My hopefulness did not last long.

It turned out that Granny had paid for only one night at the Good Night, Sleep Tight, and at eleven o’clock the next morning, Bernice was knocking at our door saying, “You will pay now, or you will get out. Thank you very much.”

Her hair was still in curlers.

“I am recovering from a traumatic event,” said Granny in her new toothless voice. She stood at the door in her nightgown. Her legs were skinny and white. She looked like a troubled ghost.

Bernice said, “I have absolutely no interest in hard-luck stories. I am interested in you paying for another night, or I am interested in you packing up and leaving. One thing or the other.”

Granny said, “Very well. I do not have cash. But I do have Louisiana.”

“What?” said Bernice.

“Louisiana,” said Granny, “come here.”

I went and stood in front of Granny. She put her hands on my shoulders. I could feel her fingers trembling. I had never known Granny to tremble. And her hands were hot. It felt like she was on fire.

“She sings,” said Granny to Bernice.

“So what?” said Bernice.

“She sings like an angel,” said Granny.

I stood there with Granny’s trembling, feverish hands on my shoulders, and I felt a wave of darkness and despair roll over me.

What would become of us?

What would become of me?

I thought about the boy on the roof and the crow named Clarence and the vending machine stocked full of wondrous things.

I thought about Beverly and Raymie.

I thought about Archie and Buddy.

I missed them. I missed them all.

I wanted to go home.

But who cared what I wanted? Certainly not Granny.

Which is how I ended up at the Good Shepherd Lutheran Church wearing my best dress in preparation for singing to someone named Miss Lulu, who was the church organist and who had made up her mind in advance not to be impressed with me.

And that was fine, because I was certainly not impressed with her.

When Bernice and I arrived, Miss Lulu was playing the organ. She was pounding her way through a song by Bach, and I felt sorry for Bach because Miss Lulu’s heart was clearly not involved with the music at all. It was very painful to listen to her play.

Your heart has to be involved with the music, or else there is no point. That is what Granny has always told me, and I believe it to be true.

Also, Miss Lulu was eating a caramel while she played the organ. I could smell it. It is not at all professional to eat a caramel and play the organ at the same time.

Miss Lulu made us wait until she had played the Bach all the way to the end. And then she turned and said, “Good afternoon, Bernice.”

“Hello, Miss Lulu,” said Bernice. “Here we are, although I am not sure exactly why.”

Bernice had a somewhat confused look on her face.

It was because she was dealing with Granny. I had seen the look on the faces of many people. Bernice was wondering just exactly how she had been talked into what she had been talked into.

Granny had a strange power over people, even without her teeth.

“Tell me the story about this child again,” said Miss Lulu, working the caramel around in her mouth.

Miss Lulu had curls in her hair. The curls bounced when she talked.

Curls — or the hope of them — seemed to be very popular in Richford, Georgia.

“Well,” said Bernice. She sighed. “She and her grandmother are staying at the motel, and they cannot pay for another night.”

“Isn’t that just terrible?” said Miss Lulu. “Some people.” She tossed her head, and the curls bounced up and down and the smell of caramel wafted through the air.

I do not believe that people should eat candy without sharing it.

There was a stained-glass window above Miss Lulu’s head, and if I squinted at it, I could turn all the colors in the window into a kaleidoscope and also make Miss Lulu’s face and curls go fuzzy, so that is what I did and it was very comforting.

In the meantime, Bernice went on talking. “The grandmother says that the girl can sing. She says that I can make money having the girl sing at funerals and weddings. And since you are the one who plays the organ at the weddings and funerals, I thought I would give you a call and, well, here we are.”

Miss Lulu looked me up and down.

I looked her up and down back.

She had on snagged stockings. Her nails were bitten down. So what if she had bouncy curls?

“Well,” said Miss Lulu, “it doesn’t seem probable, does it? She looks like something blown in by a storm.”

Bernice sighed. “I know it. And Lord help me, you should see the grandmother. I feel like I am being hoodwinked. And I am not a fan of being hoodwinked. One time was enough.”

“Yes. Well, Bill was a piece of work. And love makes us do foolish things,” said Miss Lulu. “But you did get the motel.”

Bernice made a huffing noise.

Miss Lulu said, “The truth is that there are often requests for someone to sing at a funeral, and since Idabelle Bleeker passed, there hasn’t been anyone with the voice to do it.”

“Is there a phone that I could borrow, Miss Lulu?” I said, hoping to achieve success by a surprise attack. I had seen the minister’s office on the way into the sanctuary. The door was closed, but there was a sign that said:

MINISTER’S OFFICE

REVEREND FRANK OBERTASK

ASSISTANCE, ADVICE, HEALING WORDS

I was not particularly interested in receiving Assistance, Advice, or Healing Words.

But every church office has a phone. I could go into the office of Reverend Obertask and pick up the phone and call Beverly or Raymie and have them come and get me!

“What?” said Miss Lulu.

“I need to call somebody,” I said.

“Ignore her,” said Bernice. “She’s odd.”

To me, she said, “We did not come here for you to place phone calls. We came here to see if you can sing.”

Miss Lulu crashed out a few chords on the organ.

And then she said, “We will perform ‘Just a Closer Walk with Thee.’”

Well, that is a song I know.

Miss Lulu started to play, and I opened my mouth and sang. I sang as if my life depended on it. Which I guess you could say it did. Or at least my room at the Good Night, Sleep Tight depended on it.

I sang as if the Blue Fairy from Pinocchio was smiling at me. I sang as if Beverly and Raymie and Archie and Buddy could hear me and would use the song to find their way to me. I sang as if I knew the name of the boy on the roof. I sang as if he knew my name, too.

The Georgia sun shone in through the stained-glass window. At some point, Miss Lulu stopped playing the organ and just sat with her hands on the keys and looked at me.

There was a big splotch of orange on her face from the stained glass and a splotch of green lighting up one of her many curls. All of this was good, because it made her look somewhat friendlier.

I kept singing.

Bernice was crying. Tears were rolling down her face.

The world smelled of unshared caramel candy and dust and beeswax. Everything was broken; I knew that. But I felt like I could fix it if I just kept singing. And so I kept singing.

It is good to have a talent in this world.

When I was finished, there was a long silence.

Bernice snuffled. She said, “Bless her heart. I guess you can never say what riches people contain.”

And then Miss Lulu asked me if I liked angel-food cake.

I told her that I most certainly did.

My goodness, who doesn’t like angel-food cake?

The three of us went down to the social hall, and Miss Lulu gave me a piece of cake on a china plate that had little pink flowers all around its rim. It was a very pretty plate.

I sat on a metal folding chair that felt cold against my legs, and I ate the whole piece of cake without bothering to talk in between bites.

Miss Lulu and Bernice watched me.

“Who taught you to sing?” said Miss Lulu when I’d finished eating.

“My granny,” I said. I picked at the angel-food crumbs on my fork.

Miss Lulu nodded. Her curls bounced up and down.

“Do you use curlers, or is your hair naturally curly?” I asked.

Miss Lulu stared at me with her mouth hanging open. It was as if I had asked her to solve the most difficult math problem in the world. I was starting to think that she was not a very bright woman.

Miss Lulu turned and looked at Bernice and said, “There is a funeral on Friday. Hazel Elkhorn. I am playing the organ. I am sure that the Elkhorn family would like someone to sing.”

Bernice nodded slowly. Her face was puffy from crying. “I guess we will start there and see what happens. How much should we charge?”

And since I was done with my angel-food cake, and since it was almost as if I were invisible to them as they did their planning and cogitating about how to make money from me, I stood up and said, “Excuse me, I will be right back.”

I went up the stairs and out of the social hall and knocked on the door of Reverend Frank Obertask’s office, and when Reverend Obertask did not answer, I opened the door and went inside, and there it was: a phone. Sitting on the desk. Just as I thought it would be.

My heart beat very fast.

My salvation and rescue were at hand!