My Name Is River Read online

  Before we leave, I walk over to the edge of the river and look down. I want to see Billy there, calling up to me. “Hey, River, can you give me a hand please? I’m fine! Just toss the rope and pull me up.” But instead of seeing Billy, I see something long and shiny glistening in the sun. It’s hanging off a root. I bend down and have to lie on my stomach to reach it, but I’m not worried about my dress getting dirty. I stretch my arm as far as I can and grab hold of it. It’s after I get back up and open my hand that I realize what I’m holding. My body suddenly feels scared and shaky as I picture Robert walking along the river with his leather wallet sticking out of his pocket and hooked to that long, silver chain—a piece of it now in my hand. As I quickly wrap it in toilet paper and tuck it in my purse, our pinky-swear words spin over and over in my head. “Pinky, pinky, grip real tight. A promise told will not lose hold, but break your word, you’ll break our bond. It’s pinky swear or death beware.”

  24

  Yellow Roses

  Pastor Henry drives us to the cemetery in his big white van. He follows close behind the black hearse, where Billy’s coffin is.

  Little Forrest calls out, “Mama, where’s Billy? How come he not here?” She tells him he’s in heaven now, helping God. I close my eyes and imagine Billy making a birding place in heaven, right along a beautiful river that flows gently with silver water. There are bluebirds all around him. Their feathers are the truest blue, their wings are like angels’ wings, and they’re singing songs that could make the saddest person feel hopeful.

  Forrest cries out again, “Mama, I want Billy.”

  She rubs his back. “I know, Forrest. I know.”

  At the cemetery four men, dressed in suits, pull Billy’s casket out of the hearse and carry it to his grave. They set him right beside the big hole. It doesn’t seem like Billy could really be in a casket. I want to open the lid so Billy can pop out and yell, “Surprise!” But Billy would never do such a dumb thing. But if he did, you can be sure Pastor Henry would make him do more than polish church pews.

  Billy’s grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all his cousins are here too. Uncle Jay didn’t bring his camera (I guess people don’t take pictures at funerals—dead people don’t smile, and neither does anyone else who has to be there). But it might not be a bad idea to have a few pictures because what if a few days from now, or even in a week or two, you start wondering if that person really is dead. You might think it’s just been a bad dream, so at least pictures would be proof.

  Pastor Henry stands by Billy’s casket and opens his Bible. “Psalm 23. The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever.” He closes his Bible.

  “Billy was a gift from God,” he says, “a gift that was with us for twelve short years. The earthly part of me wants to shout, ‘He wasn’t with us long enough! I’m not ready to say goodbye!’ But then I hear the quiet voice of God say, ‘My ways are higher than yours. Trust me. I will be with you.’ Will we miss him? Of course we will. Will we feel pain we think we can’t endure? Without a doubt. Will God give us the strength to make it through? He made a promise.”

  Pastor Henry bows his head. “Dear heavenly Father, we thank you for Billy. He loved his family, his friends, and all your creation. We ask that you be with us. Give us the strength to go on. We thank you that we have your promise of seeing him again someday.”

  Billy’s headstone is real big, and it has a picture of him carved on the front. He’s smiling his crooked smile. Next to his picture, it says:

  WILLIAM FORREST WHIPPOORWILL

  Born November 11, 1970

  He went home to be with his heavenly Father on

  June 15, 1983

  Son of Henry and Elizabeth

  Oldest brother of Nathan, Daniel, Bethany, Hannah, Rebecca, and Forrest

  Best friend of River

  I start crying and can’t stop. Uncle Jay pulls me close. He feels like a warm flannel blanket wrapped around me so tight that nothing could ever hurt me. I don’t want him to ever let go.

  At the very bottom of Billy’s headstone is a Bible verse:

  Romans 14:8

  If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die for the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.

  The men dressed in suits lower Billy’s casket into the ground. We each take a handful of dirt, and one by one, toss it on top of his casket. I hate the empty sound. I’m glad Billy can’t hear it. It must be dark and lonely in there, but Billy doesn’t even know it. Only the outside part of Billy is there—the dead part, the part that can’t feel or see or move or breathe. The living part of Billy is in heaven, hanging out with God.

  After everyone throws their dirt, we walk around his headstone to the other side where there’s more writing. I run my fingers over the words. They feel cold and lonely and hopeful all at the same time. My fingers trace each word:

  All things bright and beautiful,

  All creatures great and small,

  All things wise and wonderful,

  The Lord God made them all.

  Each little flower that opens,

  Each little bird that sings,

  He made their glowing colors,

  He made their tiny wings.

  I begin to think about wings, not the kind birds have, but the big, flowing kind that angels have, and how they let you fly. If everyone in heaven gets wings, I hope Billy gets two strong ones that work. I want him to be able to fly.

  Mrs. Whippoorwill hands each little Whippoorwill a yellow rose. She says they represent the promise of a new beginning. She hands me one too. Then one at a time, each little Whippoorwill goes over to Billy’s grave and drops their rose in. After Mrs. Whippoorwill helps Forrest, I walk over and let mine go. “Goodbye, Billy,” I say. “See you in heaven.” We walk away, singing the last part of “Amazing Grace.”

  Amazing grace! how sweet the sound!

  That saved a wretch like me!

  I once was lost, but now am found;

  Was blind, but now I see.

  The Lord has promised good to me,

  His Word my hope secures;

  He will my shield and portion be,

  As long as life endures.

  Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,

  And mortal life shall cease,

  I shall possess within the veil,

  A life of joy and peace.

  When we’ve been there ten thousand years,

  Bright, shining as the sun,

  We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise

  Than when we first begun.

  25

  Little Bird on My Lip

  Gram’s clock struck midnight a long time ago. It’s pitch black, and I’m lying in bed with thoughts racing around my head like lab rats in a maze trying to find their way out. Every thought is of Billy, and I can’t find a place where everything is quiet. I think about Pastor Henry and Mrs. Whippoorwill and how all the little Whippoorwills are going to miss Billy every night when he’s not there to read to them. Nathan will have to take over. He’s the oldest now.

  I think about me and wonder what I’ll do without him. I think about the birding place, and then I remember the chain. How did Robert’s chain end up hanging off a root? Was he fishing there? He couldn’t have been—he said he’d never stand on that edge. Then I think about how mean and strange he acted when me and Billy did our presentation. He was so mad at Billy for not telling about the BBs. Robert’s been mad enough before to throw a rock through a church window. I wonder if he was mad enough to pus
h Billy over the edge of the Meadowlark River.

  All the pieces shift around my head and slowly fit together like a puzzle. But there’s one piece missing—Billy. Robert has so much darkness in him that I think he could’ve pushed him. And if he did, Billy would have reached for something to grab onto but only got hold of a piece of Robert’s chain. It could have broken, fallen off his wallet, and got caught on the root when it dropped over the edge. Robert would’ve gotten scared and run away. But one thing he doesn’t know—God was there and saw what happened. God was with Billy the whole time. He didn’t die alone.

  I think about telling Pastor Henry everything, but I pinky swore with Billy that I’d never tell a soul about Robert breaking the window, and I’m not sure if our pinky swear includes what Robert could have done this time.

  It’s still dark, and Gram’s clock strikes three.

  The sunlight’s trying to creep past my curtains and make me wake up. I tell it to go away. I reach for a bobby pin to clip them together. I won’t let it in, so I close my eyes tight. If I keep them shut, I won’t have to get up. I won’t have to find out how awful it’s going to be without Billy.

  Gram knocks on my door and pokes her head in. “You gonna sleep all day, Sugar Pie?” She waits for me to answer, but I can’t. “The morning’s come and gone, so if you wait much more, it’ll come and go again.”

  My voice is dry and crackly. “That’s fine with me.”

  Gram waddles over and sits on my bed. “Now, Sugar Pie, if you keep pouting like that, a little bird is gonna come land on your lip.” She puts her hand on my back and rubs in a circle. It feels so good I cry. Gram whispers, “It’ll be okay, Sugar Pie. It’s just gonna take some time.” Then she rubs my head. “You’re one tough cookie, Sugar Pie, and you’re gonna be okay.”

  I tell myself Gram never lies.

  26

  Evidence

  Two days pass and I’m still not okay. Gram lets me stay home from school. I miss Billy so much, and our pinky swear won’t leave me alone. I worry what will happen if I break it.

  Gram and I sit at the kitchen table, finishing off her tin of chocolate-chip cookies, when Pastor Henry walks up our driveway. He’s carrying Gram’s casserole dish. She made the Whippoorwills her famous goulash and peas concoction. That’s what everyone does when someone you love dies. They feed you, hoping it will make you feel better. Gram mixed the goulash and peas all together since that’s her way of cooking fancy. But I’ll bet the Whippoorwills liked it because they’re used to having food all mixed together.

  Gram opens the door and invites Pastor Henry in. He looks worn out, like he needs to sleep for a whole week without anyone bothering him. “The casserole was delicious,” he tells Gram. “You make it just like Elizabeth.”

  Gram smiles and nods her head. It’s kind of awkward when someone dies because you never know what to say. There might be magic punch, but there aren’t any magic words that will change the way things are. I can tell Gram’s not sure what to say, but Pastor Henry tries making her feel comfortable. “We appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Nuthatch, and wanted to get your dish back right away.”

  Then he comes over and pulls me in tight and close, just like Uncle Jay did. For a little while, it feels like everything’s going to be all right. He keeps his arms around me while he talks. “Thank you for being a friend to Billy. He always talked about how much you meant to him.” Then he loosens his hug, reaches in his pocket, and pulls out a folded piece of paper that looks like it went through the laundry. “This was in Billy’s pocket,” he says and places it in my hand. “He meant for you to have it.”

  My whole body shakes. I want to read it, but I need to be by myself when I do, so I just keep it folded and hold onto it real tight. I never want to lose it. I look up at Pastor Henry, not one hundred percent sure I want to say anything, but my mouth opens, and the words come out all on their own. “I have something for you too,” I say, and then I run to my room. I open my sock drawer and take out the folded piece of toilet paper. I tuck Billy’s letter in my diary, right between my special feathers. I hurry back and hand the toilet paper to Pastor Henry. “I think you should know about this.”

  He unfolds the paper and pulls out the broken piece of chain. That’s when everything rushes out of me like a raging river, and I feel like I’m barely hanging on to Gram’s white inner-tube, spinning far, far away down the Meadowlark River. I shake my head and try to talk. “Billy and I pinky swore, but I think I have to break it so you’ll know what the chain means. Robert is the one who threw the rock through the church window, and he killed all those birds, and he kept bothering Billy the day we did our presentation. He was so mad at Billy, and that was the same day Billy fell off the edge of the riverbank, and… ”

  Pastor Henry leads me to the couch and makes me sit down. He tells me to take a deep breath, then makes me start from the beginning. I tell him everything—every little detail.

  Pastor Henry sits on the couch beside me. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t move. I think he’s letting everything sink into his brain, trying to make sense of it. He runs his hands over his head and looks at me. “You did the right thing, River. You needed to break your pinky swear in a situation like this.” The knot I’ve felt inside my chest starts to untangle, and I feel like I can breathe again. “River,” he says, “would you go to the sheriff’s office with me? The authorities need to know.”

  I nod.

  Gram puts her arm around me. “You want me to come too, Sugar Pie? I wanna make sure they catch that Killdeer boy.”

  “That’s okay, Gram. I can do this. I need to be brave for Billy.”

  Pastor Henry holds the door as we walk through the main entrance of the police station. It’s a small brick building with an American flag flying outside. It’s flying at half-mast in honor of Billy. I stay as close to Pastor Henry as I can. I’ve never been inside Birdsong’s sheriff’s office before, or any other sheriff ’s office for that matter.

  Pastor Henry says hello to the secretary and asks if we could speak with Sheriff Peterson.

  The secretary, Ms. Pintail, points to the chairs beside her desk. “Please have a seat while I get the sheriff.”

  While we wait, Pastor Henry assures me I have nothing to be afraid of. He says all I need to do is tell Sheriff Peterson everything I told him. But then I start to worry. What if Sheriff Peterson brings Robert to his office for questioning, and he ends up being innocent? Robert will know who told on him, and then he’ll come after me. Billy’s words echo in my head, “… but break your word, you’ll break our bond. It’s pinky swear or death beware.”

  Ms. Pintail’s voice startles me. “Sheriff Peterson says you can head back to his office.” Pastor Henry nods his head and thanks her.

  Sheriff Peterson greets us. “Good morning, Pastor. You’ve been in my thoughts. What can I do for you?”

  Pastor Henry puts his hand on my shoulder. “This is River Starling, Billy’s friend. She confided in me this morning and shared information I think you need to be aware of.”

  Sheriff Peterson tells us to have a seat as he pulls a small spiral notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. He asks me questions about the broken stained glass window and how Robert behaved during our presentation. He asks if we actually saw Robert shoot the birds and if he ever actually threatened Billy or me. I answer every question as best I can.

  Then Sheriff Peterson takes the piece of silver chain from Pastor Henry and inspects it carefully, holding it up to the sunlight coming through his window. He slips it into a plastic bag, rummages through his desk to find a permanent marker, and then writes “Killdeer Case” on it. He closes his notebook and grabs his hat off the hook. “As soon as I have any information, I’ll call. But until then, don’t say a word about this to anyone. Do you understand, River? Not a soul.” I promise him I won’t, and then he rushes out of his office before Pastor Henry and I have a chance to stand up.

  As we walk out the back exit, we hear his siren and the
sound of tires screeching. The smell of burnt rubber hits us.

  27

  The Letter

  Pastor Henry drops me off at the end of my driveway. Gram’s standing in the doorway waiting for me. “Come on in, Sugar Pie. Lunch is waiting.” She pulls out my chair and says, “Now, you have a seat and a bite to eat and tell me all about it.” Gram has a vase of wildflowers sitting in the middle of the table. She made a huge stack of peanut butter and fluff sandwiches with banana slices tucked inside, and she mixed two tall glasses of chocolate milk with ice cubes (that’s Gram’s way of trying to make things better). She sits across the table from me and folds her hands. “Now, you go on ahead and tell me everything about the police station, just like it happened.”

  So I do.

  “Well,” Gram says, “it sounds like that Sheriff Peterson’s got a good head on his shoulders.” Then she guzzles her chocolate milk and wipes her mouth on her sleeve. “As I live and breathe, I just want to see justice.” Gram shakes her head. “That Killdeer boy sounds crazier than a run-over dog. I just hope to God that Sheriff Peterson finds enough evidence to prove what that boy did.” Then she shakes her head, yawns, and decides to take an afternoon snooze. I get my diary and walk to the birding place.

  As I push the branches away and turn onto the trail, I look across the road at the Whippoorwill’s mailbox. I remember Billy standing there the first day we started our project. I picture the seed packages sticking out of his pockets and remember him holding that huge bag of birdseed. But all I did was complain about how early in the morning it was. It seems so long ago.

  I sit on the log, which is all soft and covered with moss, and take a deep breath in. I look across the birding place. The grass is still matted down where everyone stood for Billy’s service. This is actually the first time I’ve been here alone. It’s so peaceful. The birds are singing, and there are butterflies everywhere. There’s even a chipmunk under the feeder, stuffing dropped seeds into his cheeks. No wonder Mrs. Bunting likes coming here. I just hope she doesn’t come today. I need to be alone.