The Language of Sycamores (16 page)

The kids went absolutely out of their minds. Three of them latched on to Brother Baker, dragging him toward the front as he shook his head and good-naturedly put up a fight. When they deposited him on stage, he tried to escape. The front row stood up and herded him back, like a mosh pit of munchkins.

I laughed so hard that my stomach ached and I doubled over, out of breath, tears of pure exuberance streaming down my face. In the front row, Kate had mascara running down her cheeks, and Jenilee was rocking back and forth, holding her ribs. They waved when they saw me looking and I waved back, then held my hands up helplessly as the theme song started again.

“The grown-ups have left the building!” Keiler cheered. “There’s no one here but Jumpkids! So let’s do the Jumpkids song! Are you ready?”

“Yeeessss!” the kids screamed.

Caught up in the enthusiasm of the crowd, I felt ready to do the Jumpkids song. The lyrics began, and I started right along with the rest of the counselors, singing, “Jump, jump, jump, Jumpkids! Jump, jump, jump, Jumpkids!” bending lower and lower on the first three “jumps,” then throwing my hands up and bounding into the air on “Jumpkids!” After the first round, I figured out that slacks and heels were not the right attire for a Jumpkid, so I kicked off my shoes and went barefoot. I glanced over at Brother Baker, squatting lower and lower, his ample stomach hanging out one end and his wide behind hanging out the other, wiggling a little just before he bounded into the air on the second round of “Jump, jump, jump, Jumpkids!”

So far, we weren’t doing too badly. Even the audience seemed impressed.

The song went into the first verse, and the rhythm changed, gaining a backbeat that sounded like rap music. The college kids began a series of hand motions and spins that looked like a combination of rap movements and contortionism. Mojo Joe and Limber Linda fell on the floor and started spinning on their backs, and Mindy did the splits, then popped back up with amazing speed. Brother Baker and I just stood there looking at each other, doing a poor job of mouthing the words “When you’re afraid to start a new day, you gotta reach inside you all the way. It ain’t hard, when you know who you are. You’re no ordinary Joe. You’re a star. . . .”

Suddenly, Brother Baker gave up on the rap movements and started doing, of all things, the chicken dance, in perfect time to the rap beat. The kids in the audience stopped following Keiler’s hand movements, pointed at Brother Baker, squealed, and started flapping their wings and shaking their chicken feet right along with him. The next thing I knew, I was doing the chicken dance, too.

The back door opened, and James stepped in, carrying his guitar case, then just stood gaping at Brother Baker and me doing the chicken dance together. I could only imagine what was going through his mind. Of all the ways to survive my first day out of work, he probably never pictured me doing the chicken dance, barefoot, with the Baptist preacher, in front of a room of screaming children, with nine gyrating college kids.

I couldn’t remember when I’d ever had so much fun on a Monday.

By the time the theme song was over, the room was a giant chicken coop and the crowd was sufficiently energized. If some of the kids had been afraid of trying something new or worried about looking foolish in front of a group, they were now completely cured. Even Sherita and Meleka were on their feet, at least until the music died and Sherita realized she was participating. Looking around to see if anyone had noticed, she quickly replaced her scowl and plunked back into her seat as Keiler began to talk. Meleka sat down beside her as the other kids wiggled into their seats, anxious to see what kind of entertainment Keiler would offer next.

He stepped up to the microphone. The hum of little voices and the rustle of bodies stopped. “All right!” Keiler mopped his forehead and caught his breath, as psyched as the kids. “I can tell this is going to be an outstanding Jumpkids camp. Everyone out there looks ready to get started, so I’m going to tell you what you need to do. It’s really easy, so don’t anyone panic out there, all right?”

“All right!” the kids answered enthusiastically. Keiler and the chicken dance had clearly won their minds and hearts. He was the pied piper, and they would have followed him anywhere.

Never ever in my life had I seen anyone work a crowd quite like that. The same charisma that had caused me to tell him my life story on the plane was now holding the room spellbound. I made a mental note that when we had a quiet moment, I would encourage him toward seminary school. He had a special talent with people, a rare gift. It would be a shame to waste it bumming around ski resorts. Whatever the purpose of his life, it had to be something much greater than wandering musician. If there was a plan for any of us, there had to be a plan for someone like him.

I watched him as he directed the kids to move to different parts of the room, grouping them according to their name tags. Our bunch moved to one corner, with Caleb acting as temporary roundup leader.

Keiler carefully reintroduced each group to their leaders, then looked thoughtfully at Sherita and a few other nothings who were still sulking in their chairs. He assigned two to each group, and Sherita wound up in vocal music with Harmonious Heather and Tune-Time Tina. Unfortunately, Dell was in that group, as well.

Dell hurried over to us as the others headed for the vocal music room down the hall. “I wanna be in your group.” It was more of a plea than a complaint. There wasn’t an ounce of petulance, just fear.

Keiler smiled and patted her on the arm, then glanced at his watch. “You will be in about an hour and fifteen minutes. We’ll be rotating, and the vocal music kids will be coming to us, to see if anyone can play and sing at the same time.” By “anyone,” I could tell he meant her.

She knew it, too, and she started shaking her head. “I don’t like to sing.”

Keiler scratched behind his ear skeptically. “Well, hmmm, I heard you singing earlier when you were helping with the speaker cables, and I thought,
Now, there’s a girl who really has a voice. She must sing all the time
.”

Dell was flattered. A blush crept into her dark cheeks, but she fought the urge to smile. “I don’t like to sing in
front
of people.”

“Oh, now, that’s no problem.” Keiler was luring her in like a fish. “Heather and Tina have a little magic trick to help people get over that. Never fails. It’s a Jumpkids trade secret, so you can’t tell anybody, all right?”

“All . . . right.” Dell knitted her eyebrows doubtfully. On one hand, now she wanted to know the magic Jumpkids secret. On the other hand, she didn’t want to go with the vocal music group, who were just about to head out the door. Turning to me, she shrugged in their direction. “Sherita’s gonna make fun of me, and then she’ll knock my lights out.”

“No, she’s not,” I promised, but I glanced at Heather and Tina, who were busy chatting at the front of their line, and I wasn’t inspired with great confidence. What if they didn’t supervise closely enough and something happened to Dell? What if the delicate thread of confidence that had brought her here was broken? I was the one who convinced her to come. . . .

I chewed my lip, leaning close to Keiler. “Maybe . . .”

He pretended not to hear. Handing me his guitar, he slipped an arm over Dell’s shoulders. “Now don’t forget,” he said, loudly enough that Sherita, who was trailing at the end of the vocal music line, could hear. “Being in a Jumpkids group is like being part of a family. Your job is to do your own personal best, but it’s also your job to help the other family members. If you see one of the singers not singing, you might need to slip in there and sing their part, so they can hear how it sounds when someone else does it. If you see someone not listening when your counselor is giving instructions, you might need to listen and repeat the instructions to them. In your group, you also have a couple of audience members—you’ll know them because of the big
N
on their name tags. If you see one of them frowning, or making fun, or moving around, or
making noise, you might need to take their job and sit down while they get up and sing your part. That’s the way a Jumpkids family works together. We don’t criticize each other—if we see someone not doing what they should, we get in there and set a better example. If we can’t do any better or if we don’t want to switch places with someone, then we keep our mouths shut. That make sense?”

Dell nodded, and he deposited her at the back of the line. In front of her, Sherita didn’t even turn around. She just marched off like a little soldier. A sullen soldier, but a soldier. Part of the Jumpkids family, whether she wanted to be or not.

James crossed the room and stood beside me, smiling. “Boy, he’s good.” He nodded in Keiler’s direction. “Normally, when Dell gets that look on her face, she’s about to make some excuse and head for the hills.”

I nodded. “Keiler really seems to have a magic way with kids.”

“With adults, too.” James grinned. “He got you to do the chicken dance.” Then he turned around and introduced himself to Keiler.

Keiler shook James’s hand, taking in the guitar case. “That really a Martin?”

Laying the case down, James popped it open. “Nineteen seventy-five anniversary model.”

Keiler drew a breath, running a hand reverently over the smoothly polished surface. “Man, an antique.”

James and I winced in unison, realizing the guitar was born before Keiler. If it was an antique, then we were ancient artifacts.

“What a
boss
instrument,” Keiler remarked. “Those Martin strings?”

“Of course,” James replied. “Is there any other kind?”

“Nope,” Keiler replied. “You here for the day? Because I’d really like to get my hands on this old baby.”

James answered in the affirmative, and within moments, he had been elected honorary Jumpkids counselor, which wasn’t really fair because he never had to do the chicken dance.

Chapter 16

B
y noon, Jumpkids camp was moving along without a hitch. No one, including the bevy of silver-haired church ladies who showed up to serve lunch, would have guessed that the morning had started out with confused counselors and a septic system meltdown.

When we arrived in the fellowship hall for our sandwich lunch, the counselors were psyched and the children were chattering about everything they had done that morning in their primary classes. After lunch, they would rotate through several other stations.

“On the last three days of camp, we concentrate on putting the whole production together,” Keiler told me as we moved to a table where James was already unwrapping his sandwich. “By then, the kids have been in camp a week and a half, and they know their individual parts pretty well. Then it’s just a matter of showing them how to work together as a group. Last year we did an adaptation of
Cats,
and this year, of course, it’s
The Lion King
. The Jumpkids Foundation is headquartered in New York, so they usually try to do things that are big on Broadway. It’s better publicity, and the kids like it.”

“You make it sound so simple.” I tried to imagine how they were going to turn so many squirming bodies into a musical theater group. “
The Lion King
is a pretty complicated production for a bunch of kids.”

“It’ll be tough without Shirley,” Keiler admitted. “She knew how to
put a production together. She’s been doing it for—I don’t know—twelve years or something. She’s amazing. She runs the Jumpkids after-school arts program at Kansas City schools during the school year, and then in the summer, the Jumpkids camps.”

“That
is
amazing,” I agreed, trying to imagine maintaining this level of activity all the time. It was only eleven thirty, and I felt like I’d been run over by a bus. “And she’s been trying to do this while she was pregnant?”

Keiler nodded. “Yeah, but the doctors said she had to quit. Too much stress and her blood pressure’s up.”

Mindy set down her tray at our table and interjected into the conversation, “She’s, like, over forty and pregnant with twins.”

James and I both winced. Glancing at me privately, James gave Mindy a playful sneer, mouthing, “Over forty, naa, naa, naa.”

Keiler caught it and felt the need to bridge the generation gap. “Forty’s not that old.”

Mindy glanced up, embarrassed. “Oh, man, I didn’t mean . . . I mean, you guys don’t
seem
so old.”

Resting his chin on his hand, James watched Mindy dig the hole deeper. “I mean, like, you’re”—she searched for a word, and came up with—“cool. You’re not over forty. My parents are
over forty
.” She said it like there was some kind of terrible dividing line between her parents’ generation and the rest of the world. “How old
are
you, anyway?”

I refused to answer, and James raised an eyebrow, saying, “I remember the Beatles.”

Mindy’s face dropped, and she breathed, “Whoa,” in amazement. Then, “Radrat. Really?”

James was clearly amused, so he laid on a little more ancient trivia. “Yeah, and believe it or not, Karen here was once in a college production of
Hair
.”

“James!” I gasped, blushing. “How did you know that?”
Hair
was long before I met James. By the time we met, I was already a junior exec at Lansing—straightlaced, business suit, no sign of the girl who once put on a tie-dyed halter top and bell-bottoms and performed barefoot in
Hair
.

James winked suggestively. “I know all your dirty little secrets.”

Keiler and Mindy stopped eating and leaned forward, waiting for more dirt. Fortunately, Dell and Harmonious Heather arrived at our table and interrupted the
Jerry Springer
session of marital secrets revealed.

Heather gave us an apologetic look, nodding toward Dell. “I know she’s supposed to sit with the class, but she really wanted to sit over here with y’all. Is that O.K.?”

“Sure.” I scooted sideways, and James brought a chair over for Dell.

Heather grabbed Dell’s ponytail, giving it a playful tug. “You have to come back after lunch, though.” Winking at us, she whispered, “Dell’s my best student, but don’t tell everyone else I said so.”

Dell blushed and looked at the floor.

“I don’t doubt that,” I said, feeling a burst of parental pride, even though Dell wasn’t mine. “I heard her singing when we walked by the classroom. She sounded great.”

Heather nodded. “She’s a natural. She has a vocal range over three octaves, at least, and that’s really unusual, even for an adult. Especially when she’s never had any voice training.”

“You should see her on the piano,” I bragged. I couldn’t help it. I felt like I might burst.

Dell secreted a little smile beneath the curtain of hair, then slid onto the seat between James and me.

“Are you having a good time?” I asked.

Her smile broadened until she couldn’t hide it anymore. “It’s
fun
.” Leaning across the table toward Keiler, she proudly whispered, “Heather told me the Jumpkids secret.”

Keiler winked, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Dell nodded.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Keiler said.

“I won’t,” she replied, snickering.

I was jealous. I wanted to know the Jumpkids secret.

We talked for a while about Dell’s morning, and how things were going with the vocal music group. A little boy named Edwardo had been selected for the role of the young Lion King, and Heather was still
trying to find some older boys and girls to play the grown-up lions and lionesses. Heather was trying to talk Dell into auditioning for the role of Nala, which would include a solo and a speaking part. Dell, on the other hand, didn’t want a solo or a speaking part. Playing an instrument in the orchestra pit sounded “easier,” she said, which meant that playing an instrument didn’t require getting up in front of people.

Pointing at her behind her back, Heather mouthed, “Nala,” winking and nodding at us. I had a feeling she would eventually talk Dell into it.

Heather left to join the vocal music students at another table. Sherita was still trailing the group, dangling a couple of scripts at her side, looking like she wanted to throw them at somebody. At the dance table, Meleka was talking to Mojo Joe. From their hand motions, it was clear they were discussing some of the dance moves the class had studied that morning. I couldn’t hear the words, just the hum of their conversation mixed with the other voices in the room. Meleka must have finally understood what he was explaining, because she stood up, looked around for a clear space, and proceeded to do a hitch kick, three-quarter turn, a perfect stride leap to a crouch, then a cartwheel that almost landed her on the condiments table.

She didn’t even notice. Her entire group were on their feet, giving her affirmations and a standing ovation. She broke into a grin so big that there was hardly any little girl left—just a shining row of white teeth.

“Good for her,” I said, realizing I was halfway out of my chair, applauding.

“It is good for her.” Keiler pushed his hair out of his face and started eating lunch, as if these moments of pint-sized personal triumph were an everyday occurrence. “You wouldn’t know by looking at her right now that she’s been in four foster homes already and held back twice in school.” Glancing at Dell, he seemed to realize he shouldn’t have said that in front of her. “That shouldn’t be repeated, all right?”

Dell nodded, and she actually gave Meleka a sympathetic look. “All right.”

I turned back around and said quietly to Dell, “So how are things going with Sherita?”

Dell shrugged. “Fine. She doesn’t wanna do anyone else’s part, so she’s not sayin’ a word to anybody. She’s just sittin’ in the corner reading the script is all. It looks pretty boring. I don’t know why she wants to do that.”

“She’ll figure it out.” Keiler stopped eating and butted Dell good-naturedly in the shoulder. “And let’s remember, you can’t help somebody by being critical.”

Taking a bite of her sandwich, Dell thought about that. “Grandma Rose says, ‘Hard words can’t turn a heart.’ ”

James and I smiled at each other, and Keiler gave Dell a look of respect. “That’s a good way of putting it. I like that.”

The first buzzer went off, telling us that in five minutes our lunchtime would be over. We hurried to finish our meal, then threw away our trash. In the doorway, we passed Kate and Jenilee coming in for lunch with the art group. Both of them were wearing painting smocks, and Jenilee had blue paint on her hands and in her hair.

“This stuff is supposed to wash out,” she said when she noticed us looking. “I’m not much of an artist. I told Caleb he should have done art and let me go outside and do baseball. I know baseball. My brothers played for years. I don’t know one bloomin’ thing about making a theater set.”

“It’s time to learn.” Kate nudged her playfully, and I could tell that surviving in the art room was a bonding experience for them. “You are
not
leaving me alone in there with Mad Marvin and his seventeen little Picassos. Your artwork looks just fine.”

Jenilee giggled, shaking her head, her brown eyes glittering. “There’s no telling how this set’s going to turn out. The trees look like celery stalks and the rocks look like giant cow pies.”

“Well, that’s a picture.” James laughed.

Jenilee rubbed the back of a blue hand across her forehead, leaving a streak of war paint. “You have no idea. There’s paint
everywhere
.”

Kate nodded. “I hope Brother Baker doesn’t come in there. He’ll have a fit. It’s just a good thing we draped plastic all over the room yesterday, because there is no way you can turn seventeen kids loose with paint and butcher paper and end up with a clean room.”

“Sounds like a challenge.” I had a feeling that was hard to describe—a sense of camaraderie, of family. No matter how much finger-paint was involved or how tired we were, it felt right for us to be here together, doing something good as a family.

“I’m glad we’re all here today.” My voice was choked with emotion.

Kate’s eyes welled up and she blinked hard, her lips trembling. Jenilee gave us a tender look, and the next thing I knew, we were sharing a group sister hug. The guys stood on the fringes and added a chorus of “Awww.”

Men.

We spent the afternoon rotating kids through the various stations, then finished the day outside with a disorganized baseball game as we waited for parents to pick up kids. James, who had been a small-town Virginia baseball star in high school, was the star of the show. The kids were awed by his fast pitch and amazed at how far he could hit a ball.

Kate and I stood at the fence, watching. “He’s pretty good,” she commented, rolling her head wearily from side to side and rubbing the back of her neck.

“I think he’s enjoying all of this.”

Kate gave me a thoughtful sideways glance. “He’s not the only one. You look like you’re having a blast. Jenilee and I were lucky to have
survived
the day, but you’re actually . . . well . . . good at this.” She waved a hand vaguely toward the organized chaos on the field.

I chuckled, noticing for the first time that Kate looked haggard, paint covered, and exhausted. “Yeah, who’d have thought?”

“I would have. You’re always good at everything. My gosh, Karen, you’ve never failed at a thing in your life.”

“Me?” I gaped at Kate, wondering if she really meant that. It was exactly what I’d always thought about her. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’re the math whiz, the science genius, the president of the physics club, and now you’re Martha Stewart and Grandma Rose all rolled into one. I can’t even begin to compete with that. Let me tell you, it’s not easy always being shown up by your little sister.” It was a surprisingly honest admission, one I’d kept to myself all these years. Right now, I couldn’t imagine why.

Kate was speechless. Her surprise slowly melted into a sardonic smirk. “You’re just trying to make me feel better because I look like such a basket case right now, and you’re”—she threw a hand up and let it slap against her leg—“well, you haven’t got a hair out of place. You’ve got the nice highlights and the snappy little shoulder-length bob. You look like a darned fashion model. You’re the one who’s impossible to keep up with.”

A puff of air stole past my lips, and I stood shaking my head, fully understanding in that one strange moment the paradox of our relationship. We’d never been able to stop competing long enough to just love each other. “You know what, Kate? I’m not just saying that. I really do mean it. You’re incredible. You’ve always been incredible, and now here you are, raising two wonderful kids, doing a great job of keeping up the farm, volunteering at church, and cooking big meals in Grandma Rose’s kitchen to boot. If I’ve ever made you feel like you’re less than incredible, I’m sorry. I’m no one to compete with. As of last Friday, I’m unemployed, for heaven’s sake.” As soon as I said it, I wished I could swallow the words back down my throat.