Saving Cicadas: A Novel

By Nicole Seitz

A moving novel of unconditional love and the freedom of letting go, this story follows the haunting journey of a single mother from South Carolina who discovers she's pregnant again.

When single mother Priscilla Lynn Macy learns she's having another child unexpectedly, she packs the family into the car to escape. Eight-year-old Janie Doe and Rainey Dae, her seventeen-year-old sister with special needs, embark on the last family vacation they'll ever take with Poppy and Grandma Mona in the back seat.

The trip seems aimless until Janie realizes they are searching for the father who left them years ago. When they can't find him, they make their way to Forest Pines, SC. Priscilla hasn't been to her family home in many years and finds it a mixed blessing of hope, buried secrets, and family ghosts.

Through eyes of innocence, Janie learns the hard realities of life and the difficult choices grownups make. And she must face disturbing truths about the people she loves in order to carry them in the moments that matter most.

Part road trip, part mystery, and completely unexpected, Saving Cicadas picks you up in one place and puts you down someplace else entirely. It's an eloquent reminder that life is a miracle—and even the smallest soul is a gift.

• Haunting contemporary southern fiction 
• Includes discussion questions for book clubs
• Also by Nicole Seitz: The Inheritance of Beauty, A Hundred Years of Happiness, and Trouble the Water

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Nov 13, 2009
• ISBN: 9781418580988

Book preview

Prologue

THE WINDOW

Do you believe in . . . past lives?

She’s waited a week to get the gumption to ask him, but now she’s second-guessing. Priscilla keeps her knees together and smoothes the flowers in her skirt. She pulls her hair to the right side of her head and stares at the big black book on his desk. I mean, I know you don’t, but—

Why? he says. Do you believe? A flash of sunlight fills the room—a temporary break in the clouded sky. And then it’s gone, and all is gray again.

I’m not sure. I’m starting to wonder.

He swivels his chair and leans back, cracking his knuckles, one after the other after the other. I can tell you, you’re not the first to ask. We’ve got some Cherokees here, and the traditional belief of rebirth comes up every now and again. Usually when somebody loses a loved one.

Priscilla stares down at her knees.

I certainly don’t claim to know all the mysteries of God, says Fritz, but I do know we all have former selves, pasts we’ve got to deal with and learn from. Otherwise we carry these former lives on our shoulders, unable to let go. Priscilla glances up at him finally, searching his face. "Some people remain stuck living past lives. But you can exchange that burden for something wonderful—"

No. That’s not really what I’m talking about, Fritz. I do understand what you’re saying, it’s just . . .

What is it, Priscilla?

She tucks a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear and shakes her head, studying the lines of his simple pine desk. She’s . . . she remembers things. Things she can’t possibly remember. She talks about family members, ones who’ve been gone for years now. I don’t know, maybe it’s the photographs, or maybe I’ve talked about them to her or around her. Maybe she’s just extra sensitive, attentive. I can usually explain it away, except . . .

Except what?

She looks him in the eye and says, The window.

Fritz pauses and glances at the window behind Priscilla’s shoulder. It’s simple and unadorned, unlike the ones in the other room with their magnificent colors and stories. On the other side of the clear-paned glass, a mockingbird swoops to the ground and calls out warning beneath a blanketed sky. Tell me about this window, Fritz says.

She can describe it to me in detail . . . but I don’t know how. I’ve never talked about it. To anyone.

I see.

It comes to me in my dreams. The window.

You’re thinking she can read your mind now?

I don’t know, I—

Maybe you talk in your sleep.

No. It’s not like that, Priscilla says. She’s special. You know her. There’s something . . . different about her. There always has been. If you ask me, I’d say she’s a bright, loving child. Tell me: does she seem troubled by these memories?

No. She acts as if nothing is strange at all, as if it was just the other day or something. She goes on and on about that summer too . . . when we left Cypresswood. It just unnerves me. Priscilla uses her left hand to pull her right arm close to her side.

If you’d like me to talk with her, you know I will. But maybe not just yet. Fritz leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. He clasps his hands together and looks just over her shoulder, then finally meets her eyes. We each have something, Priscilla, some memory that haunts us, that shows up in our dreams. In your case, it’s a window. Maybe what bothers you is not that your daughter remembers this window she can’t possibly know, but that she reminds you of the thing it represents—something you thought you’d let go of long ago.

She looks up at him, and her lip trembles as if she may cry or speak. She does neither.

She’s a good girl, Priscilla. A blessing in your life. Sometimes God has a way of using children to speak to us. To lead us closer to him. If you want my advice, let her lead you. She may say something truly worth hearing one of these days.

Fritz takes Priscilla’s free hand and squeezes it, and the two sit engulfed in the moment, oblivious to the fact that they’re not alone. Hidden in the shadowy corner of the preacher’s office, a lone head bows and whispers, Amen.

Part One

THE MACYS

HIT THE ROAD

Chapter One

FLYING DREAMS

{Janie}

Come over here by the light and let me see what pretty pictures you drew. Oh, this one here is my favorite, Janie. Is this a car?

Yes, ma’am.

Can you tell me about it?

I trace my finger along the red and blue lines on construction paper, the green blurred trees, the yellow circles for faces—then I close my eyes. It’s how I remember best.

It was about four years ago, the last trip we ever took together—my mother, sister, grandparents, and me. ’Course, we didn’t know it at the time. You never know something like that, like it’s the last one you’ll ever get, till it’s just a memory, hanging like mist. This is what happened that summer, true as I can tell it. Not a one of us was ever the same.

I sat in the front seat, all eight-and-a-half years of me, twirling my hair and trying to hum a happy tune. I did this, knowing Mama was nothing at all close to being happy after just finding out she was having another child. In fact, sitting so close to her, I thought my mama’s fear and anger smelled a lot like dill pickle relish and red onions. Or maybe it was just Grandma Mona, old and mean and full of egg salad, breathing down our necks from behind the seat.

Some things, like the smell of fear and anger—and guilt—are enough to drive anybody out on the road, even when gas prices are about to kill you.

A gallon of gas had soared to over four dollars that summer, and Mama said that alone might do her in. Not like she had a money tree or anything in the backyard. Hers was hollow, dead, and bearing no fruit—certainly no dollar bills. No, Priscilla Lynn Macy was a working woman, said she gave her life and youth to the pancake house. So you might think it strange we would set out on the highway. I did, anyway. But I would soon find out this was no regular summer vacation. We were destined to go.

Mama had stuck her long blonde hair in a ponytail, packed the whole caboodle into the car—the past, the present, the future—and we were barreling down I-26 at seventy-five miles an hour, and she had absolutely no idea where she was going, or maybe she did. Maybe she knew deep down she wasn’t running away from her problems but hauling them right along with her.

Rainey Dae Macy, my seventeen-year-old sister, hugged a plastic baby doll in the backseat and watched the trees blur into a long green line. She didn’t like change or surprise vacations, but she kept her mouth shut anyway. She was used to doing whatever pleased Mama, fearing her special needs made Mama’s life just a little bit harder than most.

I was more or less a normal kid. Like most, I dreamed of saving the world someday. Not like Superwoman, but I don’t know—making sure kids had clothes and enough to eat, making sure people like Mama had good jobs that made money and made them feel good when they went home each day, like they did something with their brains—like they did something to help the world in some small way. Not like they were wasting every second of every day of every year of their lives—like Mama had said, oh, more than a time or two.

Two nights before we left Cypresswood, Mama was tucking Rainey into her princess sheets on the top bunk when she asked her how many days there were until Christmas.

About six months, Mama said.

How many days? Rainey insisted. She liked to count things. She was good at it. And she counted days like seconds, like sand.

Let’s see . . . a hundred and ninety, I think.

Rainey started to whine, That long? I want it now.

My mother was sensitive to any talk about Christmas presents. She’d hear one and add it to her master list. That way, come holiday time, she wasn’t scrambling to save money and frantic to buy. So she asked, full of hope, Why, is there something you want for Christmas, honey?

Yeah, but . . . I cain’t tell you, said Rainey.

Why not?

I made a wish. On a dandelion. Won’t come true if I say it.

If you tell me, honey, I can help you write a letter and make sure Santa knows about it.

Huh-uh, said Rainey. God knows. He tell Santa.

I was lying in the bottom bunk, listening to the whole thing. I was wise for my age. Not meaning any harm, Mama often said things in my presence that aged me, partly because she was a single mother doing the job of two, and partly because she had a special-needs child and a crappy job and she was going gray early. Sometimes, she’d just about talk to the wind in order to get it all out.

So I, Janie Doe Macy, listening to the wish conversation and knowing my mother the way I did—how hard she worked, how hard she tried—felt sorry for her.

Don’t worry, Mama, I said. I’ll get her to tell me. I can help you make sure Santa gets the message.

Mama kissed Rainey on the cheek and on her flattened nose and on her upturned eyes. Good night, sweetheart.

’Night, Mama. Don’t forget Janie light. Rainey knew I was deathly afraid of the dark.

Good night, sweet Janie. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.

’Night, I said.

Mama reached down and turned on the night-light, then she stood there at the door, not leaving, and smiled at us in a strange sort of way. She started counting on her fingers. Then she spouted out, Oh good gosh, I’m late. I’m never late. She reminded me of the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, and I wondered what she could be late for at this hour. The light from the window was turning sapphire blue.

When the door closed, I looked up to the top bunk and whispered, Rainey, you can tell me your wish. Sisters don’t count.

Huh-uh. I wished on the dandelion. It won’t be true.

Rainey, just tell me. Please?

It was quiet from the top. Then Rainey leaned over the edge and looked at me. Concern spread like butter across her face. Oh, I probly won’t get it. I wish . . . I wish I had wings and flied around.

Oh. Really? Like an airplane? Like a bird? I bit my lip and turned my head to the wall, heartsick, knowing the wings she wanted couldn’t possibly come true. Not even Santa could pull that one off.

Like a angel. I heard Rainey lay back on her pillow.

Gee, Rain. I don’t know if that one can happen. I used to wish the same thing when I was little. But I’ve had dreams where I’ve been flying. Have you ever had one of those? You’re high up over the trees and the buildings and it feels like you can do anything at all, like nothing is impossible?

No. Rainey sniffled. The room was growing darker.

You should tell Mama about the wings, I said. You know if she can help it come true, she will. Remember how she put you in the Olympics and you won that pretty medal for running? ’Member that?

Yeah, I ’member.

My sister and I stopped talking after that and settled in for sleep. Knowing Rainey, she was praying even harder for her wings, never minding she couldn’t get them.

In the bottom bunk, I lay there trying to remember that feeling, what it felt like to fly. And I fell asleep hoping, just maybe, I’d have one of those carefree, light-as-air flying dreams again, like I used to when I was much younger than the wise old age of eight-and-a-half. For some reason, I suspected my wings were too short to ever catch air and lift me off the ground—that some children, no matter how hard they try, will never fly.

Chapter Two

THE SMARTEST MACY

It’ll be all right, Mama. Promise it will.

Grandma Mona and me were watching Mama’s face twist and curl in our tiny bathroom. It had a daisy shower curtain and matching soap dish, making it strangely cheery for such a dark day. We were sort of like good cop, bad cop, Grandma Mona and me. I was the good one. Hard to be bad when you’re only eight. I would say something nice and Grandma Mona would say something nasty. Mama could form no real words at all, but for sure, she wasn’t happy. There was a blue vein bulging in her left temple, and she was frozen, holding that little white stick. Like a wand. Like a little magic wand that would change everybody’s world with just one swoosh of the wrist.

Normally, my mama was the prettiest lady I’d ever seen, blue eyes, creamy white skin. Other folks thought it, too, giving her looks in the restaurant, in the grocery store. In the small town of Cypresswood, South Carolina, most everybody was invisible, melting in with everybody else. Except for Mama. Nobody was prettier than her. Some ladies didn’t like her so much because of it. Maybe they worried their men might take a liking to Mama more and want to trade them in for her. But Mama wasn’t like that. She wasn’t after anybody’s man. ’ Fact, she hadn’t loved anybody except me and Rainey since the day my daddy left four years ago.

Mama might have been pretty, but it never went to her head. She thought her hair was too flat and wished it had some wave. Every now and again she got pink lipstick stuck on her front tooth or had it all cockeyed off one lip or the other. And she thought the ladies who drove those pink Cadillacs in Fervor, the ones who knew how to put on makeup right and such, were the ones to envy, not her. But those Fervor ladies never saw my mama sitting up late at night, rocking a scared Rainey who’d had a bad dream. They never saw her early in the mornings making smiley face pancakes and trying to cheer up her sad daughters and take our minds off Daddy, right after he left. No, no one ever saw that side of Mama. But I did. And sometimes when she was wearing a nice dress and had her face put on just right, I looked at Mama and got this feeling down deep in my chest—a feeling like I wished somebody would just walk on by and I could say, That’s my mama, and someday I’m gonna be just like her.

Right now Mama didn’t look anything like that. Her blonde hair framed a tired face that was growing longer by the second. Her skin was all stretched back like it was tied behind her ears, and she was screaming. Not for joy neither. Scared me half to death. I wished I could save her, but it’s not like there was blood or anything, something I could stick a Band-Aid on. I plugged my ears with my fingers and leaned my head against the cold hard wall. Hoping it would pass. There, there, Mama. She rarely hollered, if ever.

Well, isn’t this just fitting, said Grandma Mona when the screaming died down. This calls for a celebration, dear. Why don’t I go pour you a nice gin and tonic?

"Let me see," I said, shooting Grandma Mona one of her own nasty looks. She got the hint and left us alone. Mama set the stick on the counter and I leaned over, studying it. I stared at the picture on the box. A minus sign meant not pregnant. A plus sign, pregnant . My mother was definitely pregnant. I covered my mouth. It couldn’t be. Daddy’d been gone for four years now. I figured maybe there was a mistake. Then I thought about it some more and thought maybe Mama had taken one of those ladies’ men, just like they’d worried about. Maybe she’d done it down at the pancake house or somewhere when Rainey and I weren’t looking. I was shocked my own mama could be so naughty. But then I thought on it some more and knew my mama wasn’t naughty, maybe just forgetful on how babies were made. So then I was just shocked thinking about a new baby being in our house.

My legs went jelly, so I sat down on the cold edge of the tub. I felt like I was floating, like my spirit might fly right off. Mama dropped the stick in the trash can and it made a clunk noise like a jail cell door. How could this happen? she said, trancelike.

It happens. Grandma Mona popped her head back around the door. How do you think it happens? Good gracious, child, you ought to know how it happens by now.

At eight-and-a-half-years-old, I didn’t know everything, but being the smartest girl in the Macy family, I knew a few things, like, never climb onto a strange, mangy dog, even if he does look like he’s smiling. My sister, Rainey, learned that the hard way, and she lost the tip of her right pinkie finger too. Had to get the shots and everything. I say I was the smartest Macy girl because my sister, she was older than me and she was smart, but she was special, you know, and sometimes could only grasp so much. Well then there was Mama. I guessed I was smarter than her now, too, because another thing I knew was, you can have babies just by kissing a boy. Why, every time on TV somebody was kissing, there wound up being a baby. Mama should have kept her lips to herself because she had two children already, but maybe she forgot how you make babies. She must have because she’d gone and done it again. Didn’t look too happy about it, neither.

That’s good, I said, patting Mama on the back. She was straddling the commode and quiet now. Just take a deep breath. I’m sure it’s not so bad.

My mother stared at floating dust. Her shoulders dropped low as if a heavy little devil and angel were sitting on either side. Then the devil and angel began to jump, and Mama’s shoulders bounced up and down with them, keeping rhythm.

How did this happen? She wailed again and put her head on the counter beside the sink. She banged it a couple times, then rolled it from side to side, her arms falling limp past the toilet paper roll down to the floor. "How could I let this happen again? What kind of mother aaaam IIII?"

I didn’t want this.

"Mama, it’s not your fault you’re pregnant." Hearing that word pregnant come out of my mouth made me want to crawl in a hole. And then hearing how dumb I sounded, I added, "Well, you didn’t do it by yourself, anyway. Somebody musta kissed you back. Or maybe they kissed you when you weren’t expecting it—surprised you or some such. Could have been like Sleeping Beauty and the prince, you know. She had no warning from him whatsoever. Just snuck up on her and boom!"

Oh, thank you, said Grandma Mona. "That’s just what I wanted, Janie. A nice little picture in my mind of your mother being with a man. Lovely. And for an eight-year-old girl to know all this. I swanny. Just a disgrace." She walked away, sputtering and leaving a trail of venom behind her like snail slime.

I’m eight-and-a-half! I hollered.

What’s wrong, Mama? My sister, Rainey, heard the commotion and filled the doorway, her hair still mussed up from sleeping. She had her hands covering her ears for the noise. She was eight years older than me but seemed more like my age, except for her body was a grown-up’s. Go figure. I wasn’t sure why they called it Down syndrome. They should have called it Up or something. Rainey was the most loving, positive, excited person I knew. She was like our Labrador puppy Bitsy was, always wagging her tail, just happy to be alive. Until she got run over, that is.

Anyway, Rainey saw joy in everything . . . unless she was scared or bothered or mad. What’s wrong? she asked again.

Oh, nothing, honey—

She’s pregnant, said Grandma Mona.

What’s pregnant? Rainey asked. Strangers had a hard time making out her words sometimes, but I’d been with her for so long, I had no trouble at all. Sounded more like whad-ped-nat?

Mama looked shocked at hearing the word. It means having a baby, said Mama, holding her middle and looking like somebody kicked her in the stomach.

A baby? Rainey’s face lit up like sunshine. Oooh, we get the baby! Goodie!

No, Rainey, it’s not a good thing, Mama said, straightening up. It is not a good thing for an unmarried woman with no money and a crappy job to get pregnant.

Oh. Rainey’s eyes flitted from Mama to me. Understanding crossed her flattened face, and she looked at her shoes. Mama bad. You the bad girl.

No, no. I’m not a bad girl, Rainey. I just . . . I don’t know how this happened . . . Tears began streaming down Mama’s face, and she excused herself to the kitchen for some water.

Sit down, I told Rainey. I was more like the big sister in our relationship, and it was time to do big-sister things. I patted the toilet seat and Rainey sat down. I put my head in my hands and rested my elbows on my knees so my brown hair covered my face. See, it’s like this. Somebody kissed Mama and it might not have been her fault. Just because a lady gets pregnant . . . is going to have a baby . . . it doesn’t mean she’s a bad girl.

No?

No.

Like Mary! Rainey squealed. I peeked at her between my fingers. Mary had the baby, she said. From the Bible.

Yes! Yes, that’s right. Mary had a baby, and that didn’t make her a bad girl, did it?

Jesus was in her tummy, said Rainey, looking out the door to her book bin. She got up and hurried to it, lifting the lid and digging until she found the one she wanted. I followed her and plopped down on the couch, feeling like I’d gained five thousand pounds. I curled my feet up under me and Rainey brought me her book, flipping through its pages with thick fingers. See? Here the baby Jesus. He come again someday. Mama having the baby?

Uugh. I put my head down and closed my eyes. I knew Mama wasn’t happy about being pregnant, and I also knew the Jamisons at the Y had adopted a baby from Russia, so I knew Mama could give hers away if she wanted. If I thought on it, I felt sick inside. I guess Mama’s having the baby, I said. But we don’t really know yet, Rainey. It’s up to her.

She was quiet for a second, so I turned to look at her. Rainey’s eager look had turned to frustration. Why? she whined. I thought Jesus coming to our house. I want the baby Jesus.

Oh, Rain. Tears sprang to my eyes. They dripped down slowly, lingering on my cheeks. Rainey moved in and clumsily swiped at my face, trying to dry my tears. She thought of crying along with me, then smiled instead. Don’t be sad. I help. Baby Jesus stay in our room. I feed him and change the diaper. Then she pounced off the

Reviews for Saving Cicadas

[rosetyper9 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I am completely torn on this review....I just don't even really have words for this book. Nicole Seitz shrouds the entire piece in mystery and only reveals key bits at the end. The story itself was beautifully written, it flowed effortlessly and sucked me into the story, even in some places unwittingly. Other thoughts I had on this piece is that is had a very literary feel as well as a very sad presence. The whole time I was reading I wanted to start weeping for this poor little girl's innocence being totally ripped to shreds and at the same time I was cheering loudly for her spirit to be strong and persevere. This book will keep you up all night reading, crying, laughing, and falling in love with each and every character you come across, especially little Janie.

*This book was received from Thomas Nelson for review*

[smileydq · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

There are reasons that I avoid reading Christian fiction - this book encompasses all of those reasons, and then some. I was extremely disappointed with this novel, which did not bill itself as Christian-themed, but rather as a Southern family drama. Seitz did write some interesting characters, people whose lives I could have been interested in learning more about; her overly simplistic handling of Priscilla's unplanned pregnancy, however, and her preachy, anti-abortion message that read like bad propoganda completely turned me off even the most compelling moments in the novel - not that there were many to begin with. Add to these elements a lot of off-putting talk about God and angels and 'surprise' plot twists that were wholly predictable and you get a dull novel that I couldn't wait to finish. The book description and marketing plan should absolutely indicate the heavy-handed Christian content so that readers can make a more informed purchasing decision.

[quiltinfun06 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Without a doubt, Saving Cicadas is the best book I have read in years. It will be hard to write an adequate review of this impressionable novel and even more difficult not to include spoilers. It is a book that captured me from the first page and left me in awe at the last page. It took twists and turns that kept surprising me and when I thought I couldn’t be further surprised; I was surprised again.Priscilla is a woman who is haunted by her past, depressed about her future and in turmoil regarding her present situation. She is a single mother of a special needs child and she finds herself pregnant again. Her spirit appears broken; her life in chaos. She takes off with her family in search of answers. The journey she takes is unplanned and spontaneous. It is a trip that will forever change her life and those she loves.The story is told in a child’s voice with a child’s prospective on life. She is wise beyond her years; she is innocent and untouched by prejudice. She is the most powerful character you will ever meet in a novel. The impressions she leaves on the reader will never be forgotten.Absolutely, everyone must read Saving Cicadas. I am recommending it to everyone I know. Regardless of what they may think they know about love and life; I am sure they will be affected by this incredible story forever.

[foreigncircus · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I selected this book thinking it would be an appealing addition to my growing collection of Southern fiction. Nothing in the description prepared me for the overwhelming Christian elements and the heavy-handed anti-abortion message that form the basis for the narrative. Though the characters of Janie, Rainey and Priscilla are appealing and the folksy tone consistent, I was very disappointed by the way Priscilla's dilemma was treated. The talk of God and angels was off-putting and overly simplistic as was the treatment of Rainey's special needs. The surprise twist was so telegraphed that it lost any effect and just served to further increase my dissatisfaction with this book. A more even-handed treatment of Priscilla's choices and a greater understanding of why she made them could have made this a powerful book about the dilemma of an unplanned pregnancy; instead it reads as a shallow and preachy piece of propoganda. Disappointing read- the book description should definitely indicate that this is Christian fiction to help people make a more informed purchasing decision.

[grazianoronca_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Saving Cicadasby Nicole SeitzThomas Nelson PublisherSaving Cicadas is a novel about babies: born, adopted, or unborn. A single mother, Priscilla Lynn Macy, is having another child unexpectedly, escape seems the best solution. But before starting a new life Priscilla needs “a step back in time”: she backs to her family home, where “everybody seems to have found pieces of themselves here”, also with the help of several ghosts who will surprise you. The narrative of the book is structured with two different points of view (eight-and-a-half year-old Janie and Grandma Mona), this narrative structure does not allow you to know what’s happening and you have to guess until the end.This novel entertains you and may teach we are not alone: there is always someone whispering to you, because we are not “just like wind rocking … rockers”. I recommend this book for teenagers who don’t (or don’t want) understand grownups, and grownups who are planning a new life.