4
Allie had been fine all morning, but now a sudden fear swept through her and sent her hurtling headlong into the crowd, thoughtless of whom she swatted out of the way as she cleared a path with elbows and excuse-me’s. She could not get past how it had happened so suddenly. One minute she was admiring the bags of pink and blue cotton candy next to the dunking booth, the next she was all alone. Weren’t the orders to be mindful and stay close? Yes. In fact, Allie recalled those very words. And yet there she was, surrounded by everyone but the one who mattered most.
The park was already close to capacity. The clatter of people mixed with the constant hum of the rides and the whirs and beeps from games made even Allie’s voice just another small element to be swallowed by the din. She spotted Jane Markham holding court near the dunking booth with half a dozen fellow fourth-grade survivors, all of them laughing (Allie briefly wondered if Jane had just said anyone who’d ever get in a dunking booth would need srain burgery), their worlds careless and innocent. She wondered how things would have turned out if she’d simply told Leah last Saturday to go on to the Treasure Chest and drop off Mr. Barney’s painting on her own, that Allie Granderson couldn’t be friends with someone from Away, she’d rather sit there on the sidewalk and share a Popsicle with her good friend Jane.
Allie decided it best to find higher ground and climbed atop one of the waxed and gleaming fire trucks. What she saw from that vantage point only made things worse. Rising up over the distant blue mountains was a string of cotton-balled clouds that looked like angels at the tops and demons on the bottoms. Just as the sort of panic that was all claws and teeth began to build, Allie spotted Jake Barnett making his way out of the park.
“Hey, Sheriff.” She waved, but as she did two of the Clatterbuck sisters (that would be Margie and Mattie, “So big they near block out the sun,” as Allie’s daddy sometimes said) passed in front of her. When they made their way on, Allie saw that the sheriff had paused in his going but was looking in the wrong direction. She waved again and said, “Sheriff, over here.”
Jake waved back and tipped his hat. Allie dismounted the fire truck and ran up, so thankful that she almost gave him a hug.
“Mornin’, Allie,” he said. “Zach’s over by the Ferris wheel. If you’re interested.”
He added a wink on the end that told Allie he knew interested was exactly what she was, which would have been true enough under normal circumstances. But something inside her—barely there, but there nonetheless—said things were about as far from normal as they could get.
“I was lookin’ for my momma. She was right beside me a little bit ago, but then she weren’t.”
Jake nodded. “She with your daddy, maybe?”
“Nosir, Daddy’s at the factory today. I gotta find her, Sheriff.”
“Well, I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” Jake said. “Why you lookin’ so worried, Allie? Everything okay?”
Allie wanted to say no, but she knew if she did Jake would want the particulars, and all the particulars she had at the moment was the Barely There inside her that was still going on about how things had turned wobbly.
“Everything’s roses,” she said. “Where you off to, Sheriff?”
“Gotta head back to the office. Kate thinks she left the coffeepot on. Want me to help you look first?”
“No thanks.”
Allie started a smile, but she turned to see the clouds closer now, pushed along by a gathering draft that ran like a fingernail down her back. She shivered and jumped as if the wind that had just touched her was a living thing.
“Sure you’re okay, Allie?”
“Yessir. But if you might, Sheriff, could you do me a favor?”
Jake said, “That’s why I’m here.”
“Could you just take a look around at things when you get to your office? After you turn the coffeepot off, I mean.”
“Anything in particular I should be looking for?”
“Can’t say.”
Jake took a step toward her. He pushed back the brim of his hat. “Can’t, or won’t?”
Allie measured her next words and hoped their sum spoke more than their parts. “I reckon both, Sheriff. Just like I reckon sometimes we gotta turn over the secrets we come across ourselves before we go sayin’ what’s right and what ain’t for other folks.”
Jake’s look was one of decision, a weighing of whether wanting more of an answer would be proper or inviting trouble. It was as if a different sort of Barely There was in him as well, whispering that Allie knew of the magic that had touched him in the dark woods of the Hollow. That maybe she didn’t know all of it, but some.
“I’ll make sure all’s well,” he said. “Now, you get on and tell your momma I said hey.”
“I will, Sheriff.”
Allie felt Jake’s eyes linger as she threaded her way back through the crowd, pausing at the pie contest and the quilting exhibit and the bake sale—the sort of places Mary Granderson would be drawn. No one had seen her. Worse, no one seemed particularly alarmed. And though the clouds were still a ways off and were just as likely to head toward Camden as not, they now looked a bit more demon than angel. Allie felt a knot work its way north from her stomach to her throat. Her eyes squinted in reflex. That’s when she knew she was going to cry, she was going to cry and there was nothing—
“Hey, sweetie.”
Allie knew the hand that squeezed her shoulder. She wheeled and reached for her mother’s waist with a speed and strength that forced Mary to let out a faint whump.
“I told you to stay close,” Allie said. She gripped her mother tighter. “I said those exact words, Momma. Didn’t you hear me?”
“Well, I’m sorry.” The words came out in a heave that Allie would have normally
(But things aren’t normal, said Barely There)
found humorous.
“Please don’t leave me again. Please. If you have to, you gotta tell me where you’re gonna be.”
“Well, yes, ma’am,” Mary said. Or tried to say. By then the heaves had morphed into a low whine. “Can you let go of me, Allie? I can’t breathe.”
“Sorry.” Allie released her and smiled. It was a real one, not like the one she’d given to the sheriff, who hopefully had turned the coffeepot off back at the office and was now busy taking a look around at things. “I just want you to be safe.”
Mary bent down and said, “I’m safe, Allie. I was safe before too. And I’m going to be safe later on. Here. Won you something at the dime toss.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a red plastic band. In the center, wobbling in a pool of clear liquid, floated a tiny compass. Mary cinched it around Allie’s tiny wrist as far as it would go.
“Got it on my first try,” she said. “You like it?”
“I love it,” Allie said.
“Good. I’m going to go help the Women’s Auxiliary set up for lunch. I’ll be right up on the hill by the pavilions. Now, it’s carnival day, and you’re gonna go have fun. Stop fretting and enjoy yourself.” She pointed to the compass and said, “If you get lost, I’ll be north.”
“That’s not funny,” Allie said.
“It’s kind of funny. Now go have fun.”
Allie said she would try, and she meant to well enough. But it was hard not to fret with her momma walking farther away and those gray clouds coming on faster. And then it became darn near impossible.
Because just as Mary melted into the crowd, Allie saw Mr. Barney approaching with a candy apple in his hand, followed close by Mr. Doctor and Miss Ellen.
Leah was with them.
Mr. Doctor saw her before she could move. He raised his hand and said, “There’s Allie.”
5
Tom wriggled his hand from side to side when he thought Allie hadn’t noticed them.
Leah stopped in front—Tom couldn’t recall how she’d managed to maneuver herself into conductor of their four-person train, but she had—and he halted behind her. Ellen bumped into
his shoulder and gave a startled cry that left her face red. Given what had happened just the day before, Tom didn’t blame her for being tense. Truth be known, he wasn’t feeling so comfortable himself.
At the end of the train, Barney let out an oomph as he bumped into Ellen, which caused another cry.
“Hello, Allie,” Barney said.
Allie remained still long enough to answer, “Hey there, Mr. Barney,” and then disappeared behind a row of games.
“What was that all about?” Tom asked.
Leah rose to her tiptoes and looked into the crowd, only to give up and slump her shoulders. “It duh-doesn’t matter,” she said.
They continued through the crowd as if through the valley of the shadow of death, guarded not by a spirit but by a brokenhearted old man who had yet to realize that what burdened him in the Virginia mountains would be waiting for him at the Carolina shore. Tom knew as much. That had been the third commandment of his gospel, right behind marriage being built upon a solid foundation of communication and the fact that it took courage to face this world—run from your sorrows, and all you’ll find is futility.
But he also knew better than to offer his counsel when it had not been invited, especially in the midst of such commotion. There was little doubt that beneath the bright colors and festive music of the carnival lay a dark rage aimed directly at the Norcross family, one that would surely bubble over were it not for the presence of the one man whose rage seemed most warranted. But it looked as though the fight had gone out of Barney Moore, if ever there had been much fight in him at all. He sidled up to Tom, more interested in his candy apple than in his beleaguered mind.
“Ain’t a crowd like usual,” Barney said. He glanced ahead to Leah and said, “Reckon you scared a lotta folk away with your talk, little Leah. Won’t get you many points with the fire department. They need this money to run on.”
Leah said nothing. Tom wanted to apologize for her but didn’t. There was no way of telling whether Barney spoke the truth, and from the looks of things the fire department would make out just fine.
“Lunch’ll be up at the pavilions in a bit,” Barney said. “Ever’body down here now will be up there then. After that’s when the concerts and dancin’ start. I plan to be on the road by then, little Leah. Wanna beat those clouds yonder.”
Leah stopped the train again and looked back over her shoulder toward the mountains. Tom followed her eyes to the approaching clouds. Their bottoms were dark and pregnant with rain, their tops white and afire with sunlight. Though the speed at which they’d gathered seemed odd—Tom could swear those clouds hadn’t been there when they’d left the house—they looked no different from any other clouds on any other summer day. That made the fear on Leah’s face more puzzling. It was as if another sort of storm, one smaller but just as violent, passed through her eyes as she regarded the marshaling sky. She reached back and took hold of Tom’s hand, used the other to take hold of Barney’s. The old man winced at her touch and then surrendered like someone receiving unpleasant medicine for a wound. Tom didn’t ask why she did that. A part of him knew he would be afraid of her answer.
The people around them offered nothing beyond their usual sneers. Tom thought whatever insults they might have had a mind to speak were silenced out of respect for Barney, who met every stare with a quiet, “It’s okay now, they’s with me.” Those words did little to assuage either the townspeople’s disgust or Ellen’s fears. She allowed not even a sliver of daylight between herself and Tom. Her hand was clamped into his and spasmed with every bell from the games or whistle from the rides. Her other hand was upon Leah’s shoulder, who was the conductor once more despite Tom’s guess that she had no idea where they were going.
The sad thing (and this bothered Tom even more than the sneers) was knowing that the carnival could have been fun if things had been different. If he had asked Barney to make Leah a dollhouse instead of an easel, those looks would likely be of acceptance at most or indifference at least. Anything besides the hate they displayed. Tom whiffed the hot peanuts and fresh funnel cakes and could almost picture Ellen helping in the concession stands. He heard the clanging bell of the miniature train and saw Leah sitting alone in one of the back cars, gripping the flaking red paint on its side with her scarred thumbnail, trying to smile all the way through three looping circles around the baseball field. In Tom’s mind he saw himself huddled with his wife and daughter over plates of barbecued chicken with slaw and corn bread on the side, maybe a slice of apple pie after, and a cold Coke (“Co’Cola,” he’d say, just to fit in) to wash it all down. He saw all of this and wondered how he could feel loss over something he’d never had. A gust of wind tickled the back of his neck and sent gooseflesh down his spine. It was a heavy breeze, and cold.
“What are we doing here, Leah?” he asked.
“I d-don’t know, Puh-Pops.”
Ellen said, “Well, if you don’t know, sweetie, then maybe we should just go. I don’t want more trouble.”
“Won’t be no trouble, Miss Ellen,” Barney said. He offered a hello to a younger woman in a waitress uniform and said he was sorry, but his easel-making days were over. He smiled and patted the dejected woman’s arm, then turned back to Ellen. “Folks’ll mind their manners so long as I’m with y’all, an’ I won’t wander off. An’ don’t you worry about Reggie, Tom. He’ll be over at the church readying tomorrow’s sermon.”
Leah stopped and turned. “The ruh-reverend isn’t here?”
“No, ma’am,” Barney said. “You’ll be fine, Miss Leah.”
They turned and made their way through the center of the park, where Tom and his family were heckled not for who they were but what they were—paying customers. Everything from American flags to fire department T-shirts to Mason jars filled with clear liquid marked “medicine” was being hawked. People haggled for profit and pleasure. Leah kept moving, pausing only to turn around and make sure her company was still present. Barney was the only one who seemed to be enjoying things. His candy apple was little more than a stub now. Every person who came up to him was given a hello again and a good-bye forever in the same sentence. When he smiled, his lips were lined with a thin sheen of caramel.
There were four pavilions scattered through the park, two near the baseball field (where Tom assumed the town had gathered Monday for Barney’s press conference) and two on the hill above. It was in these upper wooden rotundas that lunch was about to be served, as evidenced by the slow migration of people away from the fairgrounds. Tom caught a passing glimpse of Allie above as they made their way up the winding steps. He thought he heard her call out for her mother.
They reached the pavilion just as the first thunderhead passed under the sun, encasing the entire park in shadow.
“That looks like it’s going to put a damper on the day,” Ellen said.
“It does,” Tom answered, and when the wind blew again he heard an echo saying, There’s a storm coming, there’s no stopping it, because I’ve already tried that. He turned to Leah, sure that she had said those words. But her eyes were on the park, where those who chose to forgo lunch for further entertainment played and laughed.
What people were not gathered beneath the open shelters of the pavilions had spread out blankets and beach towels around it. Tom guided Ellen and Leah to the far end, where he thought they would go unnoticed. Barney joined them. It was a kind gesture, Ellen whispered, and Tom agreed.
Mayor Wallis took the microphone and asked Brent Spicer to come and bless the food. Tom bristled at the sight of the old farmer, who was about to use the same tongue to say Dear Lord or Praise God or whatever those people said that he’d used just days before to threaten Leah and Ellen. But just before he spoke, the first peal of thunder rocked the hill.
Ellen jumped as the shock wave rattled the corrugated roof of the pavilion. Several children huddled close to their mothers and fathers, their faces a mix of terror and embarrassment. Barney mumbled something about not being able to outrun those clou
ds after all and then shuddered as a cold wind swept across the baseball field and up the path, scurrying paper plates and napkins and toppling half-empty drink coolers with a hollow, mournful thud. Tom felt the pressure in the air drop. Ellen reached out and found Leah’s hand.
The fervor that had permeated the carnival’s lunchtime gave way to a confused silence, as if the townspeople were trying to match the blue skies of just moments ago with the laurel-green dusk that had quickly engulfed them. Thick raindrops fell upon the roof like nickels onto metal, sending those who had been scattered around the pavilion scrambling beneath it. Tom saw Mary Granderson run back down the hill toward the fairground and wondered where she could be going without Allie.
“No worries, folks,” Mayor Wallis said. He held out his hands and pushed them down like a teacher calming a group of unruly students. “Just a little shower’s all. Be over before you know it.”
Far in the distance came the low whine of the siren atop the Mattingly Volunteer Fire Department. A corresponding noise that was not quite panic but close enough to fear rippled through the crowd as the wind picked up again, this time stiff enough to send the rain sideways through the pavilions. Another siren, this one sharper and closer, pierced the air. Sheriff Barnett’s truck skidded to a stop on the slick pavement just beyond the pavilions. He bolted for the crowd, leaving the driver’s side door swinging in the wind. His mouth was open, arms waving, but the wind and rain swallowed Jake’s words until he reached the gathering.
“Tornado!” he yelled. “Tornado’s coming. Everybody get out.”
When Mockingbirds Sing (9781401688233) Page 27
