October

by J. Grace Pennington

  She looked out the window for a moment, then spoke without turning her head. “I don’t have a license.”

  I glanced at her before looking back at the road again. “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Her voice had a familiar tone that said clearly that there should be no more questions asked. I was dying to know more, but I kept my eyes on the road and kept quiet the rest of the way.

  We pulled up to the church and got out of the car, then stood looking at the church doors.

  Why should I be nervous? I had been going to this church all my life. I knew every single person in the choir.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “No, of course not,” she laughed.

  “Well. We’ll just have to go in anyway.” I hooked my arm through hers and half dragged her towards the door.

  “Hey!” she protested, but allowed herself to be pulled along.

  The stage was already full when we walked into the sanctuary, and I spotted Mrs. Tuttle’s hair from across the room.

  I let go of Tobi’s arm and took a deep breath.

  “There you are! I was beginning to think you’d changed your minds!” Mrs. Tuttle said, looking over her shoulder. “Come on up! Stand on the end there. Yes, there. In the front.”

  We hustled forward and stood where we were told.

  I felt awkward standing there among the old people, with only Tobi there to cushion my youth. We were stationed on the very edge of the group, front row, all the way to the right. As though they were pushing us off.

  I leaned over and whispered, “Are you sure this is such a good idea?”

  “We both like to sing, don’t we? And I know you can sing well.”

  “Yeah, but... it’s just... it’s weird.”

  “Who says?” She frowned a bit as Mr. Collins handed us our books, light beaming off the top of his bald head. “There’s a church choir. We’re part of the church. We like to sing.” The confidence of her tone matched her words, but there was something in her eyes—a flash of vulnerability deeper than it should have been.

  “Well, when you put it that way,” I hastened to reassure. “Nothing is wrong with it. It’s just new. All geniuses try new things.”

  She chuckled. “Silly.”

  I grinned, and watched as she flipped the pages in her music book. Her smile faded as soon as she looked away from me.

  “All right!” Mrs. Tuttle called, stepping to the front of the group and laying her book on the pulpit. “Now, we are ready to let our voices fill the heavens with praise! I think you’ve all noticed our new members, Miss October Blake and Miss Emily Baxter.”

  All the old people smiled and nodded at us as if we were the most precious little things.

  “Very well, now, if you’ll please all turn your books to page ten,” she requested. “We’ll start with How Firm a Foundation. Ms. Hendrix?”

  Ms. Hendrix bobbed her curly white head and started the piano accompaniment. Mrs. Tuttle directed, every motion of her hands huge and precise and dramatic. Her facial features followed the music, sometimes with her eyes closed, sometimes with a passionate frown, and always with her fiery red hair bouncing all over the place.

  I stifled a giggle. Tobi reached over and poked me on the shoulder. I swallowed and sang, trying to just focus on our director’s melodramatic hands.

  It was kind of fun. Singing at the top of my lungs, yet hardly able to hear myself over all the other voices, catching a hint of Tobi’s sweet soprano in my ear.

  This hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

  *****

  “Fifty!” Tobi counted, and then she collapsed on the trampoline. I laughed, and kept on jumping.

  “Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six...” I kept on jumping, each jump making her bounce a little bit. She laughed breathlessly.

  Once I reached seventy-five I collapsed, too, my hair in my face, laughing, still bouncing a tiny bit.

  She fell onto her back, throwing her arms up over her head and staring up at the sky. “I’m tired.”

  “What, with only fifty jumps?”

  She reached over to smack me, and I rolled over, laughing.

  “Look!” she pointed.

  I followed her finger and saw that it pointed up towards a tiny star, almost straight up from us, just barely visible in the medium-blue dusk.

  “The first one,” I noted, still basking in the euphoria of the evening. “Can we stay here until they all come out?”

  “Of course!”

  We laid in silence for awhile, watching the stars appear one by one, adjusting slowly to the cooling temperature of the summer air.

  “What should we do tomorrow?” I asked at last.

  “Whatever we want.”

  I giggled. “What will we want?”

  She poked my shoulder. “We can’t decide now, silly. That messes up the magic.”

  “Magic?”

  My question had been in the most teasing tone possible, but her reply was as serious as I had been jovial. “Whenever a decision is made in the heat of the moment—when we allow ourselves to be carried on joy or sorrow or mere simplicity and quiet—whatever it is, a moment of magic is created. Not always good magic, of course. But magic, nonetheless.”

  From anyone else, it would have been the most absurd thing imaginable. I would have laughed. But here, under the stars, with that hint of wonder I had never heard in anyone else her age—I believed it.

  “Then let’s have a magical day tomorrow,” I said.

  It was dark, but I could feel her smile.

  *****

  I didn’t walk out the door the next morning—I bounced, bubbling over with excitement at the idea of a whole Saturday to spend with Jax and Tobi, hopefully leading to a whole summer after that. He had come over for breakfast, and as soon as the dishes were done and Patrick Charles was settled in his room playing with his collection of superhero action figures, we had headed outside to enjoy the weather before it got too hot.

  “So what happens now?” Jax asked, looking back and forth between me and Tobi.

  I looked at her, waiting for her to work the magic she had spoken of.

  “Picnic,” she nodded.

  “Huh?” Jax’s eyebrows raised.

  “Don’t you folks ever go on picnics?”

  I looked at Jax, who shrugged. “We did when we were little kids, I guess,” he said.

  “Well why not now?”

  Jax looked at me again, and we both asked why not with our eyes. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Oh come on! It’ll be nice.” She clasped her hands under her chin. “I mean... of course, it is okay if you really don’t want to...”

  “We do!” I hastened. “Don’t we, Jax?”

  “Yeah, we do.” He grinned.

  She smiled at us, warming my heart as much as the summer sun warmed my skin. “What do we take?” I asked.

  “Food,” she said. “And a blanket. And ourselves.”

  “What food should we get?”

  “Oh, what difference does it make?” she asked. “Something nice. And simple.”

  “We have to decide.”

  “Silly practical Em.” She shook her head. “Fine. Sandwiches.”

  “But you hate sandwiches.”

  “I know, but they go with picnics.”

  “Should we take my truck?” Jax queried.

  “Truck? Who wants a silly car on a day like this?”

  I laughed, and trotted into the house to make the sandwiches. Two of my favorite people in the world. On a picnic. On a day like this.

  It was going to be perfect.

  I gathered the food in a basket and we started off. “Do you know of a nice place?” Tobi asked, carrying the basket as we strolled along, past the woods and across the road to open, unfenced acres.

  “Yeah, I know a hill that might work.” Jax reached over and took the basket from her.

  She smiled. “Thank you, my knight.”


  Jax flushed all the way to his shirt collar.

  I felt like skipping, so I did. I hadn’t skipped in years, but without any of the other girls here, and with just Jax and Tobi, why shouldn’t I if I wanted to? And I did. It was part of the magic.

  Tobi had walked quickly, a little ahead, and I caught up with her and then stopped skipping. When I reached her she smiled, and took my hand in hers and squeezed it. I looked into her eyes, wanting to see my smile reflected there.

  But she only met my eyes for an instant before turning away and studying the horizon. I felt my smile fade, and my hand grew cold.

  Jax’s voice called from behind us, “Want to let your lonely knight catch up, ladies?”

  “Of course.” October’s face changed in an instant, and she laughed and wiggled her hand away from my grasp. She slowed a bit and I followed her example, feeling a cloud settle over my heart despite the sunlight.

  Jax caught up, and we three trudged on in silence.

  “How’s things in the choir?” he asked.

  Tobi smiled. “Fine. I think... it’s all fine.”

  I wanted desperately to lighten the mood again. “Jax, when are you going to join?”

  He feigned shock. “Me? In a choir?”

  “I love your voice!” Tobi protested.

  “Well yeah, but you haven’t heard me sing.”

  I scoffed aloud. Tobi tossed her head with her nose in the air a bit, red braids swinging over her shoulders. “A voice that awesome must also be great for singing,” she insisted.

  “Why don’t you show us, Jax?” I suggested wickedly.

  He glared darts at me.

  “Oh Jax, do!” Tobi cried, clasping her hands again. “Here, I’ll take the basket.” She reached out her hands, but he jerked it out of reach.

  “Fine knight I’d be if I had to let a princess carry a weight just so I could sing!” He said it with a slight British accent, and I giggled again.

  “You’re not distracting me,” she insisted. “Sing. Now.”

  Jax glanced towards me, his eyes pleading for help, but I refused to oblige and merely crossed my arms. Jax could sing, I knew it. Whatever he might think, he could. I’d heard him a few times while he was working.

  He sighed. “Plurgh. Okay. But don’t blame me if you have to run screaming from the horror of it.”

  “Oh gracious.” Tobi rolled her eyes.

  “What am I supposed to sing?” he asked.

  “Anything you like!”

  “I don’t know that one.”

  I edged closer and jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow.

  “Ouch! Fine way to treat an esteemed knight.”

  “How Deep the Father’s Love For Us,” I pleaded.

  He sighed. “Okay. If I have to.”

  “You do,” Tobi nodded.

  He cleared his throat, and both of us looked up at him. Then he sang, awkwardly and hesitantly at first, then more clearly as he went on.

  How deep the Father’s love for us,

  How vast beyond all measure

  That He should give His only Son

  To make a wretch His treasure

  Why should I gain from His reward?

  I cannot give an answer

  But this I know with all my heart

  His wounds have paid my ransom

  His rich, deep bass rolled over the hill and seemed to ring to the sky. Tobi just listened at first, then she began to join in, harmonizing with him. I was mesmerized, and listening, forgot where I was for a moment.

  I will not boast in anything

  No gifts, no power, no wisdom

  But I will boast in Jesus Christ

  His death and resurrection

  The last notes died away, echoing in the air, hanging around us for a moment before fading away and leaving me enchanted.

  “Jax!” Tobi cried at last.

  “Huh?” he asked, looking innocently at her.

  “Jackson Miller, you can so sing. And now that I’ve heard it, I shall have you in my choir.” I knew that voice. She was firm, and nothing was going to dissuade her.

  “Jax, the princess has issued a decree,” I nodded.

  He chuckled, but shook his head. “I don’t think I have time for that, even if I wanted to.”

  “Do you want to?” Tobi asked.

  He shrugged, which I knew meant “no” in Jax-talk.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s just... not really my thing.”

  “You have a wonderful voice,” Tobi protested.

  “Thanks.” I thought I saw his cheeks pink a little. “But I really don’t have time. Summer reading and the farm and everything.”

  Tobi sighed, and I made a face at Jax.

  “Hey, I’ll sing with y’all though. If you want. Like, out here and stuff.”

  Tobi rewarded him with a smile, and I stopped grimacing. I could forgive him if Tobi smiled.

  We ate heartily, the summer air making even the cold, dry turkey sandwiches taste excellent. Afterwards, Tobi pulled out one of her granola squares and Jax pulled out his favorite snack, Swedish Fish, and they had a fight over which one I should eat. I laughed until my sides hurt at their ridiculousness, and finally chose one of Tobi’s squares. Jax pretended to pout until Tobi, too, was laughing uncontrollably.

  When we were finished with the food, we laid on our backs, looking up at the clouds, and just talked.

  “I like to make pictures in them,” Tobi said after we’d been silent for awhile. “See pictures, I mean.”

  I smiled.

  “It’s silly, isn’t it?” She turned her head to look at me.

  “Of course not! It’s nice. I like to do it, too.”

  Jax said nothing, but just stared thoughtfully up at the sky.

  “Do you see any pictures now?” I asked.

  She put her hands under her neck and watched. I looked at her instead of the clouds, focusing on the one eye that I could see as it changed and brightened with her thoughts.

  At last she put one hand up and pointed. “There. A dragon. For you, Em.”

  I smiled, and touched my dragon necklace.

  Jax looked. “I don’t see it.”

  “I don’t either,” I admitted.

  “Jax fought it and scared it away,” Tobi grinned.

  I tilted my head to glance at Jax, and found that his smile could be described as something more warm than his usual grin.

  He put his arm up and pointed. “A donut.”

  I laughed out loud, and Tobi chuckled. “Always thinking of food,” she said. “Just like a man.”

  We fell silent again, watching and thinking.

  “What do you see, Em?” she asked at last.

  I looked for a little while, watching the shifting, white fluff surrounded by the still sea of blue. “I don’t know,” I said at last. “Nothing, I guess.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  I looked harder. Looked from one cloud to another. Watched them change.

  At last I pointed. “There. A bird.”

  Tobi peered, raising herself up a little on her elbows. Then she smiled and dropped down again. “I see it.”

  “I think I kinda do,” Jax agreed.

  We watched for a bit longer, then Tobi spoke slowly, quietly. “They’re always changing. Always moving. And then they always go away.”

  The cloud came back over my heart again, a dark, thin one—not a happy, fluffy one like those we were looking at.

  I heard Jax swallow beside me.

  There was another silence, then Tobi went on. “They always change. They always go away. It rains... and then they’re gone.”

  I wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t seem to come. Jax, however, raised himself on one elbow. “You know, people aren’t like clouds, October. Not always, anyway.”

  I turned my head to look at her again and saw a single tear running down her cheek. I reached over and brushed it away with my fingertip. She smiled.

 
“We won’t leave you, you know,” I said.

  She turned her head away.

  Jax sat all the way up. “We won’t. I promise.”

  She still didn’t look at us. “You don’t know everything,” she said.

  “We love you,” I insisted, aching to banish the tears in her voice.

  Another silence, where we both continued looking at her. Then she whispered, “Please don’t leave.”

  Jax sat up, then bent towards her, lifted her by the shoulders to a sitting position, and pulled her close.

  I watched as she laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him, looking very small against his body. He held her tightly, looking at me over her head, eyes pleading with me for help.

  I sat up and crept the couple of feet to them and put my arms around her, too, my fingers just meeting Jax’s on the other side of her. And there we sat, silently, not counting the time as the clouds came and went above us.

  Chapter Seven

  The sanctuary was empty the third Friday that we walked into it. After our first time, October had insisted that we arrive early, a preference that she admitted was because arriving before everyone else helped her not be so overwhelmed by too many people at once.

  The late afternoon sun shone through the stained glass windows on the west wall, and the only sound was the hum of the air conditioning.

  Halfway down the center aisle, she stopped. I watched the dust particles floating in the multi-colored light as she turned to look at each window in turn.

  Jesus with the children. Jesus turning water into wine. Jesus at the last supper. Jesus walking on the water.

  She turned at last to the one of Him carrying the lost lamb, and there she stopped for a long while. I looked at the glass for a moment, eyes again drawn to the misplaced red piece in His robe, then I turned to look at her face.

  It wasn’t very expressive. The only spark that I could see was in her eyes, which sparkled in the rainbows. Her eyebrows drew down over her eyes slightly.

  “That’s my favorite,” I told her.

  She took one step forward, stopped, then took two more steps, eyes fixated on the window as though she were mesmerized. “I think perhaps it’s mine, too.”

  She kept focusing on it, her gaze sweeping every bit of glass. I started to ramble.

  “I think it’s just the look on His face... and how He has His arms around it, sortof... gently, and strong. I like the way it looks... nurturing. It looks caring, don’t you think so?”