right?” I said. I thought it couldn’t do anything like that anyways, but you never did know.
I pressed down on the chair as if to give it more weight, and then took up the coat I had set off for a spell and went into the sitting room. It wasn’t as cold as outside, that was for certain sure, but it was plenty chilly enough, and I was glad to have the coat. I wanted to be about something useful, and on the loom was a rug Mama’d worked on when she was in a good patch. I’d worked on it the rest of the time, and I thought it would be nice on the floor with the cold like it was, and it was almost finished besides. So I set to the task, not as good as I wished to be, but practice could only improve me, and it at least let me not think for a time about anything but the movement of threads and the clacking of the shuttle. Other than that there was just the sometimes fierce wind outside, and once or twice a pop from the fire in the stove, and nothing else to bother me for who knows how long, since the light never seemed to change and the room stayed cold and Gospel wasn’t come back yet.
For a time there was a sound that I didn’t even react to, not at first, and then all of the sudden I knew what it was and my hands clenched on the loom’s frame and I stopped breathing. For I knew that noise well, knew it and had once loved it, but now it was nothing but dread. It was the sound, soft and creaky, of the rocker in the bedroom rocking away, slowly and regularly, and I had been so used to it as a girl and now, too, that I hadn’t barely heard it. Even in her worst days, Mama would take to that chair for a time, and sit a spell rocking, and it made her more calm and biddable for a while so that we could sometimes get her to bed when she was otherwise antsy and fretful. For a minute I thought maybe it was the Minister, what set itself there at times, but then I recalled that the Minister couldn’t really make the chair rock, not more than a back and forth when it jumped up, and this rocking was going on, slow and steady, like a body was in the chair. Just like a body was moving it.
And then I heard her singing. “ And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s gonna find you a diamond ring .”
I turned my head and looked over at the kitchen, where I hoped the Minister would be rising up, coming out to find me, protect me, drive away whatever it was, but if the made thing heard anything at all, it truly didn’t want to face it and was staying put.
“ And if that diamond ring don’t shine, Mama’s gonna see about a mist so fine .”
I moaned for terror, because the voice was just what it should be, but the words, oh, the words. It wasn’t just that they were the wrong words, that they were so dreadfully possibly true, but that she sung them just as if she were singing a lullaby still, and I couldn’t hardly breathe for a horror that stirred my stomach and made me want to run away.
“ And if that mist should cloak the land, Mama’s gonna put out a helping hand .”
“Shut up!” I screamed suddenly, throwing myself from the loom’s stool toward the bedroom door and into the room, and there was the chair, rocking softly back and forth with no one in it, and the fire poked up to a merry glow when I knew it had been low and soft since morning. The bed was turned back just as if it were ready for someone to climb into it. I didn’t see any sign that she was there, but still it seemed like the song hung in the air, that I heard her voice singing when it wasn’t.
The Minister loped into the room, sniffing with its black, wet nose and stopping, in a moment, at the chair. For just an instant I blinked at it, because it looked so strange right then: big and brown with too-large paws and dangly ears. That was the way it had always looked, but there was something about it, about the Minister, that felt different. It looked back at me with soft eyes and whined a little, and I knew what was wrong. It was as terrified as
I pressed down on the chair as if to give it more weight, and then took up the coat I had set off for a spell and went into the sitting room. It wasn’t as cold as outside, that was for certain sure, but it was plenty chilly enough, and I was glad to have the coat. I wanted to be about something useful, and on the loom was a rug Mama’d worked on when she was in a good patch. I’d worked on it the rest of the time, and I thought it would be nice on the floor with the cold like it was, and it was almost finished besides. So I set to the task, not as good as I wished to be, but practice could only improve me, and it at least let me not think for a time about anything but the movement of threads and the clacking of the shuttle. Other than that there was just the sometimes fierce wind outside, and once or twice a pop from the fire in the stove, and nothing else to bother me for who knows how long, since the light never seemed to change and the room stayed cold and Gospel wasn’t come back yet.
For a time there was a sound that I didn’t even react to, not at first, and then all of the sudden I knew what it was and my hands clenched on the loom’s frame and I stopped breathing. For I knew that noise well, knew it and had once loved it, but now it was nothing but dread. It was the sound, soft and creaky, of the rocker in the bedroom rocking away, slowly and regularly, and I had been so used to it as a girl and now, too, that I hadn’t barely heard it. Even in her worst days, Mama would take to that chair for a time, and sit a spell rocking, and it made her more calm and biddable for a while so that we could sometimes get her to bed when she was otherwise antsy and fretful. For a minute I thought maybe it was the Minister, what set itself there at times, but then I recalled that the Minister couldn’t really make the chair rock, not more than a back and forth when it jumped up, and this rocking was going on, slow and steady, like a body was in the chair. Just like a body was moving it.
And then I heard her singing. “ And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s gonna find you a diamond ring .”
I turned my head and looked over at the kitchen, where I hoped the Minister would be rising up, coming out to find me, protect me, drive away whatever it was, but if the made thing heard anything at all, it truly didn’t want to face it and was staying put.
“ And if that diamond ring don’t shine, Mama’s gonna see about a mist so fine .”
I moaned for terror, because the voice was just what it should be, but the words, oh, the words. It wasn’t just that they were the wrong words, that they were so dreadfully possibly true, but that she sung them just as if she were singing a lullaby still, and I couldn’t hardly breathe for a horror that stirred my stomach and made me want to run away.
“ And if that mist should cloak the land, Mama’s gonna put out a helping hand .”
“Shut up!” I screamed suddenly, throwing myself from the loom’s stool toward the bedroom door and into the room, and there was the chair, rocking softly back and forth with no one in it, and the fire poked up to a merry glow when I knew it had been low and soft since morning. The bed was turned back just as if it were ready for someone to climb into it. I didn’t see any sign that she was there, but still it seemed like the song hung in the air, that I heard her voice singing when it wasn’t.
The Minister loped into the room, sniffing with its black, wet nose and stopping, in a moment, at the chair. For just an instant I blinked at it, because it looked so strange right then: big and brown with too-large paws and dangly ears. That was the way it had always looked, but there was something about it, about the Minister, that felt different. It looked back at me with soft eyes and whined a little, and I knew what was wrong. It was as terrified as
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