In the morning, Burke went to school. He said he would find the atlas and tear out the map of Florida and locate Lister and figure out exactly how to get there.

And Betty Allen washed my dress for me, which was very nice and thoughtful of her.

At eleven thirty sharp, I walked into the Good Night, Sleep Tight and turned myself over to Bernice, who did not have her hair in curlers.

You can imagine my surprise. I almost didn’t recognize her.

She was wearing a shiny black dress, and her hair wasn’t very curly when you considered how much time it had spent in curlers. Mostly, Bernice looked annoyed.

Well, I was annoyed, too. I wanted my suitcase back. I wanted to go home, even though I felt somewhat sad about sundering myself from Betty Allen and Burke Allen, and also from the grandfather Burke Allen, who was very good about sharing his food with me.

We drove to the Lonely Shepherd Church in Bernice’s green Buick Skylark. Bernice did not speak to me, and I did not speak to her. Bernice and I were never going to be friends, and that was just fine with me. Actually, I hoped that I never had to see her again in my life.

I hoped that I never had to see Miss Lulu again, either.

“You are going to sing twice,” Miss Lulu said to me when we arrived at the church. She held up two fingers. “At the beginning of the funeral and again at the end. You are going to sing the same song both times.”

The song was “Amazing Grace,” and it is a song that I have sung a hundred thousand times before because it is what people always want sung at funerals and I have sung at a hundred thousand funerals because it was a good way for that granny person to make some money.

“Here are the words,” said Miss Lulu, “if you would like to review them.” She handed me a piece of sheet music.

I did not take it from her.

“I know the words,” I said.

She sighed, and the sigh smelled like caramel. You would think that eating all that candy would rot her teeth out. I hoped it did.

“I wonder if this child takes her responsibility here seriously,” Miss Lulu said to Bernice.

“I assure you she does,” said Bernice. She gave me a deadly look.

“Well, let me tell you something,” said Miss Lulu. “I discovered her sneaking around Reverend Obertask’s office yesterday with his pipe in her hand. Can you imagine?”

“She’s capable of anything,” said Bernice. “Her grandmother has disappeared, you know. Vanished. Left the child here on her own. As far as I can tell, she is staying with the Allens, and as you are well aware, that Burke Allen is nothing but a truant and vandal, and he will certainly do nothing to further this child’s moral education.”

The two of them went on talking like I wasn’t even standing there.

Miss Lulu’s curls bounced with every word she said.

Bernice’s fake curls, however, did not move at all.

The church was filling up with people. And then Reverend Obertask appeared and said to me, “Louisiana Elefante, it is a delight to gaze upon your winsome face once again.”

Miss Lulu snorted.

Reverend Obertask put a comforting hand on my shoulder. He said, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“We will begin with the child singing,” said Miss Lulu.

“Just as it should be,” said Reverend Obertask. “Just exactly as it should be.”

The light came in through the stained-glass windows. Bernice went and sat down, and Miss Lulu started to play the organ, and I stood up there and sang.

Miss Lulu’s playing was terrible, of course.

But it was just not possible for me to sing without putting my whole heart into it. “You have a gift, Louisiana, and the more of yourself you put into the song, the more powerful — the more truthful — the song becomes.”

That is what “Granny” said to me.

As if that woman knew anything about the truth.

What a liar she was. She was nothing but a liar. Maybe I wasn’t found in an alley at all. Who could say? And speaking of alleys, what kind of people put their baby on top of a pile of cardboard boxes in a dark alley?

It was terrible. Just as Reverend Obertask had said. My parents were terrible. No real mother would ever leave her baby in an alley. Why, Betty Allen would never do such a thing to Burke Allen in a million, trillion years.

Oh, it made me mad to think about it — all of it.

But even though I was mad, I put myself into the song.

I put every bit of myself into it.

There was a rustling out in the pews. It was the sound of people pulling tissues out of their pockets and their purses. They were all crying, and that was good. I wanted them to cry.

I put even more of myself in the song.

And then I saw something truly terrible.

Sitting right there in the very front row was Mrs. Ivy from the dentist’s office. Her lips were in a straight line, and she was pulling a piece of paper out of her purse. Oh, my goodness, it was the bill for teeth removal! She was waving it in the air!

And then I noticed that Dr. Fox was sitting right next to Mrs. Ivy. His little round glasses were winking in the light. He was wearing his dental coat. There was still a spot of blood on it. It seemed like a very inappropriate thing to wear to a funeral.

The room tilted sideways, and then it righted itself again. My goodness, the church building was like a ship on stormy waters.

I kept singing.

And then I saw her — I saw “Granny.” I couldn’t believe it. She was sitting right behind Dr. Fox. She was wearing her fur coat, and she was smiling at me, using all of her teeth. Was she back already from fighting the curse? How did she manage to recover her teeth? Was there no end to her powers?

Way at the back of the church, somebody went floating by in a flying-trapeze kind of outfit, which is also not the kind of thing you should wear to a funeral. But maybe the spangly outfit was just something I imagined because it was there — a flash of light — and then it was gone.

When I looked away from the glittery light and back at “Granny,” she was still smiling at me. She was sitting up very tall, reminding me to stand up straight, to project my heart into the world.

I shook my head.

The sanctuary was tilting terribly again. Everything was sliding to one side. I stopped singing.

And then Miss Lulu stopped playing the organ, which was a relief.

Everything was silent as silent could be.

And that is when Clarence flew into the Good Shepherd, his dark feathers shining like a light.

Clarence had come looking for me.

It was so quiet in the church that you could hear the flapping of his wings.

It sounded like the beating of a heart.

“Granny” smiled at me. She said, “Provisions have been made, Louisiana.”

At least I think that is what she said.

All I know for certain is that the church tipped again, and this time I tipped with it.