Each Little Bird That Sings: Chapters 22–30

Mr. Johnson put Peach in one bed and Mama put me in the other. Merry toddled in behind Mama.

Dismay. I sobbed as I lay on the pillow, my hair a mass of mud and silt. I held the sides of my face with my hands. My head hurt. “We have to look for Dismay.”

When Peach and I were warmed up, Mama and Aunt Goldie helped us peel off our grimy wet clothes until we were in our underwear and T-shirts.

And then, slowly, the way a great lamentation begins, Peach started to cry—a real cry that sounded like it came from somewhere deep inside.

Doc MacRee spoke in kindly doctor tones. “These children have been traumatized, Bunch. They can barely tell us what happened yet. They need warm baths and clean beds and someone to stay with them through the night—many nights, maybe.”

Then I dreamed. Declaration taunted Peach: "Where they throw dirt over dead people and leave them there for the worms!” She turned to sneer at me: "It’s stupid!” Peach screamed: "Not up there!” Water was everywhere, swirling, freezing, black, and there was Dismay, paddling for me, paddling for his life, depending on me, asking me to help him.

Then I dreamed. Declaration taunted Peach: "Where they throw dirt over dead people and leave them there for the worms!” She turned to sneer at me: "It’s stupid!” Peach screamed: "Not up there!” Water was everywhere, swirling, freezing, black, and there was Dismay, paddling for me, paddling for his life, depending on me, asking me to help him.

(Normal rainfall for September is 2.67 inches. Normal temperature is 74
degrees. Normal dinner is pot roast and potatoes, but I digress.)

Storms brought disaster yesterday when the saturated ground in Aurora County began to resemble a lake in low-lying places.

In Snapfinger the oak grove became a troubled tributary of the Pearl River!

These intrepid youngsters were rescued late yesterday afternoon by Bunch Snowberger and Plas Johnson (yes, Our Esteemed Publisher).

These intrepid youngsters were rescued late yesterday afternoon by Bunch Snowberger and Plas Johnson (yes, Our Esteemed Publisher).

The two children are shaken but recovering, on the heels of Florentine Snowberger’s abridged funeral service (interment to be rescheduled).

The two children are shaken but recovering, on the heels of Florentine Snowberger’s abridged funeral service (interment to be rescheduled).

My head throbbed and my throat felt thick with chocolate sauce and exhaustion. I was suddenly fretful.

My mind raced, but Peach took his time answering. He had a cogitating look on his face. “I get scared of what I don’t know,” he said slowly. “And I didn’t know death. So it scared me.” Peach blew his nose. “But now I know it. Now I’m not so scared.”

It was a challenging engagement—wet, hot, buggy, and fraught with fear for what might lie under each bush or beside each rock. We persevered. Every soldier can be proud of the work we did today.

It was a challenging engagement—wet, hot, buggy, and fraught with fear for what might lie under each bush or beside each rock. We persevered. Every soldier can be proud of the work we did today.

Aunt Goldie set an enormous glass of cold milk by my plate. “It’s Comfort Snowberger!” she said with mock surprise and real affection in her voice. She kissed me.

I instinctively reached my foot out to caress Dismay under the table, but he wasn’t there.

“We have had enough of death and near death in the Snowberger family!” said Aunt Goldie.
“That’s affirmative,” said Tidings. “Over and out.”

“Gone where?” I glanced at Aunt Florentine’s grave.
“Dead,” Mama said simply.
The word suffocated me. “No,” I said simply, in return.
“Yes,” said Mama.

“She found it. She was looking for Dismay with her daddy, and she found the collar near…” Mama’s voice faltered just a little, then she gathered it together again. “In a drainage ditch near Lake Tallyhoma.”

"...If you had grabbed on to Dismay, you would have been washed into the floodwater with him! You would be gone now, too!” Mama’s face looked stricken. “I don’t think I could have survived that.”

“Why did Tidings put Dismay’s collar here, on Aunt Florentine’s flowers?” I sniffed another long sniff.
“He said that recovering soldiers should not be disturbed by evidence they aren’t ready to assimilate.”

Tidings Snowberger, wise in All Things Edible and Organizable, gave Dismay a piece of Phoebe Tolbert’s Lane cake, which he enjoyed thoroughly.

Bunch Snowberger; wise in Most Things Funereal, said, “We cannot have a dog at funerals and we’ve nowhere to put him this afternoon.”

But Dismay Snowberger, wise in All Ways of the Heart, made himself useful. Dismay Snowberger knew how to serve. He knew what to do at a funeral—attend to the living, honor the dead. And that is what he did, always silent, always reverent, always present. He was a noble dog.

But Dismay Snowberger, wise in All Ways of the Heart, made himself useful. Dismay Snowberger knew how to serve. He knew what to do at a funeral—attend to the living, honor the dead. And that is what he did, always silent, always reverent, always present. He was a noble dog.

Declaration stepped gingerly, carefully, toward us—toward the highest point of Listening Rock, where she sat down next to me, which put me in the middle between her and Peach.