Advance Acclaim for When Mockingbirds Sing
“Billy Coffey is a minstrel who writes with intense depth of feeling and vibrant rich description. The characters who live in this book face challenges that stretch the deepest fabric of their beings. You will remember When Mockingbirds Sing long after you finish it.”
—ROBERT WHITLOW, BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF THE CHOICE
“Some stories invite you in, but Billy Coffey’s When Mockingbirds Sing grabs you by the collar and embraces you flat out. Beautifully written with characters made of flesh and bone, Coffey haunts you with truth, compelling you to turn the page. His best book yet.”
—MARY DEMUTH, AUTHOR OF THE MUIR HOUSE AND DAISY CHAIN
“An engrossing novel on so many levels. A story of mystery, hope, opening our ears in a way we can truly hear, and the choice of belief. Coffey has penned a captivating tale that will linger with you long after the final page is turned.”
—JAMES L. RUBART, BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF ROOMS AND SOUL’S GATE
“When Mockingbirds Sing is a lovely, dark, fervent tale that grips and won’t let go. At some point, I entered its pages so fully, the sky opened up and gale winds blew outside. It’s that good.”
—NICOLE SEITZ, AUTHOR OF SAVING CICADAS AND THE INHERITANCE OF BEAUTY
“When Mockingbirds Sing by Billy Coffey made me realize how often we think we know how God works, when in reality we don’t have a clue. God’s ways are so much more mysterious than we can imagine. Billy Coffey is an author we’re going to be hearing more about. I’ll be looking for his next book!”
—COLLEEN COBLE, BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF TIDEWATER INN AND THE ROCK HARBOR SERIES
“When Mockingbirds Sing is a mesmerizing tale about believing in the unseen. From the vividly etched small town to the compelling characters—torn between fear and faith—there is much to savor in Coffey’s story.”
—BETH WEBB HART, AUTHOR OF MOON OVER EDISTO
“A modern day parable featuring a cast of colorful characters, this story begs us all to step into the Maybe and have the faith of a child.”
—MARYBETH WHALEN, AUTHOR OF THE MAILBOX, THE GUEST BOOK, THE WISHING TREE AND FOUNDER OF SHEREADS.ORG
“Billy Coffey’s When Mockingbirds Sing will touch your heart and stir your soul.”
—RICHARD L. MABRY, MD, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF STRESS TEST AND THE PRESCRIPTION FOR TROUBLE SERIES
© 2013 by Billy Coffey
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.
Thomas Nelson, Inc., books may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com; the King James Version of the Bible.
Published in association with the literary agency of WordServe Literary Group, Ltd., 10152 S. Knoll Circle, Highlands Ranch, Colorado 80130.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Coffey, Billy.
When mockingbirds sing / Billy Coffey.
pages cm
ISBN 978-1-4016-8821-9 (trade paper)
1. Christian fiction. I. Title.
PS3603.O3165W48 2013
813'.6—dc23
2013000165
Printed in the United States of America
13 14 15 16 17 RRD 5 4 3 2 1
My daughter says the Rainbow Man is real. I believe her. Not in the sense that every parent believes his or her child, but in the sense that I have the luxury of firsthand experience.
She was four when he appeared at the edge of her bed—bright and friendly and sparkling. I would hear the whispers coming from her room late at night. I would walk in and see her sitting up against her pillow, staring at that spot, waiting to continue their conversation about the Higher Things. They got along famously.
My daughter loved the Rainbow Man. And honestly? I think he loved her right back.
He went away after a few months in somewhat strange circumstances that I will not delve into here. However, I will say this—the descriptions of the Rainbow Man you’ll read in these pages are the descriptions my daughter gave me those years ago.
So this story is for you, baby girl. I hope he (or is it He?) approves.
Contents
Saturday: Seven Days Before the Carnival
Sunday: Six Days Before the Carnival
Monday: Five Days Before the Carnival
Tuesday: Four Days Before the Carnival
Wednesday: Three Days Before the Carnival
Thursday: Two Days Before the Carnival
Friday: One Day Until the Carnival
Saturday: Carnival Day
Saturday: Carnival Day
Reading Group Guide
Acknowledgments
God did this so that they would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from any one of us.
—ACTS 17:27
There’s a bit of magic in everything And then some loss to even things out.
—LOU REED
saturday
Seven Days Before the Carnival
1
In those long days between the town’s death and its rebirth, everyone had a story of how the magic came to Leah Norcross. Whether that magic was divine or devilry, real or imagined, hinged upon the teller. And though many declared they had trusted all along, the fact was that in the beginning no one believed but Leah and Allie, and not even they could have known what that carnival week would hold. And as for who was there when the magic first appeared, that would be Leah’s father. Unfortunately, he was too busy worrying about Leah’s birthday party to notice.
Tom Norcross shielded his eyes from the morning sun and checked his watch. On the driveway to his left, three men unloaded wooden chairs and a gleaming but dented popcorn machine from two panel trucks with Celebration Time stenciled in swollen red letters on the sides. Tom looked up as one of the men passed him with an armload of chairs.
“Gonna be a hot one, Dr. Norcross. Shoulda ordered you some shade along with all this stuff.”
Rick? Nick? Tom couldn’t remember the man’s name. There were more pressing things to consider. He checked his watch again—9:17 now, each tick of the second hand like a tiny exclamation point—and did his best to smile.
“Should have. And it’s just Tom. You can leave off the doctor part.”
“Will do.”
The man—Tom decided it was Rick—joined the two wheeling the popcorn machine and disappeared around the corner. Tom fidgeted with his hat and reversed his course along the sidewalk in front of his family’s new home. His eyes went first to the twisting lane that led to the empty road below, then through the open windows of the old Victorian. Ellen was somewhere inside, probably pulling the tubs of ice cream from the freezer or helping to set up the cake. She had been awake for three hours, Leah long before that. Tom suspected it
was anticipation that had pushed his wife from bed so early for a Saturday. He suspected it was that same expectation that had awakened their daughter, though one tempered by a measure of don’t-get-your-hopes-up.
But Tom’s hopes? Up. Because Barney Moore had a plan.
Of course, that plan depended upon Barney’s timely arrival, and if there was one thing Tom had learned in his two short months of country living, it was that time carried little weight in Mattingly.
He checked his watch again—9:30.
“He’ll be here.”
Ellen stood on the white wooden porch behind him. She’d exchanged pajamas for faded jeans and a pink T-shirt that accentuated her blond hair and blue eyes. Both reduced Tom to a lovesick teenager despite the wariness she displayed. Or perhaps because of it.
“Barney was supposed to be here an hour ago,” he told her.
“Yes.” She took a step closer, which Tom matched. “But this was all Barney’s idea. He’ll be here. He probably just had to be careful with Mabel.”
Under normal circumstances—normal being five years ago more or less; Tom couldn’t remember when it all started, though Ellen enjoyed reminding him how—a wife would take that moment to offer some sort of physical bolstering. A hand on the arm, a kiss on the cheek, a pat on the rear. Anything besides the nothing Ellen gave. Tom didn’t think his wife realized this and didn’t feel like broaching the subject. There was Barney to worry about. Besides, pointing out what Ellen wasn’t doing might prod her into mentioning that the touchy-feely street ran both ways.
“Where’s Leah?” he asked.
“Out back overseeing the temporary amusement park you had trucked in.”
The jibe was slight but still pricked. “Like you said, Barney’s idea.”
Ellen said, “It was Barney’s idea to invite everyone. The Deluxe Princess Birthday Package from Celebration Time was yours.” She took another stride forward to the top step but still didn’t descend. Her hands rested on her hips. “You can’t fix everything, Tom.”
He doffed his hat and rubbed the sweat from his brow. Rick/Nick was right, it was going to be a hot one. Maybe hot enough to keep everyone away.
Tom checked his watch again. “I just want today to be perfect.”
“I know.” Ellen’s hands went from her hips to behind her back in a posture Tom saw as one of trust. “I want today to be perfect too. Maybe too much. I’m sorry, Tom. Sometimes it’s just hard. Truce?”
A rumble came from the east side of the street below. They both looked, but the source of the sound was hidden by the magnolias bordering both sides of the lane. An engine popped and sputtered, sending a cloud of blue smoke above the trees that was caught and then swirled in the hot breeze. Finally, Barney Moore’s old green pickup appeared. It weaved from one side of the lane and eased back into the middle.
Ellen smiled. “Told you. Take the world off your shoulders, Dr. Norcross. Everything will be fine.”
“I’ll let you know in a couple hours.”
They shared a smile. Tom could not speak for his wife—reading her gestures was one thing, reading her heart was sadly another—but to him it felt warmer than even the summer sun on his back.
“I’ll go get Leah,” he said.
Tom waved to Barney and followed the men with the tables and chairs around the house, where the backyard’s three acres affirmed that Ellen’s remark about the amusement park wasn’t far off the mark. The Moon Bounce was finished. Per Tom’s directions, it had been placed far enough from the tables and chairs that the children’s play wouldn’t disrupt adult conversation. The yellow-and-blue castle jiggled in the June breeze, its puffy bottom inviting a multitude of tiny bare feet. The air smelled of popcorn and flowers. Banjos and fiddles resonated through two towering speakers between the Moon Bounce and the tables. The deejay had been part of the Deluxe Princess Birthday Package as well, but it was Barney who had chosen the music. Not exactly Tom’s style, even if he couldn’t help but drum his fingers against his jeans. Tied everywhere possible were hundreds of balloons—red ones and orange ones and green and blue. And yellow, yellow especially, Leah’s favorite color. A banner hung between the two large maples by the house. The pink and purple letters spelled out HAPPY 9TH BIRTHDAY LEAH! The Celebration Time men placed their tables next to ones already decorated with mounds of silverware and glasses. Tom caught himself thinking there weren’t enough people in the whole town to fill all those places.
He took the four steps from the stone path onto the back porch, where the birthday girl sat atop a faded and chipped picnic table that had come with the house. Leah peered out toward the far edge of the yard where the white fence abutted a small hill. Her yellow dress was tucked around her scrawny legs like a cocoon. Small patches of sunburn on her face and neck mingled with chalk-white skin. Not-quite-folded hands rested in her lap. Her left thumbnail rubbed her right in short, panicked strokes that matched her breathing.
“H-hey, Puh-Pops,” she said.
“Hey, Leah-boo.”
Tom sat beside her on the picnic table and smoothed out a wrinkle in the hem of her dress. He knew the stutter would be there (that birthday wish had sadly gone unfulfilled for the last four years), but he had hoped it would at least remain at the usual degree. Instead, what was usually manageable had grown worse. It was the stress, of course. Too many things, too many people.
“Whatcha doing?” he asked.
“Just wuh-watching,” she whispered.
Her eyes remained on the hill, where two shaggy pines grew at awkward angles in a skewed, fairy-tale simplicity. The hill had been Leah’s favorite place since the move. Tom had considered trying his hand at building a playhouse up there for her, though he thought Barney might be better suited for it.
“There’s luh-lots of s-stuff here, Puh-Pops.”
Tom placed a hand on Leah’s knee. Her thumbnails stopped rubbing as one hand went over his. Her gaze never wavered. Tom turned her thumb over and winced. The sight gave him shivers despite the heat and broke his heart despite the happy surroundings.
“I know you asked me not to do all this,” he said. “Couldn’t help it, I guess. This is your day, and I love you.”
“You luh-love me t-too much to duh-do what I ask,” Leah said, then she pursed her lips and shook her head. “I m-mean that guh-good, not b-bad. It’s all so p-pretty. It’d make for a guh-good p-picture.”
A yellow balloon by the tables slipped free of its moorings. It floated upward and stuck into one of the maples. Leah didn’t seem to notice.
“Maybe later.”
She looked from the hill to Tom. “I’m scuh-scared no one will c-come, Puh-Pops. No one wuh-will come and no one wuh-will notice me.”
“I know.” Tom leaned over and kissed the top of his daughter’s head. Her long black hair smelled of Ellen’s shampoo. “But it’s your birthday, and your mom and I have something special for you. Mr. Barney’s bringing it right now.”
Leah’s eyes went from woeful to bright. “Is Muh-Miss Mabel w-with him?”
“She is. Want to come see?”
Her mouth tried to say yes but instead hung open in the thick air. Leah didn’t have to say what she thought. Tom knew “coming to see” wasn’t nearly as easy for her as it sounded, and it sounded nearly impossible.
“Suh-sit with m-me for a minute, Puh-Pops?”
“Sure.”
The Celebration Time men put the finishing touches on the backyard. Leah filled Tom in on the goings-on of the strangers around them. The big man—Leah said his name was Rich, not Rick—set the last chair by the last spot at the last table and slapped its back. He was eager to leave for his son’s baseball game. The man still by the Moon Bounce making sure the engine was working was Derek. The engine was just fine—Tom could hear the whirring all the way from the picnic table—but Derek was stalling because he didn’t want to go home until his wife left for the store. The rainbow man was on the hill. Marty, Gill, and Eddie were already on their way to the big trucks out
front. They were in a hurry because of the wedding they had to set up for back in Camden that afternoon. And the deejay didn’t care much for the music he was playing, but that was okay because he was getting paid for it anyway.
Tom asked, “How do you know all of that?”
Leah shrugged her bony shoulders. A small bead of sweat broke out on her upper lip. “If you’re smuh-small, p-people around you will suh-say most anything b-b-because you aren’t there.”
“Well, I see you. And I can’t believe what a big girl you’re becoming.”
Tom kissed the top of her head again and let his lips linger there as he tried to find something prudent to say, some sort of sage advice or practiced wisdom. None came. Dr. Tom Norcross had tried several times over the past two months to regard his daughter as a patient, thinking that would help him smooth out the deep wrinkles in her life. But in the end that notion never worked. Love always got in the way.
They sat there watching the balloons dance and hearing the birds sing. Tom decided everything was perfect. As perfect as it could be.
“What’d you say about the rainbow on the hill?” he asked.
“Nuh-not a r-rainbow, Puh-Pops. The R-rainbow M-man.” Leah pointed to the two pines and grinned. “Suh-see him?”
“No.”
“I d-do.” Her grin turned into a smile. “He sees m-me too. He’s s-s-singing.”
Tom followed Leah’s eyes. The two pines slouched in the heat, forming patches of shade over a thick bed of brown needles. A mockingbird flitted from the fence onto a limb. Its song called out.
“When did he show up?” he asked.
“Juh-just now.”
Tom nodded. He didn’t think Leah was talking about the mockingbird. Which meant this was a new something to add to the long list of his daughter’s ailments. The little he could recall of imaginary friends was not enough to form a professional opinion, but the father in him didn’t think the sudden appearance of one coupled with the worsening of her stutter was a good sign. Especially not that day.
When Mockingbirds Sing (9781401688233) Page 1
