The Feathered Bone

by Julie Cantrell

  “Looks to me like it’s turning east,” Carl says. It’s been a tense day, but now that all the storm prep has been taken care of, he’s finally able to relax. We climb into bed while the local weatherman tracks the storm on-screen. “It’ll miss us completely. What’d I tell you?”

  But the news reporters don’t seem convinced. They broadcast from New Orleans, interviewing locals who have chosen to stay home despite the mandatory evacuation orders.

  “I ain’t for that leaving,” says a middle-aged woman with a thick New Orleans accent. “I rode out Betsy, and I’m gonna stay right here.”

  The camera then shows footage from the early-evening broadcasts, with long lines of people going into the Superdome. “We’re trying to spread the word,” says the correspondent. “Many people can’t evacuate. They don’t have transportation or the means to leave. A lot of them are elderly or ill or they simply have nowhere to go. As you can see, many are coming here to the dome.”

  The camera zooms out for live footage within the Superdome. “We have food and water here. And if you look behind me, you’ll notice the atmosphere is calm and peaceful. This building was designed to sustain winds higher than a Category 3, so it’s a safe place.”

  Then the anchor asks a few questions, and the field reporter tells us the rains started around seven thirty tonight. They cut to scenes of empty city streets as locals have hunkered down, ready for the worst. Heavy rains and winds are shown, but the brunt of the hurricane hasn’t yet reached New Orleans.

  “This is the calm before the storm. Some parts of the city are six feet below sea level,” the reporter says, reminding me of Miss Henderson’s field trip lessons and The Day. “If the levees fail, waters could fill the city like a soup bowl. Especially low-lying areas.”

  The screen then returns to the woman who is refusing to leave her home in the Lower Ninth Ward, an area that has been known to flood. “Get prayed up,” she says. “That’s all we can do.”

  As the news shifts back to Baton Rouge, the local weatherman suggests we may get lucky, saying the storm will likely stay east of our capital city. “Nothing we can’t handle,” Carl says. “Now, come here and let me show you what a real storm feels like.”

  I laugh, letting him pull me close, glad his anxiety is waning. As the weather radars glow green in the background, I give in to every primal urge I feel when I am in my husband’s arms. For the moment, I allow myself to leave the rest behind. The grief, the fears, the worries, all the hurts and scars and sinkings. I try to forget we’ve lost Sarah, and that a storm is pressing down on us, and that everything in our lives is being twisted from its foundation. Instead, I retreat to the safest place I know, Carl’s body. And as we come together, I almost forget myself completely. There is no more worry. No more pain. No more me.

  Chapter 13

  Monday, August 29, 2005

  Hello Sparrow,

  Did you see us leave? Did you see what happened?

  The Man packed up a bunch of boxes and told me to get into the back of his truck, under the camper top so nobody would see me. I asked about Ellie. I didn’t want to leave her behind. He laughed and said Ellie was dead. I started screaming and I hit him, so he threw me hard against the truck and told me to shut up. Then he said, “You’re so stupid. We never had your little friend.”

  So I asked him about the other girls, the ones in chains, and he laughed again and said, “Get it through your thick skull. We only have you.” Then he shoved me into the back of the truck, piled a bunch of boxes around me, and closed the door.

  Pop always says it isn’t right to hate anybody, but I hate The Man. I really hate him.

  Hello Sparrow,

  I am going to try to find the good. That’s what Mom always says to do. So the good news is this: I snuck my notebooks and math books here with us because The Lady gave me a big black trash bag for my things. The Man was so worried about packing his own stuff, he never noticed.

  I figured he would stop for gas. I had a plan. But he drove us straight to this new place, and he never stopped. Cars were next to us the whole way. I could hear the traffic. But I couldn’t reach the windows. I never found a way to get help.

  Now we’re in this new place, and The Man says we have to stay here until the storm ends. The Lady says we should stay here forever. She likes it better here. I do too.

  Hello Sparrow,

  Do you hear the rain? I used to think a dragon lived in the clouds. His growl was thunder. His fire was lightning. Mom and Pop used to let me crawl into their bed on stormy nights. They’d read stories to me and sing until the bad weather went away.

  I will keep singing all the songs Mom and Pop taught me.

  Hello Sparrow,

  The Lady is letting me stay inside with her. She’s scared of the storm. She likes when I sing. Pop always lets me help with things at home, so I asked The Man if I could help. He whacked my shoulder hard with one of the flashlights and told me to shut up.

  The wind gets loud sometimes. It sounds like big eighteen-wheelers going by. When a tree limb falls I jump, and that makes The Lady laugh. I’m trying to be brave for her. I think I’m the only friend she’s got. I told her that even storms happen for a reason. And that good things always come after the storm. That’s what Mom and Pop say anyway.

  The Lady said Mom and Pop sound like real nice people, and I told her they are. I told her if she would help me get home, maybe they could help her too.

  She said, “For a smart kid, you sure don’t understand much.”

  Our electricity is out. We’re relying on the weather radio. It’s been blaring alarm warnings about Hurricane Katrina since five thirty this morning: “extreme tropical cyclone” and “destructive wind warning.” We haven’t seen it get too bad here in Walker, however. Just a heavy dose of wind and rain.

  While Katrina makes her way north over southeast Louisiana, we launch a game of Bourré. Carl shuffles the cards. “Ante up,” he says, tossing in the loose change from his pockets.

  After finding a bunch of coins in the junk drawer, Ellie and I add our own money to the pot and Carl deals us five cards each. Beanie watches from the sofa, curled safe from the storm.

  “Sarah never plays cards with us. She thinks it’s a sin.”

  It’s the first time Ellie has mentioned a specific memory with Sarah, and I’m not sure how to respond. “Yep,” I say. “But she loves Yahtzee.”

  Ellie laughs. “And Monopoly.”

  “That game takes forever,” Carl adds, smiling, and the three of us reminisce about the girls’ board-game competitions that would sometimes stay in play for weeks on end.

  I surrender my lowest number cards and draw two replacements. Ellie stands pat, leading with the ace of spades. By about the tenth round of play she’s managed to win the entire pile of change. “Beginner’s luck,” Carl teases her, and we’re all laughing when the weather alarm sounds again.

  This time the update announces the eye of Katrina is moving across St. Tammany Parish. “Sustained winds of 110 miles per hour with gusts up to 135.” People in these areas, including Hancock and Harrison Counties of Mississippi, are advised to take shelter in an interior room.

  “Far away,” Carl tells Ellie. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.” He gives her a confident smile.

  As we continue to play cards, the wind snaps a long, heavy limb, tumbling it through the sky with as little effort as a child throwing a toothpick. Rain pummels the house. The yard fills with water as our ditches overflow. Pinecones hit the roof like grenades.

  “Maybe we should have boarded the windows,” I say. “Think it’ll get worse?”

  “You think I don’t know how to take care of my family?” Carl snaps.

  My stomach tightens. No matter how careful I am, something I do always seems to set him off. He thinks I’m against him.

  “I’m just asking if the tape will hold,” I explain. “The wind seems to be getting stronger.”

  Carl gives me the all-too-familiar dea
th glare and then speaks to Ellie as if I’m not here. “It’s already heading into Mississippi. Nothing we haven’t seen before. Your mother’s crazy. You know that, don’t you?”

  Ellie laughs, and Carl eggs her on. They tease me for making a big deal out of things. I tune in to the warnings that continue to stream from the radio. Reportedly, the communications hub in New Orleans has suffered massive power outages, so the alerts now have more to do with Mississippi than Louisiana, but again and again warnings are issued, many for microbursts churning from Katrina’s eye wall. We learn Bogalusa has been hit hard by spin-off winds. That’s the town near the Pearl River where Beth’s mother lives.

  “I should call Beth.” I reach for my phone and Carl reacts, shooting me his death glare again. With one look he manages to make me feel stupid. As if I’m his biggest problem. I leave the phone alone and return my full attention to Carl, as he demands. Beth will call when she needs me. I try not to feel guilty that I’m sitting at home with Ellie and Carl while my friends are sitting out the storm, worried about Sarah.

  Hello Sparrow,

  The Man caught me writing in my notebook. He didn’t say anything. Now I don’t have to be scared when I write to you. Yay!

  The storm got bad last night. Gravel was hitting the windows. One of the big trees fell down.

  We still don’t have electricity, and the only food we have are cans of beanie weenies. At home Mom always went to the store before a storm. She made sure we had water bottles and snacks and good fruit. And Mrs. Raelynn had hurricane parties so we could use up her freezer food.

  I told The Lady about that. She laughed. When I asked her about the storms when she was a little girl, she got all quiet and left the room.

  Tuesday, August 30, 2005

  We made it through Monday night without electricity. We’re using the generator to run the refrigerator, which leaves us no air-conditioning. The heat and humidity are intense, even with the windows open. We’re soaked in sweat.

  “We could go to the church.” I fan Ellie with a piece of cardboard. “They’ve got a bigger generator there. We need to help anyway.”

  Carl’s not having it. He shoots me his look. I cave again into silence, but Ellie stands her ground. “Let’s go.” She grabs a few basics and heads toward the door, not giving her father a chance to argue.

  Somehow this works, and within the hour, we’re at the church. The parking lot is packed, and we enter the reception hall to find a crowd. Tables and chairs have been arranged so that families are sectioned off, eating, drinking, talking. No one seems particularly upset or anxious.

  Except Beth.

  Ellie runs straight to one of the box fans as Beth greets us, her fingers pressed against her scalp. “I’ve been trying to call you. Cell towers are out. Lines are jammed. No Internet either. Have you heard?”

  I shake my head. “We haven’t heard anything since we lost power,” I explain. “Just the weather radio. Told us it had turned east. And that Bogalusa got pummeled with winds. Were you able to reach your mom?”

  She pulls us outside, whispering after the door has closed. “It did go east, and yes, she managed to get a call to us. Said she’s okay but her house isn’t. Two trees crashed through it. Thank goodness my uncle is there with her. Chimney bricks were rolling down the roof like they were nothing but pinecones. Crazy. But they’re both safe.”

  I settle, relieved, but Beth stands tall and serious. “Now listen,” she says. “It’s awful. Aunt Betty just got through to me too. Took her four hours. I’m telling you, communication has been tough. She’s up in Memphis, watching it all on the news.”

  “What’s she know?” I ask.

  Carl stares blankly, waiting for more.

  “It’s bad, Amanda. Biloxi, Waveland, Gulfport. All destroyed. Nothing left. Entire stretches of the Mississippi coastline wrecked, right down to the slabs. That’s all you can see for miles. Entire neighborhoods are gone. Just gone. Sarah could be out there.” Beth’s eyes fill with tears, and she stutters as she speaks. She’s no longer the poised diplomat, polished and ready for front-pew politics.

  “Remember what you said at first, Beth. Remember? This is our chance to find her.” I try my best to calm her nerves. “She’s at a shelter. I’m sure of it.”

  “No, listen. I haven’t told you the worst.” She steadies herself against the church door, then continues. “The footage showed the storm as it was hitting New Orleans. If Sarah’s there . . .” Beth stops again, trying to regain composure. She dabs her eyes before continuing. “There were roofs peeling back like plastic wrappers, Amanda. Much worse than what we saw here.”

  Around us, limbs and leaves have been strewn in every direction, as if Mother Nature threw a frat party and we’ve arrived the next day to find the mess. Beth follows my line of sight to the debris, reading my thoughts. “Yeah, see what I’m saying. Even here the traffic lights were spinning and the houses were shaking. But there, all those high-rises. Shattered glass flying everywhere. Curtains ripping from rooms. She said it looked like a war zone.”

  As Beth talks, her emotions take over. Carl seems more annoyed than concerned. I push this to the back of my brain and focus instead on Beth’s story.

  “Even parts of the Superdome blew apart. It was raining in the dome. All those people, sleeping on the floor. They had to move up into the seats and hope the rest of the roof wouldn’t fall to pieces. Can you imagine? All I can think is where is Sarah? Do you know how scared she must be?”

  I listen. Carl does too. All night we’ve stayed by Ellie’s side. Sleeping in the same room together, comforting her as the branches broke and the wind howled. Surely he must feel something.

  “And it’s worse than that,” Beth continues. “The levees. In New Orleans. They didn’t hold.”

  “Serious?” Carl questions.

  “I can’t imagine it either, but Aunt Betty says the news keeps showing water up to rooftops. They think a barge got blown from its anchor. Slammed through one of the concrete walls or something. That’s all it took.”

  Carl wipes sweat from his brow. “Seems a stretch.”

  “They think there’s more than one breach.” Beth keeps going, despite Carl’s resistance. “The canals are overflowing. Some of the pump houses aren’t working.” Speaking faster now, she is near panic. “The water flooded in so fast it even came up from the drains, snapping those manhole covers off. Like popcorn. People are dying, Amanda. They’re dying.”

  She starts crying harder. I pull her to me and try my best to offer comfort.

  “Sarah won’t be in those places, Beth. Listen. I’m sure she’s at a shelter. We’ll find her. Have you talked to Jay?”

  “No. I’m telling you. I can’t get a call through to anyone. I’m clawing at my skin. I need to get out of here. I need to get to New Orleans.”

  “Okay. Let’s think this through.” I try to slow the pace, help her mind settle. Give her a few solid plans to cling to.

  “The news is showing dead bodies. In the streets, Amanda. My child could be—”

  Carl has had enough. “I’m going to find Preacher.”

  “Beth, listen.” I brush the hair from her wet cheeks as Carl goes back inside the fellowship hall. “The media exaggerate. Rumors get out of control. It can’t be that bad.”

  “The water came in so fast. Some of those people couldn’t swim. They were grabbing two-by-fours, beer kegs, coolers. Anything that would float. And some couldn’t get out, Amanda. They had to claw their way to the attic, break through to the roof. Think of the ones who couldn’t break through!”

  I hug her. “It’s all right, Beth. Sarah knows how to swim. And this could be her chance. Stay with me, okay?”

  “Aunt Betty said people are stuck out there waving their shirts. It’s almost a hundred degrees. Think of how hot those shingles are. The metal roofs.”

  “If she’s in that area, then she’ll be on TV. Someone will recognize her. This is good.”

  “No. That’s the thing.
No one is rescuing them. 911 isn’t even taking calls anymore.”

  “I’m sure the Red Cross is there, Beth. And the National Guard. This is Louisiana. We know how to deal with storms.”

  “This isn’t just a storm, Amanda.” She pulls away, exasperated. “You’re not hearing me. The mayor said there could be as many as ten thousand people. Dead!” Her voice reaches an alarming pitch.

  “Hurricanes don’t kill ten thousand people.” I speak slowly. “Your aunt exaggerates sometimes, doesn’t she?”

  Beth exhales. Then she says, “Well, yes, she does.”

  “There’s no way the entire city is flooded. Think about it. And 911 would never stop taking calls. Tell you what. We’ll keep trying to get in touch with Jay. He’ll know something. And in the meantime, let’s get a TV hooked up in here. See for ourselves.”

  Chapter 14

  Wednesday, August 31, 2005

  Hello Sparrow,

  We finally got our power back on. It’s been HOT! The Man is in a very bad mood. The Lady thinks he’s gonna “have himself a heatstroke.” The tree didn’t land on the house. We got lucky. I hope you got lucky too, Sparrow. I’ll be watching for you.

  They’re still letting me stay in the house with them. I’m glad. We have some chairs and an old mattress. I sleep on blankets. I brought them from Chalmette.

  It feels like The Man and The Lady are starting to think of me as family. But I already have a family. I want to go home.

  Hello Sparrow,

  The Man found a TV, but he can’t get any channels. That made him mad, of course. He’s always screaming about something. Mom says somebody who acts like that is a little kid on the inside. Throwing a fit, trying to get their way. She says they don’t know how to handle their feelings. I think that’s what’s wrong with The Man. He doesn’t know how to handle his feelings.

  The Lady is mad about the TV too. So I told her how we have “No TV Sundays” at our house, and how we play charades and tell stories. She said, “You didn’t have to watch TV because you had a TV family.”