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He tapped a finger against a dial and Evie removed his hand.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Ling’s smiling,” Henry said. “It’s like a Santa Claus sighting. Shhh, now. Don’t disturb it.”
“Don’t you see?” Ling said.
“Not yet,” Henry said in a singsong voice.
“Radio transmits and receives electromagnetic waves. We can amplify the signal. Using our powers together. We can make this radio signal go as far as we like. Or far enough, at least,” Ling said. “That should be our first test.”
“Do you think they’ll know?” Evie said.
The dead. It was unclear to what extent the dead’s powers were still linked with theirs.
Ling thought. “Sam, can you make us invisible long enough to put some magic into this thing?”
“Yeah. I think I can do that.”
As they got back to their chores, Evie took Memphis aside. “Can you meet me in the barn tonight after Ma and Pa Olson go to bed?”
Memphis gave her a funny look. She grinned. “Trust me: I’ve got a pos-i-tutely brilliant idea.”
THE VOICE OF TOMORROW
Bedtime came early for the Olsons, as it did for most farm people. Evie watched for the light under their door to go out. She counted silently to two hundred, then she tiptoed downstairs and out into the cool Nebraska night under a mantle of stars. She came around back to the farmhands’ sleeping quarters and tapped on the window. Memphis snugged it up. “Meet me in the barn,” she whispered.
The Olsons’ barn was a far cry from the pristine studios of WGI. Hay covered the floor. Milk pails and tackle hung from hooks. Instead of New York City swells, her audience was made up of horses, cows, and pigs sleeping in their pens, giving off the occasional whinny, moo, and snort. But it would do. She dragged two stools up to the worktable with the ham radio, listening to the hum as it warmed up, and readying the receiver and microphone.
The barn door slid open as Memphis let himself in.
“What’s this clever plan you’ve got?” he asked.
Evie patted the stool next to her and Memphis took a seat.
“You know how you’ve been sending those letters from the Voice of Tomorrow?”
“Was sending,” Memphis said, his face clouding over.
“Exactly my point. Welcome to the new Voice of Tomorrow.” She slid the microphone closer to Memphis.
He stared at it. “You… want me to talk on the radio?”
“Pos-i-tutely.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You do what you always do—you tell your story! But you tell it into the microphone, and it’ll reach thousands all at once. You don’t have to worry about the Shadow Men scaring the Daily News into not publishing your stories. You can go directly to the people. We need to tell people what’s happening in this country, and this is a pos-i-tutely brilliant way to do that.”
In the Bible of Memphis’s youth, the Word was the beginning. God spoke the universe into being. For Memphis, poetry was not just words on a page; poetry was life. Speeches led men into battle. Fairy tales had the power to frighten or explain. Story was creation. It was the promise of a true more.
Evie flipped a switch and the radio hummed.
“Don’t we need Sam to…” Memphis wiggled his fingers.
Evie laughed. “Just a trial run,” she whispered. “Ready?”
He exhaled a nervous breath, shook out his hands, and nodded.
