The Peculiar Miracles of Antoinette Martin: A Novel (30 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

The land was silent. Antoinette cocked her head to the left and listened. Cicadas buzzed. Crickets sang. Wind rustled the leaves on the birch trees. But the music was gone. For the first time, she did not want to be outside.

Her mother walked beside her. Lily and Will walked ahead of them. “It’s a lot of work for a garden show, Lils,” Will said.

Antoinette didn’t hear Lily’s reply.

If Seth were here, he would play for her, play until she forgot that she had become deaf to the land. But she hadn’t seen him since yesterday when he twirled around with her in the flower field.

Her mother bent down. “Do you remember when you were a little girl?” she asked. ”I’d catch fireflies in mason jars for you. Remember the time the whole barn was lit up with their glow? We must have had thirty jars.”

Antoinette remembered. The barn had glimmered with their light. Her mother wove a crown of daisies for her. “You’re my fairy princess,” she had said, and Antoinette believed her—that night anything felt possible.

“You’re still my princess,” her mother said.

At the split in the drive where one path led to the house and the other to the drying barn, someone called Antoinette’s name.

At first, she thought it was the crickets, but then it happened again. She stopped and looked up.

Eli Cantwell stood behind the iron gate at the end of their driveway. “Antoinette!” he yelled again.

Antoinette felt her mother stiffen. “Ignore it,” she said. “He’ll leave if we keep walking.” Her mother motioned for her to move forward, but Antoinette planted her feet.

“Who is it?” Will asked, bringing a hand up to shade his eyes.

“It’s Eli,” Lily said. She put her good hand on Antoinette’s back. “Come on, you need to keep walking.”

Antoinette didn’t budge.

“I know you’re there,” Eli yelled. “Please, Rose. MaryBeth’s worse. Let her help us!”

“Wait here,” her mother said. She walked down the drive to Eli.

The wind carried bits of their conversation to Antoinette.

“She’s just a little girl,” her mother said.

“I know what I saw!” Eli sounded angry.

“You’re confused,” her mother said. “You need to leave us alone.”

“Please,” Eli’s voice cracked. “MaryBeth’s all I’ve got.”

Her mother wrapped her hand around Eli’s. “If Antoinette could help you, don’t you think I’d let her?”

“Please.” Eli stared at Antoinette as if she were a savior or a saint.

But Antoinette had never been either of those. She looked at Lily’s injured hand. She remembered the sparrow falling from the sky.

This time when Lily gently pushed her forward, Antoinette turned from Eli and kept walking.

ANTOINETTE SHUFFLED THROUGH
the cedar shavings and dried flower petals on the barn floor. Twice a year Seth spread shavings throughout the barn—their scent kept flies away. As she walked, she kicked up puffs of sawdust that drifted through the air like dandelion seeds.

At the other end of the barn, a plywood stage had been set up. On Sunday, Seth would stand there, playing bluegrass for the crowd. Bluegrass was happy music, and Antoinette wished he was playing it now. She needed something happy.

They had been in the barn for an hour, and though Eli was gone, she still heard him screaming her name. She balled her hand into a fist and smacked her forehead.

“Shouldn’t you make her stop that?” Will asked as he lifted a folding table from the stack against the wall.

Lily looked up from where she stood at the other end of the barn. A can of white paint sat at her feet. She was almost finished painting the walls.

“She’ll quit if it hurts,” Antoinette’s mother said. She sat on a straw bale, too tired to help. Her skin was paler than usual, and every few minutes she took a deep breath. When she did, she steepled her fingers over her heart and pushed.

Antoinette mirrored her movement, pressing her fingers into her heart as if she could tease the grief out. But when she dropped her hand, she hurt just as much as she had before.

Will ran a wet rag over the table, and sawdust slid to the barn floor. “Won’t most of the artists bring their own tables?” he asked. “Seems to me that you shouldn’t be doing all of this work for them.”

“Each year a few people forget something. Besides, we need tables for our flower arrangements and lavender bread.” Her mother closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. After talking with Eli at the gate, she had grown quiet. She seemed to be withdrawing inside herself.

Antoinette tucked her elbows tight against her side. She felt sluggish, the way she did after a seizure. Except she hadn’t had a seizure today. She hit her head again.

“Why don’t you go home, Rose,” Lily said as she dipped her paintbrush into the can. “We’ve got this.”

“I’m fine,” her mother said.

Lily looked at Antoinette. “
You’d
listen to me, wouldn’t you?” Her gaze was heavy, but Antoinette didn’t mind. As her mother grew weaker, Lily seemed to grow stronger.

Antoinette stretched up on her toes and walked to the far end of the barn. She paced under the herbs hanging from the rafters. Basil, rosemary, oregano. And lavender. They always had lavender.

Her mother used to pick a basketful of the flowers. Then she’d spend the rest of the day baking lavender bread and lavender butter cookies.

The scent would spread through the house. On those nights, Antoinette would dream she was so full of words they popped from her mouth like soap bubbles. She’d wake with her lips buzzing, sure that if she had opened her eyes a second earlier, the room would have been ringing with words like home, love, safe.

And Mommy. Most of all, Mommy.

“What’s the story behind this garden show?” Will asked. He popped the metal legs of a table open and righted it.

“It’s a family tradition,” her mother said.

Antoinette focused on her mother’s face. It hurt to do so, but she didn’t look away. She studied the sharp line of her mother’s jaw, the curve of her cheek, the color of her skin—pale white, like the Honor roses Antoinette had pushed into bloom a week ago.

“Our parents’ first year of farming was rough,” she said. “Thirty years ago, there wasn’t a big market for commercial flower farms. They lost most of their crop and thought they might have to sell the farm.”

“Toss me that rag,” Will said to Lily.

She threw it to him, her aim true. “They were tough,” Lily said, picking up the story. “Mom decided to have a garden show. What did she say, Rose? She wanted to—”

“Spit in the eye of defeat.” Antoinette’s mother laughed. “Mom was stubborn.”

Will wiped dust from his fingers. “Sounds like it runs in the family.”

Lily threw another cloth at him. It hit him in the chest with a loud thwack.

Antoinette only vaguely remembered her grandparents—a woman with soft arms and a man with a big laugh.

“Cora and Teelia invited the entire town,” Lily said. “To everyone’s surprise, the show was a success. Mom and Dad made enough money to hold on for one more season. Since then, we’ve had the show every year.”

That’s what Antoinette needed to do—figure out how to help her mother hold on a little longer. She flapped her hands and cocked her head to the left. “Aauugh,” she said as she walked over to her mother and tapped her side.

Her mother gently pushed her away. “No touching.”

Antoinette didn’t stop.

“Antoinette, I said
no.
”

Bits of dried lavender fell from the rafters, dusting Antoinette’s shoulders. She stomped and a puff of sawdust caught in her nose. Then she smacked her head. Hard. She had to save her mother.

Lily gently tugged Antoinette’s hand away from her head. “Don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

I don’t care.
Antoinette wrenched free and bared her teeth.

Her mother sighed. “Leave her alone. She’ll stop when it hurts.”

I hurt now.
She didn’t mean her head; her heart hurt more than her head ever could.

Lily whispered in Antoinette’s ear. “It’ll help your mom. She worries about you.” She squeezed Antoinette’s hand, then went back to painting the wall.

Antoinette wanted to curl up against her mother’s side. They would hold hands. Antoinette would hear her mother’s song again. Then she would fix everything.

She screamed and stamped her feet. Her mother was dying and she couldn’t stop it.

“I wish you could tell me what’s wrong,” her mother said.

Me too
, Antoinette thought. Someday the words would come; she would start talking and never stop. She paced in a tight circle. The rhythm of one foot falling after another was soothing. A minute passed where the only sound in the barn was the scuff of her feet through the sawdust.

Lily broke the silence. “Try counting.”

Antoinette didn’t realize Lily was speaking to her.

“Antoinette,” Lily said again.

This time she stopped. She cocked her head to the right and curled her hands to her shoulders. Her heart beat faster, and her eyelids flickered.

“Try counting,” Lily said as she walked toward Antoinette.

“What are you doing?” her mother asked.

“She needs help.” Lily stopped just out of Antoinette’s reach. “One. Two.”

Antoinette’s arms uncurled and dropped to her sides.

“Three. Four.”

Her jaw unclenched, and her eyelids stilled.

“Five. Six.”

Antoinette sighed, and her heart slid back into its normal rhythm.

“It’s best to stop on an even number,” Lily said. “At least it is for me. That way everything fits together.”

Antoinette made herself look Lily directly in the eye. It hurt, but she didn’t turn away.

“Counting will help you make sense of things,” she said.

Peace settled deep in Antoinette’s middle as she realized she wasn’t alone. Lily understood.

ROSE’S JOURNAL

April 2013

I don’t remember
the sound of my mother’s voice, or the way it felt when she held me in her arms. Since she died, pieces of her have faded away. Sometimes it seems like she was never here at all.

Memory is like that. And one day soon it will be my turn. Pieces of me will start to fade away. Five months have passed since Dr. Teyler told me I was dying. But now that Lily is home, I’m not afraid anymore.

Tonight I sit in the van, watching as she cuts armloads of white Honor roses and Casa Blanca lilies from the night garden. We are going to visit our parents’ graves. Her arms overflow as she walks toward the van. I whisper a prayer of thanks for Antoinette’s ability to pull life from unexpected places.

I whisper another prayer for Will. He’s watching Antoinette for me, and I hurt for him. I see the way he looks at Lily.

But I also see the way Lily looks at Seth. They still fit together.

The drive to the cemetery is short. When we arrive, Lily helps me from the van, then hands me a bundle of flowers. “We probably should have waited until tomorrow,” she says as we start toward our parents’ grave.

“We’re here now.” I need to be a family again. Mom, Dad, Lily, and me. I put my nose in the flowers and inhale. The night is warm as we start up the hill. Lily walks backward, as if not being able to see what lies in front of her makes it easier to face.

“What’s it like?” she asks. “Dying, I mean.”

I watch my feet. The path is smooth, but lately I fall easily. “You always did get right to the heart of things, didn’t you?”

“I did it again, didn’t I?” Lily says. The ground changes from flat to a slight upward slope.

“Subtlety was never your strong point.”

Lily laughs, and I am young again. “I’ll answer your question, but I need you to promise me something.” I wait until she agrees before continuing. “Keep Antoinette safe and tell her how much I love her.” I shift the flowers to my left hand. “I’ve got to stop for a minute to catch my breath.”

My lungs strain and white dots float before my eyes. I sit on a stone bench next to a grave, shut my eyes, and explain what’s happening. Then I say, “Tell me it’s snowing.” It’s a bad joke, but Lily laughs anyway.

“It’s a miracle,” she says. “A snowstorm in April.”