Lark! the Herald Angels Sing

by Donna Andrews

  “Hi,” I said. “This is Meg Langslow—Professor Waterston’s wife.”

  “Hi,” she said. “I bet you’re calling to cancel the pizza party on account of the snow.”

  “No—what’s a few inches of snow?”

  “I’ve lived in Florida all my life,” she said. “This is more snow than I’ve ever seen at one time.”

  “So does that mean you wouldn’t be interested in going out in the snow to help with a video project that might be dangerous but could be fun and might even go viral on the internet?”

  “Sure—when?”

  “Can you meet me at the Caerphilly Zoo at six A.M.? We’ll have the equipment if you can come prepared to run it. And if you can find one or two other women who can help with the behind-the-camera stuff, that would be great—but only women. And don’t tell anybody else. Not even my husband. I’ll fill you in at the zoo.”

  “Okay, now I’m curious. I’ll see you at six at the zoo. And I’ll bring my roommate.”

  Okay. I had someone to run the cameras. And with any luck Janet would talk Rachel into letting us set them up in the Burger Barn. Now I needed a way to smuggle them in there. And someone to handle the sort of tech issues that might be beyond a film studies major who’d never tried to film outside of a studio.

  I looked in my phone’s contact list. Yes, I had phone numbers for both Amber and Brianna, the two young Shiffley women who helped out at the shelter. I knew Amber better, but I decided to call Brianna. Amber was a very skilled Jill-of-all-trades, but Brianna was a licensed electrician. From a family of electricians. That could be useful.

  Her phone only rang twice before she answered. Maybe I was in luck, and she was a total night owl.

  “Hello—Meg? What’s up?” Her tone said, Why the hell are you calling me in the middle of the night? but she was polite.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you.” She sounded pretty awake—if a bit annoyed—but some people went from zero to sixty in the time it took me to figure out which end of the phone was up.

  “No, I was up. Whole family’s in a tizzy—you heard what happened to Uncle Randall and Uncle Vern, right? I doubt if anyone will get much sleep tonight.”

  “Please tell me they’re not planning to send in more cousins to rescue the ones who’ve already been captured,” I said. “They’re probably already running out of room in the Clay County jail.”

  “Naw—some of the young hotheads wanted to dash right over there, but Aunt Jane raised holy hell and ordered everyone to stand down. It’s not setting too well with some of the young hotheads, but nobody disobeys Aunt Jane.”

  “I want to grow up to be just like your aunt Jane.” Thank goodness Judge Jane was laying down the law for her clan. And it occurred to me that Judge Jane was maybe another person I should enlist to help with my scheme. “By the way,” I went on, “did you hear that apparently my grandfather led another expedition into Clay County? No idea whether he was planning to rescue Vern and Randall or join forces with them, but he didn’t succeed, either, and he got my brother and my father captured with him.”

  “This is crazy,” she said. “You know those creeps are going to keep them locked up as long as they can—and it’s only two days till Christmas. We can’t let them get away with this.”

  “I agree.” I took a deep breath. “So I was wondering if I could enlist your help for something. Something that I hope will help bring your relatives and mine safely home tomorrow. Something that I hope is a little smarter than what any of the men did. Although if you want to run it by Judge Jane, that’s fine with me.”

  “Aunt Jane generally seems to think you have a pretty level head on your shoulders,” Brianna said. “What do you need?”

  “Off-the-wall question, but do you think there’s any way you could get hold of a Dominion Energy truck? Or even something that could be mistaken for one?”

  A slight pause.

  “Yeah, pretty sure I can,” she said. “My brother Brady works for them, and he’s pretty careless with his keys. I could bring along Brady, too, if you like.”

  “No, we’re making this a testosterone-free project.”

  Brianna giggled at that.

  “If you have to give a reason why, say it’s women’s shelter business,” I went on. “So borrow if you can, steal if you must, but show up at the Caerphilly Zoo as soon as possible in some kind of Dominion Energy vehicle.”

  “You mean like right now?”

  “Like five minutes ago if possible.”

  “Okay, cool,” she said.

  “One more thing,” I said. “If I showed you some equipment that needed a portable generator to power it, could you get it running?”

  “You need a generator?”

  “No, I have one of those, but I could use someone who knows which end of it is up.”

  “No problem. I rebuilt a generator when I was eleven or twelve. Running one’s a piece of cake. Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of. Thanks.”

  “No problem. Sounds like this is going to be fun!”

  Nice that someone was so enthusiastic about our project. I took a deep breath, marshaled my mental resources, and called Judge Jane.

  “Tell me you have good news,” was how she answered the phone.

  “I wish,” I said.

  “Half my family wants to run over to Clay County and get themselves thrown in jail.”

  “The half with Y chromosomes?”

  “Pretty much. I used to think Randall was the one man in the family smart enough to think with his brain most of the time, and then he goes and joins the craziness.”

  “In Randall’s defense, he chased after the others to try and talk them out of invading Clay County,” I said.

  “I’m sure that will be a comfort to us while he’s away serving time for whatever phony charges the Dingles manage to pin on him. Sorry, Meg; you find me in a rotten mood. The county attorney has taken up residence in my study, so if she and the chief can come up with any valid warrants that will do them any good I can run in and sign them. I’m calling anyone I know who might have any clout with any government agency that might possibly step in and do something, and the chief is tearing what’s left of his hair out. What can I do for you?”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “I’d be a pretty piss-poor judge if I couldn’t.”

  “I know you’re doing what you can to help Chief Burke get the Feds involved in what’s going on in Clay County. But I also know that the crooked Fed he’s been dealing with has made that an uphill battle, and that in the meantime your relatives and mine are stuck over there in the Clay County jail.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re planning on dashing over there all by yourself to rescue them,” she said. “Because I know you’re smarter than that.”

  “That was my first thought,” I said. “But yeah, I’m smart enough that it didn’t take me too long to realize it was a stupid idea.”

  “Good.”

  “So I’m not dashing over there all by myself,” I said. “I’m taking as many other women as I can—and only women. I figure we’re less likely to rile the Dingles up to the point that they get stupid and vindictive. And we won’t necessarily be trying to rescue anybody. We’re just going to create a distraction, maybe shine a little light on what’s going on in Clay County. Pretty much doing everything we can to buy as much time as possible until the chief can get the Feds to take action. Of course if our presence causes the Dingles to repent and let their prisoners free, I won’t complain.”

  A pause.

  “If anyone can pull it off, you can,” she said. “What do you need me for?”

  “Do what you can to keep the chief in the dark until we’re underway,” I said. “And in case he gets wind that something’s up, anything you can do to make him think it’s just more women’s shelter business would help.”

  “No problem.”

  “And can you help round up the Presbyterian women?” Shiffleys who were chu
rchgoers tended to belong to First Presbyterian, and Judge Jane was an elder there.

  “I can try,” she said. “You mean all of them? Just what are you planning to do to those wretches in Clay County—or do I want to know?”

  “Send anyone who can carry a tune, or thinks she can,” I said. “Don’t tell the chief, but Minerva and the Baptist ladies are already on board. We’re going to Christmas carol Clay County into submission.”

  When she stopped laughing, she promised to round up as many Presbyterian ladies as she could find.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. Maybe this was going to work.

  Time for me to head out to the zoo.

  I went up and changed into clean, warm clothes. Not all black, though, like Grandfather’s party. I wondered, for a few moments, what he and Dad and Rob and the rest were doing.

  And then I shoved the thought out of my mind, changed into jeans and a comfortable old sweatshirt, and hurried downstairs.

  I was feeling a little blue as I started up the Twinmobile—technically the Twinmobile II, since we’d recently replaced the sturdy minivan we’d bought just before the twins’ arrival with a newer edition of the same model. Would the Twinmobile join the growing collection of Caerphilly vehicles languishing in some Clay County junkyard? Worse, would its innards soon find their way to the gray market for automotive parts, joining the scattered pieces of my ancient Honda and the Shiffleys’ trucks? Was I worrying about cars to keep myself from dwelling on how the prisoners might be suffering? I suspected the Clay County jail was neither modern nor comfortable.

  I hoped not to find out for myself.

  After starting the engine, I paused long enough to take a few deep, calming breaths. They didn’t seem to help much, but what did help was the sight of the house in all its holiday finery. This year Mother had gone in for thousands of white fairy lights, outlining all the architectural features of the house and the shape of the hedge and all the shrubbery. And it wasn’t just the house—the barn, the llama shelter, and all the assorted sheds that filled the yard were also outlined in light. Even the fences that surround our several acres carried a strand of lights. All very modern LED lights, Mother had assured us, so the cost of operating them was almost nonexistent. Suddenly it all felt very peaceful and welcoming.

  For a moment, I found myself wanting to go back inside. To take refuge in the gaily decorated living room, make a big fire with aromatic fir and cedar logs, turn on the system that played soft carols through hidden speakers, and forget about Clay County and the Dingles.

  And then I put the Twinmobile in reverse, backed out of the driveway, and drove away, trying not to look back. I’d have to earn my Christmas festivities this year.

  I wasn’t going to let Clay County ruin anyone’s Christmas. Not mine, not Mother’s, not Delaney’s, not Janet and Lark’s. The odds were probably against the Dingles seeing the light like Scrooge and the Grinch—and didn’t even miserable old Mr. Potter reform at the end of It’s a Wonderful Life? I wasn’t sure of that last one. But even if the Dingles remained unreconstructed, we’d show them a thing or two.

  Chapter 31

  I was the first one to arrive at the zoo. I briefed the security guards on duty with our cover story about an emergency meeting of the women’s shelter board. If the women’s shelter hadn’t existed, we’d have had to invent something like it for tonight’s project.

  When I got to Grandfather’s office, I realized it was only 3:00 A.M. Time enough for me to take at least a brief nap before my troops began arriving. Or at least lie down and rest—I’d probably be too wired to sleep. So I cleared several piles of papers and the skull of some animal with very sharp teeth off Grandfather’s sofa, grabbed a rather ratty overcoat from the coat rack, and settled down.

  I was fast asleep when someone rang the doorbell downstairs.

  I leaped off the sofa and scrambled over to Grandfather’s desk, where a small monitor let me see who was at the gate, I saw Brianna Shiffley’s face as she pressed the intercom button.

  “Reporting as ordered with the semi-hot Dominion truck.”

  “I’ll be right down,” I called back. There was a button somewhere I could have used to buzz her in, but I’d still have to show her the way to the Admin building. And besides, I wanted to see the truck.

  When I opened the “staff only” door, I realized what she’d brought wasn’t just a truck—it was a full-sized repair vehicle, complete with a bucket lift. The familiar blue Dominion Energy logo gleamed on the white paint of its door and body.

  “Awesome!” I exclaimed. For once, the boys’ favorite adjective seemed like an understatement.

  “I figured maybe the bucket lift might come in handy.”

  “It very well might,” I said. “I don’t know how yet, but our plans are still evolving.”

  We stood admiring her prize for a few moments.

  “I also lifted a couple of Dominion uniforms,” she added. “As long as I was there. I figured they also might come in handy. They’re in the passenger seat.”

  “You are a coconspirator with class,” I said.

  “So I assume we’re going to sneak into Clay County posing as a power line repair crew.”

  “That’s the plan,” I said. “I figure right now they’re going to be a little hyper about strangers coming into town. But given all the snow, there could be outages. Even if someone who spots the truck still has power, they’ll probably assume we’re on our way to someone less fortunate.”

  “It’d be even better if they had a real power outage,” she said. “Add veri-whatsit to our scenario.”

  “Verisimilitude,” I said. “Yeah. But we can’t expect miracles.”

  “Wouldn’t take a miracle,” she said. “Just a little old pine tree dropping on the lines. The supply line for all of Clay County runs through the woods no more than half a mile from here—why don’t I just run out and take care of it?”

  “Why not?” I said. After all, if real Dominion repairmen showed up in Clay County, it would only help our plans.

  Brianna sprinted back to the truck and opened up the passenger-side door. After a little rummaging, she emerged holding safety goggles, work gloves, and a gasoline-powered chainsaw.

  “Don’t leave without me,” she said. “Unless you absolutely have to, in which case, hang on to this.”

  She tossed me a set of keys, and sprinted off toward the woods.

  I pocketed the keys and went inside. But just inside the gate—not inside the building. Other arrivals should be following on Brianna’s heels.

  Sure enough, a few minutes later a nondescript white panel truck drove up with Ekaterina at the wheel and Janet in the passenger seat. Both of them were in what I recognized as the kind of uniforms that the Caerphilly Inn maintenance workers wore. They weren’t identical to the uniforms I’d seen on Dominion repair crews, but close enough that they’d probably serve our purposes.

  “This will work?” Ekaterina asked. No doubt she’d noticed the scrutiny I’d given her and the truck.

  “Perfectly,” I said. “If you tag along behind the Dominion truck, they probably won’t notice yours doesn’t have the markings.”

  “Ah, but it will.” Ekaterina held up a spray-paint can. “Is a shade of blue we use behind the scenes at the Inn. Very close to the official Dominion Energy blue. And if I can use a computer, Delaney will send me a template to use. Is there someplace where we can do the painting out of sight of any unfriendly eyes?”

  I opened the large gate so she could pull the truck into the little courtyard, escorted them to Grandfather’s office, and set Ekaterina up with a computer.

  “Have you reached Rachel?” I asked Janet.

  “Yes. If we come to the back door of the Burger Barn, she’ll let us in. She doesn’t promise she’ll stay if things get crazy—she’s packing her car, and one way or another she’s leaving Clay County tonight. But she’ll let us in.”

  “That’s all we need.”

  By the ti
me I returned to the gate, Caroline and Cordelia had arrived.

  “I figured you’d need me here a bit early to organize the video equipment,” Caroline said.

  “What else needs doing?” Cordelia asked.

  “Can you let in the arriving troops and have them gather in the lecture hall?”

  “Can do,” she said. “I hear someone coming right now.

  I also heard the sound of engines. We all peered out. Two vehicles were crossing the parking lot. One looked as if it had been driven out of a time warp—it was a vintage Volkswagen bus painted in a predominantly pink-and-purple paisley pattern. I suspected that it probably belonged to one of Rose Noire’s fellow retreat members. The other vehicle could also have emerged from a time warp, although it would have to be one pointed at an even earlier era. It was an old-fashioned slat-sided livestock truck that looked ancient enough for the Joad family to have ridden in it on their way out of Oklahoma in the Dust Bowl days. When I first spotted the truck, I thought it was, for some reason, filled with snow. When it parked near the staff entrance, I realized that the fluffy whiteness I could see between the slats wasn’t snow. It was sheep. At least two dozen of them.

  “Meg!” Rose Noire leaped out of the passenger side of the Volkswagen. “Everyone in the retreat group wants to come along!”

  “Do they realize it could be dangerous?” I asked.

  “I’ve been marching in demonstrations since Birmingham and Selma.” A tall, rangy woman in jeans and a purple quilted jacket, with a wild mane of iron-gray hair, was getting out of the driver’s seat of the Volkswagen. “I survived Bull Connor’s bully boys—I’m not afraid to face your local thugs.”

  “This is more of a rescue mission,” I explained.

  “But a nonviolent one, from what Rose Noire told us,” she said. “And for a good cause.”

  “Mona has a lot of experience with conflict de-escalation and resolution,” Rose Noire said. “And the rest of us brought along some herbs that we think will help manage the situation.”

  Of course. Because herbs were the answer to just about any problem, to hear Rose Noire tell it. Still, a group of militantly nonviolent New Age herbalists should add to the effect I was hoping we’d create.