Fly Away (5 page)

Slowly, during the day, the river calms a bit. There are fewer pieces of trees flowing by. The water begins to fall away from the porch, leaving watermarks behind. There is still a foot of water in the backyard, but the sun is bright and warm.

Boots and Frankie go up to the barn to milk the cows. Mama goes with them, carrying Teddy up through the water to dry land to feed her chickens. The chickens have come out in the sunlight, walking around in the grasses.

Gracie sits on the porch with her drawing pad, sketching scenes of the wide river and the ducks. Her drawing of the big Dutch Belted cow lies on the table.

“This is beautiful, Gracie.”

“Thanks. It's simple to draw. Like someone else made this big, big drawing and all I had to do was fill it in.”

I stare at Gracie.

I sit down and stare at her drawing.

“You're brilliant, Gracie,” I tell her.

Gracie looks up from her drawing and smiles at me.

“I'm only six,” she says. “Too young to be brilliant.”

She goes back to her work. I go upstairs and into my room. The bed is still rumpled from sleep—dents made from Teddy's body, my body. I pull up the covers and smooth us away.

I pick up my notebook.

I write.

Ring-Around Cow

What artist

Sketched

Sculpted

Your

Big black sky body

I look at the page for a long time. Boots is right. You can't write anything better than a cow. I tear out the page of the notebook. I close the notebook.

And that is when I hear Mama's screaming.

The
screams go on. I drop my notebook, the poem page flying across the floor. I run downstairs. Gracie and I run into each other as she comes in from the porch.

“What?” I ask.

“Mama,” Gracie says. “I don't know.”

We run through the kitchen. The
teakettle is screaming too. I turn off the stove, and out the window I see Boots and Frankie running through the water up to the barn.

Gracie and I race out the door and through the water in our sneakers. The water is cold.

Mama stands at the top of the hill calling, “Teddy! Teddy!”

My whole body turns cold. My heart pounds.

“It's Teddy.”

Gracie starts to sob. Tears come down her face. We get to the end of the water and we run up the green grass to the barn. Boots takes Mama by the arms. He shakes her to stop her screaming and crying.

“Which way did he go?” he says very loudly.

Mama shakes her head.

“He was right here with the chickens. I went in the barn to get more chicken food. And when I came out he wasn't here.”

Boots turns to Frankie.

“Where would he go? What's in the meadow? Are there cow paths? Tell me!” he almost shouts at Frankie.

“There are cow paths. He could get under the fence and wander,” says Frankie. “How long has he been gone?”

Mama shakes her head.

“Ten minutes maybe. I don't know! It wasn't a long time I left him. It wasn't!”

Mama begins to cry.

Gracie goes to the fence.

“Teddy! Teddy!” she calls.

There is no answer.

“We can't stay here,” says Mama, her voice hysterical with fear.

“If he follows the fence, where will he come out?” Boots asks Frankie quickly.

“Little River,” says Mama, suddenly calm.

“Little River?”

Frankie nods.

“We call it Little River, but it is more like a stream most of the time. It cuts back behind the meadow, a very small arm of it.”

Boots starts running along the fence and we follow him. I put my hand to
my face and feel tears.

“Teddy!” shouts Boots. “Teddy! Where are you?”

Mama starts to follow, but Boots stops her.

“Stay there in case he comes back, Maggie!” he shouts. “He needs to find someone home!”

Mama stops as if she's been slapped.

Gracie and I run behind Frankie. We all call Teddy's name over and over and over. We run through the woods that border the meadow. Cows lift their heads to watch us.

“The water's ahead,” shouts Frankie.

We run into a clearing where the stream cuts through a steep bank. The water is running over and around rocks.

“The small dam is that way,” Frankie says to Boots. “It's kind of old, and once in a while rocks fall out and more water gets through.”

“Teddy! Teddy!”

Frankie stops suddenly and grabs my arm.

“Wait!” she says.

Everyone stops.

“Sing, Lucy!” says Frankie. “Sing!”

“You know I can't sing!” I shout.

Frankie shakes me like Boots shook Mama.

“He sings to you every night,” she says. “If he hears you he'll answer. You're the one he sings to!”

I walk to the edge of the water.

“Lucy,” says Boots. “Sing.”

I've never heard his voice so stern.

I open my mouth. And I sing.

“The birdies fly away, and they come back home.

The birdies fly away, and they come back home.”

My voice breaks and Boots beckons me to go on.

“Fly away, fly away,

All the birdies fly away.

The birdies fly away, and they come back home.”

I stop. There is no answer.

“Again,” says Boots in a strong voice.

“The birdies fly away, and they come back home.

The birdies fly away, and they come back home.”

A small, perfect voice answers.
Teddy's voice.

“Fly away, fly away,

All the birdies fly away.

The birdies fly away, and they come back home.”

Teddy is singing the words!

Boots has already run toward the sound. We run after him. The stream seems higher and faster, as if filling up from somewhere.

“Sing more, Lucy!” calls Boots.

I sing and when we reach a bend in the stream, there is Teddy. He has scrambled down the steep bank and is in the middle of the stream, sitting on a rock.

Boots looks like he might cry. He slides down the bank, dirt and stones falling with him.

Teddy looks at me as Boots walks into the rising stream, struggling though the water.

“Sing,” says Gracie softly. “It will keep Teddy quiet.”

“The birdies fly away, and they come back home.

The birdies fly away, and they come back home.”

Boots slips and falls, gets up again.

Teddy sings.

“Fly away, fly away,

All the birdies fly away.”

Boots reaches Teddy and puts his arms around him, holding him tightly as he makes his way back.

I'm crying too hard to sing with Teddy.

Frankie puts her arm around me. Gracie holds my hand, something she has never done before.

Ever.

Teddy is glad to see us and is not crying, as if he has expected all along that we'd
find him. He has scrapes and bug bites, a bloody knee, but he is smiling. He has lost a red sneaker. He points to his bare foot with a sad sound.

“It's all right, Teddy,” says Boots. “We'll get you new sneakers.”

Boots's voice breaks.

“He must have walked out into the stream when there wasn't so much water,” says Frankie.

Once, as we walk back along the river and through the trees to the meadow, Teddy reaches up and touches the tears on Boots's face.

“See?”

“Teddy,” I say.

He smiles at our ritual.

“You were brave,” says Gracie to me.

“Brave?”

“You sang,” says Gracie.

I start to laugh and can't stop. I don't know why I'm laughing. It just seems funny to me that I am brave because I sing badly.

“You saved Teddy,” says Gracie.

“You did,” says Boots.

“You did,” says Frankie, who is finally crying herself.

I think about Mama. I think about how guilty she feels that Teddy wandered off. She feels bad that she couldn't help find him. She will worry about how Teddy feels about her.

We walk along the meadow fence.

“Cow,” says Teddy, pointing.

“Cow,” I say.

Teddy sees Mama standing at the end of the fence. She isn't crying. She is all cried out.

Teddy smiles at her. He reaches out his arms and calls to her.

“Mama! Mama!”

Boots hands Teddy over and Teddy puts his arms around Mama's neck. Mama doesn't say anything. She holds on to Teddy and carries him down the lawn, through the water, to the house.

Suddenly, Boots's knees sag.

“Boots!”

Frankie takes his arm and helps him sit on the grass. She sits next to him. Gracie and I sit on the other side.

“Tired,” says Boots.

He is quiet.

“Tired,” he repeats after a moment, as if it is the only word he has the energy to say.

He lies back and puts his arm over his eyes.

And it is then we see a stream of blood on Boots's cheek from a cut.

Frankie hands me a handkerchief.

I put it on Boots's cheek and hold it over the cut. After a moment Boots puts his hand over mine and holds it there.

“Lucy, I kept your secret until I couldn't anymore,” says Frankie.

“I know. That's all right.”

It is quiet again.

Then Boots speaks without moving.

“I heard that sweet little voice slipping
through the darkness one night. I just didn't know it was Teddy.”

Boots may be a farmer, but he is still a poet.

Louis
ties his boat to the porch and jumps up and climbs over the railing.

“You could have worn my waders,” says Frankie.

“They are women's waders,” says Louis.

“They are not,” says Frankie crossly.

We laugh.

“I'll build you new steps when the water is gone,” says Louis.

“No,” says Frankie loudly. “I'll build them myself.”

Louis sighs.

“Frankie,” he says softly. “Remember arithmetic? Remember measuring? Remember the bench you made? Arithmetic?”

He says “arithmetic” slowly: a-rith-me-tic.

“Oh,” says Frankie.

She is very quiet.

Teddy walks up close to Louis.

“Louis,” he says.

“Teddy,” says Louis.

“A-rith-me-tic,” says Teddy.

I watch Mama and she doesn't care that Teddy said “Louis” or “arithmetic.” Teddy said “Mama” today. Mama looks different somehow. The edges of her face are softer. There is a sort of quiet about her.

“What about the bench?” I ask.

“Nothing,” says Louis. He smiles. “Only that one end was much higher than the other.”

Even Frankie laughs.

Louis looks around the kitchen where everyone sits.

“What did you all do today? What happened to your cheek, Boots?”

We tell Louis about Teddy walking away.

“Where was he?”

“He was at Little River,” says Frankie.
“In the middle of the water. Sitting on a rock.”

Teddy pulls up his jeans and shows Louis his bandage.

“He knows what we're talking about,” says Gracie.

“Of course he does,” says Mama. “He may be the smartest little boy in the universe.”

Louis holds out his hand to Teddy. Teddy takes it.

“How did you find him?” asks Louis.

“Lucy sang,” says Gracie.

“Sang?”

“Teddy sings to Lucy. He loves to sing to Lucy,” says Gracie.

“So you thought Teddy might answer Lucy.”

“And he did,” says Boots.

“He wandered away from me,” says Mama to Louis, as if confessing something terrible.

Louis smiles.

“My little sister Janie disappeared one day for seven hours. We found her in the barn, sleeping in the hay. It took a long time for my mother to forgive herself. It was her secret guilt.”