Night Bird Calling Page 25

  Celia glanced around the church and felt the spookiness of empty. Yet a tiny rustle in the front corner told her she was not alone—a rustle too loud for field mice. Celia coughed and coughed again. She didn’t walk up the aisle but spoke, loud enough to hear her own voice vibrate in her ears. “My name’s Celia Percy. I was in the store yesterday when somebody came in and borrowed some sweet potatoes. I thought that somebody might like a beet I got here in my pocket. I’m gonna leave it on the pew back here, and I hope whoever needs it will come get it after I’m gone. I wish it was more. Tomorrow I’ll bring more . . . if I can.” Celia turned to go, then thought about Reverend Willard coming back to find visitors in the church. “Y’all will need a better place to stay. Reverend Willard’ll be back tomorrow. I don’t know what he’ll say.”

  Hushed whispers came from the front corner of the church and a form rose from a darkened pew. Celia gulped. If she really believed in ghosts, she’d believe one stood before her.

  “Thank you for the beet, miss. That’s kind of you.”

  Celia breathed relief. It was the same man’s voice she’d heard yesterday. “Y’all warm enough in here? Nights get mighty cold.”

  The man didn’t answer at first, but his silhouette turned to the pew, and another form rose from the dark to join him. Together they walked to the center aisle. “Name’s Clay—Clay McHone. This is my wife, Charlene.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Celia kept her manners, but the woman who walked into the last gleam of daylight through the church window and stood ten feet away looked ready to bust—seven or eight months in the family way if a day. Celia’s mouth fell open.

  “Thank you for the beet,” the woman barely more than whispered, all the while holding her belly.

  “Y’all can’t be livin’ in the church long.”

  “We’ll be on our way soon as I can find some work and a place to stay. We mean no harm.”

  “I didn’t mean you ain’t welcome—if it was up to me.” Celia mourned that it was not and she knew it. “I just mean you need somewhere to lay your head and be warm, a table to set your feet under.”

  “I’ve tried every farm we passed. No work. No room.” Hopelessness subdued his voice. “We’re trying to get to Tennessee.”

  “You got family there,” Celia remembered.

  “We hope,” the woman said. “My mama’s sister and her family moved out that way some years ago. We’re not exactly sure where, but . . .” She shrugged. “We might not make it before the baby comes.”

  “I reckon not.” Celia didn’t know much about birthing babies, but this one didn’t look far-off.

  “You know of anybody who’s got work? I’ll do anything. I’m a hard worker.”

  “Wish I did—with all my heart.” What else was there to say? “I might be able to bring some food now and again.”

  “We’d be much obliged, and I’ll work it off, I promise.”

  “But we don’t want trouble.” The woman worried, though Celia knew she wasn’t in a fit state to be worried about trouble. She’d have her own soon enough.

  “When’s your baby bound to come?” The question wasn’t mannerly, but Celia figured the time for manners was past.

  The couple looked at each other, and the man laid a protective hand on his wife’s belly. “Within the month . . . we think. Is there a midwife here?” And then he pulled back, ashamed, Celia knew. “We have nothing to pay, but I could split wood or do some work to help.”

  “There’s old Granny Chree. She’d do it, long as you don’t mind colored. Then there’s Dr. Vishnevsky, long as you don’t mind Jew.”

  “We’d be grateful—much obliged, whoever can help,” the woman said, her voice a little stronger with conviction now.

  Celia licked her lips. It didn’t seem right to go off and leave them in the cold church, but she didn’t know what else to do. “You got blankets for the night?”

  “One.”

  “I’ll try to get another. Don’t know if I’ll get back tonight, but soon as I can.”

  “Thank you, Celia Percy. God bless you.”

  Celia winced. She hoped God would bless her, but she wasn’t sure He’d look kindly on stealing, which was just what she was about to do.

  •••

  Celia knew that keeping a secret in the church from Reverend Willard would be difficult, but keeping one from Olney Tate would be nigh impossible. She needed to get food to the McHones before Olney reached the church Saturday morning.

  Olney kept the grounds outside Shady Grove Baptist Church and swept the sanctuary after Sunday service. In summer he trimmed the shrubbery around the church, trimmed grass in the cemetery, and washed the windows. In winter he split firewood and stacked it in the back of the church on Saturdays. Early Sunday mornings he started a fire in the woodstove. By ten o’clock, when services began, the chill was off and those who sat near the woodstove could doze, warm and sleepy, if Reverend Willard got wound up and went on too long.

  Celia was careful as she could be and she already had a story invented in her head if she ran into Olney. It wasn’t all that unusual for somebody to sleep through the night on a hard and cold church pew. That sometimes happened if a man drank too much hooch and his wife kicked him out for the night or if he just couldn’t quite find his way home after a binge. The church was central for everybody. It had happened before with drifters—folks might spend a night or two, especially in rainy weather, then stop by a house asking for a plate of pinto beans or such.

  Celia figured that a good story, and she was just beginning to embellish it in her imagination when she backed out the front door of the church and found Olney Tate inspecting three sets of footprints in the frosted grass.

  “Morning, Celia.”

  Celia jumped and felt a flush race up her neck. “Mornin’, Mr. Tate.” She winced. Calling him “Mr. Tate” was a mistake.

  Olney’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. “You’re out bright and early on a Saturday mornin’.” He tilted his head as if he could just about see Celia’s wheels turning.

  “Did I tell you that Ida Mae’s gone to see her sister? Her sister broke her leg and her daughter’s about ready to bust a baby, and she’s got to look after the whole passel, so she asked me to direct the Christmas pageant. Did I tell you that?” Celia rattled off till she was out of breath and felt nervous as a cat walking a clothesline.

  “No, I don’t recall that you did.”

  “Well, it’s so,” she said, maybe a little too defiantly.

  Olney scratched his head. “That’s a mighty big job for a young’un.”

  “I’m not really a kid anymore. Soon I’ll be twelve.”

  “True enough. Thought you just turned eleven.”

  Celia lifted her chin. “That was last December.”

  “I suppose you were just lookin’ things over in there, planning out your Christmas program.”

  “What? Oh yes. Yes, I was. I meant to bring a paper and pencil to make notes but I forgot. Guess I’ll have to come back another day.”

  Olney waited.

  Celia knew he expected her to spill the beans sooner rather than later. She never seemed to help herself from doing that around Olney. Her stomach felt like she was full of beans.

  “Well, I’ll be seeing you.” She hesitated, halfway down the stone walkway. “You know, things look just fine in there now. I don’t think you need to bother inside before Sunday.”

  “Reverend Willard’ll be wanting firewood come tomorrow morning.”

  “Can’t that wait till Sunday to tote it in?”

  “Best not. Give it a day to dry if I carry it in now.”

  “Now?” Celia felt her panic rise.

  “Celia? You got somethin’ to tell me?”

  Celia licked her lips while Olney waited. The man had the patience of a hound tree-stalking a coon, Celia was certain. She couldn’t think fast enough. “Olney, you know the Christmas story? The one in Luke?”

  “By heart.”

  “You
remember how it says there was no room in the inn for a poor man and his wife in the family way?”

  “That’s so, more or less.”

  “Well, do you think that was right? I mean, I know that was Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus on His way to save us all, but it could just as like be some poor folks today.”

  “There’s lots of poor folks today, that’s certain.”

  “What if it was just some poor folks now—strangers that nobody wanted—about to pop a baby. Shouldn’t there be room? I mean, Jesus said to take care of the poor and needy, didn’t He?”

  “Always. Said if we care for ‘the least of these,’ it’s like we do it for Him.”

  “Then, shouldn’t we?”

  “Celia, who you hiding in that church?”

  Celia sighed as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. “If I show you, will you run them off? They’ve got nowhere to go. Ida Mae called the man a confounded Yankee and run him off the store porch with a broom. He stole a couple of sweet potatoes, but they’re starvin’. The woman’s about to pop a baby.”

  “How soon?”

  “Don’t know, and neither do they. First one, I reckon.” Celia’s brow wrinkled further. “They’re scared. On their way to family in Tennessee. They just need to hole up for a bit till the man can get some work and she can deliver her baby. Do you want to see them?”

  Olney scratched the back of his neck.

  Celia knew that as things stood now, he hadn’t seen them, didn’t have call to report them. But if he opened that church door, he’d be obliged to report to Reverend Willard all he’d seen. The reverend had a good heart, no doubt about it, but he didn’t have the authority to take in vagrants, and if Ida Mae had already run the man off, the reverend would have her and her contingent to deal with. Celia knew she shouldn’t have asked him, but she didn’t know what else to do.

  “Better if I don’t. But they can’t stay there. Folks’ll be in early come mornin’.”

  “I told them so, but I don’t know where they can go. Mama said I’m not allowed to bring home strangers or strays.”

  “Maybe Mercy knows a place,” Olney mused.

  “They’re white. No offense intended.” Celia didn’t think that would matter to the McHones, desperate for help as they were, and she knew the Tates were generous to a fault, but she also knew they dared not bring notice from the Klan on the Tates or their neighbors. Celia saw the same realization in Olney’s eyes. It went without saying.

  Olney sighed. He leaned against the rake he’d toted around front, silent for a time, considering. “The shed behind the church. It’s not much, but if a person was to move a few rakes and such to one side, then line it with newspapers and get a few blankets or quilts in there, it could keep the wind out for a night or two.”

  “I believe a person could do that.” Celia’s hopes rose.

  “There might even be a stack of old newspapers in there that I meant to take down to the store. They’re talking paper drives and such.”

  “This is a better cause.”

  “Where you gonna get food and blankets, Celia? What you gonna do if that woman’s time comes?”

  “Oh, I think they’ll move on before then.”

  “Babies aren’t real predictable. Best let Granny Chree or Doc Vishnevsky know.”

  “That’s too many people. Maybe later. Anyway, I think they’ll be movin’ on before then.”

  Olney nodded. “Anybody see y’all slipping in and out of that shed or the outhouse, it’s all over and I can’t do a thing. You left footprints plain as day.” He rubbed his unshaven chin as if that might help his thinking. “I’ll speak to Mercy and send Marshall up with some victuals before dark. He can’t be caught up in this, Celia; you know that. You say that man stole potatoes. No tellin’ where that talk might lead.”

  “No, ’course not. Maybe Marshall could leave a sack behind a tombstone, and I’ll come fetch it.”

  “The Belvidere family stone—sounds about right.”

  Celia grinned. “Sounds perfect.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  WHY CELIA VOLUNTEERED to run the Christmas pageant was beyond me. Why she volunteered my services to help when she knew I didn’t even attend church was beyond the pale and truly presumptuous. But the truth was that I’d always thought I’d like to be involved in a Christmas pageant—a thing not done at the church I was raised in and in fact frowned upon, as was anything theatrical.

  I had no experience to offer and didn’t want to take a moment of glory from Celia, who floated over the moon in her excitement. Still, I couldn’t resist listening in on the auditions she ran in the children’s library room the Saturday before Thanksgiving.

  I stayed in the next room but heard the bell over the front door jingle time and again as several sets of boots stomped through. That went on to the tune of Celia’s “Over there. Leave your boots by the door. You don’t want to be stomping snow and dripping all over the library floor!” Next was “Come, sit down by the fire—in a line, that’s right. We’ll get to the auditions soon enough.”

  I heard some earnest grunts and then Celia say, “See there. Harvey knows to raise his hand to speak. What is it, Harvey?”

  “My ma said I can use Grandpa’s bathrobe if you want me to be a shepherd. She has an old broomstick would make a good staff.”

  “All right, Harvey. I’ll write that down. We’re gonna need lots of costumes. That sounds like a good one. Anybody else have bathrobes for shepherds or something fancier for kings—like maybe your mama has one of those kimonos or something? Any mopheads for beards? Not too dirty, but if they are, we can bleach.”

  It went on like this for some time and I marveled at Celia’s creative efficiency and the enthusiastic offerings of the children. I guessed they’d done this every year, but the cooperation was wonderful. Until it came to the main roles.

  “Now, of course, the main parts are Joseph and Mary and baby Jesus. The narrator does most of the reading from the Bible, and the angel of the Lord does the speaking. But for Mary we need someone gentle and mild, and we need a light-blue robe—all solid, no prints. I don’t think they did flowers and checks in those days. And a white head covering. That’s what Mary wears in all the pictures.”

  “My mama has a solid pink bathrobe,” Emily Cruthers offered. “Maybe she’d let us dye it blue.”

  “She would never,” her brother, Leroy, piped up. “She loves that thing. She said Daddy gave it to her on their wedding day. Anyway, it’s see-through. Won’t do.”

  “My mother can make the costumes for Mary and Joseph.” Janice Richards spoke loud and clear, prim and proper. “She’s got plenty of new fabric stashed away. I saw a piece of pale blue with silver threads running through it. I’m pretty sure there’d be enough for a robe. That would catch the candle glow and really sparkle. She also has brown corduroy and burlap—everything she’d need to make Joseph’s. And my aunt Jane is coming to visit with her new baby, a month old—perfect for the baby Jesus.”

  A long moment of silence followed. I guessed that Celia was as shocked by Janice’s offer as I was.

  “You think she’d let her baby do it? A real, live baby?”

  “Sure. If I ask her. If I’m the one holding the baby.”

  Oh, dear. Does Celia understand what Janice is saying?

  “And you’re sure your mother will make both costumes?” Celia asked, clearly skeptical.

  “I said it . . . as long as I’m Mary and Coltrane is Joseph.”

  I knew Celia had her heart set on playing Mary. If Janice was Mary, that left no major female role, unless Celia took the angel of the Lord, which I was pretty sure Celia saw as a lesser role than Mary.

  “Well, that can’t be decided until the auditions.” Celia kept her director’s voice.

  “It can if you want my mother to make the costumes. You don’t think she’ll do all that work or donate all that new fabric for somebody else to be Mary and Joseph, do you? You don’t think Aunt Jane
would let anybody but me hold her baby! Get serious, Celia Percy.” Janice nearly spat Celia’s name.

  “Anybody got a donkey they can bring in?” Chester asked, breaking the tension. I loved him for it.

  “Got no donkey, but my uncle’s got a jackass he’d likely bring. Lives just beyond the ridge and down a way. I’ll ask him . . . if you want,” Hayford Bell offered.

  “Our granddaddy runs the zoo in Charlotte.” Janice’s voice came again, smooth as butter. “It has a real live camel.”

  “Janice!” Coltrane sounded like he’d choked on his tongue.

  “I’m just saying, Coltrane. It’s better than a donkey—or a jackass.”

  “So what?” Hayford countered. “A jackass here is better than a camel there!”

  “The thing is, I’m sure, if I ask him, that he’ll ship that camel here by train for the program. The zoo has special railcars for animals, you know—like they do for the circus. They send animals out on exhibition all the time. How do you think they get elephants from town to town?”

  I had no idea, so I doubted any of the children did either. There was a long silence. I wanted in the worst way to caution Celia. This all sounded too good to be true.

  “I reckon a real camel would be a sight better than a jackass.” Hayford’s voice fell.

  “Would he give us camel rides?” a voice I didn’t recognize piped up, hope thrilling through the room.

  “Well, maybe,” Janice considered.

  “Janice—” Coltrane broke in.

  “Shut up, Coltrane! I said maybe; I didn’t say yes. I’ll have to write and ask him. Then I can confirm it with you, Celia.”

  “But—” Coltrane broke in again.

  “I said, shut up! Maybe I can write him tonight and get the letter in the mail right away. There’s not much time.”

  “That’ll be swell, Janice. Thanks.” Celia’s conflicted enthusiasm waned. “Okay, let’s audition for roles. Shepherds? Angels? Kings?”