THE SUN RISES in the east coming up Bower Hill, and as the sky lightens, Mom and Dad and James and Birdie and I walk down to the house. James’s father called this morning to say school was canceled because of the flooding. Mom said James could stay with us while Wendell was working at the mill. Nana’s knees are aching, so she rests at home. For once, Birdie doesn’t ask anyone to carry her. She walks down the hill by herself, dragging her quilt behind her on the ground. No one reminds her to pick it up.

“Go home,” Birdie tells us. “Get Lilygirl.”

We stop at the concrete barricades the National Guard set up. The house is gone. Where our house once stood is water as far as you can see. In the churning water, boards and shingles and insulation are spinning downstream. A few inches of rust-colored chimney stick out, and more chimney bricks lie along the new muddy banks of the stream. Yellow and green currents shimmer where the sun shines on the fast-moving water. Bower Four and Bower Five, the land for my house when I’m older, are now a cascading stream of color and the wreckage from our house.

“Is the house really gone?” I ask. I know what I’m seeing, but it’s still hard to believe. Mom stands very still beside me.

“Yes.” She puts a hand on my shoulder, and it feels like she’s steadying herself.

“Is the garden gone?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“The blackberry patch?”

“Yes.”

“My stone wall?” We both look in the same direction.

“Yes,” we say at the same time.

“Sing, Mama.” Birdie pulls on Mom’s coat sleeve.

“Sing what?” Mom asks her.

“ ‘Moon River,’ ” Birdie says.

“Oh my. All right, Birdie.” Mom’s true songbird of a voice softly sings one of Birdie’s favorite bedtime songs.

When Mom stops singing, she picks up a small, round stone, reaches her arm over the barricade, and lets the pebble fall into the water. The stone immediately sinks out of sight. Mom sits down on the ground and covers her eyes with her hands. Dad walks back and forth, back and forth, next to the water.

“Part of the house is still there,” I say to Mom. “It’s just underwater.”

“Peekaboo, Mama.” Birdie laughs and covers her own eyes with her hands. “Peekaboo me.”

Mom doesn’t answer.

James gathers pebbles in a pile and tries to hit the sticking-out chimney with them. He makes a pile of stones for Birdie. The first one she throws bounces off the barricade, and the second one hits one of the National Guardsmen on his boot. He jumps to the side.

“Good shot, Birdie,” James cheers, no matter what she hits.