what a key was, of course: we had one for the front door that hung on a nail outside it, and Mama had showed me how to work it years ago. Once or twice a year I’d lock it up and then go around to the kitchen door and let myself in, and be amazed that I couldn’t get out again from the front. I couldn’t really understand what it was for, but Mama had said it was to keep out strangers. Since there hadn’t been any of that sort around for years, I guessed I’d never need it.
I reached out slowly for the key, but Gospel’s grubby hand was there first, turning it fiercely.
“That’s not fair. I asked about it.”
“You’re too blasted slow, Merce,” Gospel said, and laughed. Miz Cally slapped his hand away, and the key started to slowly turn back, but I grabbed it and gave it a few more cranks. A single sound had escaped, not too loud, just a little plink . I didn’t really think it was music at all.
“You can let it go now, Merciful. It’ll play.”
I dropped my hand to the table and watched. The machine made a faint humming sound, a whirring, and then the ballerina started to spin on her toe at the same time that the box started to make music, real music. My mouth dropped open as I heard it play, and I started to draw in my arms. Why under Heaven was it that song?
“What’s the matter?” Miz Cally asked, reaching out to take my hand before I could pull it fully back.
“Probably reminds her of Mama,” Gospel said. “She always used to sing this song to us. How did it go? ‘Hush, little baby’ or something like that? Lord above, I hated that song, but Merce always wanted to have it sung to her.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” the Widow said, and dropped the lid with her free hand. The music fell silent instantly. “It was a long time ago, but I remember your mama used to come and sit with me, back before either of you was born, and play this box for a while. There used to be all kinds of music—phonographs and radios and that sort of thing—but this is the last I have left now.”
The box may have been shut, but in my head I could still hear it plinking along, only there was also an echo like Mama’s voice running through my head.
Hush, little baby, don’t you cry …
I let out a breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding in. “Miz Cally, there’s something else I got to tell you,” I said, and looked up at her. I didn’t suppose this was the machine I was expected to find. But it was a sign from God, clear as day, that I needed to talk. I needed to tell what I knew.
“There’s troubled times coming,” I said, and Gospel, he let out a little laugh but waved his hand for me to go on when I glared at him. “The world’s in a bad way, and no mistake.”
“Merciful, people have been saying that since I was younger than you are,” Miz Cally said.
“Yeah, well, eventually somebody had to get it right,” Gospel said. “You gonna tell her quick, or should I just get into it?”
“Get into what?”
“There’s a fog closing in on us that’s like to kill us all, and it ain’t but a couple hours from here at most, and the dead won’t stay dead, Miz Cally, and the Minister’s lying to everyone.”
It wasn’t exactly how I would have said it, but mostly Gospel had it right. I was mad he told it out plain like that, so I gave him a look, but it didn’t have much venom in it because I guess he said what needed to be said. Miz Cally was looking at him too, but it was a different look: the same one she gave when we used to say we didn’t know how the stair got broke, or what happened to the cider.
“He’s not fibbing, Miz Cally,” I said. “He ain’t even told you all of it.”
“Well, why don’t you two tell me the rest, then?”
I skipped my eyes over Gospel, but he just grabbed the jar of jam and dug his dirty finger into it, and slurped strawberry preserves. He’d got to shock someone with starting it, and now he’d get to avoid the work of actually telling it.
I reached out slowly for the key, but Gospel’s grubby hand was there first, turning it fiercely.
“That’s not fair. I asked about it.”
“You’re too blasted slow, Merce,” Gospel said, and laughed. Miz Cally slapped his hand away, and the key started to slowly turn back, but I grabbed it and gave it a few more cranks. A single sound had escaped, not too loud, just a little plink . I didn’t really think it was music at all.
“You can let it go now, Merciful. It’ll play.”
I dropped my hand to the table and watched. The machine made a faint humming sound, a whirring, and then the ballerina started to spin on her toe at the same time that the box started to make music, real music. My mouth dropped open as I heard it play, and I started to draw in my arms. Why under Heaven was it that song?
“What’s the matter?” Miz Cally asked, reaching out to take my hand before I could pull it fully back.
“Probably reminds her of Mama,” Gospel said. “She always used to sing this song to us. How did it go? ‘Hush, little baby’ or something like that? Lord above, I hated that song, but Merce always wanted to have it sung to her.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” the Widow said, and dropped the lid with her free hand. The music fell silent instantly. “It was a long time ago, but I remember your mama used to come and sit with me, back before either of you was born, and play this box for a while. There used to be all kinds of music—phonographs and radios and that sort of thing—but this is the last I have left now.”
The box may have been shut, but in my head I could still hear it plinking along, only there was also an echo like Mama’s voice running through my head.
Hush, little baby, don’t you cry …
I let out a breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding in. “Miz Cally, there’s something else I got to tell you,” I said, and looked up at her. I didn’t suppose this was the machine I was expected to find. But it was a sign from God, clear as day, that I needed to talk. I needed to tell what I knew.
“There’s troubled times coming,” I said, and Gospel, he let out a little laugh but waved his hand for me to go on when I glared at him. “The world’s in a bad way, and no mistake.”
“Merciful, people have been saying that since I was younger than you are,” Miz Cally said.
“Yeah, well, eventually somebody had to get it right,” Gospel said. “You gonna tell her quick, or should I just get into it?”
“Get into what?”
“There’s a fog closing in on us that’s like to kill us all, and it ain’t but a couple hours from here at most, and the dead won’t stay dead, Miz Cally, and the Minister’s lying to everyone.”
It wasn’t exactly how I would have said it, but mostly Gospel had it right. I was mad he told it out plain like that, so I gave him a look, but it didn’t have much venom in it because I guess he said what needed to be said. Miz Cally was looking at him too, but it was a different look: the same one she gave when we used to say we didn’t know how the stair got broke, or what happened to the cider.
“He’s not fibbing, Miz Cally,” I said. “He ain’t even told you all of it.”
“Well, why don’t you two tell me the rest, then?”
I skipped my eyes over Gospel, but he just grabbed the jar of jam and dug his dirty finger into it, and slurped strawberry preserves. He’d got to shock someone with starting it, and now he’d get to avoid the work of actually telling it.
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