When Mockingbirds Sing (9781401688233)

by Coffey, Billy

  She didn’t have to say more; Jack knew what had come after. Meagan reached for a tissue, but there was no explosion of tears and mucus. She simply balled it up in her hand and held it there as if that were her whole world, just a crumbly soft world destined for the garbage.

  “Did you go to the doctor?”

  Meagan nodded. “Harold took me. I think when it was over he thought I was dead, and he got scared. He told them I fell down the stairs. They believed it. They always do.” She stared at the spot on the coffee table and slowly shook her head. “The baby’s okay. They didn’t say anything about the other things Harold did. What he did, he did in other places.”

  “I’m so sorry, Meagan,” Tom said, amazed once more at the breadth of his counseling skills. Four years of college, another four of graduate school, published papers in more than a dozen psychological journals, countless seminars and awards, and at the end of it all was a feeble I’m so sorry. Bravo, Tom. Well done.

  “I think God’s forgotten me,” Meagan said.

  Tom didn’t know how to respond. I’m so sorry didn’t feel appropriate, nor did the more honest but less kind Told you so that had worked its way forward from the back of his mind. He sat across from Meagan Gladwell, the pretty brunette who was now little more than a pregnant piñata, and in his mind he saw Leah. He watched as Meagan stared at that spot on the coffee table like it was some gateway into another world that she could slip through and never return. It was as if she were tumbling into that spot even now, collapsing upon herself like a dying star, darkening like a candle snuffed out.

  And Tom knew there was nothing he could do about it. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  7

  The yellow moon hung over Mattingly like a spotlight as the hands on the old clock tower in the middle of town met at eleven. The air was thick and still. Only the mockingbirds called out, uttering their raspy chjjjs and harsh chawks. They perched in trees and upon fence posts, atop mailboxes and telephone lines. They surrounded closed curtains and shut doors behind which anxious souls huddled around the blue glow of their televisions.

  The only home without a glow was the faded and somewhat wobbly two-story structure at the end of Second Street. Barney Moore sat in the upstairs bedroom of the Treasure Chest, where the open window allowed the birdsong to reach him loud and unfiltered. He held the strand of Mabel’s hair, stretching it out and then watching as it curled back downward. He no longer called out his dead wife’s name (he had done so twice that evening only to discover it was not the following silence that frightened him as much as the hollowness in his own voice). Beside him on the bed, the covers were pulled down in anticipation of a rest that would not come. Mabel’s pillow was turned long-ways so Barney would have something to hold. The crumpled lottery ticket remained forgotten on the floor.

  Three miles away in the plain-but-suitable ranch house that served as the parsonage for the First Church of the Risen Christ, Reggie was telling himself he was still awake because of the baseball game on ESPN—a game he’d stopped watching in the early innings. A legal pad was on the coffee table in front of him. Handwritten on the top page were the charges to be levied against Leah Norcross (morally corrupting our fair town, inviting the wrath of God Almighty, and false prophesying among them). Following those were the amends both Leah and her parents would have to make in order to continue a peaceable existence in Mattingly (the gist of this was simple—stop with the painting and the rainbow man already). The mockingbird outside Reggie’s window trilled such that it completely drowned a late-inning rally by the Red Sox. When the clock on the mantel read five minutes to twelve, Reggie turned the channel. He didn’t know if the petition would ever be made public, but he had the satisfaction of knowing he’d already secured two signatures. Three, if he counted his own.

  Across town, Allie had convinced Mary and Marshall to let her stay up late. She had no desire to sit with her parents in the living room—to Allie, the fear of which column on her Leah’s lying/Leah’s telling the truth list would grow in the next few minutes was more than she could bear—so she had gone outside to find the mockingbird that was cackling in the backyard. There was nothing but shadow in the mangled branches of the oak beside her small home. The bird grew silent as she stood watching and then called again the moment she turned away. To her it was a kind of magic, one not as wonderful as Rainbow Men or calling down the Spirit, but a magic just the same. When she went inside ten minutes later, Allie did not ask the question most on her mind, and her parents did not answer. They simply tucked her into bed and told her to sleep well.

  Tom had decided he would kill his mockingbird if it came back the following night. It would be a gruesome death, the sort of ending he secretly desired for Harold Gladwell. The only thing that kept him from violence now was Ellen, who sat in the living room rubbing the crystal on her necklace.

  He sat in bed and thumbed through a story he did not read in a magazine he did not remember picking up. The shuffling from the other side of the wall meant Leah wasn’t asleep. Tom didn’t think it was because of the mockingbird. He thought the reason Leah was still awake was the same reason he and Ellen and likely most of the town were still awake. Leah had said she was fine when Tom checked on her earlier, though her eyes had said otherwise. Those eyes had the look of someone who’d had to swallow something bitter and was just trying to keep it down. He was about to check on her again when the floorboards creaked in the hallway. Ellen opened their bedroom door.

  “Her numbers were wrong,” she said.

  Thursday

  Two Days Before the Carnival

  1

  Allie peeked out of her bedroom that morning long enough to say good-bye to her daddy, whose shift at the factory in Camden started at six. When Marshall Granderson bent down to eye level and rubbed her head, Allie knew what he was about to say. She knew it just as much as she knew that she’d called forth Leah’s mockingbirds.

  “I’m sorry, darlin’,” he said. “Those numbers on Leah’s painting were wrong. Not a one came through.”

  Allie hugged him—she would have hugged her daddy even if the numbers had been right—and went back to bed. When sleep wouldn’t come, she rose from bed and added Picked wrong numbers to the lying half of her paper and then added her own name to the telling the truth side, though she knew it was for the wrong reasons. Then she dressed and went out to face what she knew would be coming.

  The call came just after eleven, but not from Leah. Mary spoke with Miss Ellen for ten long minutes and divulged the details to Allie on the way to the Norcross home. Mr. Doctor and Miss Ellen knew about the numbers, but they hadn’t told Leah. She’d been in her room all morning and wouldn’t come out, not even to eat and not even when Mr. Doctor tried to coax her.

  “Ellen said Tom’s always been able to coax Leah,” Mary said.

  Allie believed that to be likely. If spiritual-but-not-religious folk had anything akin to spiritual gifts, she thought that would be Mr. Doctor’s.

  They came up the long lane to find Mr. Doctor walking back and forth on the sidewalk and holding his hat. To Allie, it was as if he had an inkling he should pray but didn’t know how. He led them inside and took Mary into the kitchen, where Miss Ellen waited with coffee. Allie excused herself and made her way down the hall.

  She rapped three times on the door and said, “Hey there, Leah, open up.”

  There were tapping sounds from the other side, quick pops that wracked Allie’s ears and then stilled, then started again. But no words.

  “Leah Norcross, you open up this door and quit actin’ like I ain’t here, or I’m gonna just go right on home and I won’t be here no more. You hearin’ me?”

  Allie figured Leah was too timid to not believe her. She had no intention of leaving, would camp right there until the Rapture if she had to. The popping stopped. The knob turned. Leah peeked out.

  “Huh-hey,” she said.

  Her face was wet and her breathing heavy. The apron draped over her blue dress was
stained with rainbow colors, along with a great deal of black and brown and gray.

  “Hey back,” Allie said. “You paintin’ another picture for the rainbow man?”

  “You’re stuh-still saying his nuh-name different.”

  “Am not. Now let me in.”

  Leah shook her head and said, “I don’t want yuh-you to c-come in.”

  “What’s that s’posed to mean?” Allie cocked her head to the side and put her hands on her hips.

  Leah offered no further explanation, though the door did ease partly open.

  “We got stuff we need to talk about, Leah. Important stuff. So you gotta let me in, ’cause Momma didn’t bring me all the way over here so I could talk to half your face.”

  “Okay,” Leah said. “But duh-don’t look at the easel, okay?”

  “All right.”

  But of course Allie did, though the easel had been moved from the corner to the middle of the room and whatever Leah was drawing faced the wall. All Allie could see were the splotches of paint that had fallen on the piece of plastic under it. More brown and gray. A lot of black. The sight made Allie nervous. She didn’t know why.

  She sat on Leah’s fancy bed and said, “So the lotto drawin’ was last night. My folks stayed up. I did too, but not to watch it. I was looking for the mockingbirds.”

  Leah ignored her and walked to the open window that faced the road below. She rubbed at her thumb.

  “Told you to stop that,” Allie said.

  Leah did. She looked at Allie and said, “Why’d your puh-parents watch the drawing?”

  “Because of your numbers, doofus. The ones the mockingbird on your picture was singing. They were a bust, Leah. Momma said lotsa folks played those numbers, even if they won’t say it outright. They all wanna be rich like you made Mr. Barney rich.”

  “But that was juh-just for Mr. Buh-Barney,” Leah said. She looked out the window again. Allie thought she was waiting for something to happen. The way Leah was digging at her thumbnail again, it was something dark. “The R-rainbow M-man said it wasn’t for anyone else.”

  “You mean they weren’t lottery numbers to begin with?”

  “I duh-don’t know. If they duh-didn’t work, I g-guess not.”

  “Well, you drew it. Don’t you know what you’re drawing?”

  Leah looked from the window and said, “I just puh-paint what he sings. He’s been singing all nuh-night from the c-corner. It’s not like the other puh-paintings, Allie. I don’t luh-like it. It scares me and it h-hurts to have to puh-paint it, but he says I have t-to.”

  Allie felt tired, like she was running in a maze and finding only thorny walls. She rose from the bed and met Leah at the window. The road below was bare of cars, and nothing was playing hide-and-seek behind the magnolias along the lane.

  “Preacher Goggins says sometimes God wants us to do stuff that hurts because it’ll make us better in the long run. I know you don’t like the preacher much, but he’s pretty smart.”

  “I like him just fuh-fine,” Leah said. “I just don’t think he l-likes me much.” She looked to the empty corner and then out the window again, digging into her thumbnail as she did. “Things are guh-going to get h-hard, Allie. You’ll stuh-stay with me, r-right? You have to pruh-promise you won’t luh-leave, no matter how buh-bad it gets.”

  “I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Allie said, and then she promised it. She promised even though she still wasn’t sure if God was really standing in the corner of Leah’s bedroom, because whether He was or wasn’t didn’t matter much then. All that mattered was that her friend was hurt and scared and needed her help.

  “Good. Luh-look.”

  Beyond the window, Pastor Goggins’s truck came into view. It slowed at Mr. Broomfield’s house across the road and then turned into the Norcrosses’ lane, popping away and appearing again as it climbed toward the house. Allie couldn’t see who was with him, but it looked like two people.

  “Stay cluh-close to me,” Leah said.

  She let go of her thumb and took Allie’s hand.

  2

  Barney thought of one long-ago town carnival when he’d tried to impress his daddy by getting on a ride the carnies called a Tilt-a-Whirl but the local kids dubbed the Juke-and-Puke. He’d only been seven then (or maybe eight, Barney was at that age when the beforetime lost its moorings and memories began to run together in a lump), but he remembered vividly how sure he’d been that he was man enough to do it. Harlan Moore, hard man that he was, told his son to go right on ahead. Barney’s courage lasted right up until a bearded carnie with black teeth and moonshine breath cinched him in hard and fired up the motor. At that sound, little Barney Moore realized the foolishness of his decision. He cried out for the carnie to cut him loose, to please God stop, but by then the juking portion had begun and the carnie only smiled through those black teeth and said, “Ain’t no turnin’ back when the ride’s done started,” and Barney had been left to nearly drown in the geyser of tears and vomit that ensued.

  He felt like that now.

  He also felt as though he was becoming like Mabel, or at least the version of her that had sat beside him the last time he’d been up on the Norcrosses’ lane. The hard lines of the world had gone soft and the bright summer colors had dulled. It was as if he were encased in shadow, like a gray shade had fallen over his life. His heart had been carved deep and hollow, and there was only silence to fill the empty spaces. Yet as Reggie’s Ford weaved in and out of the magnolias, that shade inched up just enough to allow Barney a peek into what was about to happen. He stole a look at the papers on the console that fluttered in the humid morning breeze.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t do this, Reggie.”

  The preacher kept his eyes ahead, easing the wheel to the right and then the left, working his jaw.

  “I don’t think we have a choice anymore, Barney.”

  “Die’s been cast,” Brent Spicer said from the backseat. “We ain’t the ones who threw it; that young’un did. You mind that, Barney.”

  Barney nodded as if he would. He knew better than to try and talk Brent out of something he’d already decided upon, especially when that something involved people from Away.

  Still, “I can’t help but ponder what Mabel’d think of this,” he said. “We built our lives outta bringin’ joy to the children. Now I’m fixin’ to hurt one.”

  “Sometimes what hurts us makes us stronger,” Reggie said. They were now ascending the last part of the hill. The magnolias gave up their guard. Tom, Ellen, and Mary walked out onto the porch. Leah and Allie were with them. “Just think of Job. He lost everything, but then he got more back. He was stronger for it.”

  That was true, Barney thought. But then he wondered if the more old Job got at the end had been enough to keep him from pining for what he’d lost at the beginning. Barney didn’t think so, just like he thought the gain of two hundred fifty million dollars wouldn’t make up for the loss of one sickly woman who was presently dining with Jesus. Because in the end God was cruel, and what He took was always greater than what He gave.

  “Now, y’all just let me do the talking,” Reggie said. “And I mean you, Brent. No sense in turning this into something more than it already is.”

  Brent said nothing. Barney thought that was so the deacon could say he never agreed to anything if things turned south. Reggie parked in front of the garage as Tom, Ellen, and Mary descended the steps to the sidewalk. Leah and Allie remained above them on the porch. They were holding hands.

  “Morning, Tom, Ellen,” Reggie said. His smile was wide and welcoming. “Hello, Mary.”

  Tom ignored the preacher. He moved to Barney and said, “Hello, Barney. How are you holding up?”

  “Fair, I reckon,” Barney mumbled, though he didn’t feel fair. And he didn’t see Tom’s face as much as he saw that old carnie’s, and his chest felt tight as if he was being cinched in. “Just tryin’ to get along.”

  Allie had taken one step down from the porch. Leah’s eyes studi
ed her shoes. Barney suddenly wanted nothing more than for those eyes to look up at him, but they wouldn’t.

  “You know if you need something,” Tom said, “anything, we’re here.”

  Barney thought the next few minutes might change Tom’s mind, but he said he appreciated it nonetheless.

  Reggie kept his smile and said, “Tom, Ellen, this here’s Brent Spicer. He’s a farmer here in town and head of the deacons down at the church.”

  Ellen said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Spicer.”

  Brent’s face was like a rock.

  “What brings y’all out here, Reggie?” Mary asked. She took a step and put herself between the preacher and the Norcrosses. “Seems like a church visit to me, and I think we all know where that road leads.”

  “More a town visit,” Reggie said. He looked to the porch. “Leah, Allie, can y’all come down here for a second? We need to have a little talk.”

  “What’s this about, Reggie?” Tom asked.

  “About what’s gotta happen,” Brent told him. He took a step toward Tom and backed away when Reggie held up a hand.

  Leah and Allie took the stairs and positioned themselves within easy reach of their parents. Leah let go of Allie’s hand and stepped forward to Barney. She looked at him

  (Not at me, Barney thought, into me)

  with a pain that matched his own, a pain that said whatever magic had been in her life had now turned into something else. She reached out and wrapped her arms around his thick waist, pushing her face deep into the rough denim of his overalls.

  “I’m so suh-sorry, Mr. Buh-Barney.”

  Barney put his hand on Leah’s head. “Thank you, child.”

  “Tom,” Reggie said, “Ellen, we’re here today on official business of the town. I assure you this isn’t something we take a great deal of pleasure in doing, but I’m afraid we don’t have much choice.”