The Spirit of Cattail County Page 5

  Maeve looked at Sparrow like she was the dumbest kid in the world. “How do you know what a Casto-Dalton kid would look like? There’s never been one.”

  Sparrow supposed Maeve had a point. Sometimes kids looked like their folks. Sometimes they didn’t. She mulled it over for a few minutes. Did she want a daddy bad enough to go looking for him at the Castos’? She’d been so firmly planted on Mama’s side that even the idea of a daddy seemed disloyal. Now, though, having a daddy might solve some issues that were turning out to be big problems. If she had a daddy, that would mean she wouldn’t have to go to Havisham with Auntie Geraldine. She could live with him instead, and a Beulah-born daddy would be super convenient, as she wouldn’t have to leave Beulah. She’d been trying not to think about it because the idea of leaving Dalton House made Sparrow feel sick.

  As she thought on it, she realized convenience and problem solving didn’t rank as the only benefits. A daddy would love her. Sparrow had been feeling so lonely and heartsick that the idea took root like beggarweed. “You think I should ask him?”

  “NO!” Maeve and Johnny shouted together.

  “We’d both be scrubbing oil off the floor of the 76 station if he found out we’d been pokin’ around in his business,” Johnny said.

  “Or worse,” Maeve added. “Besides, even though we’re sure, you need more proof first. You don’t want to have to ask him if you’re his daughter, you want to be able to tell him you are.”

  Sparrow drew the picture close and ran her finger over Mama’s face. Maeve sounded like she was scheming, but she made a good point. It would be better for Sparrow to have definitive proof. “Where do I find proof?”

  “Lucky for you, we have a plan.” Maeve elbowed her brother in the ribs. “Isn’t that right, Johnny?”

  Johnny nodded enthusiastically. “We sure do.”

  Sparrow sized up the Castos. She wondered if their plan was a good one.

  There is nothing like the blackness of a moonless country night, so dark and thick it feels almost solid. Sparrow felt as if she could reach out and push the darkness aside, like a swimmer moving through water, but she couldn’t be bothered. Instead, she closed her eyes and drifted on the porch swing, one foot cast overboard, a rudder to guide her gentle swaying.

  Exhaustion made Sparrow’s body heavy with weariness, but her mind whirled with the promise of a message from Mama, and Maeve and Johnny’s revelation. Despite lingering doubts, the suggestion that Mason was her father and that he lived down the road at the Casto place appealed to Sparrow.

  She pushed the swing with her foot, and it rocked obediently.

  It was possible, she supposed.

  If Mason Casto were her father, it would explain a lot. Like why Mama had kept it secret and why he had Mama’s picture after all those years.

  She wouldn’t mind having Mason Casto for a father. He worked hard at the 76 station, and she didn’t think he’d ever spent time in jail like some of the Casto men. Plus, if what Maeve and Johnny said was true, he’d loved Mama so much he’d left his family and Beulah to seek his fortune so he could come back and marry her. When she looked at it in that light, he seemed heroic. Besides, she’d rather be related to a Casto than Auntie Geraldine.

  When Maeve and Johnny first told Sparrow, she felt hurt that Mama had kept the truth from her, but Sparrow had spent the afternoon and most of the evening thinking it through. She reckoned if the story was true, Mama had meant for Sparrow to know. Only she’d run out of time to tell her. Sparrow figured Mama had kept the secret about her daddy all this time because she wanted to tell Sparrow about Mason with him by her side, but he had gotten back to Beulah too late. By the time Mason returned, Mama was really sick and Auntie Geraldine was in charge. Auntie Geraldine hated Castos. She’d never let Sparrow be related to one.

  The more Sparrow thought on it, the more she liked her theory. Believing that Mama had intended to tell her about Mason, but that she had run out of time, not only absolved Mama, it absolved Sparrow.

  At first, Sparrow felt guilty for wanting a daddy now that Mama was gone, but Sparrow didn’t want to replace Mama with Mason. She wanted to replace Auntie Geraldine, and that wasn’t disloyal to Mama. That was survival.

  Maeve and Johnny claimed they had a plan to get the proof Sparrow needed, but they wouldn’t tell Sparrow what it was or how long it would take. Sparrow didn’t possess the patience to wait for Maeve and Johnny. She had her own plan. She intended to ask the one person in Beulah who knew all and saw all—the fortune-teller.

  But that wasn’t the only reason Sparrow was going back to Elena, or the most important. Sparrow wanted Mama’s message.

  The only thing that stood between Sparrow and everything she wanted to know was the twenty dollars she needed for a proper reading. Unfortunately, Sparrow didn’t have two cents to rub together, and Auntie Geraldine was as stingy as a miser.

  At the sound of car wheels crunching gravel on the drive, Sparrow sat up.

  When she’d gotten home, Auntie Geraldine had not been there. At first, this hadn’t troubled Sparrow. She was a country kid. From sunup to sundown, she spent her time outdoors. Most days she left Dalton House early in the morning and returned only when her stomach told her to come home for meals. Yet while she was accustomed to these freedoms, she wasn’t used to an empty house at night. This had been a new experience for her, and she’d found it lonely.

  Auntie Geraldine climbed the porch steps, and Sparrow rushed to open the screen door for her. Sparrow felt disappointed in Auntie Geraldine. It was her job to take care of Sparrow, and she wasn’t doing it well. Sparrow still hadn’t had dinner and her stomach rumbled like a rolling boulder, reminding her she had missed lunch too. Before Auntie Geraldine could walk through the door, Sparrow said, “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting here for hours.”

  Auntie Geraldine paused on the third step, and the two Daltons stood eye to eye.

  “Where have I been?” Auntie Geraldine asked with a slippery tone.

  “Yes,” Sparrow said cautiously. Her brow furrowed, and then she remembered.

  She was supposed to wait for Auntie Geraldine at Long’s. So much had happened since then, she’d forgotten all about it.

  “I think the question is, where have you been?” Auntie Geraldine said tersely, and continued climbing the steps.

  “I’ve been here.” Sparrow stepped aside to let Auntie Geraldine pass.

  “Well, that’s perfect. You’ve been here lazing about while I’ve been all over town looking for you. Driving up and down the highway. Wondering if the marsh had swallowed you whole.” The pitch of Auntie Geraldine’s voice rose with each word. “Then about an hour ago, I heard someone saw you running around with Maeve and Johnny Casto, so I drove out to their place. They said you’d walked home hours ago!”

  “Something happened at Long’s, and I couldn’t wait there.”

  “Yes, I heard all about it from Ansley and Andrew Monroe.” Auntie Geraldine waved her hand dismissively. “Those Castos were causing trouble, and you were right in the mix. Again.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  It wasn’t, but Sparrow hesitated, unsure of how to answer. She didn’t want to rat on Andrew and Ansley even if they were at fault. At the same time, she wanted to defend Maeve and Johnny. Her newly formed loyalty to Maeve and Johnny won.

  “Ansley and Andrew started it. We were running away from them, not fighting.”

  Auntie Geraldine rolled her eyes. “Castos running instead of fighting? I’ll believe that when pigs fly. You stay far away from those troublemakers, you hear me?”

  Auntie Geraldine didn’t understand. Maeve and Johnny weren’t troublemakers. They were something else altogether. Johnny had stuck up for Sparrow at the funeral, they’d given her Mama’s picture, and they’d told her about Mason Casto. In those three small acts, they’d become something Sparrow had never had before—friends.

  “I like the Castos.”

 
“You would.” Auntie Geraldine had pulled her hair back into a low bun, but it no longer looked tidy. Pieces were falling out, and it gave her a wild look.

  Sparrow felt bad that Auntie Geraldine had spent the evening searching for her, but she also didn’t understand why Auntie Geraldine hadn’t checked at the house. She didn’t blame Auntie Geraldine exactly, but it did seem uncharacteristically inefficient. Sparrow opened her mouth to say this, but Auntie Geraldine cut her off.

  “Look here. I’ve had about as much of your nonsense as I can take. You will not, under any circumstance, go into town again. Do you understand?”

  “You can’t stop me from going to town. Besides, you took me there.” Sparrow would rather polish silverware during a lightning storm than be trapped at home all day with Auntie Geraldine.

  “Yes, I can. And I told you to stay put at Long’s until I came back for you. You deliberately disobeyed me.” Auntie Geraldine glared at Sparrow and Sparrow tried not to fidget under her fierce gaze. She felt like an onion being peeled. Now that it was only the two of them, Auntie Geraldine had the power to do whatever she wanted to Sparrow.

  The seconds seemed to tick by like minutes, and Sparrow, uncomfortable, shifted her weight. She wanted to get as far away from Auntie Geraldine as she could before things got worse. She looked at the front door longingly.

  The Boy was there. He stood next to the door, watching them. He always looked the same. Round cherub cheeks and dark hair cut close, a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck and cuffs, black pants a tad too short, and black boots unlaced, with the tongues flapping.

  When she looked his way, his lips curved at the edges mischievously.

  Sparrow shook her head imperceptibly. Auntie Geraldine seemed to be simmering just below her boiling point. She was like a teakettle ready to blow, and Sparrow didn’t need the Boy turning up the heat.

  The Boy winked at Sparrow and moved away from the wall.

  Sparrow scowled at him, frustrated at his free will. The Boy did what he wanted, and he seemed to want to vex Auntie Geraldine as much as possible now that she lived at Dalton House again. While Sparrow understood the compulsion, it complicated life with Auntie Geraldine. Like poking a snake with a stick, it riled her up and made her mean.

  Mama had not been immune from the Boy’s pranks, but he’d been playful and less obvious with her. He’d teased her in more explainable ways—lights going on and off for no reason, unexpected loud noises, items that went missing and later reappeared in odd places, and Mama mostly rationalized them as such. When the lights flickered, she’d sigh and complain about old wiring. Loud noises inspired comments about creaky floorboards and the house’s need to settle. Lost items were simply laughed off as absentmindedness.

  The exception had been the day the saltshaker slid slowly across the table for no apparent reason. On that day, Mama’s face had turned ashen, and she’d whisked Sparrow outside into the sunshine. They’d explored the marsh until Mama’s color returned. Of course, the Boy had spent that afternoon with them, but he seemed to feel bad for scaring Mama, and only Sparrow had known that the Boy trailed them like a repentant puppy. He’d been more careful around Mama after that, but his relationship with Auntie Geraldine seemed to be moving in the opposite direction. He seemed to want her attention.

  The Boy strode leisurely across the porch toward the screen door, stomping loudly as he went. The noise filled the silence, like the dreaded sound of a shotgun blast on the first day of hunting season.

  Sparrow glanced at Auntie Geraldine, trying to gauge her response. Auntie Geraldine watched Sparrow, her face as impassive as if she were considering her grocery list. Just as Sparrow started to wonder if Auntie Geraldine could actually hear the Boy’s stomping, he reached the screen door.

  He threw it open. The door flew back, straining its hinges. Then the old, rusted springs kicked in and the door swung back toward the frame, slamming closed.

  Auntie Geraldine’s blue eyes shifted to the door.

  The Boy threw the door open again. Again, it swung open as wide as its springs would allow, and then slammed shut.

  Sparrow wanted to throttle him.

  The Boy drew the door open a third time.

  Sparrow studied Auntie Geraldine’s profile. What Auntie Geraldine saw, Sparrow couldn’t be sure, but she could imagine that watching the door open and close without cause on a windless night would be terrifying. A sight like that would scare the wits out of most people. Auntie Geraldine didn’t even flinch.

  Before the Boy could let go of the door again, Auntie Geraldine turned away from it to Sparrow. She considered Sparrow, her lips pulling into a tight, disapproving line. She stayed like that for a moment and then did something unexpected and brilliant. She dropped her car keys into her pocketbook and snapped it closed.

  “Good night, Sparrow,” she said evenly, and walked into the house, ignoring the Boy altogether.

  “Good night,” Sparrow murmured.

  The Boy deflated. He let the door bang close one last time, but didn’t reach for it again.

  Lights flicked on inside the house as Auntie Geraldine made her way from room to room, lighting it up like a Christmas tree.

  Sparrow stood in the center of the porch, too stunned to move.

  If Auntie Geraldine had gotten more than she’d bargained for in Sparrow, Sparrow had certainly gotten more than she’d bargained for in Auntie Geraldine.

  Sunday-morning service was a timeworn Beulah ritual as old as the marsh. Everyone in town went to church. They didn’t all go to the same church, but they all went. Sparrow wanted to skip it since it was her first Sunday without Mama and it felt too sad, but Auntie Geraldine flat-out refused to consider the idea. When Sparrow reminded Auntie Geraldine she had forbidden Sparrow to go to town under any circumstance, Auntie Geraldine seemed to come undone. She turned as red as a beet and recited all of Sparrow’s faults in a voice so loud that even after she finished yelling, Sparrow’s ears continued to ring. They were halfway to church before Sparrow’s hearing returned to normal.

  By the time they got to church, the preacher already stood in front of the big red doors, greeting parishioners. Auntie Geraldine ascended the church steps like an honored guest and waited to be acknowledged.

  “Geraldine, nice to have you in town for a while. How are you holding up?” He laid a hand on her shoulder and gazed at her with rheumy eyes.

  “We’re managing. It’s difficult, of course.” She gazed back at him, her expression conveying the appropriate emotion for a grieving sister.

  “You’re in our prayers,” he said, his voice solemn.

  “Thank you so much,” Auntie Geraldine whispered before walking on.

  As Sparrow walked by, the preacher nodded to her but didn’t say anything. Sparrow hadn’t seen him since Mama’s funeral and she wondered if he might be mad at her for refusing to take part in the service, but then thought maybe he didn’t greet the kids. Even though Sparrow went to church every Sunday, she wasn’t familiar with this part of the weekly ritual because she and Mama always got to church late. On Sunday mornings, they would slip into the back pew as the congregation sang the final note of the first hymn.

  Curious, Sparrow paused to watch the preacher greet the rest of the folks. The next in line were the Monroes. Wesley Monroe stepped up and offered his hand to the preacher.

  “Wesley,” the preacher said. “Nice to see you. Oh, and Ansley, don’t you look a picture.”

  Ansley beamed at him and did a half spin in her white dress. “Thank you. It’s new.”

  “Well, it suits you,” he said, and then turned to Andrew. “That’s quite a shiner you have there.” He pressed his pudgy fingers to the yellowing bruise.

  Andrew leaned back, pulling his face out of poking distance. “Yes, sir,” he said. He looked away as if embarrassed.

  Wesley put his hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “Scuffle with the Castos. You know how those kids are.”

  “They’re often in my prayers,” th
e preacher said. “But as Methodists, they are out of my jurisdiction. Each shepherd must lead his flock the way he sees fit.” He sighed heavily, making it clear he did not think the Methodist minister was doing a good job of leading his flock.

  “Sparrow,” Auntie Geraldine hissed.

  Sparrow jumped like a startled jackrabbit. “What?”

  “Stop staring. It’s rude. Come with me.”

  Sparrow tore her gaze away from the preacher and the Monroes, and followed Auntie Geraldine to the front of the church. Auntie Geraldine ushered Sparrow into the second pew. It was packed, but Auntie Geraldine impatiently waved her in anyway and Sparrow complied, forcing everyone already seated to move down.

  The preacher entered the church, and services were officially under way.

  Sparrow did her best to stay focused, but after ten minutes her eyes felt droopy and her limbs heavy. The preacher’s honey voice combined with the summer heat soothed her like a lullaby. She started to slump to the side and Auntie Geraldine jabbed her in the ribs.

  Sparrow jerked to attention and crossed her arms. She wished she sat next to Mama instead of Auntie Geraldine. Mama always let Sparrow rest her head on her shoulder when the preacher got long-winded and the heat of so many bodies crammed together made the nave feel like a steaming shower.

  Simply remembering Mama in the familiar setting made Sparrow’s eyes prick with tears and her throat tighten. Mama had not sent a message yet, but Sparrow had not given up hope. She had faith in Mama.

  Sparrow did her best to focus on the preacher’s words instead of Mama, but the heat made it near impossible to concentrate, and after a few minutes she inched down the backrest so she could lean her head against it.

  Auntie Geraldine shot Sparrow a look, but Sparrow pretended she didn’t notice. The only good part about going to church with Auntie Geraldine was that she couldn’t yell at her for that hour. Not even Auntie Geraldine had enough nerve to disrupt Sunday service.