Let me find her alive, and then I will believe. I will believe and I will never doubt You again.
They found her near the gate in the middle of the street beside an overturned newspaper box. Reverend Goggins lay with his head in Leah’s lap. Ellen screamed when she saw his caved chest. Blood caked in foam around his mouth. Tom ran. Inside the park beyond the iron gate, he heard Allie call Mary’s name over and over. Barney searched the remains of what was once a wooden shed.
The first rays of the sun reached down as they neared, washing the reverend’s body in a glow. Ellen took hold of Leah just as Barney took hold of Allie. One of Mary’s pink tennis shoes dangled from her right hand.
Leah’s eyes went to the sky. Tom heard the single word she spoke. It came clear and with no stutter, and there was softness in her voice.
“Good-bye,” she said.
Saturday
Carnival Day
One Year Later
They came that night, those who had borne the storm and those who had on that morning one year prior seen the coming clouds and heeded Leah’s warning, remaining close to basements and root cellars. They came from hills and hollers that were still littered with Mattingly’s detritus, from neighborhoods not yet rebuilt and farmsteads that had yet to fully recover to a downtown that was slowly rising again. They came, if for no other reason than to remind themselves that they had stood up when they wanted to lie down and believed when all that was scattered before them called for doubt. They came to sing and dance and break bread not in spite of their bent hearts but because of them.
The rows of booths and games were back, as was a new Ferris wheel. The fire trucks, which had seen so much mud and dirt and soot on that day, now gleamed under the soft glow of the setting sun. Lila McKinney won the baking contest with her grandmother’s recipe for coconut cake. She had witnessed Leah Norcross’s magic during Mabel Moore’s remembrance and left that very night to stay with family in Highland County. She returned the day after the storm to do what she could, even if it was only to play a secondhand keyboard at the funerals. She dedicated her blue ribbon to the fifty-seven dead and the one still missing, and especially to Reverend Reggie Goggins, a good man who could finally look upon the face of the God he loved.
The Ladies Auxiliary fixed supper that evening in new pavilions on the hill, these made of reinforced concrete and steel. The consensus was that, at least in this case, new was not bad. Up-to-date rides and games and pavilions meant things were moving forward. It meant the healing had begun.
As sun gave way to moon, the celebration turned from the park to the town square, where Mayor Wallis sat upon a makeshift stage beside the covered bronze statue where Allie Granderson now stood. She had donned her best dress for the occasion, white with yellow flowers. It had been her momma’s favorite, and so now it was Allie’s.
She peeked beneath the curtain before being shooed away by the mayor, then weaved among the waiting townspeople. The hem of her dress swished against her knees. Allie heard her father’s call above the buzzing voices. She turned and waved back between a passing family.
“I’m right here, Daddy.”
“Don’t wander far.”
“I won’t,” she said, and waved again.
Marshall Granderson nodded and did his best to smile, though all that made it through the stubble on the face and the red in his eyes was a sad grin. Allie could see the worry on his face. Her daddy never liked her to go far nowadays. He made sure no one was watching—no one was, Big Jim had just got to the microphone—and took a sip from the flask in his back pocket. Allie turned away as he did so. Marshall didn’t like Allie to see that even more than he didn’t like her to wander far.
She walked on as the mayor began his speech, reminding the townspeople of what had been so hard to put away—that the tornado cut a path a mile wide and twelve miles long and had been on the ground for twenty minutes, how it destroyed not only the whole of downtown but much of the surrounding area as well. Mayor Wallis paused after each sentence and looked out over the people. He tried to swallow. His voice cracked. He dabbed his forehead with the handkerchief from his pocket and tried again. The only thing that allowed him to continue were the glances he offered to the covered statue beside him.
Allie’s legs continued to move as if on their own, guiding her through the crowd. She said hello to those who said hello first and tried to ignore the poor-little-girl stares she was offered. Still going, still within the reach of the mayor’s shaky voice, past where the Old Firehouse Diner had stood and would soon stand again and where the Treasure Chest sat empty, her feet upon sidewalks freshly laid and gleaming, her head down, trying to siphon from the crowd a part of the joy that was in them.
And then, “Allie?”
She looked up to see Mr. Doctor and Miss Ellen holding hands.
“Hello, Mr. Doctor,” she said.
Miss Ellen bent to hug her. Mr. Doctor drew her close. He looked in her eyes (Studying them, Allie thought, because that’s what head doctors do) and smiled. His smile was brighter than her daddy’s.
“How are you?”
“I’m okay,” Allie said.
“We’ve missed you,” Miss Ellen said.
“I know. I got busy with school an’ all. I was one of the kids who got sent to Camden for the year. An’ I have to care for Daddy now.”
Mr. Doctor’s cell rang. He excused himself and answered.
“How are y’all doin’?” Allie asked, though mostly out of courtesy.
“We’re good,” Miss Ellen said. “Lost the house, of course. But we bought a little farm out on Route 40. Things are good.”
“That’s real nice, Miss Ellen.”
Mr. Doctor returned and snapped his phone shut. He was smiling when Allie heard him tell Ellen, “That was Rita. Meagan called to say she and Harold found a sitter for Monday, so they can keep their appointment.”
“Good,” Ellen said.
“You still doctorin’, Mr. Doctor?” Allie asked.
“I am. I decided to go back full-time. With Ellen’s blessing, of course.”
He kissed Miss Ellen on the cheek, and Allie thought of the way her daddy used to kiss her momma like that. She thought of that and of how her daddy would never be able to do that again.
“Allie,” Miss Ellen said, “Leah and I have started going down to the new First Church. We haven’t seen you there. We’d be happy to pick you up—”
“No, ma’am. Daddy loves too much, I reckon. I do appreciate that, though.”
Ellen smiled and said that’s fine, but anytime, anytime at all, just let her know.
“Leah’s across the street,” Mr. Doctor said. “She said she could get a better view from there. You should go say hello, Allie.”
“Daddy don’t want me wanderin’ far,” Allie said. “I best be gettin’ back. Good to see you both.”
The crowd applauded as the mayor moved on from the story of that day to stories of the days after, when Mattingly began to rise again. Of how the town had pulled together as one just as they’d done in wars and in want, and how the past year had been like a war of its own, only one fought with faith and hard work rather than guns and bombs. People cheered and whistled, and the mayor pointed to the covered monument beside him as proof. They chuckled when reminded that as horrible as the storm was, it had at least chased away the mockingbirds.
Daddy would be wondering where she was. Allie made her way back, mindful of her wandering and mindful also that her legs were not cooperating. She was being pulled along again. Guided across the street by some invisible tether to an empty spot beneath a shining streetlamp.
Right where Leah stood watching her.
Neither of them spoke. In Allie’s heart she knew Leah had done nothing wrong, that Leah had in fact warned her of what would happen. But it had hurt and it hurt still, not simply because Allie still loved her, but because in the end Leah had chosen to try and save Preacher Goggins rather than her best friend’s own mother.
&nb
sp; “Hello, Allie,” Leah said.
“Hey there, Leah.”
The mayor had moved on to the names of those who had gone above and beyond in the rebuilding of the town. He mentioned Sheriff Barnett and Marshall Granderson. He mentioned Mr. Doctor. And last had come Mr. Barney, who Big Jim said showed everyone how good a Christian man he was, considering his heart had been so full of sorrow. The crowd cheered again.
“How are you?” Leah asked.
Allie shrugged. “You?”
“Fine.”
Allie saw that was true. It was not so much that Leah had grown as it was that she stood taller. And the stutter was gone. Allie’s daddy had told her that had happened, that Mr. Doctor had said she’d finally outgrown it but Miss Ellen said it had been something else, a bit of the Rainbow Man’s shine that had been left behind.
“I miss you,” Leah said.
Allie said, “I miss you too,” and cradled in those words was an apology for going away and a request to come home.
Mayor Wallis continued on about how Mr. Barney had walked into what was left of the town’s offices two weeks after the storm and laid a torn and nearly indistinguishable lottery ticket on top of the desk. His gift to the town, Barney said. And by the hand of God Himself, the total after taxes had been just enough to cover the rebuilding.
“Leah, do you . . . ?”
Leah looked at her. The smile she offered was both bitter and sweet, like a memory that hurt so long as it wasn’t pondered.
“No,” she said. “I can’t see him anymore. But just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”
“Thank you for coming to the funeral.” Allie’s eyes stung. She eased her way out from under the lamppost, happy that the darkness caught her. “There was just her shoe in the casket. I guess you know that. That’s all we found. The rest of her was taken by the wind. I don’t know if it’s better to believe she’s up there with all the other folk, or if she just got lost somewhere and she’s making her way back home. Which do you think is right?”
“I don’t know, Allie. Maybe it’s both.”
Mayor Wallis was still telling the story. Everyone had been so happy to know that the future was bright again, he said, but Mr. Barney was still sad. And then he told how Jake Barnett had found Barney at the Treasure Chest a week later, slumped over his desk. Doc March had pronounced it a heart attack, and no one was surprised. When two people love each other as much as Mr. Barney and Miss Mabel, they share a heart. And when one of those people moves on, the other finds that half a heart won’t get you through for long. Allie thought of her daddy. Her eyes stung more.
“Would this have happened if he hadn’t come, Leah?”
Leah’s yes came quick, as if that question had tumbled through her mind as well in those long days between the town’s death and its rebirth.
“Some things must be,” she said. “But if he hadn’t come, a lot more people would have died. The town wouldn’t have been saved and Mr. Barney wouldn’t have saved it, and Reverend Goggins wouldn’t have gotten his reward. The town’s healing now. People will move on. They’ll be better.”
Allie’s voice was as soft as Leah’s once was—“I won’t.”
“You will. Sometimes you think a story’s ended, but really it hasn’t, and all you have to do is turn the page. The magic’s still here, Allie.” Leah’s lips thinned into a smile. “Most everybody round here believes in the magic. My best friend told me that once.”
Those words clicked in Allie’s mind like tumblers opening a lock. At first she had thought (and she had also prayed) that the memory of that day would fade, that it would recede and then crumble like a bad dream at first light. But then Allie had come to realize that it would be with her always. She touched the plastic bracelet her momma had given her that day. It was worn now, a dull pink instead of the bright red it used to be, and the compass had stopped working sometime during the storm. Allie knew her mind would gloss over a million other memories, but the memory of Mr. Barney holding her tight where her mother had been taken up would always be fresh.
Some things must be.
And a thought came to her then, one that she would only understand later—that God would allow her to remember not out of some punishment but some mysterious good. Because the story hadn’t ended that day, and a page would soon turn.
Mayor Wallis finished his speech. He took a step to his left and pulled at the curtain covering the statue. It dropped to the ground as the crowd roared.
The town had chosen bronze because they’d wanted something that would last forever. And though Allie had no idea who had been the carver (or even if the statue had been carved at all), she thought it was a right fine job. Everything was the same—the hat, the glasses, the overalls, the smile. Especially the smile. She wished Mr. Barney could be there to see how important he was now, how much he was loved. Then she figured he was kind of there after all.
“I’m never gonna let my momma go,” Allie said. “If she’s out there somewhere, I’m gonna find her.”
“I know you will,” Leah said, and Allie thought she really did know somehow—as if the Rainbow Man’s leftover shine had done more than fix her tongue, it had also given her a glimpse into what was yet to be. Maybe that was so.
Maybe.
The cheers carried through the summer air and were drowned in a series of deep thumps. Leah took Allie’s hand and brought her back into the light of the lamp overhead.
“I love you, Leah.”
“I love you too.”
As their fingers linked, Allie’s felt Leah’s thumbnail and found it smooth. That made her smile more than anything else. Even more than the fireworks that burst overhead, striking the dark sky with a thousand tiny rainbows.
Reading Group Guide
1. Faith is an important element within When Mockingbirds Sing, in this case faith in someone most of the town of Mattingly can neither see nor hear. For much of the book, the only people who truly believe are two children and a man who has lost his worldly worth. Why do you think that is? Does faith come easier to such people?
2. Did you ever have an imaginary friend? How old were you? How long did you have him (or even it)? And most importantly, when and why did that imaginary friend go away?
3. Do you think God would ever choose to speak through someone like Leah, who confesses that she doesn’t even know who God is? Why do you think He chose an agnostic little girl rather than Reggie Goggins, who had devoted his entire life to his faith?
4. The final chapter infers that Tom Norcross’s promise to believe in the Rainbow Man if Leah survives the storm has gone unfulfilled. Why is it that some people shy away from belief even in the midst of a miracle?
5. There is a fair amount of suffering in the story. Barney loses his wife, Allie her mother, and Meagan Gladwell is marooned in a violent and loveless marriage. Yet it is Leah who seems to grieve the most, even as she comes face-to-face with the Divine. Do you think this is fair? Would encountering a holy God be a blissful experience, or do you imagine it would be a painful one?
6. Sacrifice and loss are major themes in When Mockingbirds Sing. In the end, which character do you think lost the most? What was gained by that loss?
7. When Allie begs Leah to ask the Rainbow Man to stop the storm from coming, Leah replies by saying some things have to happen and there’s no changing them. Do you agree with that notion? Why?
8. During Mabel’s funeral, Barney relates to the gathered how he had lost his business, his wife, his faith, and his friends. Yet with the tornado bearing down, he comes to believe that perhaps God loved him most of all. What accounts for this change of mind? What was the insight Barney received in that moment?
9. Barney seems to sum up his outlook on life when he tells Leah, “Reckon we don’t have much say in whether a thing is or ain’t, only what we’ll do either way.” Do you agree with this sentiment?
10. Much of the conflict in the story can be traced to the Rainbow Man not
fully explaining everything to Leah, but rather guiding her step by step and telling her only what she needs to know at the moment. Is this how a life of faith is often lived? What pitfalls and benefits does such a life offer?
Acknowledgments
Despite the joy it delivers in the end, writing a novel can be a painful and lonely experience. I’m blessed to have a special group of people who provide the necessary antidote to both.
My wife and children loved me through the many long nights and empty stares that are an integral part of a writer’s life. They let me work. They brought me coffee. And most of all, they never failed to remind me of the need to stop writing about life and go live it.
Kathy Richards patiently endures my ambivalence toward a great many things in general and technology in particular. Her hard work has made my life immensely easier, and I am continually grateful.
Daisy Hutton welcomed me to Thomas Nelson with all the grace and warmth of a true Southern lady. Her vision and optimism inspire me. I’m blessed to know her.
I am especially indebted to my editor, Amanda Bostic. She is the sounding board for so many ideas, and she possesses the wisdom to know what works and what doesn’t. My thanks as well to LB Norton, who kept reading this story when I no longer could. Whatever is right in these pages is because of them. Whatever is wrong is because of me.
Ruthie Dean, Becky Monds, Katie Bond, and Jodi Hughes worked tirelessly to get this book into your hands. I could not trust my words to better people.
And to you, dear Reader. I save the most thanks for you.
When Mockingbirds Sing (9781401688233) Page 30
