Song of the Sparrow

By H. L. Chandler

Sometimes things happen, and it seems like the end of the world is coming. Yet, when the trouble is over life is a whole lot better than it was. That happened to me. I remember it clearly. It was, what you might call, a turning point in my life. A lot of the decisions my eighteen-year-old brother, Harley, and I made were probably wrong. Still, when you are a thirteen-year-old girl and have Frank Mattlock for a stepfather it clouds your judgment. We lived on a farm outside Dunkin, Arkansas. Frank thought the land belonged to him because he had married our mother, but I, Lugene Anna Canfield, vowed that would never be so. I loved that farm. It was in the northwest corner of Briar County. The land there lay in rolling hills, cut and crosscut by sparkling creeks, like a beautiful rumpled blue and green patchwork quilt. After our mother died, Harley and I lived in an uneasy truce with Frank. At least we did until one Friday morning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613090138

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Dedication

To the readers of this story, in the hope it will bring a few hours of entertainment.

One

Sometimes things happen , and it seems like the end of the world is coming. Yet, when the trouble is over, life is a whole lot better than it was. That happened to me. I remember it clearly. It was, what you might call, a turning point in my life. A lot of the decisions my eighteen-year-old brother, Harley, and I made were probably wrong. Still, when you are a thirteen-year-old girl and have Frank Mattlock for a stepfather, it clouds your judgment. We lived on a farm outside Dunkin, Arkansas. Frank thought the land belonged to him because he had married our mother, but I, Lugene Anna Canfield, vowed that would never be so. I loved that farm. It was in the northwest corner of Briar County. The land there lay in rolling hills, cut and crosscut by sparkling creeks, like a beautiful rumpled blue and green patchwork quilt. After our mother died, Harley and I lived in an uneasy truce with Frank. At least we did until one Friday morning.

IT WAS THE LAST DAY of school before summer vacation. My class was having a picnic at the City Park. No school, just one big picnic all day long. That was an important event for me. All the kids in my class were excited about the picnic, but none as excited as I was. That picnic was my only social event of the year.

Frank didn’t allow me, or Harley, to go anywhere. But the picnic was being held during regular school hours. I could barely keep the smile off my face. Old Frank would never in this world know I’d gone to it. It made me dizzy to think of going somewhere the way a normal person might. Tiny bubbles rose and popped in my stomach, and the kitchen floor seemed cloud-like as I bounced across it to start making my picnic lunch. I supposed these were symptoms of happiness. It’d been so long since I’d felt happy I’d forgotten what a tingly sensation it caused.

In our farmhouse kitchen, five miles out of the town of Dunkin, flaxen sunlight pierced the long row of windows above the sink. The golden rays seemed appropriate for this special day. An off-key tune kept slipping through my lips as I mixed the tuna salad for my sandwiches. I tried to keep the singing soft and low. First of all, I can’t carry a tune, not even in a bucket, but I don’t let that stop me. I needed to be quiet so Frank’s three kids wouldn’t wake up. Scotty was eight years old, Patty six and Darla five. They’d all been sick with chicken pox. They weren’t bad kids, but belonging to Frank was a big strike against them.

When Mother was alive, she made Frank’s kids behave. Now that Frank was the only parent, those kids got away with murder. Harley didn’t say much about it. At his advanced age, he was above noticing their bad behavior. I tried not to notice; still, I have to say it bothered me. Yet, it wasn’t entirely their fault. Frank should have been horsewhipped for making crybabies out of them.

Of course, he didn’t see it that way. Frank didn’t see anything that didn’t suit him. Thinking about Frank killed the little tune I’d been singing and my happy mood began to slip away. So, I forced Frank out of my mind.

I carefully wrapped two tuna sandwiches in Saran Wrap. Then I spooned some potato salad into a red plastic butter tub. All the food was to be placed on one table at the City Park for everyone to share. I’d heard Sue Ellen telling her townie girlfriends to bring candy bars. They wanted to make a huge pile of candy on a separate table and for dessert let everyone dive in and pig out. Sounded messy to me. I could imagine what Jack Thompson and some of the other boys might do with all that chocolate. Still, I intended to have a good time and if building a candy mountain was the game, I meant to play. I had three Hershey bars and I tucked them beside my sandwiches in a brown paper bag. I started across the kitchen to the refrigerator when this shrill, whiny voice stopped me in my tracks.

"What you doing? I’m hungry."

Before I whirled around, I knew who it was. Once you’d heard Scotty’s whimpering tone, you’d never forget it. My heart sank down around my stomach and my shoulders drooped.

Scotty, what are you doing up? Your sisters aren’t awake, are they?

Nope.

You shouldn’t be up either. When you’re sick you get to sleep late.

I took Scotty by the shoulders and tried to turn him toward the hallway. Scotty twisted away. His blue pajamas slipped down over one shoulder exposing several dried scabs that matched the brown crusty spots on his face. Chicken pox is one messy looking disease. Also, it didn’t do anything for Scotty’s disposition.

I’m not tired. I’m sick of being in bed. He brought his eyebrows together in a scowl and stuck out his lower lip. You get me something to eat, or I’ll tell my dad!

Before Scotty came into the kitchen, I’d had trouble keeping my sandals on the linoleum, that was how light I’d felt. Now it was like someone was reeling me in, pulling me down, making me feel heavy and gray. I swallowed once, stiffened my back and tried hard to hang onto that sunny feeling.

Please, Scotty. I know being sick isn’t any fun, but I’ll tell you what, if you go back to bed until Carrie gets here, I’ll give you a candy bar.

I rushed to the counter and dug down into my paper sack. The idea was clearly a stroke of genius. It was lucky I’d overheard Sue Ellen’s plan. Otherwise, I’d have taken something dull, like an orange or apple. Scotty’d never go back to bed for a piece of fruit! I held up the brown bar and waved it before his greedy brown eyes. He lunged for it and I realized the flaw in my plan.

I’ll give it to you when I come back from school, I said quickly. I can’t let you have candy before breakfast, Scotty. Frank would kill me.

I want it now!

I promise, I’ll save it. Have I ever lied to you?

Scotty frowned and slowly shook his head.

I had him there. If I said I’d give him the candy after school, he knew I would. It paid to play straight with people, even if they were little. As Scotty put aside his disappointment, a crafty gleam of suspicion took its place.

Hey, those aren’t your regular school clothes. Where you going?

It was disgusting how observant Scotty could be. Normally I wore jeans and a shirt, but for the picnic I had washed and ironed my best, and only, pair of navy blue slacks. They were getting so threadbare I had to wear my light blue blouse on the outside to hide the frayed places around the waist. Still, I supposed I did look a little better than usual... at least I would have liked to think so, until I realized that wasn’t the reason Scotty noticed. He didn’t ask because I looked so spiffy, he asked because I looked different! That almost made me go change into jeans. If you have to look tacky, no sense calling attention to it.

Scotty folded his arms across his chest and reared back. So, just where are you going?

I looked him straight in the eye and told the truth. To school. And I have to finish making my lunch, which I can’t do with you bothering me. Okay?

I guess so. But you better save that candy for me.

I will. Look, I’ll leave it in the cabinet and tell Carrie you can have it even before I get home.

Scotty watched me put the Hershey bar on the top shelf next to some seldom used bowls. He seemed satisfied that his payment was safe. He gave me one narrow-eyed look and then padded toward the hallway.

As Scotty left, I puffed out a sigh and got busy finishing the sandwiches. I started to take another tub of potato salad, but decided against it. Everyone makes it different; if it isn’t what you’re used to, it tastes funny. There isn’t much can be done to ruin tuna. I put in an extra sandwich and let it go at that. Besides, time was getting away from me. The kitchen counter had to be cleaned, there was an empty oily tuna can, a jar of pickles, mayonnaise and the bowl of potato salad sitting out on it. If Frank came back from milking and saw such a mess... suddenly, my hand flew to cover my mouth. I’d forgotten something. Frank should be coming from the barn any minute and I hadn’t started his coffee. The stupid coffee! I rushed to the stove, grabbed the aluminum pot, shoved it under the faucet and turned on the water.

When I measured out the coffee, my hand shook, making me dribble some of the toasty smelling grounds on the countertop. Deep down under my ribs I started getting mad. The anger formed a hard red knot, and then it blossomed out filling my chest with a vile poisonous bloom. Living the way we did wasn’t right! Nobody should have to get so nervous over going to a school picnic. It was ridiculous. It was disgusting. Jumpy as I was, you’d think I was getting ready to rob a bank, for cripesake!

When the back porch screen door slammed, and then the sound of a shuffling clomp and the scrape of Frank cleaning his boots, I gave the coffeepot an anxious glance. Inside the glass dome the dark brown liquid perked in merry plops, a strong plume of steam spewed up through the spout. I breathed a sigh of relief; there’d be nothing for Frank to complain about now. Frank lumbered into the kitchen with his thick, shaggy eyebrows drawn together in a bearish frown. His presence ate up the sunshine like a black storm dragging a wet cold rain after it.

That coffee ready?

Yes.

Why isn’t it on the table then?

His voice grated like steel wool; it felt as if each word scraped a raw nerve. I filled Frank’s oversized coffee mug and set it on the table in front of him. Then I tried to smile. My lips felt chapped and it stung when I stretched them, but getting along with Frank was important. More so this morning than usual. If he guessed for a second I had something I wanted to do, he’d find a way to stop me. Living with Frank took lots of skill; it could turn you into a sneaky person. Still, I did my best to keep that from happening. Who’d want to be like Frank? While looking at him, I couldn’t keep a smile on my face so I turned back to the cabinet and started cleaning away the mess. Behind me, Frank took a slurping, noisy drink.

Damn, that’s hot! You must get the coffee to boiling on purpose. What’s all that stuff on the cabinet?

Nothing. Just a lunch for school.

Wall, you can put it all back.

Don’t worry, I’ll be out of the way before Carrie gets here. I always am.

She ain’t coming today.

I dropped the dishrag into the sink and turned around. I think my mouth was hanging open. Frank raised his cup and blew across the coffee, making ripples on the surface. It felt as if my stomach were full of funny jiggling waves, too. Surely I’d heard wrong.

You mean she’s going to be late. That’s okay, the kids aren’t up yet.

I mean she ain’t coming. Carrie is down in the back again. So get a move on and start breakfast. Harley is slow at milking, but he won’t be all day.

A prickly sweat broke out under my arms, I knew it was staining my blue blouse. Every time Frank took in after me, I got sticky damp all over. It started under my arms, and in my palms, and then spread until I was nothing but a clammy mess. I made a strong effort to calm myself; maybe I could still save things. If I could go, I didn’t want to show up at the City Park in a limp blouse.

Of all times for Carrie’s back to act up. Carrie was plump, rosy as a peach and just about as dependable as one. I stood in the middle of the kitchen twisting my hands, trying to think of something quick and easy to fix for breakfast. Maybe some cereal and toast, that wouldn’t take long. If I hurried, there’d still be time to pack up my lunch and run down to the road by eight. As I wondered how to accomplish this feat, in my mind the lumbering yellow school bus became a sleek get-away car. Once my feet pounded up those metal steps, and I slid onto one of the firm leather seats, my troubles were over. At least for the day.

Okay, I can make breakfast before the bus comes.

Frank shook his head, squinted his black eyes.

What’s the matter, don’t you hear good? You’re not going to school. You got to stay here and tend the kids. So stop standing there like a post.

A foggy mist swirled through the kitchen; even Frank’s dark face faded. This couldn’t be happening on the day of the picnic. It was like a bad dream. From out of the whirling fog, I heard myself saying: Why do I have to stay? You and Harley will be here. For a second I caught a hint of Scotty’s whine in my own voice.

Don’t argue. I got things to do and Harley has to get the lower field plowed. Anyway, I’m not keeping you from school. It’s only a last day party, don’t pride yourself that you’ll be missed.

Frank knew about the picnic! That jolting shock sent a hot flash from my head to my feet. Then I went cold all over. I felt as if I’d been shoved from an airplane without a parachute.

Harley had helped me keep the picnic a secret, but somehow Frank had found out. Frank sat there sipping his coffee; a wicked flash of enjoyment sprang up in his ferret eyes. I recognized the familiar expression and my stomach flipped. He always wore that look when he crushed anything Harley or I wanted. My eyes burned. I had to swallow and blink hard, but still my lips twitched a bit. Since my mother’s funeral, I had never cried in front of Frank, and I wasn’t going to break now.

From morning to night, day in and day out, it was one constant battle with Frank. He never ran out of nasty surprises. It was a wonder he found time to manage the farm. Mostly I took the path of least resistance and did my best to avoid conflict with him. Still, a person has to draw the line somewhere. I got hold of myself, lifted my chin and tried to look pleasant but firm.

You’re not being reasonable, Frank. The kids aren’t that sick. All they’ll do is watch television. There’s no need for me to be here.

One more word out of you, missy, and I’ll give you something to snivel about.

Oh, come on, Frank. Please let me go. I don’t ever get to do anything. One little picnic, I’ll be back like a regular school day. Me staying home don’t make sense. You know I’d stay if the kids really were sick. I just don’t see any reason for this. You won’t miss me.

Frank’s threatening scowl proved I was treading on dangerous ground. The begging sound of my voice was degrading, but my lips were numb and I couldn’t seem to stop them.

You should see the other girls, I said. They get new clothes and go to movies and parties, and have kids over to their houses. You don’t let me do anything. I’m a prisoner in my own home. None of the kids even bother to ask me to go anywhere. It won’t hurt you to let me go this once!

When I paused for breath, there was an angry darkness seething in Frank’s heavy-jawed face.

The taste of wet ash settled in my mouth, my throat tightened around a hard ball of fear. Maybe I’d pushed him too far. Frank slowly stood up and hooked his thumbs in the bib of his overalls. Then he rocked back on his heels. He didn’t raise his hand, but I took a step backward just in case. It was better not to stand too close to Frank.

Think you’re all feathered out and ready to strut your stuff, do you? Wall, I’ll tell you what you are. Just a skinny brat that doesn’t know enough to appreciate how I took you in. You and your lazy brother. No one else would have you! I should have turned you both over to the state; they know how to deal with your kind. Now, if I catch you trying to sneak off my place and go to that picnic... I’ll make you wish you hadn’t. You know I can do it, too.

Frank leaned forward and shook his grimy, nicotine-stained finger in my face. I fought a strong impulse to snap at him, bite his finger. Still, it wasn’t his action that sparked my anger. It was his words.

He’d done it again, called the three hundred acres of Canfield land his place. As I stood there, with his hard black eyes boring into mine, a white-hot fury sprang up in me. My fear of him vanished like a vapor in the blazing sun.

My hands clenched at my sides, while poison pumped through my veins. The picnic was forgotten. Everything except Frank’s vicious face faded into a meaningless blur.

"You married my mama, but that doesn’t make this farm yours. It’s Canfield land. You think you have the law on your side, but you don’t. You got no rights, never will have, not long as me and Harley are alive!"

Frank’s dark face swelled, and fury tinged it purple. When his slab-thick hand sliced the air and hurled toward my head, I ducked. Then, before he could draw back and strike again, I whirled and dashed out the back door.

I was furious enough to fight him, but not crazy enough to try. Somehow that made me feel small and dirty, like I should have stayed and backed up my words. As I ran toward the woods at the north of the house, all the choked-back tears gushed out. Everything in front of me turned to a smeared blue and green blur, like a ruined watercolor painting.

The big oak and hickory trees were leafing out; on the ground mounds of violets made soft, lavender patches. When I’d run far enough to be hidden by the trees, I stopped and leaned against a tall hickory. I brushed my hand across my cheek and flicked away the last tear. Frank had won again. The black thought soaked in like a bitter stain. I pounded my fist against the tree.

Someday, I promised the silent trees, someday I’m going to fix him. At least I hadn’t cried in front of him. Yet, that was small consolation when I saw the yellow school bus rumbling along the road below the hill. There just didn’t seem to be any use, why even try? Frank had everything on his side. For a minute I sank into black, defeated thoughts. Then I remembered I wasn’t alone. I had Harley. Without him, there wouldn’t be even one bright spot. He was all that made life bearable. When