When Mockingbirds Sing (9781401688233)

by Coffey, Billy

  Screams filled the air. The world came down.

  6

  It wasn’t that Reggie didn’t sense the storm approaching, he was simply too preoccupied to understand the growing awfulness of it. His ears registered the rain and wind (and the hail now, that plinking on the stained glass had to be hail), but his mind had been divided neatly into thirds—the weariness he felt, the sermon he was supposed to be preparing, and the lingering image of the shattered snack machine in the hallway. The weather was far down on his list of concerns.

  That was about to change.

  His worn leather Bible lay open in front of him to the next day’s scripture (1 Thessalonians 5:18, which went well with the topic of “Giving Thanks for What’s Difficult to Be Thankful For,” which was already printed in the church bulletins). He cleared his throat and gripped the sides of the pulpit, tried again, and got no further into his sermon than the three preceding efforts.

  He thought again of the mess in the hallway and wondered what a church member would think if he or she stumbled upon it. Wondered, too, how exactly that had all happened.

  The sun was gone now, casting the sanctuary in a strange gray that seemed more twilight than noon. Thunder from outside. That’ll put a damper on the carnival.

  Reggie tried again, working his way down the notes paper-clipped onto the opposite page of his Bible, trying to find his groove, trying to summon the Spirit. But even as he tried, the hallway came back to him, that feeling of being out of control and his mind snapping in half, caving inward and shooting out as the Plexiglas had. The Spirit could not dwell where sin dwelt. The dark sanctuary pressed in around him. Shadows formed like tiny circles in the empty pews as if they were reservations for the souls who would sit there the next day. People who trusted the words of their preacher, who put their faith in him to be a pillar of the community and a man who lived the Word.

  He cleared his throat again, all the while knowing that what was keeping him from speaking wasn’t the last bit of chocolate caught in his throat but the means by which he had obtained it. Had that been living the Word? Would a man of God resort to such actions?

  “No,” he said. The sound reverberated through the sanctuary and mixed with the wind and hail to produce a sound unlike applause. It was one word, but it was the most honest and heartfelt word Reggie had uttered since taking the pulpit that morning. And to his amazement, that one word felt so freeing, so right, that he said it again—

  “No.”

  He thought once more of Elijah’s maelstrom, the wind and fire and shaking, and that small part of him not focused upon his God reminded Reggie of another maelstrom brewing just beyond the walls of his church. Still he hung on, eyes clenched, searching for that Still Small Voice that had eluded him for days.

  Longing for it, begging it to answer.

  7

  Chairs screeched and tumbled backward from the panicked force of people who now understood they were in the midst of no passing shower. The green-black sky unleashed its rage in violent retches of wind and water. Barney felt the table beneath his hands vibrate. He turned to see Tom’s chair toppling end over end down the hillside to the fairgrounds, where people now ran in all directions. The doctor grabbed Ellen by the wrist and Leah by the shoulder to pull them away. He was yelling. Barney didn’t know what Tom was saying. It was as if everything around him was happening too fast for words to stay beside. The gusts scattered the people’s screams as hail the size of quarters kept them hemmed. They scuttled in all directions, only to be driven back by the thunder’s deep knells. There were shoves and curses and the cries of those pushed to the ground. In that moment the townspeople’s brittle façade of community and kinship was peeled back to expose the beasts that lurked beneath.

  They were all going to die. Barney accepted this conclusion as a fitting end, one that held a great deal of pain at the beginning but promised Mabel’s sweet face at the end.

  He would remain. Yes, he would stay there in his chair and let the thunder roll and the lightning strike and the winds lift him heavenward. Close the shade, he asked. Close the shade and let me drift.

  And then there was Leah.

  He sensed her in front of him, waiting despite her father’s pull with a calmness so inappropriate that it drew Barney’s gaze. He looked up and saw a pair of soft unblinking eyes that held a light despite the silence in them, a light that conveyed not thoughts but pictures. Barney did not know how long Leah’s eyes tethered him nor how much rain had happened in the meantime. He did not know that the Ferris wheel had rocked and then toppled onto the fairgrounds below, did not hear the screams that rang out from the people around him. There were only the pictures of him on the Juke-and-Puke as a boy, holding on because once the ride started there was no getting off, of Mabel’s smile and the pursed lips of his fellow townspeople, her love and the town’s fear that his failure was a virus that would spread if they did not keep their distance. He saw the numbers in Leah’s first painting and the not-numbers in the second and he knew oh God he knew he knew everything.

  “Ever’body come with me!” Barney shouted. He stood, and when the throng did not respond he shouted it again.

  Tom was still trying to pull Leah away. He stopped upon the discovery that not only was his daughter not moving, Ellen had paused as well.

  “Ever’body follow me. We’ll get in the basement at the Treasure Chest. It’s the only place.” The rain now fell sideways, so hard that it stung needle-like upon Barney’s skin. He turned to Tom and Ellen. “Come on now, let’s get goin’.”

  8

  Allie no longer cared who saw her cry. There were plenty of other people doing just the same. She saw grown-up women teary and shaky. Strong men buckled beneath the enormity of the storm around them. Boys and girls older than herself cried out for their parents, and Allie cried too. She cried because she understood that people don’t weep because they’re weak, but because they’ve been strong for too long.

  She could not find her momma. She could not find her momma and there was a storm and Leah said her momma was gonna die and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Some things have to happen. There’s no changing them. No matter how much we wish them so.

  The pandemonium around her had reached its zenith when the Ferris wheel fell. Allie cried out again as hard and as loud as she could. Tears and snot clogged her throat, crying out, Momma, Momma, please come get me. Mr. Barney said something. Allie didn’t know where he was but she heard him again, telling everyone to follow him. Fear stuck her feet to the pavilion’s concrete floor like flypaper. Someone shoved her aside, and she briefly wondered who could do such a thing to a little girl.

  There came a call of “Allie” from the back. Allie turned, her heart exploding with joy, only to see not her mother but Miss Ellen barreling through the crowd. She swept Allie from the floor and cradled her like a newborn.

  “I can’t find my momma.” Tears flooded her eyes again. The wind swirled, sending a sideways sheet of rain through the pavilion that washed her face. Lightning flashed overhead like a million tiny flashbulbs. “Do you know where my momma is, Miss Ellen?”

  Mr. Doctor worked his way beside them, carrying Leah in his arms. When Allie asked him if he’d seen her mother, a black pall came over his face.

  “I saw her going down to the fairgrounds,” he said. “Just before the siren sounded.”

  And Allie knew then, at least some part of her knew, that Mary Granderson had gone out into the teeth of the storm to find her daughter. And the greater part of her understood that if her momma died, it would be Allie’s fault.

  Miss Ellen pulled Allie close to her breast, but even the wind and hail and the suction of her wet skin could not keep the “She won’t find Allie” away from Allie’s ears.

  “Where’s your daddy?” Mr. Doctor asked.

  “He ain’t here. I want my momma. You gotta get my momma.” Allie wiped her eyes, scratching her face with the compass bracelet on her wrist. And then, realizing there w
as no other choice, she added, “Leah, please tell the Rainbow Man to get my momma.”

  Leah looked at her. Her face was wet. Allie knew it was not from the rain.

  “Listen to me,” Mr. Doctor said. “Your mother’s going to be fine. She’s going to find a safe place to stay. But you have to come with us, okay? Your momma will be fine.”

  But Allie knew he was wrong. Leah’s tears told her so.

  9

  Brent Spicer spoke for many when he shouted, “The Treasure Chest’ll be the first to fall. That heap will be the end of all us.”

  “You run you die, Brent,” Barney said. “This is the only way.”

  “There’s no time,” Sheriff Barnett said. Kate and Zach were huddled close to him. “Everybody follow Barney. He’s got the only basement close. It’s our best chance.”

  Barney stepped forward. Tom, Ellen, Leah, and a bawling Allie Granderson came after. He wanted to ask where Mary was, but Tom shook his head. The crowd split between those who saw the wisdom in following the most cursed man in town to the ricketiest building in town and those who understood the foolishness of it. Many ran for their cars, Brent Spicer among them.

  Those who remained—Barney supposed there were fifty at most, though by then the storm was such that he could barely see—huddled close to the sheriff at the far end of the second pavilion. Barney led them out into the gale. Trees bent and snapped. The air churned with both refuse and an electric charge that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. They formed a long single line, each person holding the hand of the one in front and behind, Barney first, the sheriff last.

  “Head down, one step at a time,” Barney yelled. “Slow and easy. Don’t look up.”

  The Treasure Chest lay two blocks away. It was an impossible distance, but they would make it. Barney was sure of it. That and that alone was what was in Barney Moore’s mind as he stepped out into hell itself.

  Because Leah’s eyes had given him more than pictures. They had also told him his time had come. His time had come, and God loved him. Barney thought God maybe even loved him most of all.

  10

  They walked and stumbled under the black sky, pushing their feeble might against the wall of wind, their hands tight against one another. She waited until it was time and then slowly drew the hand behind her forward and the hand in front of her back, and when they met, both relaxed just enough to uncouple before clamping down again. That those hands now gripped a different person didn’t seem to matter, especially since at that moment the transformer just outside the park blew, sending a shower of sparks and a muffled cracking sound into the air.

  There was no time.

  She ducked into the wind—not an easy task given her size—and kept her head down. The long line of people slowly passed in front of her, their backs hunched and heads tucked into their shoulders to protect themselves from the flying debris. The walk back seemed like hours. Water rushed into every orifice and through every opening—into her shirt, down her jeans, soaking her shoes. Roof shingles and flowerpots flew past, forcing her to duck and weave as if she were stuck in some twisted game of dodgeball.

  Twice she lost her footing as the wind swept over her. Blood mixed with water as the hailstones cut into her scalp and face. Streets were turning to rivers, alleyways to creeks. The water was now to her ankles. Her clothes added a weight she could barely carry.

  She looked up to find both pavilions gone, collapsed into two heaps of fluttering metal. The path to the fairgrounds was blocked.

  There was no time.

  It would be the long way around, then, which was a kind of blessing in that she could steady herself by gripping the iron bars that fenced the park. Cars and trucks sat dented by the hail, their windshields shattered. Many of the large oaks within the park had been felled. One of them had fallen onto the banquet table where only days before they’d sat and faced the wolves. The park had been full then, the sun shining. Though the park looked empty now, she knew it wasn’t. There were others there, hiding, praying, calling out for help. She paused at the front gate—she knew she was supposed to keep walking but she had to rest, her legs were so tired—and looked out over the wide expanse of carnival rides and booths that were now unrecognizable, mangled by the storm. Above her the green-black sky vomited lightning and thunder. Angry clouds released tails of small funnels that swirled downward only to be gathered back up.

  It’s coming. Hurry.

  She took two steps away from the gate before looking back. A woman ran toward a small wooden equipment shed beside the baseball field. She tripped on a tree limb and fell. When she rose again, the front of her shirt and jeans were covered with mud. She flung the door of the shed open and closed herself inside.

  Leah stood by the gate and screamed, screamed with all her might, but the woman didn’t hear. Couldn’t. And there was no time. She cried out when the wind took the equipment shed with a deafening WHOOSH and dared not look back for fear of what she would see.

  Battered and soaked, she walked on as best she could, her head down as the water rose past her ankles.

  11

  The garbage can and broom that Reggie needed were housed in the church kitchen, which sat midway between the sanctuary and the pastor’s office. The room also afforded two windows that looked over the parking lot and the park beyond. What greeted him through those panes was a sight so horrible that his heart nearly lurched from his chest.

  Only one of the big elms in front of the church was standing. The rest lay toppled and splintered, stacked like some giant’s kindling. Not blown down—sheared away. Torrents of rushing water descended from downtown like waterfalls that pooled in the low places, rendering the church little more than a sinking island. The wind beat against the windows, expanding and contracting the glass as if the building itself was gasping under the pressure. Lightning streaked across a dark, churning sky. Thunder boomed. Reggie stood in shock. The world was ending, and he’d been too busy wallowing in his own self-pity to notice.

  He ran for his office phone and tried Jake Barnett. The line was dead, as was the power. The windows outside Reggie’s office were larger and offered even more destruction. He wanted to leave, to help, but both seemed impossible. No one could survive being caught in such weather. His only hope was that everyone at the carnival had found safety indoors.

  The rafters above him shuddered against a violent gust. The walls moaned. From far down the hallway, Reggie heard the sound of a door slamming and squeaks against the linoleum floor. Quick at first, then slowing. Reggie went to the door and peered down the hallway. Shadows engulfed everything past the shattered vending machine. The steps grew closer.

  “Hello,” he called.

  The footsteps stopped.

  “Who’s there? Is everything okay?”

  The squeaks came again, slower than before. Almost timid. The darkness coalesced just beyond Reggie’s sight. What came from the black was a frightened and waterlogged little girl. Her long black hair clung to her face in thick strands. Blood seeped from her head to her face. Her fingers were mangled. Small tennis shoes left puddles in their wake.

  “Leah.”

  Reggie rushed to her just before she collapsed. He sat her down against the wall, careful to place her between the kitchen’s windows and the vending machine’s shards.

  “What are you doing here? Where are your parents?”

  “With Mr. Buh-Barney. People are going to the Truh-Treasure Chest. It’s the suh-safest place. We have to luh-leave. Tuh-t-tornado’s coming. It muh-might already be too luh-late.”

  Her lips were white and trembling. Rivulets of blood ran down her bare arms. Leah was in shock.

  “Now, you just sit here a minute,” Reggie said. Leah tried to say no, but he was already at the kitchen. He returned with three dish towels and did his best to wipe her face and arms. “You should be with your folks.”

  “I cuh-came for you,” she said. “We have to go, Ruh-Reverend. We have to guh-get to Buh-Barney’s.”
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br />   Reggie said, “We’re not going anywhere,” and as if to define the wisdom in that statement, a sheet of wind-driven rain slammed into the side of the church so hard that the foundation itself seemed to shift beneath them.

  Leah staggered to her feet and took Reggie by the hand. “We have to guh-go. You d-don’t understand.”

  “No.” Reggie jerked his hand back. “We’re staying here, Leah. The storm will pass. If we go out there now, we might die.”

  Her hand found his again and was joined by her other. The squeeze she gave was frail and unsteady. “If we stuh-hay in here, we w-will die. The R-rainbow M-man told me. You have to buh-lieve.”

  Reggie’s hands began to shake. His lips twitched. The anger bubbled up again, just as it had when he reached for the chainsaw and ladder in his shed and as it had when he grabbed the softball bat after putting his five quarters into the vending machine. It bubbled out of frustration and fear, and then it spewed regardless of the one in its path.

  “No one believes more than me, Leah. Especially you. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

  He didn’t know if it was the cold rain outside or the hot fury in his voice that made Leah’s bloody body quiver, but in that moment Reggie saw how small the object of his scorn appeared.

  Leah let go of Reggie’s hand. Before he could apologize and beg the forgiveness of both her and his God, that hand reached back and flew forward, slamming into the side of his neck.

  “You . . . nuh-n-ninnyhammer,” she screamed. “Do you think I wuh-want to be huh-here? I wuh-want to be with my muh-mommy and my puh-pops, not huh-here.” Her tears came like the pummeling rain outside. “I’m supposed to huh-help you.”

  Reggie felt his neck but could not massage away the sting of Leah’s hand. Nor could his mind massage away the sting of her words. His knees weakened. He slumped against the wall.

  “Pluh-lease,” Leah said, quieter now. She took his arm. “We huh-have to g-go.”

  Reggie could not move even if the church around them mostly did. From up the hallway came the shattering of windows. Leah yelped and gripped him tighter. Reggie paid no mind.