Tuesday, Dad picks me and Evelyn up from school, and we head to Danville to post flyers. Unfortunately, Gwen and Paul both wanted to come as well, so the car is full and noisy as Gwen chatters away about every minute detail of her day. We’re on a tight schedule—Evelyn and Gwen have softball practice, and Paul has baseball—and I’m grateful when Dad suggests that we should work on our homework in the car. Dad plugs his phone into the car’s audio adapter and instructs me to play his classical music mix. Gwen finally quiets down as the car fills with the soothing strains of some centuries-old orchestral piece.
The drive flies by, each of us focused on the evening’s homework, and I’ve still got tons more to do when we pull up in front of the Mayberry Café. We meet Chelsea and Emma inside, and decide to break into groups to distribute flyers. Emma and Chelsea are going to drive over to the grocery store, and also hit a few other shops and restaurants while they’re over that way. Evelyn, Gwen, and I are going to try the shops on the north side of the street, and Dad and Paul are going to take care of the south side.
Danville’s “downtown” area isn’t much to write home about, so in no time at all, we’ve covered the few stores, the bakery, and the tailor. We also tape a few to the light posts that line the road. Once that’s done, we meet back up and agree to drive around town, searching for other possible public spaces where we might be able to post the flyers. We find the library and historic center, but still have lots of flyers left. Finally, we decide to drive near the field where the plane went down and leave flyers on the mailboxes of the homes in the area.
One way or another, this has to turn up a few beads. Now, we wait.
For the first two days, I had a hard time leaving the phone because I kept hoping that someone would call. When I came home from school each day, the first thing I did was run and check for voicemail messages, then jump on the computer to check e-mail.
Now it’s Friday, and I still haven’t heard a word. Evelyn and I are hanging out at my house, playing pool in the basement, with the cordless phone a few feet away on an end table. I am just lining up a shot that I’m quite confident is going to be the most amazing shot ever when the phone rings. I nearly jump out of my skin and whiff the side of the white ball, which sends it careening into Evelyn’s 11 ball, which sails across the table, straight into the pocket. Great.
Funny, I’ve been waiting for the phone to ring all week, and now, when it finally does, I find myself staring at it as if it might be an alien, or perhaps a poisonous snake. Evelyn finally walks over to the table, snatches up the phone, and intones, “Roberts’ residence!” Her eyes widen. “Katelyn? Why, yes! She’s right here! Just a moment!” She presses her palm into the mouthpiece and gives a little squeal. “It’s for you! Do you think it could be—”
“I don’t know!” I nervously cut her off. I grab the phone from her hand. “Hello?” I say in a small voice that doesn’t sound like my own.
“Hi, Katelyn! It’s Natalie, from your dad’s office!” My shoulders slouch in disappointment. Natalie continues, “I just wanted to call and see if you’ve heard anything yet from the flyers you posted?”
“No,” I say, disappointment lacing my voice. “We put them up on Tuesday, and we still haven’t gotten a single call.”
“Humph. Well, let’s see. What else can we do?” I can envision Natalie tapping her fingers on her chin the way she did several times while we were designing the flyer. Then, after an awkward moment of silence, she says, “Have you prayed?”
“What?” I’m a bit taken aback. This is the best she can do? “Um, no, not since you did on Friday.”
“I’ll tell you what. You pray about it, and I’ll pray about it, and let’s see if that gets us anywhere. Okay?”
“Okay. Sure.” Yeah, right. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Call me if you hear anything.”
I assure her that I will and roll my eyes as I press the end button. I turn to Evelyn.
“That was Natalie. She’s the one from my dad’s office that designed the flyer. Her brilliant suggestion is that we should pray.” I pick up my pool cue and wait for Evelyn to resume the game, but she just leans on her cue and raises her eyebrows at me.
“What?” I question, slightly irritated.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. Duh!”
“Ev, you can’t be serious. Okay, fine. Dear God, please help us find a bead. Amen.” I quickly cross myself and turn back to the pool table.
“Come on, Kate! You can’t be that jaded. I think a little respect might be nice for starters. ‘Dear God,’” she mimics in a funny voice, making it clear what she thinks of my little prayer. “We are looking for rosary beads. So perhaps a Hail Mary might be in order?”
“Sure.” This time I start with the Sign of the Cross, exaggerating the gestures and saying the words slowly. Then I steeple my hands, look heavenward, and pray the Hail Mary. And this time something happens. My dream comes rushing back to me, and I can vividly see Grandma and the other woman praying the Rosary. I take a step backwards, feel my legs hit a chair, and sag against its thick, upholstered arm. My hand reaches up to feel the bead hanging from around my neck.
“What! What is it?” Evelyn asks anxiously.
“I ... I had this dream. Grandma and a ... a woman were praying the Rosary,” and I proceed to tell her about it—the field, the vines trying to hold me down, the pond that turned to beads, and Grandma ... and the woman ... and the prayer. “And then Grandma said, ‘It will come, Kate. It will come.’” I breathe raggedly, finishing the story.
I don’t know why I hadn’t told Evelyn before. I guess it just felt too personal and weird, and like a silly dream that, in the bright light of day, probably didn’t really mean anything.
“Kate! You are so dense sometimes! Do you realize who ‘the woman’ was?”
I look at Evelyn scathingly. “Yes, Evelyn. I do. It was Mary.” But to be honest, I hadn’t really admitted that to myself until just now.
Evelyn gives a shrill shriek and grabs my arms, hauling me off the arm of the chair. “Kate, you had a vision! You had a vision of the Blessed Mother!” She says these last words slowly, and shakes me as she does.
“Ev, come on. Don’t blow this out of proportion. It was a dream. A dream and a vision are two different things. I was asleep.”
“Okay, okay, okay. Whatever. You saw Mary. She appeared to you in a dream. I mean, seriously! It all has to mean something. The plants entangling around your feet? Maybe that’s like—everything that’s trying to hold you back from doing this! And the beads, and them praying the Rosary? I don’t know! Maybe the beads in the ocean are a symbol of every Rosary that’s ever been prayed, or something. And Grandma and the Blessed Mother—they were showing you what to do! They were telling you to pray the Rosary!”
Leave it to Evelyn, who consistently gets an A+ in English class, to overinterpret my dream.
“Ev, it was just a dream. It was probably my subconscious thinking through everything that’s been going on. I mean, I have been thinking about rosaries and Grandma an awful lot lately, and Mary comes right along with the Rosary, doesn’t she? It didn’t mean anything, but it did make me want to keep looking when I was just about ready to give up.”
Now Evelyn grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairs. “Where’s your rosary?” She asks.
“Geesh. I don’t know. I put it somewhere after First Communion. That was a long time ago.”
“You haven’t prayed a Rosary since First Communion, in second grade? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Evelyn, as you may have guessed, does not share my reservations about religion. I mean, she’s no saint, but she’s pretty much into the Catholic stuff. So she drags me upstairs and heads into the kitchen, where we dropped our bags when we got home. She rummages through her backpack and, after a few moments, pulls out her rosary with a flourish. Then she heads up to my room and starts opening drawers, searching, but failing to find my long-neglected rosary.
Then memory hits. I go to the closet and pull my keepsake box down off the top shelf. Opening the lid, I see a small green silk pouch nestled in the midst of the cards, buttons, and dried flowers. I hold it up for Evelyn to see, feeling a bit smug.
I unsnap the bag and pull out the rosary, looking at the crucifix and beads a bit wonderingly. Grandma gave this to me for my first Communion. Have I ever actually prayed on these beads? I don’t think so.
Well, I guess there’s a first for everything.
Still skeptical, I sit down on the floor, legs crossed, with my back resting against the bed. Evelyn looks around the room as if something’s missing. Then she leaves the room, coming back with the candle from the bathroom and a book of matches. I can’t help but roll my eyes. She pretends not to see me, though I’m quite certain she did. Evelyn sets the candle on the bedside table, and kneels at the side of the bed, with her rosary beads in hand. She looks over at me, sitting there on the floor, and clears her throat. Reluctantly, I rise up onto my knees and turn around, kneeling beside her.
Evelyn leads and I follow along, fumbling through several of the prayers. Fifteen minutes later, we’re done, but both of us continue to kneel in silence. I feel calm and peaceful, no longer worrying about when someone’s going to call, or whether anyone’s going to call at all. I savor that feeling for several minutes, before sitting back down on the floor. Evelyn follows me and we sit companionably, leaning against the bed.
I finally break the silence. “Wow. That was pretty impressive.”
“What?” Evelyn asks in surprise.
“You. You know the whole Rosary. Like, even the mysteries and stuff.”
Evelyn seems a little uncomfortable. “Yeah, well,” she shrugs, “my family prays the Rosary together every Sunday. So I’ve heard it a bazillion times.”
“Seriously?” I glance at her, as if she would lie about such a thing. “Huh. That’s cool, I guess.” I wonder how different my family might be right now if we prayed a Rosary every Sunday.
Evelyn thinks for a moment too, then, “Yeah, I used to hate it, but now, since I’ve gotten older, I kind of like it. Especially after Grandma died ... It helped me deal with losing her, you know?” She shrugs her shoulders and continues, “We all share our prayer intentions before, and it just feels good to have everyone praying together like that.”
We continue to sit silently until we’re jarred by the “brnnng!” of the phone. Both of us jump to our feet.
This time, I don’t hesitate. The caller ID reads, Danville, IN. My heart feels like it’s going to jump right out of my chest as I push the button on the cordless handset and press the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” I try to look down at the phone as it rests against my chin, as if I’ll be able to see the caller.
“Hello. Is Katelyn there?” A man asks in a jovial voice that carries the slight twang of rural Indiana.
I jump up and down and grab hold of Evelyn’s hand. “Yes, this is Kate.”
“Oh, great. Well, my name is Roger Billings. I own the field where that plane crash occurred. I was in the grocery store earlier today and saw your flyer. Found one on my mailbox too, actually, but I seem to have misplaced that one. Anyways, I believe I found a few of the beads you’re looking for. Silver, with three letters engraved on them?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Yep, I found them, alright, in odd places around the field. I don’t know how the investigators missed them, but they did. I figured they’d have no good use for them, so I gave them to my granddaughter. She’s just a little thing—four years old—and she loves anything shiny or sparkly, so I thought she’d really get a kick out of ’em. Plus, her initials matched one of the beads. H L L, for Hannah Lynn Layton. I thought that was pretty special.”
“Huh!” I say in a surprised laugh. Another bead found, another person with matching initials. Only, I can’t think of anyone in our family who has the initials, H L L. I frown in concentration, and Evelyn is trying to figure out what’s going on. I grab a piece of paper and jot down, H L L?, then look expectantly at my cousin. Evelyn purses her lips, thinks for a moment, then gives a little jump, and folds her arms together as if she were holding a baby.
That’s it! It’s one of the babies Grandma lost.
Mr. Roger Billings has continued to talk, and I’ve totally missed everything he’s said. I tune back in, trying to pick up on what I’ve missed, but no such luck.
“Yep, so that’s it. That’s all I know.” He wraps up his end of the conversation.
“Um, so, Mr. Billings, would it be possible for us to get the beads back from Hannah?”
“Well, hon, like I said, they live down in Florida, so that’s easier said than done. And, well, I’ve gotta tell you, my daughter ... well, she seems to feel the beads have some sort of, well ...” he chuckles, sounding a bit embarrassed. But I know what’s coming. “Well, this is gonna sound crazy, but she thinks they’ve got some sort of power.”
I think my eyes are going to pop out of my head. “Mr. Billings, can we come and talk with you? I really want to hear more about this. I’ll have to see if my dad can take me and my cousin out there, but if he can, would you be able to meet tomorrow?”
As we end the conversation and I hang up the phone, I realize that my rosary beads are still entwined around my hand. I stare at them in wonder. Was it just a coincidence, or did our prayer actually work? Evelyn and I lock gazes. From the look on her face, I know that she believes the phone call was the direct result of our prayer.
Could she be right?