Each Little Bird That Sings

by Deborah Wiles

  Chapter 11

  I woke up in my bed. I half remembered Daddy putting me there. The ether smell that surrounded him like a cloud had lulled me back to sleep.

  And now, after a night of rain—sunshine. I was lying on my back with my eyes closed. My face was warm, and from under my eyelids, I could detect the reddish glow that meant bright morning sun streaming into my room. Uncle Edisto always said, “The sun serves us on a funeral day. What a good omen!”

  The day of Uncle Edisto’s funeral, we’d had a morning hailstorm and a broken punch bowl, so I was glad to greet the sun. I willed it to serve me. I lay there in the shimmering stillness and let myself be washed in it.

  I heard Dismay’s toenails tap-tap-tapping down the hallway, coming my way. He would have slept next to Great-great-aunt Florentine all night, and he’d be missing me. Sure enough, the tapping stopped outside my bedroom door and a little whine started.

  Before I could get up to let him in, the bedroom door swung wide. Dismay bounded across the room— Happy-happy-happy!—and onto my bed. The bed shook under us, and Dismay’s collar jangled in a tambourine of delight.

  “Down, Dismay!” I said, but I was laughing. Dismay nuzzled his cold, wet nose into my neck and slurped my cheek with his sloppy tongue.

  Then I saw who had opened the door. Right behind Dismay was Peach—Happy-happy-happy!— standing in the doorway with his hands clasped under his chin, his eyes shining like buttered toast, his short-short hair perfectly combed, and his whole body jiggling like the canned fruit suspended in Mrs. Martin’s Strawberry Jell-O Mold Dream Dessert.

  “Comfort!” he called in his tinny, puny, scrawny voice. He made a tentative chicken-step into the room. And with the same great anticipation in his voice that he’d used when he had greeted Uncle Edisto and then Aunt Florentine, he said to me: “It’s morning and I’ve come to see you!”

  I shot up in bed like a rocket. “Out! Don’t you ever come into my room uninvited!”

  For one moment there was no movement, no sound at all. Peach stepped back. He sneezed and didn’t even cover his mouth. His eyes filled with tears. He breathed in several short, quick breaths. A string of snot formed at the end of his left nostril.

  My stomach twitched. Peach’s dam burst, and then came the torrent of tears.

  You’d have thought I’d set him on fire. Dismay scampered to Peach and sat at his side, panting, like he knew he was needed for that very thing. Peach collapsed into a lump on the hallway floor. Dismay watched with calm round eyes while Peach wailed.

  Chairs scraped in the upstairs kitchen, voices were raised, and footfalls ran my way. I flopped myself back onto my pillow, flipped the covers over my head, and held them bunched in my hands at my ears, which made the sheet fit tightly against my face. I was sure I looked like an Egyptian mummy (Discovering Our World Magazine, issue 12), and I began to picture myself in my pyramid, closeted away from everybody.

  But there were too many people in the throne room. I could hear Mama and Aunt Goldie scooping Peach off the floor. Merry clunk-clunk-toddled down the hallway in what sounded like Mama’s high heels.

  Peach would not be silenced. His thin, piercing wails rose and fell, just like the noon whistle that sounded every day at the Snapfinger Volunteer Fire Department.

  “Hush, now, sugar-darlin’,” I heard Aunt Goldie soothe. “ Shhh-shhh-shhhhhh! It’s going to be all right, Peach Pie.”

  I rolled my eyes under my sheet-shroud.

  Peach stopped wailing long enough to sneeze three times violently. I heard Merry’s voice. “Ewwww!”

  “Here, Merry,” said Mama. “Wipe it off.”

  “Stop, Peace!” said Merry.

  And finally, Peach stopped. “C-C-C-Comfort!” he gargled, through a throatful of tears.

  “Let’s get you some water, darlin’,” said Aunt Goldie. “That’s a good boy. Then you can tell me all about it.”

  Peach sobbed and sniffed, and I heard leaving noises, the kind of settling-down, murmuring noises that drift across people when they are all talking at once, softly, ending a conversation or starting the next one. Dismay’s toenails clicked down the long hallway as he did his funeral-dog duty and trotted after the sniffling Peach. Wherever there was grief, there went Dismay.

  I knew Peach would make me sound like Bloody Mary, queen of England, ordering another beheading (Discovering Our World Magazine, issue 222). I needed to get up and defend myself.

  I felt an inquisitive pat-pat-pat on my arm. I turned my head and peeked out from under the sheet. There was Merry, staring at me with wonder written all over her face.

  “Dead!” she said.

  “No,” said another voice—Mama. She pulled the sheet off my head, a long, slow pull. She wore her flowing blue housecoat with the moonflower pattern, and she had her makeup on already. She was beautiful.

  “I’m sorry,” I said in my most miserable voice. And I was. But I wasn’t.

  Mama sighed. “What happened?”

  “He surprised me,” I said. “I hate surprises.”

  “Yes,” said Mama. “Well . . . We could hear you scream at him, all the way in the kitchen.”

  “I didn’t scream at him!”

  “Someone did,” said Mama. “And she surely sounded like you.”

  Mama sat down on the end of my bed. She put a hand on my shrouded leg. Her fingernails were painted a dusty rose color, and her hands didn’t look a bit like a gardener’s hands. Merry took one of Mama’s hands and started playing with it, patting it between her own chubby hands.

  Mama said, “This is going to be a long day, Comfort. Aunt Florentine was like a mama to your daddy—she practically raised him and your aunt Goldie all by herself. Last night was difficult . . .”

  I interrupted Mama. “Doesn’t Peach get in trouble for his behavior? He can do anything he wants and never get in trouble—here he comes, into my room . . .” I mimicked a Peach voice. “‘Comfort! It’s morning and I’ve come to see you!’”

  I was on a roll and I couldn’t stop. “I’m not Uncle Edisto. I’m not Aunt Florentine. I’m not going to tell him to come see me—I want him to go home! I don’t ever want him to come back!”

  “Calm, Comfort . . .”

  “I can’t calm! He’s horrible! He ruined everything last night! You’d have skinned me alive if I’d behaved the way he did!”

  “How do you know what happened after you left, Comfort? Or, for that matter, what happened this morning before you woke up?”

  “I know because Aunt Goldie never yells at Peach or makes him behave!”

  “Yelling never solved anything, Comfort,” said Mama. “You don’t know what Aunt Goldie contends with all by herself, and it’s none of your business to judge. Peach will grow up and he will grow out of this phase . . .”

  “Not soon enough for Aunt Florentine’s funeral!” I spit. “I’m not going to the funeral, Mama! I’m not going anywhere as long as Peach is here!”

  Mama folded her beautiful hands in her lap. She looked at me with steady eyes and said, “Listen to me, Comfort. I know how much you loved Aunt Florentine, and I know how much she loved you. You don’t want to miss this funeral.” That much was true. “This is going to be a hard day for everyone, but especially it will be hard for Daddy and Aunt Goldie. Can you imagine what they must be feeling?” Mama had tears in her eyes.

  My eyes felt a little teary, themselves. I shook my head.

  “So,” said Mama, “let’s think about others today. Let’s help Daddy and Aunt Goldie. I suggest we serve.”

  “How?” I wiped at my eyes with the heels of my hands.

  “I want you to be a good friend to Peach today,” Mama said.

  “No!”

  “Now, Comfort . . .”

  “No!”

  “Comfort!” Mama gave me her I’m shocked at this response! look. She let the air settle around us, and then she said, “After the visitation, after the funeral, after the graveside service . . . that’s when I want you on duty.
Play a game with him—”

  “He always loses and he always cries!”

  “Take him to the oak grove—”

  “He doesn’t like to go outside,” I said morosely. “He’ll sneeze and complain. ‘Comfort! It’s too hot!’ and ’Comfort! Bugs!’”

  “Stay inside, if you prefer. Come upstairs and make some cookies. Do something you like to do, and do it with Peach.”

  “What about Tidings! He never has to help with Peach!”

  “Tidings is going to be helping your daddy. He’s going to help where he’s most needed. You are most needed right here, with Peach . . .”

  “Oh, Mama!” I sat up and stretched my hands toward Mama in a plea for mercy. “Don’t make me!” Mama captured both my hands in hers and squeezed them. Merry watched us with blinking eyes and an open mouth.

  “Comfort.” Mama closed her eyes and touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip—she always did that before she said something important. Then she began. “I know this is hard, sweetheart; I do. But you are the best person for this job. Peach adores you . . .”

  “I hate him!” I began to cry.

  “Sshhhh,” said Mama, which made me cry more. She scooted up next to me, still holding my hands. “Peach will listen to you . . .”

  “No, he won’t!” I tried to tug my hands away from Mama. “He never listens to me; he just cries until he gets what he wants! He’s a big baby!”

  Mama held on tight and spoke in a voice full of finality. “We will get through this day.”

  I looked at her in silence. I wanted my hands back. She released them. Tears filled my eyes. I tried not to blink. A silent Merry studied me and Mama. She had not moved from her spot.

  “What about Declaration?” I asked.

  “I’ll ask her to help, too,” said Mama.

  “She’ll say no,” I said. I hiccupped.

  “No, she won’t,” said Mama. “Not if I ask her. And I will.”

  “I told her she wouldn’t have to get near Peach!”

  “Shhhh,” said Mama. “It’s already decided.”

  I wiped at my eyes with my fingertips. “She’ll hate this,” I said. She’ll hate me, is what I wanted to say.

  “Let me handle it,” said Mama. “It will be all right.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I whispered. I’d have to find Declaration before Mama did, and tell her it wasn’t my idea.

  “We live to serve,” said Mama, quietly and firmly. I opened my mouth, but Mama held her index finger in front of her lips in a “Shush,” so I just hiccupped again. Mama’s lipstick was a creamy rose color; it outlined her lips perfectly, and it matched the color of her fingernails. “You will not regret that you helped your family today.” No nose-kiss to seal the deal, but I knew it was decided.

  Tidings’s voice drummed up the stairs, sounding as commanding as General Robert E. Lee’s at Gettysburg: “It’s nine o’clock! Visitation’s at three! Let’s move-move-move! Where are the hedge clippers, Mama?”

  And then, “Comfort! Declaration’s here!”

  Chapter 12

  “Declaration!” I sniffed so quickly, I nearly choked on my tears.

  “My gracious, she’s early!” said Mama.

  “Can I go?” I asked.

  Mama stood and retied the tie on her housecoat. “Go on. But you’ve got to apologize to your aunt Goldie and Peach. I want today to be a peaceful day, Comfort.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I promised, in a rush to see Declaration. I threw my arms around Mama’s waist and hugged her. The smell of gardenias floated all over me, followed by Mama’s arms around my shoulders, hugging me back.

  “I’ll do a good job today,” I said, my voice muffled into Mama’s middle.

  “I know you will, sweetheart.”

  “Good job!” piped Merry. She grabbed Mama’s leg and hugged it. Mama picked her up and kissed her.

  I banged into Tidings as I headed into the hallway.

  “Easy, Private!” Tidings said as he grabbed me. He smelled like cut grass and sweat, already, at nine in the morning.

  “Front or back?” I asked. The front parking lot is for visitors; the family lot is in back.

  “Front hedge,” said Tidings. “That’s the one that visitors will see.”

  “They’re in the flower shop,” said Mama, coming toward us.

  “No, no!” I said, disentangling myself from Tidings. “Where’s Declaration!”

  “Don’t worry about the hedge,” said Mama, touching Tidings on the arm affectionately. “You just trimmed the hedge last week, darling.”

  “He likes power tools,” I said as I stepped between them.

  “I like order,” said Tidings, unoffended. “The troops are reconnoitered in the back parking lot.”

  “Thanks!” I ran toward the back stairs.

  “Shoes!” called Mama.

  “Clothes!” said Tidings. “You’re out of uniform, Private!”

  “Later!” I called, running down the back stairs. My hey-diddle-diddle pajamas flapped after me. I almost tumbled into Daddy as I ran toward the back door. He looped a long arm around my waist and scooped me into his arms. Dismay appeared, jumped his big front paws on us, and barked.

  “Where’s the fire?” Daddy asked. “Down, Dismay!”

  I thought of refrigerated Aunt Florentine in the next room. I longed to see her. Instead I buried my face in Daddy’s neck and said, “I love you.”

  “Good,” he said. “You’ve always been my girl.” His whiskers tickled my face, and I could feel the vibration of his voice in his neck.

  “Declaration’s here!” I wriggled out of his embrace.

  “I know.” He opened the back door. “I’m heading her way right now. Her daddy’s got some extra newspapers for me.”

  “My Life Notice! Did it make the paper?”

  “I don’t know, honey . . .”

  I ran ahead of both Daddy and Dismay, and rounded the back corner of the house. Mr. Johnson waved a hand at me as he walked toward the house with an armful of newspapers. I waved back at him. “Did I make it? Did my write-up get in the paper?”

  Mr. Johnson smiled a crooked smile and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Comfort. Just the facts, ma’am.”

  “But those are the facts, Mr. Johnson!”

  “They are the facts according to Comfort,” said Mr. Johnson. “I need birth dates, death dates, marriage dates . . . Facts, Comfort, not opinions. If everybody reported the news with an opinion, who could we believe?”

  “I always believe Miss Phoebe Tolbert,” I said, “and she’s full of opinions!” Miss Phoebe Tolbert wrote the columns about everybody’s comings and goings around the county.

  “That’s different,” said Mr. Johnson. “That’s not news. That’s . . . I don’t know what that is.”

  Dismay was at my side, wagging his tail at Mr. Johnson. The parking lot was warm under my bare feet. By afternoon it would be too hot to stand on without shoes. Mr. Johnson patted Dismay and said to me, “Keep trying—it was a good write-up . . . but not yet newspaper worthy.”

  What he meant, of course, was, It’s not yet boring enough. I just didn’t think I could be boring enough for the Aurora County News.

  Mr. Johnson clapped his free arm around Daddy’s shoulder, and I walked to Mr. Johnson’s car to see what was keeping Declaration. As I got closer, my eyes stared harder, my legs slowed down, and my heart started pounding.

  There, in the backseat of the car with Declaration, were two more girls from school. Kristen and Tiffany. They teased me on the playground: “Comfort sleeps with dead people in her house!” We stared at one another. Dismay circled the car and panted, willing everybody in the car to come out. Declaration tentatively opened the back car door a few inches, and my heart squeezed in on itself.

  Chapter 13

  Immediately, Dismay shoved his muzzle into the opening Declaration had made. His whole body quivered with delight—New people! New people! His tail paddled the late-summer air.

  “Get away,
dog!” squealed Kristen.

  “I’ll stay in the car!” cried Tiffany.

  “Comfort!” yelled Declaration. “Call off your dog!”

  Before I could say anything, Daddy called to Dismay and he bounded to Daddy—Happy-happy-happy! for any attention.

  Declaration, Kristen, and Tiffany climbed out of the car and faced me. Kristen was wearing a pink shorts set. Tiffany wore a yellow shorts set. Declaration’s shorts set was light blue. Gone were the dresses Declaration always wore. Gone were the gloves, the hat. She didn’t look like Declaration at all! She looked like a Kristen-Tiffany-Declaration triplet in matching ankle socks and ponytails. I couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  “Nice pajamas,” said Tiffany.

  Kristen giggled.

  Declaration looked at me and sighed.

  I licked my lips. The silence itched like a mosquito bite.

  Finally, Declaration spoke in an uneasy voice. “Jennifer’s having a birthday party.”

  “We’re going bowling!” said Tiffany in a bright voice, as if going bowling meant flying to the moon.

  “Declaration’s daddy is driving us!” Kristen yipped.

  I loved birthday parties. “It’ll only take me a minute to get dressed,” I offered. I didn’t even like Jennifer. I didn’t have a shorts set. But if they had come all the way to Snowberger’s to get me . . .

  Kristen and Tiffany looked stunned.

  I felt my face on fire with embarrassment. What?

  “Comfort,” said Declaration, looking at the other girls and then back at me. Kristen and Tiffany were watching Declaration, and I could tell she knew it. “Kristen and I spent the night at Tiffany’s house last night.”

  Kristen and Tiffany smiled at me.