The Language of Sycamores (25 page)

On the phone, Shirley was talking about the details of the application process, how the Jumpkids board in New York was structured, and how the foundation worked. She offered to send me a few brochures, some news articles, and a copy of the charter.

“That would be good, thanks,” I said, slightly distracted as Limber Linda ran by, frantically searching for her duct tape.

Keiler tore off a few more pieces, stuck them to his frayed jeans, then passed the duct tape across the stage like a football. Linda made the Hail Mary catch, spun around like a dancer, and then headed out the choir door, saying, “Thanks. The darned headdresses won’t stay on the giraffes today.”

I tried to imagine how she was going to fix loose headdresses with duct tape. “I’d better go,” I told Shirley, as she was finishing the explanation of the paperwork. “I think one of the counselors is about to duct tape costumes onto the children.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Shirley assured me. “Good luck, Karen. Or I guess I should say, break a leg, since you’re practically official now.”

“Thanks.” We said good-bye, and I set down the phone, then went after Linda, leaving Keiler and James to finish the waterfall.

Dell was practicing her solo as I passed by the vocal music room.
She sounded shaky and uncertain. Halfway through the song, she stopped. “I can’t do it.” Her voice trembled with tears.

“She ain’t doin’ it right,” Sherita carped from somewhere in the room.

I stood outside the door, afraid to go in. If Dell saw me there, it would only add to the pressure. She would be afraid of disappointing me.

“What? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the Jumpkids secret?” I heard Tina say.

“It ain’t workin’,” Sherita groused.

“Sherita, that’s enough,” Tina reprimanded. “You can either be constructive or you can leave the room. Dell just needs a minute to warm up. Everyone gets nerves. It’s nothing unusual. Let’s try it again, Dell.”

The music cued, and Dell started the song from the top. I waited a minute to see if Sherita would come out, but she didn’t. Finally, I hurried on to find Linda and the duct tape.

When I entered the costume gallery, the helpers were, indeed, duct taping costumes onto children, but fortunately to clothes, not to skin or hair or skin with hair on it. The giraffes, now halfway dressed and wrapped securely in harnesses of silver duct tape, seemed to think the costume addition was fantastic, sort of superhero-robot-like, and they admired themselves in the row of long mirrors before putting on the rest of their costumes.

By the time we were ten minutes to curtain, we had everybody costumed and lined up backstage. The kids were calm, having been through the performance the night before.

In the orchestra pit, the percussion band started playing the prelude, accompanied by a clear, sweet piano melody. Glancing around the corner, I saw Dell at the keys, dressed as a young lioness, her face painted with shades of tan and gray, decorated with a nose and whiskers. The first bars of music were uncertain, and she glanced toward the crowd, missing a note, then pausing to catch up with the orchestra. When she started again, she closed her eyes, and within one bar, she was lost in the music. In the audience, people murmured in appreciation, stretching in their seats to see who was playing, taking on looks of surprise as they guessed her identity.

I wished she could see their faces. After tonight, none of them would ever look at her the same way again.

In the second row of the audience, Kate grinned. Sandwiched between Aunt Jeane and Mrs. Jaans, she gave me the thumbs-up with tears in her eyes, then twisted in her seat, looking for Ben, who still wasn’t there. I knew she wanted to share this moment with him.

Except for the small space saved for Ben, our family row was full, as was the rest of the sanctuary. The ushers were frantically setting up folding chairs in the aisles. They finished just as the kids were hitting their marks for the opening number. Dell left the orchestra pit and hurried to her place on stage.

In the back of the auditorium, the door opened, letting in a slice of light, and I saw Ben there, holding the door open for some latecomers. I motioned to Kate, and she turned around, waving at him and then raising her hands helplessly because someone had just sat down in his seat. He gave her the O.K. sign as he helped one of the latecomers into a folding chair, then stood in the back against the wall.

The music cued for the opening number, and the auditorium blared with sound.

The kids moved into action like professionals.

In her place with the lion pride, Dell looked nervous and unsure. Watching the other cast members she followed in the dance rather than leading, as she usually would have. I wondered again if we should have pushed her into going onstage. She had so much on her mind right now—her grandmother, the short stay at the foster shelter, her future with James and me. No wonder her emotions were on edge.

The lions jumped to a squat, and Dell missed the cue. Sherita gave Dell’s costume a yank, and Dell dropped into place, embarrassed.

My heart ached for her. I wanted to run onto the stage, take her in my arms, and stop the whole thing right then. In the family row, James raised his hands helplessly, and Kate bit her lip. Both of them knew that after Myrone’s cameo and some narrative on the tape came a scene among the lion pride, during which Dell was supposed to do a solo. Shortly after that would be her big duet with Edwardo at the waterfall. Watching her now, I wondered how she would
make it through even the first small solo, a verse of a song called “If You Believe.”

The first song finished, and the monkey medicine man lifted Myrone high into the air as the finale. Myrone squirmed and let out a roar, and the crowd burst into spontaneous applause.

Sherita beamed at me as the lions moved into place for the next song. I smiled back, joyous for the other children, aching for Dell.

“She’s having a tough time of it,” Keiler whispered, leaning close to me.

“I know.” Panic began to swell inside me. “I shouldn’t have pushed her to go on. She’s just not up to it today. Maybe we should find a way to take her off, before . . .”

Keiler motioned to cue the music for the next number. “She’ll come through.”

The music started, and I held my breath as Dell rose from the lounging lion pride and came forward to sing. Dark eyes wide and white rimmed, she stared into the crowd, frozen. The music for the first verse began, but she remained silent. Behind her, the lion pride exchanged confused shrugs, and Keiler signaled the sound engineer to recue the music. Dell cut a desperate glance our way. I stood there helpless, imagining how she felt—heart pounding, mind racing, nervous perspiration dripping beneath her costume. All alone in front of the people who knew she couldn’t do this.

I closed my eyes as the melody before the first verse played again.
Please, please give her courage . . .

The chorus began and a voice rang into the air, high and sweet.

What do you know of things you can’t see? . . .

I opened my eyes, realizing the voice wasn’t Dell’s. From the lion pride, Sherita was striding forward, her movements lithe and lyrical. To the crowd, I knew it would appear planned. When Sherita reached center stage, she stopped and faced Dell, as if to sing a duet.

Turning from the audience, Dell looked into Sherita’s eyes, nodding almost imperceptibly. All of a sudden, she began to sing, as well. Her
voice mixed with Sherita’s in perfect harmony, filling the sanctuary with music as the lions danced around them in a symphony of movement and color.

My heart swelled with pride and awe, and tears welled in my eyes as I watched Dell and Sherita, two outcasts standing strong within the circle together, no longer willing to bend before the world.

I hugged them both as they came offstage and another group went on, while the narrator talked on tape. “That was great,” I whispered.

Dell beamed, and Sherita shrugged away from me, trying to hide a smile. She leaned close to Dell, shaking a finger. “I ain’t doin’ that again. You gotta sing your own solo next time.”

“I will.” Dell straightened her body confidently. “Thanks, Sherita.”

“It’s O.K.” Sherita did her best to look gruff. “I guess you probably didn’t get much sleep las’ night.”

“I’m all right now,” Dell promised, straightening her costume and intently watching the performers onstage. “I’ll be ready for the next one.”

And she was. The rest of the performance was pure magic, and by the time it was over, the audience was on its feet, roaring in a standing ovation that called the actors back for four curtain calls.

When the stage lights finally dimmed, Dell couldn’t wait to get to our family row. I waited with her impatiently while the tide of audience members flowed out and the ushers moved the folding chairs from the aisles.

Kate grabbed Dell in a gigantic hug as we reached the second row. “That was fantastic! You were amazing.”

“Yesh, amazing!” Joshua chimed in. “You looked like a big lion. Do lions sing?”

We laughed as Dell made her way up and down the family row, offering hugs of pure jubilation. “Where’s Ben?” she asked, suddenly noticing that someone important was missing.

“In back,” Kate answered. “He got here just as the performance was starting.”

“But he saw it?” Dell asked, her dark brows rising hopefully.

“I saw every bit of it,” Ben answered, making his way up the aisle,
following somebody’s grandmother, who was doing a fairly determined job of elbowing her way against the tide of outgoing guests. She stopped when she reached us and held her hand out, offering Dell a single pink rose. “This is for you,” she said, smiling, her blue eyes twinkling beneath a puff of hair dyed bright red. “A star should always have a rose on her opening night. It’s good luck.”

“Ummm . . . thank you,” Dell said, embarrassed. Taking the rose, she glanced at me uncertainly.

The woman didn’t move on, but turned to Ben instead. “I suppose you ought to introduce me,” she said, sounding like a spitfire.

Ben jerked into action. “I’m sorry.” He glanced up and down the family row, aware that he didn’t know all of the names. “This is . . . everyone. Everyone, this is Sadie Walker.”

Chapter 24

E
ven at ninety-three, with her back rounded and her body slightly stooped, Sadie Walker was a tall woman. The puff of deep artificially red hair arranged in a loose twist atop her head made her even taller, so that she seemed formidable standing there in the chapel. Her eyes, robin’s egg blue like Grandma Roses’s, were acute, and spoke of a clever mind and a good sense of humor. She was wearing a blue lace shirt, slightly transparent, with a camisole underneath, a long denim skirt, chunky red jewelry, and tall cowboy boots with cream-colored bottoms and red tops. She was fashionable, glamorous, larger than life.

Mrs. Jaans recognized her and reacted before the rest of us. “Oh, Sadie! Oh, Sadie!” she exclaimed, so excited that she knocked over a folding chair, tripped, and stumbled into James, who caught her and set her back on her feet. She didn’t even notice—she just stretched out her arms and headed for Sadie Walker at a run, crying, “Oh, Sadie, it’s cousin Eudora. Don’t you remember me?”

Sadie took on a look of recognition and threw open her arms, nearly knocking out a group of bystanders. “Oh, Eudora!” She pushed past an usher who was trying to fold chairs. “Eudora! Eudora!” They locked in an embrace, sobbing and laughing, stopping to look at each other, then hugging again.

Still seated in the second row, Joshua, Alex, and Amber stared with their mouths open, amazed and slightly wary of the histrionics.

When Sadie and Mrs. Jaans were finally finished, we made the rest of the introductions as the sanctuary emptied. Brother Baker came by and reminded us that the after-party potluck dinner was ready in Town Square Park, and they were waiting for Dell and me and the rest of the Jumpkids counselors, as guests of honor. I stood there, torn between celebrating the successful Jumpkids performance and talking to Sadie Walker, at last.

Sadie seemed to be thinking the same thing, but she glanced at Dell, who was fidgeting in place with her rose, and said, “I haven’t been to an after party in years!” Clapping her hands together, she looped an arm through Dell’s, and they started toward the door together. “Come along, sugar. A star shouldn’t be late for her own celebration.”

Sadie swept out the door with a confident, regal stride, and the rest of us followed along like dust in the wake of a tornado.

James glanced at me and smiled. “This is something.”

“I guess,” I agreed, listening as Sadie talked to Dell about crossing the street.

“All right, wait just a minute, love. There’s traffic. I don’t move as fast as I used to. Here, hold on to my arm. Here we go. A bit like trying to get a three-legged turtle across the highway, isn’t it?”

Dell giggled, and Sadie hugged her close. Oddly, Dell didn’t seem to mind at all.

Sadie went on talking as Dell helped her onto the opposite curb, while the rest of us trailed across the street. “Your performance was wonderful, especially the dance at the waterfall. Did you know I was a dancer and a singer? I still am, but just at the retirement homes now. A little music helps brighten those old folks’ days. But when I was young, I sang and danced at Radio City Music Hall—imagine that. It was quite a life, quite a time back then.”

“Really?” Dell asked, and Sadie began giving her a history lesson on Radio City Music Hall and the early days of the musical variety hour.

Behind me, I could hear Kate whispering rapid-fire questions to Ben.

“Ben, why in the world didn’t you tell me you found her?” she asked, clearly in awe of Sadie’s presence. It was a reality almost too strange to believe—my grandmother’s long-lost sister, the only remaining immediate family member of her generation, walking at the front of our line, at ninety-three years old, discussing the history of theater, jazz, and early television variety hours.

Ben chuckled. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I only tracked her down yesterday. That newspaper article was wrong. Her last name is still Walker. She was married to an old gent for a few years, but he passed away. She doesn’t live in a retirement home. She
perform
s in them. She sings and dances, if you can believe that, and she still lives alone. She’s something of a legend.”

“Are you sure she’s
our
Sadie?”

“I’m sure.”

Baby Rose squealed in Kate’s arms and babbled, “Da-da, da-da.”

Ben paused long enough to take her, and I dropped back with them, joining the conversation as Ben went on. “Wait until you hear her whole story. She’s got a scrapbook about a foot thick. She’s been on
The Ed Sullivan Show,
the
Firestone Variety Hour,
in several of the old musicals. She sang and danced at Radio City Music Hall, and on Broadway. She’s had quite an amazing life. These days, she spends her time on the steps of the state capitol, lobbying for senior citizen rights, Medicare, pollution control. I had to wait for her to picket a state senator’s house before she would come today.” He grinned sheepishly, glancing from me to Kate. “The next thing I knew, I was walking the picket line with a bunch of old folks. I think I made the noon news.”

Kate laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Just wait until you’ve spent a little time with her. You’ll see. You wouldn’t believe the stories she told me on the trip down here.”

“Did she tell you anything about why she left home—what happened between her and Grandma Rose?” I asked.

Ben shook his head. “She didn’t seem to want to talk about that. Maybe she will later.” He looked ahead to where Sadie had stopped on the sidewalk to show Dell a dance step. They made quite a pair, Dell in her white T-shirt and denim shorts, with her cinnamon skin and long,
dark hair, and Sadie in her blue skirt with her pale olive complexion and red hair swept into a puffy twist. They stood erect with their arms held gracefully in the air like wings, dancing to music only they could hear.

I stopped just to watch them, dimly hearing Ben say, “Getting to know Sadie Walker is quite an adventure.” I had a feeling it would be. Sadie Walker had gravitational pull. Already, the family was starting to spin around her like planets around a sun. We stopped to watch as little Amber joined the dance, and Sadie showed her how to hold her arms. The three of them spun together in the golden afternoon sunlight, Sadie slowly, the girls faster. Dell floated past Aunt Jeane and on to Ben, reaching for baby Rose, saying, “Com’ere, Rosie. I’ll show you how to dance.”

Ben slipped Rose into Dell’s arms, and together they twirled away like leaves caught in the whirlwind of Sadie’s dance. Rose squealed and leaned back, throwing her tiny hands into the air, fingers outstretched to the wind in a moment of pure exuberance.

Watching them, I realized it didn’t matter what had happened in the past. The only thing that mattered now was that my grandmother’s only remaining sister was finally home.

When the dance was finished, we continued on to the party, where a potluck supper was waiting and Jumpkids music was playing on a boom box in the old bandstand. The kids followed Sadie through the line, and I paused to talk to Keiler. “Looks like it’s going to be an interesting weekend,” he said, watching as Sadie went through the line and then took a seat on a bench beside the gazebo. She was telling a story, her face animated and her hands moving as soon as she set down her plate. The Jumpkids began to gather around her, listening.

“I think it will be quite a weekend,” I agreed.

He nodded, strands of shaggy hair drifting in the afternoon breeze. “You going to be ready to go to Goshen Tuesday?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I may have to return to Boston and take care of some things, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. Shirley said she would speed my application through, so I can be official.”

Keiler gave a sly, sideways look. “Who’d have guessed the lady on the plane would end up being my new boss?”

I met his gaze, taking in the wise, patient look behind his continual jokes and boundless energy. “You guessed. You told me this was going to be a trip off the map.”

Lowering his lashes, he looked away, a man unwilling to tell his secrets. “I had a feeling”—then he grinned and rapped his head lightly with his knuckles—“but I never know whether those feelings are coming from the full side of my head or the empty side.”

I smiled back, pointing to the Les Paul emblem over his heart. “I think those feelings come from here. You know, you really ought to think about seminary school. You have a special gift.”

“We all have gifts.” He surveyed the kids, now settled in the park with plates of food, and the community volunteers busily serving drinks and desserts, and the Jumpkids counselors moving through the line. “The trick is finding out what they are.”

“Sometimes we have to be
reminded
of what they are,” I corrected.

“That too.”

Limber Linda called to us from the food line. “Come on, you guys. Hurry up and get some food and a glass of tea. We want to make a toast.”

Dr. Schmidt was serving lemonade and tea at the end of the table. He leaned close to me as he handed me my glass. “Got your test results via FedEx this afternoon. Nothing to worry about. I’ll talk to you more on Monday.”

I stood staring at him, shocked, uncertain, afraid to react. “Wh-what?” I breathed. I wanted to hear him repeat the words, to be sure I hadn’t imagined them. “Are you sure? It’s O.K.? Everything’s O.K.?”

“It’s fine.” He squeezed my arm, his touch making the moment more real, the news more concrete. “There were no abnormal cells on the biopsy. The inflammation that showed up on your tests at Dr. Conner’s office could have been caused by a number of things, possibly an infection that has since cleared up. It’s hard to say now, but it really doesn’t matter. The biopsy was one hundred percent normal.”

One hundred percent normal . . .
I felt the earth shift beneath my feet, as if everything were moving from slightly off-kilter to level. The colors of the grass and the trees, and the iris blooming around the
bandstand suddenly seemed brighter. “Boy, that’s a good word,” I whispered.

Dr. Schmidt frowned, cocking his head to one side. “Hmmm?”

“Normal,” I said, feeling laughter bubble from somewhere deep inside me. “A few weeks ago,
normal
seemed impossibly far away.”

His eyes twinkled with the wisdom of a man who had witnessed the turning points of many lives in our small town. “Congratulations on finding your way back. It’s not a bad place to be.”

“No, it’s not. Thanks, Doc,” I said, feeling the prickle of joyful tears, feeling lighter than air, as if I could raise my arms and float into the vast blue sky overhead.

Dr. Schmidt glanced up as James, Jenilee, and Aunt Jeane came to the table. “What’ll you have to drink?” he asked with a conspiratorial wink that told me he’d leave it to me to share the good news with my family.

“Water,” I said, watching as he filled my cup to the rim and handed it to me. The liquid spilled onto my fingers, cool and clear, mineral scented in a way that reminded me of the moment just before I sank below the surface of the mermaid pool.

I waited while the rest of the family took their glasses. When we were finished, the servers filled their own plates and we moved to benches around the park.

Mojo Joe, who turned out to be something of a poet, stood on the bandstand steps and gave an impromptu toast. “To all of us gathered here today, and all those who couldn’t be. May every coming day be as good as this one. May we always find the company of friends, the kindness of strangers, and the beauty in ourselves.
Hakuna Matata.
”

A cheer rose from the crowd, young voices mixing with old as together we raised our glasses to good friends, kind strangers, and
The Lion King
.

When the after party finished, our family stood in the church parking lot, trying to figure out who would go in what cars. All of the kids wanted to ride with Sadie, who seemed more than happy to soak up their adoration.

Patting their heads fondly as they gathered around her, she turned
to Kate and me. “I’d like to go see Rose. I know she’s gone, but there are some things I’d like to say, where she’s laid to rest.”

“Why don’t we all go?” I suggested. “We were going to visit on Memorial Day. Let’s do it today instead. We can stop and pick some wildflowers on the way.”

Sadie slipped her hand over mine and gave a squeeze. “That would be perfect.”

We climbed into our cars and left the church parking lot in an odd caravan, with our car in the lead, Sadie and Ben next, and everyone else following behind. Dell elected to ride with Sadie so she could listen to more stories.