Night Bird Calling

by Cathy Gohlke

  “Celia, you’re home.” Miss Lill looked like she’d been caught at something, but she turned back to Celia’s mother, her face flushed and eyes uncertain. “I have an idea, but before I say more, I need to ask you something. I found this in Aunt Hyacinth’s chest—the one at the foot of her bed. There was a false bottom. I figured she’d hidden it. Do you have any idea why she’d have such a thing? Did she have any connection?”

  “Miz Hyacinth?” Celia’s mama looked as if she might fall over dead right there. “Of course not! She hated the Klan.”

  “That’s what I thought—she said as much. Then how—? Why—?”

  “Her daddy was the headman in the Klan around here—for years and years. They held meetings right there in the front parlor, where you let colored children in today. That legacy with the Klan’s the only thing gave Miz Hyacinth any grace after you and my Celia invited the Saints Delight Church folks into the house. Don’t you know that?”

  “I don’t know anything. How could I?”

  Celia’s mother sighed. “Sometimes I forget you weren’t born and raised here, Lilliana. I’m sorry. Miz Hyacinth hated the Klan and everything they did. That’s why she changed the name of this house to Garden’s Gate soon as her daddy died. It used to be Belvidere Hall. She hoped to erase the past. I guess you never can, not entirely.

  “My, my. This robe disappeared the night they set to lynch Olney Tate’s daddy. Rhoan’s daddy had old Mr. Belvidere so stirred up he was going to lead the lynching. They were thick as thieves in those days. Mama was up here cooking dinner for the family at the time. She said Miz Hyacinth begged her daddy not to have any part of it—to stop it, that the Tates were good folks. But he wouldn’t listen. And yet, when the time came to dress, nobody could find his Klan robe or his gun. They all—Mama said even Miz Hyacinth—tore this house up one side and down the other. Never found either. Now you’ve gone and found both.”

  “Did he go? Did he take part?”

  Celia’s mama shook her head. “Took that missing robe and gun as a sign from God that maybe he wasn’t to go—least Miz Hyacinth convinced him of that. But he was terrified the Klan would think he was a coward and had no idea what that might bring. That night the old man suffered a final stroke. Never spoke another word, though Mama said his eyes said plenty. Miz Hyacinth nursed him till the day he died.”

  “Aunt Hyacinth must have been the one to hide them—that gun in the box Celia found . . .”

  “She must have. To keep him from going, from doing the wicked. Imagine that. And now, after all these years . . .” Gladys’s voice held the wonder Celia felt. “She couldn’t have been much more than your age. What a strong, brave woman.”

  “Braver than I’ve been.”

  “What you gonna do with it?” Celia asked, too fearful to touch the robe, too curious to resist.

  “I was thinking,” Miss Lill said, “that it should serve a good purpose.”

  “A Klan robe? What good purpose could that ugly thing serve? More likely burn it.” Celia’s mother huffed but still fingered the cloth.

  “What about . . . ?” Celia whispered but couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  “Do you think the angel of the Lord could redeem this wicked garment?” Miss Lill smiled at Celia.

  Celia grinned. “I reckon the angel of the Lord could do about anything.”

  “The thing’s twelve sizes too big for her!” Gladys protested, slipping her hands over Celia’s shoulders. “I won’t have my daughter parading through No Creek in a Klan robe!”

  “It’s all that you say, that you see, now. But we could cut it down. I’m handy with a pattern and a needle and thread. Do you think anybody’d recognize it for what it is? We could make the skirt full and even cut some wings.”

  “It’s a great idea!” Celia couldn’t believe such good fortune. “Pearl said that if I really came up with a costume, she’d donate some tulle for wings. Wouldn’t that look grand?”

  “I don’t know. The idea of traipsing up and down the aisle of the church in Klan regalia, even if it doesn’t look like it . . .” Her mama worried the tea towel at her waist. “I’m not superstitious, not more than the next person, but it just doesn’t seem right.”

  “Nobody’ll ever know, Mama. Like Miss Lill says, it’ll redeem this filthy garment for a good purpose . . . kind of like the Lord washes us, don’t you think?”

  Celia’s mama looked from one to the other of the woman and woman-child before her. Celia knew she was taking their measure, judging how steep the stack of votes against her was. Finally her mother dropped her hands to her sides. “All right. All right. But neither of you are to ever tell a living soul about this, do you hear me? If they catch word that we cut up the Klan robe of old Mr. Belvidere, we’ll all be swinging from the rafters. Do you understand, Celia Percy? Not a word to a living, breathing soul—ever!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Celia bit her lip. Now was not the time she wanted to bring up Troy Wishon and his rope or his sniggering or Pearl Mae’s fears. But waiting smacked of too little too late. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Chapter Sixty

  CELIA’S STORY FROM THE STORE gripped each of us to our toes. After my experience with the Klan, I dared not take Troy’s words or Pearl’s worries lightly. The fact that he did not acknowledge Celia’s presence but spoke in front of her and that Pearl thought it important to send Celia directly home gave me a turn worse than any since that awful night.

  “We can’t be sure that’s what he’s got in mind,” Gladys cautioned. “You know what a sensationalist Pearl is. She’d see ghosts in her own shadow.”

  “Be that as it may, I think we’d best all stay inside tonight and bolt the doors and windows, like Pearl said. I’ll take the front rooms. Celia, take the upstairs, and, Gladys, the back door, please.”

  “Where’s Chester?” Celia’s voice wobbled.

  “Upstairs, doing his homework, where you should be.” Her mother sent her off with a gentle swat on the behind.

  Once Celia was out of the room, I whispered to Gladys, “Those Wishons terrify me, especially Ruby Lynne’s father.”

  “He’s arrogant and gets crazy drunk sometimes, I’ll grant you. But Troy worries me more.”

  “He’s never given me trouble, not like his older brother.”

  Gladys raised her eyebrows. “None that you know of. You don’t know who was behind that hood in the window . . . so you said.”

  “I didn’t—I don’t. I thought it might have been Ruby Lynne’s father, but he was evidently in Asheville at the time.”

  “Evidently,” Gladys snorted.

  “And he’s not too happy with you, Miss Lill.” Celia offered little comfort, standing in the kitchen doorway. “I think—I think maybe we ought to warn Olney—and Marshall—just in case.”

  “I thought I told you to get upstairs, young lady!” Gladys dug both fists into her hips.

  “She’s right, Gladys. They burned crosses in the yards of the Saints Delight members already. We should get word to them.”

  Gladys threw her hands up. “How? Not one of them owns a telephone, and no one is stepping outside this door tonight.” She turned back to Celia. “Did you do as you were told?”

  “I locked the windows like Miss Lill said. But I don’t want to be up there alone, even with Chester. There’s safety in numbers, remember, Mama?”

  Gladys relaxed her arms. “Come here, darlin’. Safety in numbers. That’s right. I think we’d best keep the outside lights burning tonight.”

  •••

  “I’ve never heard of them hanging a white woman,” Celia considered in the hours after supper. “I don’t reckon they’d do it.”

  “You don’t know what they’d do,” Chester affirmed, “so you best stand clear. We best all stand clear.”

  “Wiser words were never spoken.” Gladys stood and stacked the plates. “I want you children to get upstairs and get ready for bed. It’s past time. We’re scaring ourselves silly and
there’s no need.”

  “Don’t you think we’d best stay dressed, Mama, in case we have to run out of the house real quick?”

  I looked up at Gladys. How real did she think this scare was? I could guess from the false bravado in the lift of her chin.

  “I think we’ve had enough of this foolish talk. The two of you get upstairs now. I’ll come say prayers with you once I get the table laid for breakfast. May as well keep the inside lights off.” Gladys said that last as if it were an afterthought of no account, but I knew better. Lights on outside, lights off inside. We’d be better able to see anyone approach before they saw us.

  Chester appeared in the doorway with a baseball bat nearly as big as he. “Don’t worry, Mama. I won’t let anybody come near you or Miss Lill. I’ll sleep with this beside me.”

  My heart slipped at such gallantry and Gladys turned away, barely keeping her chin from quivering. “Thank you, Chester.”

  Once the children climbed the stairs, I placed a hand on my friend’s back. “I’m so sorry, Gladys. I’ve brought this on all of you with my helping Marshall and then Ruby Lynne.”

  Gladys shook her head, swiping at tears with her apron’s hem. “No more than Celia did, no more than my husband did by getting himself mixed up with no-goods and going off to jail. You and Celia and Miz Hyacinth did the right thing. I’m just so scared.”

  By the time prayers with the children were said, the dishes done, and all the lights turned out, it was nearly nine thirty. Gladys’s door closed. I stood alone in the darkened kitchen, my forehead pressed against the cabinet. Not since Aunt Hyacinth died had I felt so weary, so frightened or hopeless. Please, God, show us the way forward—for us, for Ruby Lynne, for Marshall, and all here.

  I kept praying as I climbed the stairs. I prayed that Celia and Chester slept, that they’d sleep through the night, dreaming uneventful dreams, and that nothing would harm them or Gladys. I prayed for Fillmore’s return home, that it would be a joyful homecoming for their family and the start of something good. I prayed that my past would stay past, and I prayed for peace in my heart, my soul.

  “Fire!” Chester called from the top of the stairs, his baseball bat silhouetted by the moon and a light brighter still streaming through the hallway window. “The barn’s on fire!”

  Aunt Hyacinth’s barn! I raced down the stairs, stumbling through the dark kitchen, and out the back door. Lurid flames leapt twenty, thirty feet into the blackened sky. “Fire! Fire!” I screamed as I might do in the city, expecting someone to telephone the fire department, expecting people to run out of their houses to help. But no one came.

  Night riders in flowing white robes and hoods with cut eyeholes strode from the back of the barn. Horses neighed, some rearing back on hind legs, as frightened by the shouting and flames as I. Gradually, no matter where I stumbled, the riders stalked closer, surrounding me. Their pointed hoods, garish and demonic against the flames, made them loom ten feet tall. Two on foot bearing torches came closer.

  “Stop! Stop!” But I knew my screaming was in vain. The kitchen door opened and I saw three figures emerge from the dark. “Go back inside!” I cried. “Please,” I begged the approaching giants, “don’t hurt them.”

  Not a man answered me, but one grabbed my arms and wrenched them behind my back, roughly binding my wrists. Another wrapped a gag around my mouth, nearly choking me. If God meant to punish me for my sins, then this was it. I knew they meant to hang me. I saw the rope looped over the saddle horn of one of the riders. God, save Gladys and the children! Save them, Father! I’m sorry for what and who I am, but save them!

  “Get the other one!” That and Gladys’s screams were the only voices I heard before a smack to the back of my head knocked me senseless.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  CELIA PULLED CHESTER through the shadows, around the house, and to the edge of the road.

  “We can’t leave Mama! We can’t leave her!” Chester cried. “Let me go. I’ll beat ’em off!”

  “We can’t stop them by ourselves, Chester. We got to get help. You go for the preacher. Tell him to bring anybody he can trust. I’ll go for Doc Vishy. Now, run—fast as you can—and if you hear horses behind you, dive into the ditch. Keep your face down. Don’t let them see you.”

  Chester’s face looked as bloodless and frightened as Celia felt. The trembling in his body mirrored her own. Sending him to Reverend Willard was best. He was closest, and Chester would be safe there. Reverend Willard would know what to do, who to call, and he had a telephone. Whatever else happened, their mama and Miss Lill would need Doc Vishy, and Celia knew every shortcut through the woods and town, places even horses and riders couldn’t go.

  She hated leaving her mama but made certain Chester was on his way before slipping around the back of the barn to head through the woods. Quiet as she was, a pine branch snapped and a horse and rider emerged from the woods, not ten feet from her. Celia crouched backward, her face down and pale hands tucked inside her armpits, hoping to merge with the surrounding dark brush and leaves.

  “That barn’s tinder. Leave it. We got one more stop to make, boys.” The rider patted the rope slung over his saddle horn. The responding laughter of the men made Celia sick.

  Marshall. There was no way she could outrun horses to reach the Tates and warn them, and she had to save her mama and Miss Lill first. Doc Vishy. He could phone Reverend Willard and—and do what? Who in No Creek wasn’t part of the Klan? She didn’t know, but maybe they did. She tore through the woods, no longer mindful of the noise she made.

  The roaring of the fire behind her and the raucous laughter of the men drowned out every other noise. She could no longer hear her mama’s screams, hadn’t been able to see her or Miss Lill since her mama had forced Chester and her around the side of the house. Please, God. Let them be all right. Let there be somebody—anybody—to help. Don’t let them hurt Mama or Miss Lill. Don’t let them do to them what somebody did to Ruby Lynne. Give me feet like the wind. Make Doc Vishy brave. Make Reverend Willard brave. Stop those men in their tracks. Please, God! Please!

  •••

  Celia pounded on Doc Vishy’s door, the life of her mother depending on it. “Doc Vishy! Doc Vishy! Help! Help me!” Heart in her throat, Celia’s words came without the strength she’d intended. But the door opened just the same and she fell into her friend’s arms. “They’ve got Mama and Miss Lill! I don’t know what they’re doing to them, but please—please come!”

  “Who has them?” But he didn’t wait for an answer. “Did you call the sheriff?” Doc Vishy was pulling on boots and stuffing his nightshirt into his pants.

  “Night riders—Klan—they’re burning the barn and got hold of Miss Lill. Mama rushed to save her, but she sent me and Chester away. Pearl Mae thinks the sheriff is one of them. Chester’s gone for Reverend Willard.”

  “Good. He’ll know what to do.” Doc Vishy pulled his coat and hat from the hook beside the door and grabbed his medical bag. “My car. We’ll take my car.”

  Celia fell into the front seat as Doc Vishy gunned his motor and it roared to life. Celia had not ridden in many cars and she gasped as he sped through the inky night, round twists and turns on back roads to Garden’s Gate.

  By the time they reached the church, flames climbed above the trees beyond the cemetery. Celia saw Doc Vishy’s knuckles clutch the steering wheel in a death grip, his entire body straining forward as if urging the car faster uphill. The house came into view—still standing, not burning, at least not where they could see.

  Doc Vishy plowed into the yard, unmindful of the picket fence or the garden, and shone his headlights on the house. Reverend Willard was bent over someone on the porch. Celia could only see a woman’s legs sticking out. She couldn’t tell if it was her mama or Miss Lill, but she threw open the car door before Doc Vishy had screeched to a stop and rushed up the steps. “Mama!”

  It was Miss Lill on the porch floor. She didn’t move and Celia couldn’t bear to think what that mean
t. “Where’s Mama? Mama! Where are you?” she cried, the tears she’d held in so long now streaming down her face.

  “Your mother’s all right, Celia. She’s okay.” Reverend Willard embraced her but turned right away back to Miss Lill.

  “Mama’s inside, getting some cold water for Miss Lill’s head.” Chester spoke from the shadows. Celia hadn’t seen him before, but now she grabbed him in a bear hug and the two clung fast.

  “There’s folks on their way to help, but the barn’s gone. We’ve got to contain it, keep the house from catching fire. That’s the main thing now.” Reverend Willard looked up at Celia as Doc Vishy pushed past her, kneeling beside Miss Lill.

  “Is Miss Lill dead?” Celia whispered.

  “Hold this flashlight, Celia. Hold it steady.”

  Celia did her best, but the light wobbled wildly.

  “Nyet,” Doc Vishnevsky whispered, taking Miss Lill’s pulse, listening to her heartbeat through his stethoscope. “She is very much alive.” He pulled back her eyelids. “Unconscious, but very much alive. She’s going to have a terrible headache.”

  “There’s more.” Reverend Willard’s voice quavered now. “Gladys heard them say they were not done this night.”

  “Marshall.” Celia couldn’t stop the tremors in her hands or her voice. “They’re going after Marshall—and they still have the rope. I saw it.”

  Celia’s mama opened the front door and stepped out with a bowl and towel. “That’s what I think, too. Somebody’s got to go help. Somebody’s got to stop them!”

  “I’ve got my bat!” Chester pulled himself to his full height, and her heart broke for love of her brother.

  “You’re staying right here, Chester Percy. I don’t want you or Celia out of my sight.” Their mother’s word was law.

  “Your mother is right. She needs you here to help with Miss Lill. Get a pillow for her head and a blanket. Wrap it around her. She may still go into shock, but do not move her into the house until the fire is contained,” Doc Vishy ordered. “No more can I do here now. We must go to the Tates’, Reverend Willard. Pray that we are not too late.”