“Only when they ride bikes,” I say. “It makes it a lot easier.”
She glances at the bike again and nods. “Guess so. Ain’ ever seen a bike with a motor, either. I bet they ain’t cheap.”
“Cheaper than an automobile,” Kiernan says. “And nearly as useful. At least until it rains. Or the motor comes loose.”
He flashes his best smile, the one that lights up his eyes and makes him damn near irresistible. Martha’s face and neck instantly flush a deep pink. In a town with fewer than fifty people, two-thirds of them female, I’m guessing she doesn’t encounter many young men. I bump the wheel of my bike against his to signal that he should rein it in a bit, but that just makes him turn the smile on me, even broader now, because he clearly thinks I’m jealous.
I roll my eyes and look back at the girl. “You have a pretty village here, Martha. What’s it called?”
She shrugs, tugging her skirt again. “Some here call it Six Bridges, like the folks in town do. But Sister Elba says we oughta use the proper name, God’s Hollow.”
Of course that immediately inspires a Harry Potter flashback for me, and I eye the meadow nervously, half expecting to see a large serpentine shadow winding through the tall grass.
“Well, God’s Hollow is a much more poetic name,” I say.
Martha’s expression suggests that she doesn’t really agree, but she smiles politely. Then her head snaps up like something’s caught her attention. After a second, I hear music—a hymn that seems vaguely familiar. The sound is faint, and the notes waver in an eerie vibrato that’s strangely beautiful.
“What is that?” I ask.
She huffs, clearly annoyed, and glances toward the village. “Sister Elba remindin’ me about my music lesson.”
“But what is the instrument?”
“It’s called an armonica. Kinda like a glass harp. Sister Elba’s granddaddy passed it down to her and taught her to play. She taught Brother Ellis years ago. But he’s even older’n she is, so someone younger’s gotta learn it, ’cause he ain’t gonna be around forever and she cain’t preach and play at the same time. So I got picked.”
Her tone makes it clear she doesn’t consider that to have been a great favor. “Well, it sounds very pretty,” I tell her.
Kiernan adds, “I’ll bet you play beautifully.”
Martha’s blush is back, but she also smiles. “And you’d lose that bet. Jack says it sounds like I’m killin’ baby pigs. And he’s kinda right. Sister says I just need to practice more.”
The music ends just before we enter the village, which consists of maybe a dozen buildings, mostly small, neat houses. It looks deserted.
“Where is everyone?”
Martha nods to the left. Two clusters of people and a few horses are off in the distance, near the trees surrounding the village. “Out in the fields. I’ll be out there, too, later on, but I’m helpin’ Sister Elba with the little ’uns this mornin’.”
The first building on the right seems to be the church—no steeple, but there’s a large wooden cross above the double doors in the front.
“Do you think Sister Elba would let me see the glass . . . what did you call it?” I ask as I push my bike over to the side and prop it against a large tree next to the chapel.
“Armonica. You can ask her. I gotta take you to her ’fore we go see Earl, anyways. I ’spect that’s where Jack and Vern run off to, lettin’ her know we got visitors in from town.”
And she’s right. The doors of the chapel open a few seconds later, and the boys reappear, each holding the hand of a tall, thin woman in a navy-blue dress, helping her down the steps. It’s instantly clear that this is the woman whose body was at the front of the congregation in the photographs. Her iron-gray hair is stretched back into a braid and coiled into a tight knot, her skin the warm light brown of coffee with cream. She seems foreboding at first, due to the ramrod straight posture, but as we draw closer, I see that her smile is open and unguarded.
“Welcome to God’s Hollow! Isn’t it a glorious day?” Her voice wavers a bit. Unlike the kids, who have a deep southern twang, she has only a slight accent. “I’m Sister Elba Terry, the leader of this small flock.”
“I’m Matthew Dunne, Sister Terry, and this is Kate Keller. We’re sorry to intrude, but we were out looking for a picnic spot, and I’m afraid we’ve run into a small problem with one of our motorcycles.”
“Just call me Sister Elba, or Sister, like everyone else.” She moves a few steps closer, and that’s when I realize she’s blind or very close to it.
Sister Elba lets the twins guide her until she’s right in front of us and then reaches out to run her hands over Kiernan’s bike. I’m about to caution her that the motor is hot, but she must feel the heat rising off the engine, because she pauses with her hand about an inch away.
“What a marvelous contraption. How fast can it go?”
“About thirty-five miles per hour, ma’am.”
I shoot Kiernan a sideways glance. The only way this bike would go anywhere near that fast is if it were carrying a half-starved kid down the side of a mountain. But apparently Kiernan really wants to believe the pitch the salesman gave him, because he seems totally unaware that he’s stretching the truth well beyond the breaking point.
“That’s incredible,” Sister Elba says, laughing. “Isn’t it amazing the things they come up with these days? Twenty years ago, when these eyes were stronger, I’d have asked to take it for a ride.”
She turns her head back toward me and says in a crisp voice, “Jackson tells me that you’ve adopted rational dress.”
I’m confused for a minute, until I realize she’s talking about the split skirt. “Oh, only when I’m riding the bicycle,” I say, but then it occurs to me that she wouldn’t be likely to call it rational dress if she found it offensive.
She squints down at the skirt, so maybe she can see a tiny bit after all. “Well, I’m glad it’s had a revival, and I hope it sticks this time. I wore bloomers for a while myself, back before the War, when I traveled around, speakin’ against slavery. But everyone was so busy staring at me that they ignored most of what I was preaching. So I gave it up. As I’ve told Martha and the younger women in our congregation, the bloomer dress was much more practical for everyday wear. But they think it looks silly. Isn’t that right, Martha?”
Martha looks a little uncomfortable, like she doesn’t want to lie but also doesn’t want to insult my choice of clothing. She finally settles for middle ground. “That pair you showed me did look silly, Sister Elba. But what she’s wearin’ looks kinda like a real dress most of the time, ’cept when she takes a big step. I might could get used to that.”
“Then I’ll see if I can find a pattern to give to your aunt for the next time you need a new dress.”
Martha’s nose wrinkles up a tiny bit. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Martha. Boys, is Brother Earl in his shop or out in the field?” Sister Elba looks over her shoulder to where she’d left Jackson and Vernon. They’re now playing some sort of game on the chapel steps with two younger children who’ve wandered over. A fifth child, who looks like he’s barely out of diapers, is sitting on the grass, holding out his pudgy hands for Bull to lick.
One of the boys yells, “We don’ know. We been out in the field with Martha and Bull.”
“I’ll walk him over, Sister,” Martha offers. “The boys won’t be able to explain the part they’re needin’. And Miss Keller was wonderin’ if she could take a look at your armonica.”
I fight back a smile, because Kiernan would be perfectly capable of explaining the part we’re looking for if the boys walked him to the shop. Martha seems to realize a few seconds too late that she’s offered a paper-thin excuse for tagging along with Kiernan. Her face flushes even deeper, and she stares down at her feet.
Sister Elba chuckles softly. “That’s fine, Martha, but take the boys with you. If Earl is out in the field, they can run fetch him. Once you find Earl, you come on back here for your lesson.” She puts a slight stress on the last word.