And then it was utterly, completely quiet. The downdraft arrived, that eerie second before a big storm hits, just before the wind swoops through and brings in the hard rain. The air instantly cooled. Birds and locusts stopped singing. Dismay looked at me with the saddest dog eyes I had ever seen. We were wet-nose-to-wet-nose.
“It’s okay, boy,” I said. He gave my cheek a tiny lick, a kiss.
Then the roar of the rain filled my ears.
“We’re moving!” screamed Peach as the current began to sweep us around the edge of the oak. I looked past Peach’s shoulder and ahead of us. If we swirled around the oak tree the way Dismay had swirled earlier, we’d be bashed into the rose of Sharon bushes that sprayed the bottom of Listening Rock. We’d be tangled in them and sucked under. Unless . . .
“Grab the bushes!” I yelled as we began to slide around the wide circle of the trunk.
“I can’t!” Peach clutched harder at Dismay and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Yes, you can! Grab with your arms!”
Our bodies turned with the current and Peach’s back scraped along the oak. He screamed, thunder boomed, and Dismay struggled out of our arms.
Peach grabbed him by his lavender-laced collar. I grabbed Peach. And there we were, jammed together like logs on a river, between two trees.
“Dismay!” Peach screamed. His chin was barely above the water.
I had no plan. My mind wouldn’t work. Dismay’s eyes rolled back in their sockets—Peach was drowning him. Peach was drowning. We’d all drown soon.
“Let him go!” I shouted.
Peach clung to Dismay’s collar. Water lapped at his lips.
“Let go, Peach!” I screamed.
The water reached Peach’s nose. He squeezed his eyes shut.
I reached for Dismay’s collar. I pried at Peach’s fingers as his head went underwater.
And then I did it. I let my dog go.
Chapter 21
Immediately, Peach’s head popped above the water and we began moving again.
“Dismaaaay!” Peach gurgled as my dog swirled away from us and Peach took on a mouthful of water. As Peach gagged, Dismay banged into the rose of Sharon bushes and yelped, then bounced into the current and was swept away, tumbling under the water.
Peach and I were right behind Dismay. I grabbed Peach by his polka-dot tie and held on as we swung around in the current, banging into trees and each other—screaming like we were part of a carnival ride—all the way to the other side of the big oak tree where we slammed into the rose of Sharon bushes, water splashing over our heads, the current pulling us away, away.
“Grab on!” I yelled. Peach grabbed the bushes for all he was worth and began to choke. Then I realized I was the one choking him—I was holding on to his tie so tightly—so I let go. We held the rose of Sharon branches in our open arms, held them close to our chests while the cold black water swirled all around us, trying to tug us back into the current.
Peach cried a small-boy cry.
I wanted to cry, too. “Just hold on, Peach!” I shouted. “Hold on. Don’t let go.”
“Dismay . . .” he cried.
“We’ve got to get up and out of this water!” I shouted. “Can you climb yourself inside these bushes?”
“No!” yelled Peach.
“Try!” I shouted.
The branches were slick with rain, but they were sturdy and had knobby, flowered handholds. The current sucked at me as I climbed inside the branches, working my way in little by little. The branches scraped and poked my feet through my socks, but I made myself keep on. As I worked my body into the bushes, I pulled Peach after me. He helped. I was worried about both of us falling down inside the branches and into the water just below us, but the roses of Sharon held us up, and soon I found that if I reached my hand through the bushes, I could touch Listening Rock on the other side. So I kept working my way through until I was up against Listening Rock. I pressed my cheek to its wet, solid surface. Oh, how friendly it felt!
I found a place low and level enough to slide onto out of the bushes. “I’ll go first,” I said to Peach.
He nodded. His face was a crisscross of scratches, but he didn’t complain.
“It’s real slippery,” I told Peach once I had worked my way onto Listening Rock. “Just come slow.”
He followed me, slipping and sliding and trying over and over again. I wrapped one leg around a skinny scrub pine in front of me. It scraped the skin from the back of my knee as I hung on to Peach and pulled him up. We grunted, concentrated, and struggled together. The rain lessened. The sky lightened. And there we were, two explorers on Listening Rock in the aftermath of a terrible adventure.
Peach’s teeth clattered together and his lips were blue.
“Sit here,” I said to him, motioning next to me. My Sunday school dress was torn in three places, and Peach’s white shirt and blue suit pants were brown, heavy and sticky with mud. He sat close to me. We were silent. Birds began to call again as the rain moved away from us. A sliver of sun broke through the clouds and painted the woods with a deep, golden glow.
“Where is everybody?” said Peach in a dazed voice.
“I don’t know.” I shivered.
“Why don’t they come get us?”
“Maybe they can’t get here. This water . . .”
“Where did it come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Snowberger’s underwater?”
“I don’t know! Be quiet, Peach. I can’t think.”
“Dismay,” said Peach, as if he were reading my thoughts. He started to cry.
“Hush,” I said, my voice cracking. “That won’t help.”
“He got sucked in,” said Peach through his tears.
“Stop!”
“We could have got sucked in.”
“We didn’t! Now stop.”
Peach stopped.
The flooding had stopped, too. The water was no longer rising.
Peach slipped an arm under my arm and held my hand. I let him. It felt good to have a hand to hold, even if it belonged to Peach. My mind was fixed on Dismay—my dog. Where was he? I sent him my strongest thoughts. Be safe! Swim!
“Comfort?” Peach was practically plastered to me.
“What?”
“I’m scared.”
I let go of his hand and put my arm around his shoulders. “They’ll come get us.” I didn’t know if they would or not.
“Comfort?”
“What?”
“You saved my whole life,” said Peach.
“No, I didn’t.”
“I think you did.”
“If anybody saved you, it was Dismay.”
“It was?”
“Yes.”
“I let him go,” said Peach, quietly.
I shivered and fought back tears. “Dismay is a good swimmer,” I said.
“Where do you think he is, Comfort?”
“Be quiet, Peach.”
He sniffed. “When I . . . when I die, Comfort, will you come to my funeral?”
I let go of Peach’s shoulders and mopped wet hair away from my face. “What kind of a question is that, Peach? Look—we’re on this rock! We can go even higher if we need to. You’re not about to die.”
“I will die one day,” he said.
I looked him in the face, that old face again. He looked so solemn.
“I just will,” he said. “Today I almost died!” This remark set him to coughing so long and hard, I thought he might vomit, but he didn’t. He carefully wiped at his running nose with his wet polka-dot tie. His eyes were full of tears.
“Here.” I fished into my pocket for my handkerchief, but my pocket was a mass of mud. “Never mind.”
He asked me again, “When I die, will you come to my funeral?”
“You’re exasperating! Yes, yes, if you die before me—and you won’t—I will come. I will be there with bells on.”
“I don’t want you to wear bells, Comfort. I just wa
nt you to come.”
“It’s an expression, Peach. It means I’ll be glad to come.” I thought about it. “Maybe glad isn’t the word. Honored is the word that Daddy uses.”
“I’ll be honored to have you there,” Peach said.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
“And . . . if you die before me,” said Peach in a thoughtful voice, “can I have your bottle cap collection that Uncle Edisto willed to you?”
“For heaven’s sake, Peach!”
“Well, if you want to will it to someone else . . .”
“You can have it,” I said as fast and finally as I could.
“Thank you, Comfort. I am going to will to you my camera. It is very precious to me. Uncle Edisto willed it to me.”
I looked at Peach’s earnest face. “Thank you, Peach.”
We heard the low putt-putt of a motor. I knew that sound. It was the motor Daddy put on the back of our flat-bottom boat when we fished on Lake Jasper. Peach and I both began shouting as Daddy and Mr. Johnson appeared in the boat, dodging trees and debris and calling for us.
“Over here!” I shouted, waving my arms.
“Over here!” shouted Peach.
“Ahoy!” yelled Daddy. “We got ’em!” The sound of great relief was in his voice.
I was never so glad to see anybody in my life—I hadn’t realized how tired I was until that moment. Every bone in my body was cold. Every muscle throbbed.
Daddy idled the motor and Mr. Johnson looped a long rope around some branches on the rose of Sharon bushes so the boat would stay put while Daddy reached for Peach. “Are you two in one piece?” Daddy asked.
“Yessir,” Peach answered for both of us. “Is Snowberger’s underwater?”
“No, son, just the oak grove’s underwater. We’ve got us some flooding.” Daddy handed off Peach to Mr. Johnson.
“It’s a flood!” said Peach, as if he were saying It’s Christmas! Then he said, “We thought you’d never find us! We’ve been out here for hours!”
“You’ve been gone less than an hour,” said Daddy evenly. “It’s just now six o’clock.”
Daddy reached for me, and I came into his long arms, ready to hug him forever. He squeezed me to him and kissed my forehead.
Mr. Johnson wrapped a blanket around the shivering Peach. “Declaration told us where to find you.”
“Declaration,” said Peach, looking at his hands.
My stomach clenched.
“She was on high ground,” said Mr. Johnson, “but we couldn’t get a car down the county road, so we had to go through Homer Hindman’s cornfield on Old Johnny Mercer’s backhoe to get her. It’s a soggy mess up there.” He made room for me to sit next to him and wrapped a blanket around me, too. The warmth soothed me.
“Comfort and me almost died!” Peach’s eyes were shining with the newfound surety of his survival.
“You’re far from dead.” Daddy spoke in his best funeral director voice.
“Comfort saved my life . . .” Peach’s energy was fading. “Tell them, Comfort . . .” His eyes were taking on that exhausted faraway look he’d had when he was clinging to the black walnut tree.
“Rescue first,” said Daddy. “This water is receding, and I want the boat out of the grove before the water is gone.” Mr. Johnson retrieved the rope. Daddy reached for the handle on the motor, to steer it away from Listening Rock. He gave it a twist and the engine sputtered to life.
I hadn’t said a word since we were rescued. I needed to say something, but I didn’t know where to begin. I grabbed Daddy’s arm and he looked into my eyes. “Daddy . . .” I couldn’t go on.
“Comfort?” Daddy stopped what he was doing to look at me.
I blinked at him and tried to speak.
He put his big hand over my smaller one and looked me in the eye. “Honey?”
“Dismay . . . ,” I said, and I burst into tears.
Daddy folded his arms around me and I wept into his chest.
Chapter 22
The oak grove was a quickly receding lake.
Daddy steered the boat around trees to the corner of County Road 2435 and Rural Route 2, where there was no Purgatory Hill and we could get up and out of the grove easily. The water was so low by the time we got to the edge of the road that we hardly needed the boat. Tidings and Old Johnny Mercer were on the road with the pickup truck and the boat trailer.
“Is Dismay at the house?” I called to Tidings as soon as I thought he could hear me.
“Wasn’t he with you?” Tidings called back.
That made me cry again.
Daddy patted my shoulder. “He’ll show up.”
Old Johnny Mercer lifted me out of the boat like he was lifting me out of a grave. “Glad to see you, little lady.” He handed me off to Tidings, who said, “You’re all wet, Private.” I hugged him fiercely. He hugged me back. We went home.
We burst through the tall front doors of Snowberger’s into too much noise and too many people coming and going, all talking at once.
Declaration stood by the doors to the Serenity Suite, wrapped in a blanket with Miss Phoebe Tolbert’s arm around her. Her hair was sopping wet. She watched me come through the front doors in Daddy’s arms. I gave her my best Go away! look. She buried her face in her hands.
Mr. Johnson carried Peach, who had his eyes closed and his head tucked under Mr. Johnson’s neck. Aunt Goldie hurried toward them. Mama burst into tears when she saw us. She didn’t look like a beauty queen at all—she looked worn out. She took me from Daddy and carried me, herself, to the resting room.
Mr. Johnson put Peach in one bed and Mama put me in the other. Merry toddled in behind Mama. She was wearing her funeral dress and a lot of Mama’s makeup. She wedged herself between the bed and the wall and took my hand in both of hers. “Fumfort . . . ,” she whispered.
“I’ll be back,” said Mr. Johnson. “Let me get Declaration . . .”
“No!” I shouted.
Doc MacRee covered me and my muddy wet dress with blankets. Merry let go of my hand and stared.
“Comfort!” said Mama.
“Nooo!” I tried to sit up, but Doc MacRee held my shoulders and helped me back down. I started to cry.
Mr. Johnson touched the blankets where they covered my toes at the bottom of the bed. “I know she wants to see you . . .”
My stomach rolled over and I felt sick. “No!” It seemed to be all I could say.
Mr. Johnson walked to the door of the resting room. “I’ll take her home,” he said to Daddy. “I’ve called her grandmother and she’s coming.” Then to me he said, “You can see her when you feel better, Comfort.”
I cried and shook my head. Daddy said something to Mr. Johnson that I couldn’t hear, and they left the room.
“Dismay.” I sobbed as I lay on the pillow, my hair a mass of mud and silt. I held the sides of my face with my hands. My head hurt. “We have to look for Dismay.”
“We will, darling.” Mama stroked my head. “We will. I promise.”
When Peach and I were warmed up, Mama and Aunt Goldie helped us peel off our grimy wet clothes until we were in our underwear and T-shirts. They toweled us off. Peach was like a silent wet noodle the whole time. My thoughts skipped from Dismay to Declaration to Dismay again. Everything in the world felt wrong.
Mama held my hand while Doc MacRee cleaned my leg where the tree had ripped it up, and I cried. Peach’s back was a mess where the tree had scraped it. He hardly moved when Doc MacRee doctored it. Aunt Goldie sat on Peach’s bed and stroked his forehead when Doc MacRee was finished. She stared intently into Peach’s face.
“He’s in shock,” said Doc MacRee. “Keep him warm and still.” He stuck thermometers in our mouths. “Nothing’s broken,” he said as he finished. “I’m surprised.”
Peach was white and silent.
“Dead . . . ,” whispered Merry, now at Peach’s bedside.
“No,” said Mama, gathering Merry to her. “Very much alive. Let’
s get something warm into them, Goldie. They’re still shivering.”
Aunt Goldie stood. “I’ll make cocoa while I’m waiting to have a nervous breakdown.” Peach opened his enormous blue eyes and stared at Aunt Goldie. She sat down again on Peach’s bed.
Peach was silent, but I had plenty to say. “We have to look for Dismay now!” I tried to sit up. The room got spinny and my head throbbed behind my eyes.
“Not so fast,” said Doc MacRee. To Mama he said, “Make her rest, Joy. She needs warmth and rest.” Mama promised to do her best.
“I’m going out to look for my dog!”
“It’s dark soon,” said Mama, handing Merry to Daddy as he came into the room with Tidings. She pushed me gently back to the pillow. “And you’re not well enough yet . . .”
“Folks are heading home,” said Tidings. “They’ll help us look for Dismay tomorrow.”
“Dismay’s hurt!” I told them. “If he wasn’t hurt, he’d be here! We can’t waste time!”
“First thing in the morning,” said Daddy. “Dismay can take care of himself. He’s a big boy. He’s a strong swimmer, too.”
“We won’t be able to see pea turkey out there tonight,” said Aunt Goldie.
“I’ll go with you in the morning,” said Tidings.
“We’ll all go,” said Daddy.
“I’ll go,” whispered Peach.
Aunt Goldie and Daddy exchanged a look.
“That would be fine, son,” said Daddy. “Tomorrow it is. We’re all worn out. The important thing is that we’re safe.”
“Dismay’s not safe!” I cried. “You don’t understand . . .”
“I understand,” whispered Peach from his pillow.
It got so quiet, I could hear the crickets outside, beginning their nighttime song.
Tears spilled out of the corners of Peach’s eyes and slid into his ears. “I let him go,” he said.
Aunt Goldie looked anxiously at Doc MacRee and back to Peach. “What happened, honey?” she asked Peach in a tender voice.
“I let him go,” Peach repeated, his voice gathering a hard edge to it, like he was a murderer and was admitting to the crime of the century.
A mockingbird sang outside the window. And then, slowly, the way a great lamentation begins, Peach started to cry—a real cry that sounded like it came from somewhere deep inside. Aunt Goldie surrounded Peach and his blankets with her whole body and held him while he cried.
Each Little Bird That Sings Page 10
