Each Little Bird That Sings

by Deborah Wiles

  Preacher Powell had the last word. “Life without end, amen,” he said, “and . . . let there be sunshine!” Folks laughed and Preacher Powell beamed because his joke had been appreciated. “The family invites you to get in your cars and take part in the procession to the cemetery now, and then to return to Snowberger’s for a hearty meal, where we will fellowship, one with another.” As people got to their feet, he added, “Take your galoshes! It’s bound to be wet!”

  Dismay trotted to me and I rubbed him all over. “Good boy!” I said. Declaration took two steps away from me and asked her daddy something I couldn’t hear. He shook his head. She stalked away. As she passed me, she purposely bumped my shoulder with hers. I didn’t have time to think about that, as we were soon surrounded by friends wishing us well. Some even remarked that Peach had done so well, to which Aunt Goldie replied, “Oh yes, he has come a long way, hasn’t he? He’s quite the brave boy! Just look at him!”

  The brave boy who usually held on to Aunt Goldie for dear life (that is, until he needed to throw up into a flower arrangement) had branched out: He was plastered to Dismay, grinning all over himself, sneezing, with one hand on Dismay’s back as Dismay let himself be patted and stroked by folks and led outside into the steamy sunshine. Peach went right with Dismay, and people even smiled and patted on Peach.

  Lurleen and Jimmie had brought the hearse to the side of Snowberger’s, just as they always did, and the pallbearers—Daddy, Tidings, Mr. Johnson, and three more of our friends—took Great-great-aunt Florentine and her casket through the pocket doors and the refrigerated workroom and out to the long black hearse for her last car trip on earth. Folks were milling around on the big front porch, gathering their umbrellas, sidestepping puddles in the parking lot, heading for cars, getting ready to follow the hearse in a long, respectful line of cars. Tidings was in his glory in the parking lot, handing out numbers to each driver, gesturing with wide sweeps of his arms, getting everybody ready to line up.

  “It’ll take forever to organize this crowd,” Mama murmured from the porch. Next to her Aunt Goldie nodded and wiped at her eyes with a Snowberger’s handkerchief. “It’s five o’clock,” she said. “Florentine’s favorite time of day . . .” Mama hugged her, and Aunt Goldie let herself cry, which I was afraid would make Peach cry—and then I’d be stuck in the car with two criers on the way to the graveside service, where there would be more crying.

  “I want to walk to the cemetery, Mama,” I said with a sudden inspiration. “Can I walk?”

  “By yourself?” Mama looked around.

  Declaration sat on the porch swing and pretended to ignore me. Peach was standing on the front walk with his face lifted to the sun. Now he watched me and Mama.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Declaration stared at her shoes.

  “Can I come?” asked Peach.

  “What did you say, sweet pea?” Aunt Goldie touched her fingers to her pearls.

  “I want to go,” said Peach. “With Comfort!”

  “Oh no,” I said. “If you think I’m . . .”

  “Comfort . . . ,” warned Mama. Inside I was shouting, No! No! It’s not time yet! You said after the graveside service! But I stayed still and kept my mouth shut.

  “You were going to ride with me, Peach Pie,” said Aunt Goldie. She blew her nose but kept her eyes on Peach.

  “I want to go with Comfort,” said Peach.

  Mama and Aunt Goldie exchanged looks.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and willed Mama and Aunt Goldie to decide that this was a bad idea.

  When I opened my eyes, Mama was smiling a beauty-queen smile at Peach. She hardly looked rumpled. “Do you think you’ll be . . . all right, Peach?”

  Peach nodded his head. “Yes’m! I want to go with Comfort.”

  I didn’t offer to take him, even though I could feel Mama’s gaze on me.

  “I wonder if he could just walk over with you, Comfort,” whispered Aunt Goldie, her eyes teeming with fresh tears. “It would mean so much to him! I’ll be right behind you at the cemetery.”

  I set my jaw. “Yes, ma’am,” I said in my most rigid voice.

  Mama nodded approvingly, and Declaration smirked from the porch swing.

  “Declaration?” called Mama. “Would you like to walk with Comfort and Peach?”

  There was a long silent moment when I wondered if Declaration would dare ignore Mama. Then she bobbed off the swing so forcefully, the chain jangled. She smiled a Kristen/Tiffany smile at Mama and Aunt Goldie. “Sure!” she said brightly. She walked off the porch and past Peach. “We’ll meet you there!”

  I frowned at her.

  Dismay dashed over to me and barked. He knew we were going somewhere without him. The lavender in his collar made him look especially beautiful.

  “You can come, too, boy,” I said. Dismay was officially off duty, although he always went to the graveside service.

  “Good,” said Mama. “Take your time . . . We’ll catch up.”

  Dismay barked and ran in a circle.

  Peach whirled around and shouted the announcement to everyone: “I’m going with Comfort!” Folks held up a hand or clapped for him. His eyes shone with excitement.

  “Glory, hallelujah!” said Peach, smiling at me with every muscle in his bony body.

  “Glory, hallelujah,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 19

  The walk to the cemetery took a hundred years. I walked between Peach and Declaration, and Dismay ran ahead of us, circling back every so often to check on our progress and hurry us along. Declaration stalked all the way while Peach darted across Rural Route 2, back and forth, shouting at all the wonders he discovered along the roadside: “A caterpillar!” and “Dandelions! Make a wish!” Peach was suddenly in love with the outdoors.

  My Sunday school shoes pinched my feet, and I’d forgotten how hot my funeral dress could be on a warm afternoon. I pulled my handkerchief out of my dress pocket and wiped at my face. My neck itched.

  Declaration wasn’t talking and Peach did nothing but talk.

  “Watch for cars, Peach!” I said, irritated, even though I knew there would be almost no traffic. It was impossible to think with all his excitement. “Stop running in the road!”

  He came back to walk alongside me, where he took purposeful strides forward in his sky blue suit and polka-dot red tie. He crackled with excitement.

  “Look how high that corn is!” “I have a rock collection!” “Did you know I’m allergic to dogs?” “It’s hot out here!”

  “For heaven’s sake!” said Declaration.

  “Ignore him,” I said.

  “That’s easy for you to say!” Declaration snapped. “You’re just like him! Patter-patter-patter, on and on and on, about the . . . the stupidest things!”

  I looked at her and my stomach hurt. Her face was flushed.

  “Tiffany was right about you!” Declaration stopped.

  “What?”

  “Nothing! Forget it!” Declaration stalked forward.

  “Comfort!” Peach was holding a sycamore ball in his hand. “What’s this?” He gestured to the ground. “Look how many there are! It’s like treasure!”

  Nothing could dampen his enthusiasm.

  We turned off Rural Route 2 onto County Road 2435, which ran between the Snapfinger Cemetery and the oak grove.

  “Oooo, listen to that sound!” Peach said. His shoes crunched over the pebbles on the dirt road. “It’s like crunching cereal with your shoes!”

  I gritted my teeth. Declaration walked faster.

  “I can skip!” said Peach, bolder by the minute. He skipped like a chicken, in a jagged movement of legs and arms.

  “Shut up!” said Declaration, but Peach didn’t hear her.

  “Watch out!” I said, grabbing Peach by the arm as he almost skipped into a giant puddle.

  “Oh! Sorry!”

  I waited for him while he stopped completely, looked at the puddle, took two side steps, and then started walking forward
again. “Why did you do that?”

  “It’s big,” he said.

  “The ocean is big,” said Declaration, standing a little ahead of us with her arms crossed. A stiff breeze tugged at the hem of her dress. A bank of clouds had moved across the sun.

  “Yep,” said Peach happily.

  Dismay came back to us and splashed through the puddle that Peach had just missed.

  “Eeeeeeeee!” said Peach, covering his face as water splashed onto his blue suit.

  I mopped at Peach with my handkerchief, then stuck it into my dress pocket.

  Peach looked through his fingers and there was Dismay, wagging his tail and panting at him. Peach hugged him. “I just love this dog!”

  “Goodie for you,” said Declaration.

  I didn’t know who to strangle first.

  The breeze had become a wind. It blew my straight-as-a-stick hair into my face. I pushed it away as Peach cried, “I bet I could climb a tree!” The cemetery was on our left, up a little rise. Headstones dotted the green grass ahead of us.

  “You’ve never climbed a tree in your life,” I scoffed. “Besides, it’s going to rain. Look at that storm coming toward us. It must be raining buckets in Louin.”

  “How about this tree?” challenged Declaration. She was standing beside a gnarly oak with knotholes that made it good for climbing—I’d climbed it myself many a day.

  “Stop it,” I said.

  Peach looked uncertain, confused.

  “How about a mountain?” asked Declaration. She gestured to Listening Rock, winking at us through the trees in the oak grove.

  “It’s not a mountain, it’s a rock,” I said, “and we’re not climbing it.” Leaves snapped in the breeze like little flags.

  “Why not?” asked Declaration.

  We stopped walking. Peach stood close to me. Dismay had scampered ahead, to the cemetery and on toward Great-great-aunt Florentine’s grave site. He knew what came next.

  “I don’t want to climb a mountain,” said Peach.

  “Who cares what you want!” said Declaration.

  I made my decision. “Declaration! Go do what you want! I don’t want you here, anyway!”

  Peach stared at us.

  “Good!” spit Declaration. “Because I don’t want to be here! I had an invitation to go to Kristen’s house this afternoon, and I had to tell her I was going to another Snowberger funeral!”

  My mouth tasted sour and my eyes stung with tears. Birds called Rain! Rain! from the trees, the way they do before a downpour. The wind snatched at my dress. Peach edged closer to me. He kept his eyes on Declaration and didn’t utter a peep.

  “Go away, Declaration,” I said. The words hitched in my throat and my heart pounded in my stomach. “Go be with your friends.”

  “With pleasure!” Declaration crowed. She had a wild look in her eyes.

  “Come on,” I said to Peach. I was shaking. “Let’s get under Aunt Florentine’s tarp and stay dry.”

  I stepped into the cemetery and away from my friend who was not my friend. Peach was right with me.

  Declaration shouted after us, and her voice was full of fury. “Go on! Go to the graveyard! Where they bury people!”

  “Ohhhh!” Peach covered his ears with his hands.

  I turned to Declaration. She made her eyes into big, round moons. “Go to the graveyard, Peach, where they throw dirt over dead people and leave them there for the worms!”

  “Eeeeeeeeeee!” squealed Peach. He ran back to the dirt road as if the cemetery grass was on fire.

  “Stop, Declaration!” I followed Peach. Raindrops pattered the orange dirt.

  Dismay was back, circling all three of us, panting and nervous. “See?” said Declaration. “Even Dismay doesn’t want to be there!”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “He hates storms—we’re about to get rained on!”

  Dismay licked one of Peach’s elbows. Peach clutched Dismay’s head and hugged him hard. He sneezed three times. A bubble of snot formed at his left nostril.

  “It’ll be fine, Peach,” I said. “You’ve been to the cemetery before.”

  “Has he ever!” said Declaration. At Uncle Edisto’s graveside service, Peach had screamed at the sight of the hole that was to be Uncle Edisto’s grave. He had yelled, “NO-NO-NO!” so many times that Daddy had to pick him up and take him to the car and back to the house.

  “Yes, let’s all get under Aunt Florentine’s tarp!” Declaration said with glee. “We can look down into her grave! That’s where she’ll be, Peachie—dead! Forever!”

  “Eeeeeeeee!” Peach screamed.

  “Let’s take a look, Peach Pit!” Declaration shouted over the wind. “Come on! You don’t want to get wet!”

  Declaration made a grab for Peach’s arm. I slapped her hand.

  “What’s the matter with you?” I shouted.

  Peach curled himself into a ball on the dirt road and began the wail I’d heard the night before, at Great-great-aunt Florentine’s viewing.

  Out of the wind came a clap of thunder. Dismay yelped and ran for the oak grove.

  “Come on, Peach!” Declaration laughed like a maniac as she ran up the rise and into the cemetery, toward shelter at Aunt Florentine’s grave. “Run!”

  Chapter 20

  Locusts, songbirds, the wailing wind, Peach—the whole world was alive with noise and the mossy smell that came before a big rain. Thunder added to the chorus with a low, powerful roll. Dismay streaked up Purgatory Hill, his ears flat back against his head, the whites of his eyes wild and terrified.

  “Come on, boy!” I slapped my thighs and whistled. Dismay ran a circle around the wailing ball that was Peach, then ran back down the hill and into the grove. I yanked on Peach’s blue-suit collar, “Move!”

  “Mamaaaa!” he wailed, stretching his face up to the sky.

  “Get up! It’s going to pour!” I pulled him by the collar toward the cemetery and shelter.

  “Noooo! Not up there!” He wrenched himself away from me, spurted across the road, and tumbled down Purgatory Hill. I raced after him. Just as I reached him, he picked himself up and clung to a pine sapling like it was Aunt Goldie. The ground under us was so soft and wet that my feet were already soaking, right through the soles of my Sunday school shoes.

  I jerked at him over and over, trying to dislodge him from the tree. “You moron! You idiot! You nincompoop!” Then I let go, which was a mistake. He ran from me, wild-eyed, into the grove, toward Listening Rock.

  “Not that way!” Peach fell headlong into Snapfinger Creek which was no longer a creek—it had become a lake. He came up coughing and choking. I ran in after him. The water covered my ankles. I grabbed Peach under the armpits and pulled. “Get . . . up!”

  A sputtering Peach stumbled to his feet. “It’s cold,” he sobbed.

  My heart caught in my throat—the water that had covered my ankles was now to the middle of my calves. “Get out! Get out!” I screamed. Snapfinger Creek was becoming an ocean.

  Peach’s eyes were as round as saucers. “It’s getting bigger!” he screamed.

  The closest high place was Listening Rock. I pulled Peach toward it. “Hurry!”

  The water swallowed our steps behind us, like it was chasing us. It was cold and muddy, full of sticks and leaves, tadpoles and crayfish . . . and a dog.

  “Dismay!” I screamed. He was half walking, half paddling. His eyes were intent on me. The lavender that Mama had woven through his collar stuck up like the flowers on headstones in the cemetery, stiff and straight. “Come on, boy!” Water swelled around my knees. I grabbed hold of a skinny black-walnut tree trunk and wrapped Peach’s arms around it. He wailed to high heaven.

  “Shut up!” I screamed.

  Peach looked at me with his face dripping water and snot. Listening Rock was close—the distance to cross was four large skips on a dry day. But water had begun a slow swirl around our legs, and I was afraid it would suck us under and bash us into the trees.

  “We have to
get from here to there!” I said, pointing to Listening Rock. “Now!”

  The water lapped at Peach’s waist, at my thighs. Peach was utterly quiet. He blinked at me with enormous blue eyes. He wasn’t going anywhere. I could see he was ready to give up, to slip away from me, from the world, right there in the grove.

  But then a miracle happened. Peach looked beyond me and saw my dog. Suddenly he was alive and full of feeling.

  “Come on, Dismay!” Peach yelled through his tears. The swirling water sucked Dismay around a tree and under the surface of the water. He bobbed up and paddled furiously toward us. He was almost within grabbing distance.

  Peach tugged on me and screamed. “Get him, Comfort! Get him!”

  “Dismay!” I reached for him.

  “Don’t let go of me!”

  “Hang on to the tree!”

  I clutched Peach’s blue suit in my fist and lunged for Dismay.

  “Come on, boy! Come on!” My words were lost in the wind.

  I reached so powerfully that I pulled Peach’s jacket off. He shrieked. The current sucked me under and slammed me into Peach and the black walnut. My shoes popped off my feet. I felt Peach’s body leave the tree. I struggled to my feet, gasping for air, holding the tree with one hand and pushing my hair out of my face with the other. “Peach! Peach!”

  “I got him!” Peach gurgled.

  His back was against a gigantic oak tree next to the black walnut, now just two large skips from Listening Rock—we could almost touch it. He was holding Dismay to his chest . . . or Dismay was pinning Peach to the tree, I couldn’t tell. The trunk of the oak was so wide, it held Peach and Dismay comfortably to its bosom and kept them momentarily from swirling downstream.

  Dismay shivered and remained very still, as if he knew that to move meant being swept away. And to move meant Peach would be swept away, too.

  “Hold on!” I yelled. The water was up to my waist; it was inching toward Peach’s armpits. I made a mad plunge forward from the black walnut. For a moment I had them both. Peach and I were face-to-face like two slices of bread, with Dismay between us like the tuna fish in a sandwich. I wrapped my arms around them.