, but I knew she was right. “Our phone is still out. I’ll see if Celia can go for him.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  CELIA RACED LIKE THE WIND for Dr. Vishnevsky, her feet pounding and slipping on the muddied lane up to his house. Her mother had said that Ruby Lynne was in a bad way and that Granny Chree needed the doctor to come quick. That didn’t sound good. As far as Celia knew, Granny Chree could cure everything from croup to gunshot wounds. Whatever more had happened to Ruby Lynne Wishon, whatever it was that her mother and Miss Lill and Granny Chree frowned over so, must be worrisome in the extreme.

  By the time she reached Dr. Vishnevsky’s, the morning sun had stretched itself over the tips of the cedars flanking his cabin. Celia stumbled up the steps, her heart nearly bursting from her chest, and pounded on the door. It rarely took Dr. Vishnevsky long to open his door. This morning it seemed he’d been standing beside it.

  “Celia Percy! What brings you here so early? Is your mother all right? Chester? Mrs. Swope?”

  Celia nodded, bending over, clutching her knees. She couldn’t catch her breath but waved her hand from side to side to say that wasn’t it. “Come. Please come now—to Garden’s Gate. Ruby Lynne Wishon—” Celia couldn’t finish but it didn’t matter. Dr. Vishnevsky grabbed his coat and bag and was out the door and down the steps before Celia could turn around.

  “My automobile’s tire is flat! I’ll see you there!”

  Celia followed as best and quickly as she could, but the doctor’s long strides left her far behind. That was fine with her. The sooner he reached Garden’s Gate, the sooner the horrible could be fixed. He was, after all, the miracle doctor who’d saved Chester’s life two years ago from that near-fatal attack of appendicitis. If it hadn’t been for Dr. Vishnevsky’s surgical skills, Chester would be dead. Hardly a week went by that Celia didn’t think on that and thank God for Doc Vishy, even when Chester proved a pain in the neck.

  By the time Celia reached Garden’s Gate, the doctor was upstairs, conferring with Granny Chree and Miss Lill in the hallway outside Ruby Lynne’s door. Celia wanted to join them, but her mother pulled her back.

  “Oh no you don’t, young lady. You’ve got chores and this is none of your never mind.”

  “But it’s Saturday, Mama, and I found her—almost—by the door. I want to know Ruby Lynne’s gonna be okay.”

  “Dr. Vishnevsky’s going in now. Ruby Lynne will be fine . . . in time. The best thing you can do for her is to go on about your business and not let on to anybody that she’s here. You understand me? If word gets around, it could be terrible bad for her and for the rest of us.”

  Celia listened, trying to take it in. There was much she didn’t understand and more she wanted to know.

  “I said, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Celia wouldn’t do anything to hurt her mama or Miss Lill or Ruby Lynne for all the tea in China. All the tea in China was another expression she’d just read and she understood right well what it meant.

  •••

  Jesse was no stranger to those unique tuggings on his heart and mind, the call of the Holy Spirit. He’d learned early not to ignore them. They’d never led him astray. That late morning, after a long night of walking the floor with an inebriated Joe Earl and consoling Joe’s wife, those stirrings took him to Garden’s Gate.

  He knocked on the front door, intending to turn the knob and walk in, knowing the library bell over the door would ring, announcing a newcomer. But the door was locked—in the daytime—a thing he couldn’t remember happening since the library opened or even before Miz Hyacinth passed. He waited. When no one came, he knocked again, but still not a footstep within his hearing. He pulled back and noticed that curtains and drapes closed off each window—another peculiar thing for daytime.

  Rather than knock a third time, he walked around back. Granny Chree was nearly through the wintered garden, into the barren fruit trees. “Granny Chree!”

  She slowed but didn’t stop.

  He caught up with her as she neared the orchard’s far edge. “Everything all right here?”

  Granny hesitated, which was the third strange thing. At last she turned, settling her eye on him. “No, Reverend Willard. It’s not.”

  “Is Lilliana all right?” He couldn’t keep the dread from his voice.

  “That chile on a long journey, but she be all right.”

  “Is she coming back?” He felt panic rising.

  Granny let out something between a chuckle and a snort. “Not that kind of journey, Reverend.” She shook her head. “You two ought to have your heads knocked together.”

  “There’s not much I’d like better, but I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  “She got some travelin’ in the mind to do and a heart that needs mendin’. Don’t you give up on that girl now.”

  “I won’t.” He meant it. “But the curtains are closed. The front door’s locked.”

  “Kitchen door’s open. You go on in and see what they say. You might do some good.”

  Before Jesse could ask what she meant, Granny turned and stepped into the woods, disappearing amid the gray trunks of tall, naked trees and long needle pines.

  That left him in an awkward position. He didn’t want to just walk in on the ladies, but something was wrong. In a few long strides he was on the back porch and knocking softly on the door. It opened before his knuckles made their second rap and Celia Percy fell into his arms.

  “Reverend Willard! You’re here! I’m glad you’re here!”

  “What is it, Celia? What’s the matter?”

  Gladys pulled her away. “That’s no way to carry on now, Celia. You go change your clothes. Widow Cramer’s expecting you to help her clean house this morning; then get on to the store to sweep up. You don’t want to lose that job with Ida Mae—but don’t you say a thing about goings-on here.”

  “How can I go over there when—?”

  “You most certainly will go and you’ll not say another word—here or there. Now go!”

  The fear and uncertainty in Celia’s eyes raked fingernails across Jesse’s heart. He couldn’t contradict Gladys, who turned away from him to the sink, but he couldn’t imagine sending Celia off for the day distraught as she was. The moment he heard Celia’s footsteps on the stairs, he whispered, “What is it? What’s happened?” And then, as he realized he might be overstepping his bounds, “How can I help?”

  Gladys braced herself against the kitchen sink. “I don’t know what we’ve got here, Reverend Willard, but I’m afraid. I’m near scared to death for us all.”

  Before he could ask more, Lilliana walked in.

  “Gladys, Celia needs you—upstairs.”

  “Lilliana,” Jesse began.

  “This isn’t a good time for a visit, Reverend Wil
lard. I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave.”

  That felt like a punch to his gut. “I’d like to help—whatever is—”

  “This is a family matter.” Lilliana’s eyes widened, as if that statement surprised even her.

  “I hope I’m counted part of that family . . . if you’ll allow me.” Instinctively he reached toward her.

  Lilliana hesitated, looking at him with what he could only interpret as longing, but pulled back, and a veil quickly dropped between them. “You should go now. Please.” She turned away.

  The lead in Jesse’s heart sank to his feet, but he lifted them and took himself out the door. What could it be? Why won’t she let me help? Why won’t she let me in?

  But having no answers, he stepped off the porch.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  TWO NIGHTS LATER, just before midnight, we were woken from a sound sleep by a pounding on the front door—a relentless beating that would not be stilled.

  Gladys and I met in the hallway, she throwing a blanket over her shoulders and I cinching my robe’s tie round my waist. Celia peeked out the bedroom door, but Gladys shushed her and sent her back in. Ruby Lynne stood in Aunt Hyacinth’s bedroom doorway, her eyes wide and face pale and drawn. “It’s my daddy. I know it’s him. I don’t want to go with him. Please, Miss Lilliana—”

  “You’re not going anywhere, Ruby Lynne. Get back to bed. You’re in no condition to be up and around.” I didn’t know if that was true, but I had no intention of letting Rhoan Wishon anywhere near his terrified daughter.

  “You don’t know him, Miss Lilliana. He won’t take no for an answer.”

  But she was wrong. I most certainly did know his kind, and terrified though I was, trembling in my slippers the same way I’d trembled in my own home growing up, I was ready for a fight. Neither I nor my mother had been able to protect me from my father or Gerald, but I could help Ruby Lynne, a vulnerable young girl who deserved protection. At least my father hadn’t done to me what Rhoan Wishon had done to his daughter. If I could help it, he’d never get another chance. “Get back to bed, Ruby Lynne. Don’t come down. No matter what you hear, don’t come down.”