The Language of Sycamores (21 page)

“I told her to stay home and rest up for tonight.” I checked my watch. Four o’clock. “But it’s just about time to go get her. Can you go? We’ve got so much to do here yet, and Kate hasn’t shown up. She’s probably busy getting the house ready for company tomorrow.”

James stood back, clicked his heels together, and saluted me military style. “Ya-vold, Herr General.” He sounded like Sergeant Schultz on
Hogan’s Heroes
. I had a feeling he was making light of my pointing and ordering the college kids around, but somebody had to instruct them. They were all so nervous, they were practically nonfunctional. I couldn’t imagine how they were going to get through next week’s Jumpkids camp in Goshen. They were a bunch of free spirits, which made them good at the artistic part of this job and not good at the organizational part.

“Very funny.” I was a little sharper than I meant to be. “Sorry.” Nervous perspiration beaded on my forehead, and I wiped it away.

“It’s all right,” he said, obviously disappointed to see me acting like the old humorless Karen. “Relax, Karen. It’ll be O.K.”

Closing my eyes a minute, I tried to catch a breath. “I can’t relax,” I admitted. “With the Geo thing and this.” I waved a hand vaguely toward the stage. “And I’m worried about Dell.” Not to mention the biopsy results. “It’s too much at once, that’s all.”

He kissed me sympathetically on the forehead. “Well, next week, all
you’ll have to think about is Geo.” I knew he said that as an encouragement, but it fell to the pit of my stomach like a rock.

I felt ragged, close to tears. Afraid to speak, I nodded.

“I’ll go get Dell.” He turned around and left.

Clutching my clipboard to my chest, I sank against the wall.
Get it together, Karen.
What was wrong with me? I felt like I was standing on a live electrical wire and couldn’t get off.

Something crashed onstage, jolting me to life. One of the branches of Rafiki’s tree had fallen off, and Keiler was desperately trying to keep the now-lopsided structure from toppling over.

“Oh-oh-oh-oh!” I squealed and rushed onto the stage. “Somebody get a hammer!”

In the wings, Sherita was dragging a reluctant Myrone by the arm, saying, “Myrone, I’m gonna whup your butt. I told you to stay with me.”

Myrone didn’t hear her. He was busy singing a chorus of “Climb da twee, climb da twee!” And then a lion roar or two. “Rrraaarrrr! Rrraaarrrr!”

Keiler and I burst into laughter. “It’s always unpredictable,” he said, straining to push the tree back into place.

“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “That’s what I love about it.” I hadn’t admitted that to anyone, not even to myself. In spite of all the chaos, I loved this. I loved seeing the set come together, watching the production develop, hearing the music and singing. I loved watching kids like Sherita find inner joy and develop a hope that the world had something good to offer. “Maybe I’ll come back next summer.”

“Maybe I will, too,” Keiler said as we held the tree in place while Mojo Joe nailed the branch back on.

Mojo wasn’t very good with a hammer. “Hey, I’m an ar-tiste, not a lumberjack,” he said in a stage voice with a heavy lisp. The three of us cracked up.

We were standing back, laughing and looking at the lopsided tree, when the back door burst open and James rushed in, his face ashen and his movements quick and angular.

“Where’s Dell?” he said as he ran down the aisle. “Is she here? Did her grandmother bring her in? There’s nobody at the house. No lights on. Nothing.”

“Are you sure they’re not just asleep?” I asked, slowly working up to his level of panic. It wasn’t like James to panic.

“I checked inside. There’s nobody there. The dog was tied up in the yard with no food and water. It looks like they’ve been gone a while.”

“They don’t have a car. Where could they go?” A cacophony of terrible images ran through my mind—images of Uncle Bobby coming to take Dell away someplace where we would never see her again.

“We gotta find Dell.” Mojo Joe braced his hands petulantly on his hips. “She’s my main girl. She cain’t be gone the night of dress rehearsal.” He didn’t realize that, at the moment, dress rehearsal was the least of our worries. I knew there was no way Dell would miss dress rehearsal—unless something terrible had happened.

“Go see if Brother Baker knows anything,” I said to Keiler. “I’m going to go call Kate. Maybe she picked up Dell and her grandmother, or knows who did.”
But if someone had picked Dell up, they would be here by now. . . .

James turned and headed for the door. “I’m going back and talk to a couple of their neighbors. Maybe they know what’s happened.”

“Maybe,” I said, the word a thin, fragile thread of hope.

For the next hour, we searched frantically for Dell. The cast members began arriving one and two at a time until they were all there, getting in costume, completing last-minute run-throughs of their parts.

My hopes sank. If Dell was anywhere in the vicinity, she would have been with us, even if she had to walk. There was no way she would miss her first big show.

James called on my cell to tell us that the neighbors said an ambulance had gone down Mulberry Road in the middle of the night. They didn’t know where it stopped. James had talked to Kate, and she remembered that Dell had disappeared once before when her grandmother was suddenly taken to the hospital.

“Kate says she gave Dell strict instructions to call if that ever happened again.” James sounded worried and puzzled. “Kate told her to call collect, call the cell phone, anything, just let them know where she was and if she needed help.”

“Then where
is
she?” My stomach swirled and I felt sick. If she wasn’t calling, it was because she couldn’t.

James groaned under his breath, as if he felt things spiraling out of control and the flight captain in him was trying to keep a cool head. “I don’t know. I’m on my way into town. I’ll be there in a minute.”

We hung up, and I walked to the stage, where the kids were taking their places to do a quick rehearsal of the battle scene between the good lions and the evil lions.

Mojo Joe squatted on the edge of the stage with his hands outstretched, palms up. “Where’s Dell? Where’s my girl? I need her for this scene.”

“We can’t find her.” My throat tightened. “We don’t know.” I swallowed hard, pressing my fingers to my lips to keep them from trembling. “Have Sherita stand in for now. She knows Dell’s part.”

Joe looked as crestfallen as I felt. Nodding, he stood up and waved toward Sherita. “Sherita, hon, come here. I need you to stand in for Dell’s part for now.”

Sherita handed Myrone off to Brother Baker, then walked to the middle of the stage and looked around the sanctuary. “Where’s Dell?” She gave me a peeved sneer. “The little Indian girl chicken out?”

“We don’t
know
where she is,” I replied harshly, not in the mood for Sherita’s attitude. “There’s no one at her house. The neighbors said there may have been an ambulance there last night. That’s all we know.”

Realizing the seriousness of the situation, Sherita jerked back. Her eyes met mine for just an instant, with a sympathy and understanding that surprised me. “I’ll stand in. I know her part.” She headed for Dell’s mark, then turned back. “Ya know, when Ma’am Beans had her stroke—that was the foster mom before this las’ one—they sent us to that Debuke House foster shelter over by Cainey Creek. Maybe Dell’s there. That’s where kids get sent when there’s an emergency, if they ain’t got family.” She shrugged noncommittally, then continued on to Dell’s mark. “But I hope she ain’t there. That’s a bad, bad place.”

I met Brother Baker at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you think she could be there?”

“I don’t know.” He handed Myrone to me. “But I’ll call and check. I know the director there. We donate bears for their Teddybuddies program.”

He disappeared through the door, and I stood there not knowing what to hope for. Seeming to sense my need for comfort, Myrone wrapped his arms around my neck, and I cradled him like a security blanket.

James came in the door, and I explained the situation to him; then we stood impatiently waiting for Brother Baker to come back. Onstage, the rehearsal continued, with Sherita doing an adept job of Dell’s part.

Just as the song was ending, Brother Baker returned, his expression grim. “She’s at the Debuke House emergency foster shelter. She was taken there this morning. Her grandmother had some sort of attack last night, and is in pretty bad shape. Her liver and kidneys are failing, and they don’t expect that she will live very much longer. The foster shelter is trying to get in touch with Dell’s uncle, but they haven’t been able to contact him, and—”

“We can’t let him take her,” I blurted. “They don’t understand what he’s like. There’s no way he’s fit to take care of a little girl.”

Brother Baker nodded with the practiced calm of a man who’d been through it before. “Let me get to work on it.” He glanced at the stage and then at his watch. “How long until showtime?”

“Thirty minutes,” I admitted glumly, knowing that alone in a strange place, Dell was watching showtime draw closer, too.

Nodding, Brother Baker headed for the door again.

Keiler came to the edge of the stage and squatted down, then looked from me to James and back, perceiving that the news was not good. “The audience is starting to arrive. Is Dell going to be here, or are we sending Sherita on?”

“Send Sherita on. Have Meleka take Sherita’s part as the mother lion,” I said quietly, feeling my heart strain between excitement for the rest of the kids and an intense ache for Dell. Whatever it took, we were going to have Dell here for tomorrow’s performance.

Chapter 21

J
ames and I slipped through the choir door and stood in the hallway with the kids as the sanctuary filled to capacity and beyond with family members, churchgoers, and townsfolk. Everyone wanted to see whether a group of hapless college students could really turn ninety-seven children, many from the neediest families in town, into a theater group in two weeks.

The audience murmured at a low hum, admiring the set and catching occasional glimpses of costumed children peeking through the hallway door into the sanctuary. James took charge of the door, keeping things to a dull roar and protecting little fingers.

Kate came out of the church office and stopped beside me, her face knitted with worry. “Brother Baker’s been on the phone with the foster shelter and the hospital. He’s trying to get Dell out of there, but basically her grandmother has to give permission, or else it has to go through the courts and the foster care system, which could take days or even weeks. Her grandmother is in and out of consciousness. It’s hard to tell how much she understands.”

I nodded grimly, but not without hope. Brother Baker had been known to work miracles. He had a powerful ally on his side. “Tell him James and I are ready to go get her as soon as he tells us it’s all right.”

Kate hesitated for a moment, taking in the crowd of expectant
animal faces, all looking at me, waiting for instructions. “I could go. . . .” The sentence seemed unfinished.

“You’ve got Joshua and Rose by yourself tonight with Ben gone, and besides, you shouldn’t go to the shelter alone—just in case her uncle Bobby shows up there.” It sounded like a logical argument, but the truth was that it seemed right for James and me to go after Dell.

“I’ll tell Brother Baker,” Kate replied, her face giving little indication of her feelings.

Nearby, Keiler told the kids it was two minutes to showtime, and no more peeking through the door. They hushed and grew amazingly still as he brought me the director’s clipboard. “Do you need me to direct, or do you want to do it?”

I looked at my determined, excited cast members, eyes shining behind their costumes—Sherita, Meleka, Myrone, Edwardo dressed as the Lion King cub, John Ray standing perfectly still among the zebras, not daring to swat anyone with his tail. How could I not come through for them now? “I’ll get the first number,” I whispered to Keiler. “We’re still waiting for word about getting Dell from the foster shelter.” I pictured Dell alone in an institutional-looking room, like a prisoner in a cell, watching the minutes tick by, and my eyes welled up. Was she wondering if we had forgotten her?

Keiler laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Two minutes till showtime. Better give them their last-minute reminders.”

Nodding, I wiped my eyes and surveyed our African zoo of wildebeests, giraffes, baboons, elephants, gazelles, lions, monkeys, warthogs, and zebras, who were being very good. They stood like statues while I repeated the instructions, all of which they had heard before. Hit their marks, don’t run into each other, sing loudly, move near one of the hidden microphones for solos. “All of you are ready,” I finished. “You were great yesterday—better than great. Don’t worry about the audience. Do it just like you did yesterday when they weren’t there. If you mess up or miss your mark, don’t get upset and don’t start to cry, just catch up as quickly as you can. This is all for fun. If I catch anyone not having fun, then I’ll be mad, but other than that, I am proud of all of you. You’re all very special. You’re Jumpkids. Jumpkids don’t give up and they don’t
quit. Let’s get out there and show this whole town what Jumpkids are made of.”

The kids raised their hands and twittered them in the air in the silent Jumpkids cheer. Beside me, Sherita raised one hand and held Myrone with the other.

After a moment, Keiler shushed them. “Most of you already know that Dell can’t be here tonight, so Sherita will be stepping in for Dell. Before we go out there, why don’t we take just a minute to say a prayer for Dell, so that she’ll know we’re thinking about her? I want you to pray so hard, she’ll be able to feel us right there in the room, all right?”

The kids nodded, suddenly solemn, and all of us bowed our heads. Throughout the hallway, small voices muttered simple prayers.

“Please,” I heard myself whisper. “Please, God . . .” Emotion choked off the words.

“Send an angel,” Sherita’s voice finished softly. A hand slipped into mine, and I realized it was hers. I felt a peace that surpassed understanding.

“Yes,” was all I could say. I imagined Dell in a room filled with angels. No longer alone and afraid.

Keiler ended the prayer by asking for the success of the performance and the safety of the performers. In the auditorium, the drum chant cued up, and Keiler pushed open the stage door, so that the hallway flooded with sound.

“Hit your marks!” I said, and the stampede began—in a quiet, orderly sort of way. I followed them up the stairs and stood in the wings as they moved into the opening number. Onstage, the monkey medicine man took Myrone from Meleka’s lap, carrying him slowly to the front of the stage, then thrusting him high in the air just as the speakers blared
“Nants ingonyama!”

Onstage, the animals began to dance in a symphony of sound and motion that was filled with energy and pure joy.

It was, I was sure, a moment I would remember forever. I was filled to overflowing with wonder, as if every empty part of me were suddenly complete, every yearning answered. It was like nothing I had ever experienced—a moment of absolute grace.

When the song was over, the kids moved to their new marks, some of them leaving the stage as the on-tape narrator told the next part of the story.

James stuck his head in the door when the tide of kids had gone out. “Let’s go. Brother Baker said we need to head for the foster shelter
now
.”

I handed the clipboard to Keiler. “Wish us luck.”

He hugged me quickly. “Godspeed,” he whispered in my ear.

Straightening my shoulders, I turned and hurried after James.

The sounds of the performance followed us out to the parking lot and into our car. Rolling down the window, I listened as long as I could. “They’re doing so well.”

James smiled, his face dimly lit by the dashboard lights. “You were incredible. I think maybe you should have been a theater director or a music teacher.” I had a feeling he was trying to distract me from asking about Dell and I wondered why, since we were supposed to be on our way to pick her up.

“So what did Brother Baker say? Are they going to let us take Dell?”

James winced. “Everything’s pretty uncertain. Brother Baker is trying to convince the grandmother to give over temporary guardianship. The shelter faxed a form, and he headed for the hospital fifteen minutes ago. She’s more afraid of Dell being in state custody than anything else, so he thinks she’ll sign. Now we just hope that she’s conscious when he gets there, that she really will agree, and that Uncle Bobby doesn’t show up before we get this done, because”—he scratched his forehead roughly, then clamped his hand back on the wheel—“if he does, things could get complicated.”

“We can’t let that happen.” It seemed as if the car wasn’t moving fast enough along the dark ribbon of highway. I imagined Uncle Bobby arriving at the shelter before us, taking Dell away. “Hurry.”

“I am.” James glanced at the speedometer, which was already up to seventy-five. “It isn’t going to do her any good if we get in a wreck on the way there.” It sounded like something Grandma Rose would have said. For a moment, I felt her in the car with us, leaning forward in the back seat, her old black shoes pushing an invisible accelerator to the floorboard.

Closing my eyes, I leaned against the headrest, trying to breathe. “We have to get there first.”

“I know.”

Thoughts and ideas began to cycle rapidly through my mind, like the bits of light flashing past, entering for a moment, then disappearing through the windows. In the silence of the car, in the pounding of my heart, and the drumbeat in my ears, there was clarity. Turning toward the window, I let air rush over my face. It smelled of earth and water, new spring growth and blackberry blossoms.

Comfortable things. Things that suddenly seemed so very right. In a sudden burst of emotion, I found the meaning of life. Of my life.

“I don’t want to leave.” I wondered, at first, if I had said it out loud, but I felt it in my soul like something hard and solid.

“What, hon?” James seemed to be lost in his thoughts. I wondered what they were.

Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes and sat up, very deliberately closing the window until the rush of wind whistled a mournful soprano, then disappeared. In the quiet that followed, I said it again: “I don’t want to leave.”

“What do you mean—on Tuesday?” he asked carefully, but his tone said that he knew I meant more than just Tuesday.

Turning slowly to look at him, I painted the picture that was forming in my mind. “No, I mean I want to stay in Missouri for good. I want to take the job as Jumpkids director in Kansas City, and I want to move there. You can fly out of Kansas City as easily as you can fly out of Boston. I want to build a weekend house on the hill above the mermaid creek. I want us to be Dell’s foster parents for now—and later, if she’s willing, to pursue adoption.” I turned to him, slipping my hand over his, trying to communicate through touch. “We should be the ones, James. We were brought here for a reason, and this is it—her, and the others in the Jumpkids program. I feel it in a way I’ve never felt anything in my life.” I paused, but he only sat there in shock, so I went on, desperately trying to explain. “These last two weeks have been . . . like coming alive. I’ve had a sense of purpose each day, a reason that involved something larger than myself, the next business deal, the next
new car, or the next vacation. It’s like there’s a door inside me that’s been closed for years, and all of a sudden it’s been thrust wide open, and there’s music in every part of me.”

“You can play music in Boston,” he said quietly. His hand, under mine, didn’t move or turn over so that our fingers could intertwine in silent partnership.

“Not this music.” How could I make him understand? “Not the music of the heart. In Boston, it would just be music. Time would go by, and I would go back to all the normal things. Even if we could take Dell back there with us, you know how things would be. I’d be working long hours, you’d be gone flying half of every week. We’d put her in school, and after-school programs, and theater arts programs, piano lessons, voice lessons, dance. You wouldn’t have time for catfishing with her, or playing guitar on Saturday nights. The three of us would hardly ever be in the same place at the same time. That’s how it would turn out for us there. If we move here, we can make a new start. Dell could go to school in Kansas City, where nobody would know her, where nobody teases her and looks down on her because of her family. She could be in a school that has music and theater, maybe even a school that focuses on the arts. She could help me with Jumpkids in the afternoons and the summers. She’d have room to grow.
We’d
have room to grow, to make a whole new life.” Suddenly, the idea was clear in my mind, and I realized it had been there all along—James, Dell, me. A family.

He turned away slightly, hiding his emotions, searching the roadway ahead as if the answer might be there.
This is all too fast,
his body language said. “So you’re telling me you’re not happy in Boston?” Behind the words, there was an undercurrent, a wounded tone that asked,
Am I not enough, is our life together not enough?

“It’s not that,” I rushed out. “It’s not a case of having been happy or unhappy there. It’s just that Boston feels like the past. I feel like there’s something different, something new ahead for us. Like Boston was the first half of our life, and now we’re moving on to the second half. The last time . . .” The words trembled, and I pressed my lips together, tightening the billowing cords of emotion, wrapping them into a ball so that I could finally say the one thing I’d never said to him or to
myself. “I felt this way eight years ago when we found out we were going to have a baby—like our life was about to become something totally new, something we never predicted. I don’t know if I was ready for it at the time, if I was ready to give up so much of myself, but I felt something. And when we lost the baby, we let it go and just went on with life as we knew it. I don’t want to let it go this time. This time I’m ready.”

“Ready?” he repeated quietly.