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  “Baa, baa,” I whisper.

  Teddy smiles at me as if he knows it is a secret.

  “Baa, baa,” he says softly.

  And then we see it.

  The Red River.

  Boots pulls the car over to park. Everyone is quiet.

  The river is higher than some of the trees that border it. The river is flowing fast, carrying small trees along with it, tumbling pieces of what looks like roofs or small parts of sheds or porches.

  “And there’s the bridge we’ll be crossing,” says Boots softly.

  The spidery metal bridge, painted red, crosses over to the farmland where Frankie lives. The river is so high it almost reaches the bridge. There is a policeman at either end, directing one car at a time to cross.

  Boots starts the car.

  “We’d better cross while we can,” he says. “It’s a long way around if the bridge closes.”

  The policeman waves us over the bridge.

  “Go slowly, please,” he says.

  We cross the river slowly. I hold on to the door handle so tightly, my knuckles turn white. All around all I can see is water moving fast. It seems to want to carry us along with it, though I know we’re on the bridge. No one talks in the car. When we finally reach the far side I realize I’ve been holding my breath. Boots drives the car up the hill past farms and meadows. I look back and it’s still there, that river.

  Boots has said that we have to help Frankie when the river floods her land. But how can we do that? We’re just people, the five of us, and the river is fast and huge.

  “Two more hours,” says Boots very quietly. “We’ll be at Frankie’s in two hours.”

  “Boots?”

  “What, Lucy?”

  “I’m worried about the river.”

  “I am too. But, we’ll do what we can.”

  “I’m worried about Frankie, too. She’ll be mad at us for coming to her house.”

  “She’ll be mad at me,” Boots says.

  “And me,” says Mama. “Frankie would never be upset with you.”

  There is silence. We drive on, but when I turn around and look behind me, the river is always there.

  “It will be all right,” I say, looking at Teddy.

  He looks at me steadily. Teddy isn’t worried. I realize that I am talking to myself.

  “It will,” says Boots.

  chapter 5

  Frankie

  Up a small hill, next to a herd of cows, then down a dirt road to the white house with the porch all around. Mama starts to cry.

  The birdies fly away and they come back home.

  Mama blows her nose.

  The farmhouse faces the river. It is up the hill a bit, maybe midway, but the river is creeping up that hill. It has crossed the dirt road in one place and Boots drives up on the grass to avoid it. Farther up the hill men are piling up sandbags in front of the porch.

  One of the men turns and it isn’t a man at all. It’s Frankie.

  Mama opens the door and is out of the car before Boots comes to a stop. She runs to throw her arms around Frankie.

  Frankie’s long gray hair is braided and pinned over her head. She wears jeans and an old T-shirt. She’s taller than Mama, and she stands quietly for a moment, not moving. Then, after a while, she puts her arms around Mama.

  Gracie gets out of her car seat, and I climb back and undo Teddy. Boots gets out of the car and stretches. I hold Teddy’s hands as he jumps down.

  Gracie, Teddy, and I look out over the river.

  Teddy points to the water.

  “That is the river,” I tell him. “River. It is not a cow.”

  Teddy looks at the river, then up at me.

  He smiles suddenly.

  “He knows,” says Gracie.

  Teddy knows the river isn’t a cow.

  “It is Teddy’s joke,” I say. “Isn’t it, Teddy?”

  “Teddy knows a lot more than we think he does,” says Gracie.

  I nod.

  “He does.”

  Sometimes I think Teddy knows everything.

  We eat dinner on Frankie’s huge porch.

  “You told me you weren’t coming,” says Frankie.

  “Boots lied,” says Gracie. “He knew you’d be mad at us.”

  Frankie smiles a little for the first time.

  “ ‘Lie’ is a bit hard, don’t you think?” says Frankie.

  “Gracie is right,” says Boots.

  Frankie lifts her shoulders in a sigh.

  She looks at Teddy and Gracie and me.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she says finally. “You can help. But,” she adds, “don’t forget that I have done this myself for many years. I am strong.”

  “And stubborn,” says Gracie. “Mama says so.”

  Frankie bursts out laughing and we all relax.

  There is one big table, a few smaller ones, wicker chairs and plants, and a hammock in one corner. Frankie has cooked a large ham, glazed with honey and brown sugar.

  “I hope no one’s a vegetarian,” says Frankie.

  “I’m thinking of it,” says Gracie.

  “Well, by the looks of the way you’re eating that ham, I don’t think you’re ready yet,” says Frankie.

  She leans back and looks at the river.

  “I want you all to be safe. That’s why I told you not to come.”

  No one says anything. Except for Gracie.

  “What can I do?” she asks.

  Frankie turns to look at Gracie.

  “You can help me keep an eye on her,” she says.

  “Her, who?” asks Boots.

  “That river. She’s a her in my book. She’s been a friend most of these years, bringing boaters who deliver groceries. Bringing birds and beauty. We’ve lived through storms and sunrises and sunsets. Winter squalls. I want to see how far she’s going to crawl up my hill. I want to know if she’ll come into my house. Sometimes I talk to her at night. She’s great company.”

  “Mom and Dad felt the same way,” says Mama. “They always thought of the river as something more than a river.”

  “Cow,” says Teddy all of a sudden.

  “River,” I say automatically.

  Teddy points.

  “Cow.”

  And there is a huge black cow with a white band around her middle wandering around the yard, scattering the chickens.

  Boots stands up.

  “Oh, my,” he says.

  I laugh.

  “Boots likes that breed,” I tell Frankie.

  “Loves that breed,” says Gracie.

  “That’s Becky,” she says. “What are you doing out? I traded an old bull for her because I loved the way she looks. She’s a great milker.”

  Frankie and Boots go down the steps to lead Becky back to the other cows.

  “You’re right, Teddy. That is a cow!” says Frankie.

  “Dutch Belted,” says Teddy in a loud voice.

  Frankie turns around. So does Boots.

  “I thought you told me Teddy doesn’t talk!” says Frankie to Mama.

  Mama’s eyes widen. She shakes her head. And for the second time this day Mama bursts into tears.

  “Yep,” says Gracie to me, putting another piece of ham on her plate, “Teddy knows more than anyone thinks. Including words.”

  chapter 6

  Rising Water

  Frankie’s house is large, with her bedroom downstairs on the river side. The rest of us choose our upstairs sleeping rooms. Gracie takes the room overlooking the fields and meadows. Mama and Boots choose the big back bedroom. When I go to bed, I see Boots standing at the moonlit window, looking out at the cows. Looking out at Becky. Teddy sleeps in the small bedroom next to mine. We put a gate at the top of the stairs “in case he walks in the night,” Mama says.

  I know he walks at night. I check that the gate is tightly closed when I go to my room. My room overlooks the growing river that, from my window, seems to cover everything in sight. It is still moving fast. I can see the w
ater run by in the night.

  And I see Frankie, standing by the river, tall and still. Maybe she is talking to her friend, the river. Maybe she is warning her.

  When she turns to walk back up to the house, she looks up and sees me in the window before I can move away. She holds up her hand. I hold up mine.

  Then she walks up the hill to the house. I hear the soft click of the front door.

  “See?”

  “Teddy.”

  I’ve been waiting for him.

  Teddy touches me to make sure I’m there. There isn’t moonlight now. The room is dark.

  His little perfect voice sings. There are not many rugs upstairs and I wonder if the wood floors will carry his voice down the hall.

  He sings “Are You Sleeping.” I don’t remember him singing that before, but I know Boots has sung it to him. He ends the song. He actually says the words “ding, ding, dong.” Teddy is beginning to talk, even though he doesn’t like to talk.

  “Ding, ding, dong.

  Ding, ding, dong.”

  He yawns.

  I reach into my table drawer and take out a night-light. I take his hand and lead him back to his room. I plug in the light.

  I cover him with a light blanket.

  “Light,” I tell him.

  “Light,” he whispers, and closes his eyes.

  I wake to rain and voices and the sounds of people running down the stairs. I look out the window. The river has risen. Frankie is carrying bags of grain from the shed up the hill, away from the water.

  I get out of bed and pull on my jeans and shirt. I look in on Teddy. He is still sleeping.

  I unhook the gate, making sure it is latched again, and run downstairs. I open the door and run outside.

  “I’ll help,” I tell Frankie.

  She dumps two bags in a wheel­barrow.

  “You can wheel it up to the big barn,” she says. “Then come back for more.”

  I start off, but the earth is soft from rain so I have to push harder. The wheels sink a bit in the dirt, and I’m pushing uphill.

  Boots comes and helps me push. His hair is plastered to his head with rain. We wheel up the hill to the barn without speaking. We go into the dark barn and Boots takes the bags out of the wheel­barrow and places them up on high wooden platforms.

  “What’s happening?” I ask.

  “The grain was delivered to the shed by mistake. The water is rising there.”

  “It will reach the porch, won’t it,” I say.

  Boots nods.

  We hurry back down the hill.

  “Where’s Teddy?”

  “Sleeping. I hitched the gate.”

  Boots nods.

  “Your mama’s up there anyway.”

  A man is helping Frankie drag out more grain bags. He smiles at me, but doesn’t speak.

  This time Frankie helps me with the wheelbarrow.

  “So, is that your boyfriend?” I ask her as we push up the soggy lawn.

  “Better than a boyfriend,” says Frankie with a laugh. “A friend.”

  A gust of wind blows my hair across my face.

  When we go into the barn I see the chickens up on a shelf of hay: Ella and Sofia and Nickel. They look very peaceful.

  “Mama says chickens only get excited when they feel like it. On their own terms, Mama says.”

  “Looks like she’s right. We should be that lucky,” says Frankie.

  Gracie comes out and we wheel more grain up the hill until finally we have moved all of it.

  Some men have come to pile more sandbags in front of the house. We sit on the porch, watching. Frankie carries a big pot of coffee out to the porch.

  “Lucy, could you bring out a tray of cups?”

  I go into the big kitchen. It is dry and warm. Mama and Teddy sit at the table sharing toast.

  “See?” says Teddy.

  “Teddy.”

  “How is it out there?” asks Mama.

  “Wet. And”—I look at Mama—“the river’s rising. It will come up to the porch.”

  Mama nods with a tired look as if she’s been through this all before. And she has.

  “Mama?”

  She looks up.

  “Does the river scare you?”

  “Always,” says Mama.

  I put cups on a big tray, put the sugar bowl on, and get cream out of the refrigerator.

  Mama and Teddy follow me to the porch. Frankie’s friend is there.

  “Louis!” says Mama happily.

  She puts her arms around him.

  “Nice family,” says Louis.

  Mama smiles.

  “I’ve known Louis my whole life,” she says.

  “And mine,” says Louis crisply.

  I hand him coffee and he sits down, taking off his rain hat.

  Teddy walks over to him and puts his hand on Louis’s knee.

  “Hello,” says Louis.

  “That’s Teddy, who doesn’t care much about talking,” says Mama.

  “Me too,” says Louis.

  “Too,” says Teddy.

  “He talks,” says Louis.

  “He has other great qualities,” says Gracie.

  Louis smiles.

  “Me too,” he says.

  “He knows more than people think he does,” she says.

  “Me too,” says Louis.

  “Too,” repeats Teddy.

  The men have piled up sandbags and gone home. We’re cleaning up the kitchen. Louis sits at the kitchen table, Teddy still staring at him.

  “Teddy, let Louis be,” says Mama.

  “It’s fine,” says Louis. “I never get this much adoration from Frankie.”

  Frankie grins at Louis.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow,” says Louis. “We might be all right if the rain stops. If it doesn’t, we might have to move first-floor furniture upstairs.”

  “Oh no,” says Frankie, sitting at the table.

  “We can do that,” says Boots. “I think I may roll up the rugs tonight and carry them upstairs. Might save time if it gets rough.”

  Louis nods.

  “Glad you’re here.”

  “Louis and I moved the cows to the upper field,” says Frankie. “There’s a small barn up there for shelter. There are only six of them.”

  “If Boots could he’d move Becky right into the kitchen,” I say.

  “Ah, Becky. She is quite spectacular,” says Louis, nodding. He says the word “spectacular” slowly.

  “Spec-tac-u,” says Teddy.

  Mama puts her hands over her mouth.

  “No crying, Maggie,” says Boots.

  “Spec-tac-u-lar,” Louis says to Teddy.

  “Yay!” says Teddy, his arms in the air.

  Even Louis laughs.

  chapter 7

  Waiting for the Flood

  The rugs are all upstairs, lying in neat rolls in the wide hallway. We have moved up some of the furniture. “You should move upstairs too,” Mama says to Frankie.

  “Not until I have to,” says Frankie.

  I follow Frankie as she goes to the hallway and puts on her raincoat and hat. She smiles at me.

  “If I sleep upstairs I won’t be able to hear Teddy sing to you,” she whispers to me.

  She sees the look on my face and puts her arm around me.

  “There is a vent in the floor in your room that goes to my room. Don’t worry. I can tell it is something between you and Teddy. A secret.”

  She opens the door.

  “Does he come to sing to you every night?”

  I nod.

  “And no one else?”

  I nod again.

  “It made me happy. It made me cry,” she says as she goes out the door to talk to the river.

  The rain goes on.

  I hope Teddy comes into my room again tonight.

  I hope he sings for Frankie.

  Upstairs, I take out my notebook. My page is blank except for one line.

  The Ring-Around Cow.

  I write. />
  Big black night sky body.

  There is a wavery moon outside my window because of the rain.

  I write.

  Wrapped in the moon.

  I can’t write anymore. But I know that this won’t be a rhymed poem. That is too slim for what I want to say.

  It is too slim for the cow.

  Tomorrow I have to go look at the spectacular Becky. If it isn’t raining. If there isn’t a flood.

  I go down the hallway. Mama and Boots’s door is closed. Gracie is sleeping. Teddy looks at me, his eyes gleaming in the night light. I go into his room and kiss him good night.

  “Teddy?”

  “See.”

  I smile because we have reversed the way we usually talk. Teddy smiles because he knows it too.

  “I love you, Teddy.”

  “Love,” says Teddy, his voice faint with sleep.

  He holds my hand, and I sit on his bed for a while, until I know it is all right to take my hand away.

  In my room I look out the window. In the moonlight I can see the water is slipping over the sandbags. Frankie stands there, her arms crossed. She is probably cross with her friend, the river.

  When she turns and walks back to the house, she doesn’t look up to my window.

  In the night the rain falls harder. I hear a door open upstairs, then footsteps on the stairs going down. It is probably Boots. Then I turn over and see Teddy.

  He stands in the doorway, looking at me.

  “See?”

  “Teddy.”

  I wait, but Teddy doesn’t sing. He comes over and crawls into my bed.

  “Teddy? It’s rain. Only rain. It’s all right.”

  He looks at me and waits.

  And suddenly I know what he wants.

  “I can’t sing, Teddy. I can’t,” I say. “You sing.”

  Teddy puts his hand up to my mouth.

  I sigh.

  “What do you want?”

  “ ‘Baa, Baa,’ ” he says, almost in a whisper.

  I hope Frankie isn’t downstairs listening to my terrible singing.

  Teddy waits. He puts his hand up to my mouth again.

  I sing for Teddy.

  I finish the song.

  “One for my master, and one for my dame,