Fly Away (3 page)

Gracie gets out of her car seat, and I climb back and undo Teddy. Boots gets out of the car and stretches. I hold Teddy's hands as he jumps down.

Gracie, Teddy, and I look out over the river.

Teddy points to the water.

“That is the river,” I tell him. “River. It is not a cow.”

Teddy looks at the river, then up at me.

He smiles suddenly.

“He knows,” says Gracie.

Teddy knows the river isn't a cow.

“It is Teddy's joke,” I say. “Isn't it, Teddy?”

“Teddy knows a lot more than we think he does,” says Gracie.

I nod.

“He does.”

Sometimes I think Teddy knows everything.

We eat dinner on Frankie's huge porch.

“You told me you weren't coming,” says Frankie.

“Boots lied,” says Gracie. “He knew you'd be mad at us.”

Frankie smiles a little for the first time.

“ ‘Lie' is a bit hard, don't you think?” says Frankie.

“Gracie is right,” says Boots.

Frankie lifts her shoulders in a sigh.

She looks at Teddy and Gracie and me.

“I'm glad you're here,” she says finally. “You can help. But,” she adds, “don't forget that I have done this myself for many years. I am strong.”

“And stubborn,” says Gracie. “Mama says so.”

Frankie bursts out laughing and we all relax.

There is one big table, a few smaller ones, wicker chairs and plants, and a hammock in one corner. Frankie has cooked a large ham, glazed with honey and brown sugar.

“I hope no one's a vegetarian,” says Frankie.

“I'm thinking of it,” says Gracie.

“Well, by the looks of the way you're eating that ham, I don't think you're ready yet,” says Frankie.

She leans back and looks at the river.

“I want you all to be safe. That's why I told you not to come.”

No one says anything. Except for Gracie.

“What can I do?” she asks.

Frankie turns to look at Gracie.

“You can help me keep an eye on her,” she says.

“Her, who?” asks Boots.

“That river. She's a her in my book. She's been a friend most of these years, bringing boaters who deliver groceries. Bringing birds and beauty. We've lived through storms and sunrises and sunsets. Winter squalls. I want to see how far she's going to crawl up my hill. I want to know if she'll come into my house. Sometimes I talk to her at night. She's great company.”

“Mom and Dad felt the same way,” says Mama. “They always thought of the
river as something more than a river.”

“Cow,” says Teddy all of a sudden.

“River,” I say automatically.

Teddy points.

“Cow.”

And there is a huge black cow with a white band around her middle wandering around the yard, scattering the chickens.

Boots stands up.

“Oh, my,” he says.

I laugh.

“Boots likes that breed,” I tell Frankie.

“
Loves
that breed,” says Gracie.

“That's Becky,” she says. “What are you doing out? I traded an old bull for her because I loved the way she looks. She's a great milker.”

Frankie and Boots go down the steps to lead Becky back to the other cows.

“You're right, Teddy. That is a cow!” says Frankie.

“Dutch Belted,” says Teddy in a loud voice.

Frankie turns around. So does Boots.

“I thought you told me Teddy doesn't talk!” says Frankie to Mama.

Mama's eyes widen. She shakes her head. And for the second time this day Mama bursts into tears.

“Yep,” says Gracie to me, putting another piece of ham on her plate, “Teddy knows more than anyone thinks. Including words.”

Frankie's
house is large, with her bedroom downstairs on the river side. The rest of us choose our upstairs sleeping rooms. Gracie takes the room overlooking the fields and meadows. Mama and Boots choose the big back bedroom. When I go to bed, I see Boots standing
at the moonlit window, looking out at the cows. Looking out at Becky. Teddy sleeps in the small bedroom next to mine. We put a gate at the top of the stairs “in case he walks in the night,” Mama says.

I
know
he walks at night. I check that the gate is tightly closed when I go to my room. My room overlooks the growing river that, from my window, seems to cover everything in sight. It is still moving fast. I can see the water run by in the night.

And I see Frankie, standing by the river, tall and still. Maybe she is talking to her friend, the river. Maybe she is warning her.

When she turns to walk back up to the house, she looks up and sees me in
the window before I can move away. She holds up her hand. I hold up mine.

Then she walks up the hill to the house. I hear the soft click of the front door.

“See?”

“Teddy.”

I've been waiting for him.

Teddy touches me to make sure I'm there. There isn't moonlight now. The room is dark.

His little perfect voice sings. There are not many rugs upstairs and I wonder if the wood floors will carry his voice down the hall.

He sings “Are You Sleeping.” I don't remember him singing that before, but I
know Boots has sung it to him. He ends the song. He actually says the words “ding, ding, dong.” Teddy is beginning to talk, even though he doesn't like to talk.

“Ding, ding, dong.

Ding, ding, dong.”

He yawns.

I reach into my table drawer and take out a night-light. I take his hand and lead him back to his room. I plug in the light.

I cover him with a light blanket.

“Light,” I tell him.

“Light,” he whispers, and closes his eyes.

I wake to rain and voices and the sounds of people running down the stairs. I look out the window. The river has risen. Frankie is carrying bags of grain from the shed up the hill, away from the water.

I get out of bed and pull on my jeans and shirt. I look in on Teddy. He is still sleeping.

I unhook the gate, making sure it is latched again, and run downstairs. I open the door and run outside.

“I'll help,” I tell Frankie.

She dumps two bags in a wheel­barrow.

“You can wheel it up to the big barn,” she says. “Then come back for more.”

I start off, but the earth is soft from
rain so I have to push harder. The wheels sink a bit in the dirt, and I'm pushing uphill.

Boots comes and helps me push. His hair is plastered to his head with rain. We wheel up the hill to the barn without speaking. We go into the dark barn and Boots takes the bags out of the wheel­barrow and places them up on high wooden platforms.

“What's happening?” I ask.

“The grain was delivered to the shed by mistake. The water is rising there.”

“It will reach the porch, won't it,” I say.

Boots nods.

We hurry back down the hill.

“Where's Teddy?”

“Sleeping. I hitched the gate.”

Boots nods.

“Your mama's up there anyway.”

A man is helping Frankie drag out more grain bags. He smiles at me, but doesn't speak.

This time Frankie helps me with the wheelbarrow.

“So, is that your boyfriend?” I ask her as we push up the soggy lawn.

“Better than a boyfriend,” says Frankie with a laugh. “A friend.”

A gust of wind blows my hair across my face.

When we go into the barn I see the chickens up on a shelf of hay: Ella and Sofia and Nickel. They look very peaceful.

“Mama says chickens only get excited
when they feel like it. On their own terms, Mama says.”

“Looks like she's right. We should be that lucky,” says Frankie.

Gracie comes out and we wheel more grain up the hill until finally we have moved all of it.

Some men have come to pile more sandbags in front of the house. We sit on the porch, watching. Frankie carries a big pot of coffee out to the porch.

“Lucy, could you bring out a tray of cups?”

I go into the big kitchen. It is dry and warm. Mama and Teddy sit at the table sharing toast.

“See?” says Teddy.

“Teddy.”

“How is it out there?” asks Mama.

“Wet. And”—I look at Mama—“the river's rising. It will come up to the porch.”

Mama nods with a tired look as if she's been through this all before. And she has.

“Mama?”

She looks up.

“Does the river scare you?”

“Always,” says Mama.

I put cups on a big tray, put the sugar bowl on, and get cream out of the refrigerator.

Mama and Teddy follow me to the porch. Frankie's friend is there.

“Louis!” says Mama happily.

She puts her arms around him.

“Nice family,” says Louis.

Mama smiles.

“I've known Louis my whole life,” she says.

“And mine,” says Louis crisply.

I hand him coffee and he sits down, taking off his rain hat.

Teddy walks over to him and puts his hand on Louis's knee.

“Hello,” says Louis.

“That's Teddy, who doesn't care much about talking,” says Mama.

“Me too,” says Louis.

“Too,” says Teddy.

“He talks,” says Louis.

“He has other great qualities,” says Gracie.

Louis smiles.

“Me too,” he says.

“He knows more than people think he does,” she says.

“Me too,” says Louis.

“Too,” repeats Teddy.

The men have piled up sandbags and gone home. We're cleaning up the kitchen. Louis sits at the kitchen table, Teddy still staring at him.

“Teddy, let Louis be,” says Mama.

“It's fine,” says Louis. “I never get this much adoration from Frankie.”

Frankie grins at Louis.

“I'll come back tomorrow,” says Louis. “We might be all right if the rain stops. If it doesn't, we might have to move first-floor furniture upstairs.”