When the Crickets Stopped Singing

by Marilyn Cram-Donahue

  He made all three of us look him in the eye, one by one. “There’s going to be no crying and carrying on,” he said. “Any one of you who even hiccups will have to stand in the hall. Do you get my meaning?”

  We nodded.

  “All right then. We’re coming up on Dodie’s room now. Number 202. Here it is.”

  He pushed open the door and held it while we went in. The smell of carnations greeted us, and I knew that Reverend Adams had brought them from the church. But when I saw Dodie in her hospital bed, I almost went right out again. Her head was wrapped in bandages, and a nurse was wiping her face with a wet cloth. A needle was in her arm, and a tube was connected to a bottle that hung from a tall metal stand. I hated needles.

  Dr. Thomas must have read my mind. “They’re giving her nourishment,” he said. “And something that will keep her from hurting.”

  Dodie’s eyes were closed, and her face looked as white as the sun-bleached boulders up the creek. She didn’t move. It looked like she was hardly breathing.

  “She looks pretty good … considering,” Reba Lu said.

  “She does not! She looks like she’s about dead,” Geraldine snapped.

  “There will be no talk like that!” Dr. Thomas said. “How would you like it if your friends stood around your bed and said you looked dead?”

  Geraldine didn’t have an answer for that. She looked at the floor. Reba Lu edged in between the two of us until she was standing right next to the bed. She put one arm around Geraldine and the other one around me. “She looks real nice,” she said. “Peaceful, like.” Then she began to hiccup.

  “Now that’s enough,” Dr. Thomas said. “She may be in a coma, but we never can tell how much she can hear. You girls get busy and talk to her—just like she’s awake and can understand what you’re saying.”

  We looked at each other. Nobody said a word. Finally, Dr. Thomas said, “I have to see some other patients, so I’ll leave you here with her for a little while. Remember what I said.”

  As soon as the door had closed, we gathered closer around Dodie’s bed. “We’re all here,” I told her. “Reba Lu and Geraldine and me. We brought you some sweet peas from Mama’s garden.”

  I poked Geraldine. She was holding them, and she looked around for a place to put them. “There’s an empty vase,” she said. “I’ll just go outside and put some water in it.”

  “You don’t need to go outside,” I told her. “There’s a sink over there in the corner.”

  “Oh, yeah. Now I see that.”

  I knew she had seen it all the time and was just looking for an excuse to leave the room. She filled the vase with water, stuck the sweet peas in it, and came back to stand by the bed.

  “The church had a prayer service for you,” I said. “Everybody wants you to get better, Dodie. That’s why there are so many carnations. People sent them to you.”

  I poked Reba Lu. She jumped like I’d lit a firecracker under her. Then she calmed down and said, “Please wake up, Dodie. Things aren’t the same without you. We … miss you, Dodie.”

  “Yeah,” Geraldine said. Then she made a choking noise and starting biting her lower lip.

  We three stood by the bed without saying another word. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t seem to blink. Dodie looked so different. Her hair had been washed and brushed. And she was wearing a white gown without a spot on it.

  “Somebody got Dodie cleaned up real nice,” Geraldine whispered. Then she bent closer. “Look there,” she said. We all bent over to look at Dodie’s fingernails. The ragged edges had been trimmed, and I had never seen them so clean.

  I looked at Dodie with her eyes closed. I waited for her to open them, though I knew she probably wouldn’t. I thought of her in the eucalyptus forest with leaves in her hair. I remembered the way she had jumped from rock to rock in the creek looking almost like a dancer. I pictured her at the beach singing “you and me … you and me.”

  I turned away. The body in that bed might look real nice, but it wasn’t anybody I knew. The Dodie I knew had dirt under her fingernails so thick that seeds could have sprouted. Her hair was as untamed as a horse’s tail on a windy day. And she had never had a peaceful look about her as long as I’d known her.

  I reached into my skirt pocket and took out the golden ring, then I tucked it under her clasped hands so it looked like she was holding it. Her free ride.

  “You better not leave that here,” Reba Lu said. “It might get lost.”

  She was probably right. I picked it up and put it back in my pocket. I would keep it for her.

  Pretty soon, Dr. Thomas came in and said we had stayed long enough. We walked down the hall to the elevator and took it to the first floor. Nobody said a word. Not even when we got in Dr. Thomas’s car and he drove us home.

  I went to bed that night and lay in the dark without closing my eyes. I tried to imagine myself being questioned by the visiting judge. I wondered if I would have to swear on a Bible to tell the truth. Then I remembered the look on Jefferson Clement’s face when he stood at the edge of the cliff and put his finger over his lips, warning me not to tell.

  I began to shiver and pulled my blanket clear up around my ears. When I finally slept, I dreamed about the little fish we had moved into the creek. But when I looked at them closely, I saw that the creek water had all dried up and we hadn’t saved them after all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Even though Judge Withers, the visiting judge, only wanted to question the people who had been at the cliff the day Dodie fell, it seemed like half of Messina crowded into the Woman’s Club building that Wednesday morning. Judge Withers sat at a long table in the front of the big room. At one end of the table, a lady sat with a notebook in front of her and a pencil in her hand. A pile of sharpened pencils lay nearby. An empty chair stood at the other end of the table, turned so it was facing all the people. The rest of us sat on metal folding chairs. A man wearing a uniform and a badge stood in the doorway. Willie Jack sat in a chair off to one side, where everybody could get a good look at him.

  The August heat seemed to fill the room. The big rotating fan in the corner made a soft humming sound, but it only stirred the air. It didn’t cool it.

  Judge Withers picked up the gavel that he had borrowed from the Woman’s Club president and pounded it on the table. Everybody stopped talking, except for Mrs. Eunice Abbott, who was busy pointing at Willie Jack and telling anyone who wanted to listen that he had never been right in his head.

  The judge cleared his throat. “Does everyone understand that I am ready to start these proceedings?” He looked right at Mrs. Abbott when he said that. She clapped her mouth shut and turned red in the face. “Well then,” Judge Withers said. “If everyone is through talking, I will continue.”

  He explained that he had gone to see Dodie in the hospital and talked to the doctors about the seriousness of her injury. Then he said it was up to him to question witnesses about the manner of her injury. That meant he needed to find out what made her fall. He would decide if it was an accident or if someone was to blame. He made sure everyone knew that this was not a trial. It was an inquiry—a time for asking questions and getting the answers that would tell him if a trial was necessary.

  Judge Withers looked like his name. His face was wrinkled, and his hands had gnarled fingers, bent like old driftwood. But his blue eyes were bright and quick, and he looked like he could spot a liar when he saw one.

  Dr. Thomas was the first one to come up front to sit in the witness chair and answer questions. He told the judge what the whole town already knew and a little bit more, about how I had told him that Dodie had fallen over the cliff, and how he’d found her at the bottom, lying in the sand.

  “The little girl was scratched up pretty bad and had a lot of blood on her. We got her right to the hospital, but she’s still in a coma. There’s no telling when she might wake up … or if she ever will.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “Jefferson
Clement and Willie Jack Kelly were there with her. Willie Jack was squatted down by Dodie, patting her shoulder. He kept saying, ‘Poor little lamb, poor little lamb.’ Jeff Clement was crouched down, too. I noticed his shirt was all torn apart in the front. He saw me looking at it and said he’d caught it on some thornbushes when he skidded down the cliff path. Then he jumped up and started shouting.”

  “Can you remember his words?”

  Dr. Thomas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Jeff pointed at Willie Jack and shouted, ‘Willie pushed her. I saw the whole thing!’”

  The doctor looked around the courtroom. When he spoke, his voice was steady. “I don’t believe a word of it.”

  Judge Withers tapped on the table with his gavel. “What you saw is important, Dr. Thomas. What you believe is not.”

  “Dr. Thomas isn’t supposed to give his opinion,” Geraldine whispered. We knew all about court cases from listening to Mr. District Attorney on the radio.

  “I don’t care,” I whispered back. “I’m glad he did.”

  Dr. Thomas went back to his seat, and Judge Withers shuffled some papers. Then he called out, “William John Kelly.”

  For a second I wondered who that was, then Willie Jack came forward to give his testimony. He wore a clean shirt and a leather belt to hold up his pants. I was glad he didn’t have handcuffs on. It seemed strange to see him without his brown paper bag.

  He took his time, easing himself into his chair until it seemed to fit him better. He looked around the room, taking note of who was there. His eyes rested on Mr. Clement until the judge gave a little cough and told him to go ahead and tell his story. You could have heard a pin drop. Even Mrs. Abbott didn’t make a sound.

  “Last Tuesday morning, I was standing on my corner by the Bank of America talking to the Lord. Amos Snyder was with me, weren’t you, Amos?”

  Heads turned to look at Old Man Snyder, who nodded and made some throaty sounds that only Willie Jack seemed to understand.

  “That’s right, Amos,” he said. “Old Duke was there, too. We saw the Crumper girl heading up Palm Avenue. A couple of minutes later, here comes Jeff Clement going the same direction, toward the park.

  “Then Angie Wallace raced up the street like she was going to a fire. I thought about it a bit, then told Amos to stay put—he moves a bit slower than I do—and I headed out to see what was up.

  “I had reached the grove when I heard somebody yelling, so I started to run toward the sound. Jeff Clement and the Wallace girl were at the clearing. Jeff was starting down the old cliff path. When Angie told me Dodie had fallen, I sent her running for the doc. Then I climbed down the cliff to see for myself.”

  He hesitated, and it was like a shadow passed over his face, making his eyes darker, his brows closer together.

  “Little Dodie Crumper was there,” he said. “She was twisted like somebody had used her and tossed her away.”

  Mrs. Crumper began to whimper. There wasn’t another sound in the courtroom, except for the little click the wall clock made when it advanced one minute. Finally he went on.

  “Jeff Clement was hunkered down next to her little body. He had his hand on her arm. He started crying. I swear, he blubbered like a baby.

  “We both looked up when some stones skittered to the ground. Doc Thomas was climbing down the path. Soon as Jeff saw him, he got right over his crying spell. A few minutes later, he was jumping up and pointing his finger at me. ‘There’s your villain!’ he yelled. He told Doc Thomas he saw me push that little girl. He said he saw the whole thing.”

  Willie Jack stopped and stared over at Mr. Clement. “Miserable liar,” he said.

  Mr. Clement stared straight ahead. He stayed that way even after the judge called a short recess so people could get up and stretch their legs. The only time he changed his expression was when the door opened, and Miss Emma came in with Mrs. Dawson beside her. He looked at Miss Emma, and then he didn’t. His mouth tightened until it seemed like he’d swallowed his lips.

  Miss Emma was white as a bleached sheet, but she held her head up high. Dr. Thomas walked her and Mrs. Dawson over to a couple of empty chairs next to Mrs. Adams. I saw Reba Lu’s mama reach out and pat Miss Emma on the hand.

  Miss Emma wore a blue dress with tiny white flowers all over it. Her hair was pulled away from her face and held at the sides with tortoiseshell combs. It looked like Mrs. Dawson might have taken her up to the beauty parlor and told Verna to do something to smooth the frizz out.

  “She’d look real nice if it wasn’t for the foxes,” Geraldine whispered.

  Even in this hot weather, she had her fur pieces draped around her neck. I saw her reach up and pat one of the little heads, but she didn’t talk to it.

  “You don’t suppose she’s going to testify, do you?” Geraldine asked.

  “Of course not,” I said. “She wasn’t there when Dodie fell.”

  I glanced at Mr. Clement. He looked like a spider was crawling down his back. Whether Miss Emma said anything or not, her being here in the room was making a difference. It was bothering Mr. Jefferson Clement a whole lot.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Mr. Clement came to the front of the room and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He sat down in the witness chair and straightened his tie. It was dark blue with yellow dots and made him look like a swarm of bees had landed on him. Mrs. Clement had starched his white shirt so stiff it hardly moved when he did. I could just imagine Mrs. Hewitt admiring the way he dressed.

  He faced Judge Withers and nodded his head like he was happy to see him. The judge didn’t nod back.

  “Do you recall where you were the afternoon of the first of August?” Judge Withers asked.

  “I do. I went for a walk. I walk regularly.”

  “Do you always follow the same route?”

  “No, indeed. I like to wander through the byways of our little town looking for surprises.”

  “What kind of surprises?”

  “Pretty things,” he said. He spoke directly to Judge Withers. “Wildflowers, for example.”

  Judge Withers cleared his throat. “Our wildflowers are past their season by July.”

  “I was merely giving you a ‘for instance.’” Mr. Clement frowned and sat up straighter. “Let me see. On that particular day I noticed a red-tailed hawk in the sycamores. I admire hawks, don’t you?”

  Geraldine leaned over and whispered, “He’s really laying it on thick, isn’t he?”

  I nodded. Mr. Clement had a way of charming people. I wondered if he had acted polite like this when he started helping Dodie hang out her laundry. “He’s a good actor,” I whispered back.

  But I thought he was putting on the charm this time because he was desperate. He might be an evil man, but he wasn’t stupid. He was determined to convince everyone that he was a good citizen.

  When Judge Withers didn’t answer him, Mr. Clement tapped his chin with one finger. “I came across some watercress growing in a wet spot near the park. That was a happy discovery. My wife has a fondness for watercress sandwiches. Don’t you, Ruth, my dear?”

  He looked hard at Mrs. Clement. She glanced helplessly at Lucy, then looked down and stared into her lap.

  “I would have picked some,” he went on, “but I heard loud voices. The sounds seemed to come from beyond the park, way up by the cliff. Of course, I headed that way to see if anyone was in trouble.” He put a solemn look on his face. “I couldn’t just turn my back and walk away.”

  Liar! Liar! I knew he must have seen Dodie and followed her all the way to the cliff.

  He looked around the room at the spectators. His eyes seemed to glow with concern. You never saw such a model of public-spirited kindness. It made me sick.

  From the poke Geraldine gave me, I knew she felt the same.

  “Halfway through the grove,” he continued, “I came upon this child.” He stretched out his arm and pointed at me. “Angie, is it?”

  I glared back at
him. He knew who I was. He knew that I was there and that I saw everything that happened.

  “The poor girl seemed frightened,” he told the jury. “I called out and asked what had upset her, but she just kept running through the grove, right past me toward town.”

  Liar! Liar!

  He looked at the judge. “I continued on toward the cliff.” He shook his head sadly, letting us know he couldn’t bear to remember what he had seen.

  “Willie Jack Kelly was there with the Crumper girl. They were arguing. He took a step toward her and grabbed her arm. She tried to back away from him, but he held on. She said something that I couldn’t hear. It must have angered him because he gave her a shove that sent her over the edge. She screamed. Then it was quiet, except for the sound of Willie Jack scrabbling down the side of the cliff. He never saw me, never knew I was there.

  “I walked to the edge and looked over.” He covered his eyes with one hand, like he was trying to block out a terrible sight.

  People leaned forward in their seats to hear what he would say next.

  “Poor girl,” he murmured. “Little Dodie Crumper, who lived across from our place on Palm Avenue. She lay there, all bloodied up. I tell you I could hardly look at her.”

  There was a heavy silence in the courtroom. Then the judge asked, “Did you see Mr. Kelly?”

  Mr. Clement’s voice grew stronger. “Yes, I did. He was standing over her. ‘Dodie … Dodie,’ he kept saying. Then he reached down and put his hand on her throat. I figured he was going to finish the job he had started.”

  “What happened then, Mr. Clement?”

  “Why, I climbed right down that cliff path yelling at him to get his hands off her. It was hard going, I can tell you, but I made it to the bottom. I had to get down there to see if there was any chance of helping that poor girl. But she was unconscious. Barely breathing. And we don’t know if she’ll ever wake up. That man is to blame. Him. Sitting right over there.” He pointed a long finger. “Willie Jack Kelly!”