The Song

by Chris Fabry

  On the ride home from church she asked what people had said about the concert.

  He looked sternly at her. “Did you know Eddie was going to be there?”

  She frowned. “I’m not Eddie’s keeper anymore. In fact, I never was.”

  “I was surprised he showed up. And that he had his new girl with him.”

  “You and me both,” she said. “It was pretty painful seeing them.”

  “His mother cornered me in the fellowship hall this morning.”

  “Did she complain that you made Eddie drink too much?”

  “That was the gist of it. I wanted to tell her a thing or two about self-control and some other fruits of the Spirit. But I held my tongue. I’m working on patience.”

  Rose smiled and loved her dad for not flying off the handle at everybody who deserved it.

  “She was upset about that singer, too. Said he made a fool out of Eddie. That’s what she’d heard.”

  “I can’t argue with her. He put Eddie in his place.”

  “How’d he find out about you and him?”

  She told him the story of what happened and he listened as he drove, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel when she described the jab Eddie took at Jed.

  “Daddy, after the concert Jed apologized.”

  “For what?”

  “For the song he sang about me. He said he should have talked to you before he ever asked me for a date.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I thought you’d appreciate that.”

  “Maybe coming from somebody else, I would.”

  Her heart began to race and she turned toward him, her voice strained. “What do you have against him?” As soon as he looked at her, she knew she’d tipped her hand, that her dad could see all the way to her heart.

  “I don’t have anything against him personally. In fact, I think he has good taste if he likes you. I just don’t like his stock. An apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Nor a grape that grows on the vine.”

  She stared out the dirty windshield. “I’d like to go out with him.”

  “Rose.”

  “What if God brought us together?”

  “Horse collar,” he said. It was the closest thing to a curse word she would hear him say. “Is that how you think God works? Some singer blows in and takes a shine to you and you’re ready to run off with him?”

  “I’m not running off with him. But this is something I’d like to do. And I’d like you to meet him again and this time do more than squint at him.”

  “I was busy.”

  “Horse collar.” She turned toward him again. “Would you talk to him? If you don’t think he’s a good guy, I’ll . . .”

  “You’ll what?”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll try to listen to you. I always have.”

  “But you’re not promising anything,” he said.

  “Would you meet with him tomorrow? Just give him a chance?”

  “Tomorrow?” he said with surprise. “He don’t waste time, huh?”

  Her father didn’t speak the rest of the way home and all through the afternoon he remained aloof. Rose wanted to call Jed and give him a time to come, but she waited. She knew her father was ruminating, thinking about things, stewing. And it had been her experience that once he owned something, once he got comfortable with it in his mind, she had a better chance with him.

  They ate a late dinner of leftovers that night, after all the festivities were over and the barn was cleaned. When he’d finished, her dad rose from the table and threw some scraps out the back door for the critters. He washed his plate and headed toward the stairs, the wood floor creaking underneath his weight. Then he stopped and put his hand on the wall. It was stained dark from all the times he’d stood this way after reading the morning paper and getting the ink on his hands.

  “Tell him to be here at three o’clock.”

  CHAPTER 12

  JED DIDN’T TELL ANYONE about meeting Rose—didn’t call anybody, didn’t e-mail a friend or tell his mother—but she was all he could think about when he woke up the day after they met. In some ways he wondered if it was all a dream, if he had made up the whole thing, found this gorgeous woman in the country who turned out to be a figment of his imagination.

  But Rose was real. The connection they’d made the night before was real too. And he could tell so much about her from that chance meeting, if it was chance at all. She had morals, scruples. She didn’t sleep around to gain the affection of some jerk who didn’t care about her. She was hardworking, loved her father and the farm. She took joy in what she did. There was so much he observed about her in that short amount of time. The way she interacted with people, the way she talked with little children—everything about her captivated him.

  She didn’t need the limelight, either. In fact, she seemed so humble in the way she presented herself, the way she was almost embarrassed to get up in front of the crowd to introduce him. She was giving, had a good sense of humor, a great smile, and she was a knockout.

  The only things between them and lifelong happiness were her father, her lack of understanding about music, and the fact that the Beatles didn’t sing “Turn! Turn! Turn!”

  Sunday evening, Jed held up the taped-together business card and studied the number. If this all worked out, he needed to call Stan and thank him not only for the gig but for the love lead.

  He dialed the number and Rose picked up on the first ring.

  “I was getting ready to call you!” she said.

  “Really?”

  “My dad said you should be here at three tomorrow. To talk.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Is that all he wants to do, talk? He doesn’t want to chop me up in little pieces, does he?”

  She laughed. “No, medium-size pieces are more his style.”

  Hearing her voice again made him warm inside. He’d known a lot of girls, but there was something different about Rose. And not just because she didn’t have a clue about his father. She liked him for who he was, not whose son he was.

  “How did this afternoon go?” he said. “At the festival?”

  “It was good. Not as many people as last night, but then we didn’t have Jed King here this afternoon.”

  “I really enjoyed playing last night. In a strange way, I needed that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gave a heavy sigh. “My career, my music—it feels like it’s at a standstill. Or that it’s headed for the landfill.”

  “Nice rhyme.”

  “Thank you. And not just my music, my life. The whole package. So coming out there and playing and meeting you did something. I wish I could bottle that feeling and sell it.”

  “Even if Eddie tried to ruin it.”

  “Eddie actually made things better. I mean, I probably wouldn’t have sung your song if Eddie hadn’t tried to throw a wrench into things.”

  “Eddie’s good at throwing wrenches.”

  “What I’m saying is, it felt good to just be myself and do what I do, from the heart. It felt natural, you know?”

  “I do,” she said. “And from the response we got, you need to keep doing what you’re doing, no matter what anybody says.”

  “I appreciate that,” he said. “And I can’t wait to see you and talk more about you and your dad and . . . everything.”

  “See you at three, then?” she said.

  “Three it is.”

  He didn’t have to look at his MapQuest printout once. The drive to Sharon was like going home. Rose was sitting on the front porch when he got there, and it made him think of a Bruce Hornsby tune about coming back to an old love.

  He walked to the house, unable to take his eyes off her. She reached out a hand and led him inside. “He’s waiting for you in his study. Right through there.”

  Jed peeked in and saw the man’s boots on the floor next to a bearskin rug. “Think I’ll survive?” he whispered.
/>   Rose just smiled and watched as he walked through the door.

  Shepherd Jordan rose and shook his hand and told him to sit. There were two leather chairs in the room and Jed sat facing the man. The first thing he noticed was the stuffed wolf staring at him. There was a turkey in the corner in full plumage. A bear stood upright behind him. Skins were draped across the backs of both chairs. On the mantel over the fireplace was a . . . Well, he had no idea, but it looked fierce.

  “Wow, this is pretty impressive,” Jed said. “Did you kill all these?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Shep sat with a grunt and crossed his legs. A hot cup of coffee steamed on the end table next to the man.

  Jed sat forward with his elbows on his knees. On his drive, he’d rehearsed what he would say. He would take the lead and put things on the table. He had looked in the mirror and said, “Mr. Jordan, I only met your daughter Saturday night, and I can tell there’s something really special about her. I’d like to get to know her better. But I’d like to ask your permission to do that. To see each other.”

  He would be strong. He would look him in the eye and shoot straight because that was the kind of man Shep Jordan was. But until he walked into this room, Jed had no idea how many straight shots Shep had taken.

  Before Jed could say anything, Shepherd began. “Mr. King, I don’t know you.” Then he stopped. Just sat there and stared at Jed like he was taking aim, looking through the crosshairs.

  “That’s true, sir,” Jed stammered. So much for strength and confidence. “And you can call me Jed if you like.”

  Shep Jordan didn’t want to call him Jed evidently because he immediately said, “So what makes you think I should let you date my daughter?”

  Deep breath. “At the very least, Mr. Jordan, you know that I’m the kind of guy that’s willing to ask a very intimidating man if I could date his daughter.”

  Shep shook his head and responded quickly. “No, that says more about me than it does about you.”

  This was going to be harder than he thought. Jed softened his voice. “I just want you to know that I respect you and that I respect Rose.”

  The man bit the inside of his cheek and stared at Jed. “You sing about God in your songs, don’t you?”

  “I sing about things that I’m passionate about.”

  “Like Rose?”

  “You heard that, I guess.”

  Shep sat forward and an edge came into his voice. “I love Rose. A lot. And I have always tried to protect her from certain kinds of men out there. Just to be honest, men like your daddy.”

  There it was. The shot over the bow. The knife in the gut. The sins of the father being visited on his son, the ghost of David King haunting him again, this time a specter that would keep him from something good.

  “He sang about God too, didn’t he?” Shep said, and Jed could feel him looking through him to his lineage.

  It pained Jed to defend his father because there was the public side of him that made a huge mistake. Several of them. But Shep didn’t know the man like Jed knew him. Didn’t know the turn he had taken.

  “I know he made mistakes, Mr. Jordan. But he learned from them. So did I. I won’t repeat them.”

  A crash outside the door nearly sent Jed through the roof. Something dropped on the floor and clattered. A creak by the door and a shadow underneath told Jed it was Rose. She was listening.

  Shep turned back to him and stared. Jed stared back, trying not to blink.

  “Trust is earned. You get it an inch at a time. You got here by three and I appreciate that. You passed that test. So you can take my daughter out this evening.” He leaned forward and put his hand on the back of the wolf. “But you have her back here by ten tonight.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jed stood and held out his hand. “I won’t let you down.”

  Shep looked at his hand, then shook it hard like he was working a pump handle. “I’m not giving you the chance to let me down, son.”

  Jed nodded and smiled.

  Shep lowered his voice to a whisper. “Don’t waste her time. If you know it ain’t clickin’, end it. And no matter what, don’t break her heart.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And keep your hands to yourself, you hear?”

  CHAPTER 13

  ROSE DECIDED not to suggest a restaurant and let Jed choose. He drove them an hour away and they talked in the car, Jed asking questions about the vineyard and her life on the farm. She started out nervous—about what she wore (she had changed clothes four times before finding the right combination), about how the fatigue of sleepless nights would affect her ability to hold a coherent conversation, even about being nervous. But as soon as they started talking, it felt natural and easy like she’d hoped it might be.

  The restaurant was fancier than she expected but she loved the crisp white linen tablecloth and the candlelight. Everything was so romantic, down to the wine Jed chose—which was from her father’s vineyard. Apparently he had made a deal with the head waiter to serve it.

  After dinner, Jed took her on a river walk, where they talked more. Rose asked about his father and about growing up in the home of someone famous. He seemed a little guarded, a little reserved about his childhood, and she didn’t pry. If things worked out between them, there would be time to talk about all of it.

  Was she already thinking that way? Already thinking about a long-term relationship? She couldn’t believe this went through her mind, especially with the promises she had made to herself after Eddie. She wasn’t interested in men. Didn’t want anything to do with them. And now here was Jed with that voice and those soft-blue eyes and the easy laugh. When he put his arm around her in a gentle hug, it was like fireworks going off through her body.

  It wasn’t until after dark, when Jed took her to a coffee shop called Perkfections Café and Bar, that they talked about her father.

  “I’m not going to lie, your dad freaked me out,” Jed said. “Just a little bit.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to tell me all about it because I wasn’t listening or anything.”

  Jed laughed. “Okay, since you weren’t listening, I’ll give you the highlights. He loves you a lot. And he has quite the collection going on in that room.”

  “Yeah,” she said, unable to hold back the laughter because it was true. “My friend Denise says he stuffs more things than the pillow factory.”

  “That’s good. I’ll have to remember that one.”

  “And you’re right that he loves me. He’s shown me that in a million ways.”

  “So you really didn’t hear anything? I thought I heard something drop on the floor outside the door.”

  “I was dusting,” she said. “My mother’s jar fell from the table in the entry.”

  “It didn’t break, did it?”

  “No, it’s wooden. It means a lot to me. She gave it to me before she died.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight.”

  “That’s tough. To lose someone you love that early.”

  “It was. And that’s partly why my dad means so much. He saw me through it. He was there every night I cried myself to sleep. Even though he handled it differently.”

  “Not as emotional?”

  “Right. He takes things in stride and just puts one foot in front of the other and moseys on down the road. But it affected him too. He was telling me the other day about the festival—he does it partly as the fulfillment of a promise to my mom.”

  “That’s really sweet. I’ll bet you look like her.”

  “That’s what people say.”

  “So she was beautiful.”

  Rose rolled her eyes. “How long have you been working on that line?”

  “No, seriously, it just came out. There’s no working on something that comes that easy. And it’s true.”

  She laughed and blushed, feeling like there was something right with the world again.

  “You want to see something from my past?” she said.

  He look
ed at his watch. “I promised your dad that—”

  “Come on, it’s on the way home.”

  They drove toward Sharon and came to a wide place in the road with some old school crossing signs. “Pull over there. By the front walk.”

  The place was dark and gloomy like a haunted house. The stars shone as brilliant as diamonds, and the frogs and crickets sang like they had microphones and amps.

  “This is the elementary school where I went as a kid. I can walk you through every classroom in that building and tell you the things that happened to me each year.”

  Jed squinted. “There’s broken windows. Do they not use it anymore?”

  “Structural problems. They closed it a year ago. Built another one on some land that doesn’t flood.”

  Jed picked up a rock and tossed it at the front of the building, hitting a windowpane that cracked. “What happened in that classroom?”

  “Mrs. Taylor. Third grade. That was the year my mom died.”

  He was quiet for a minute, then picked up another rock and hit a pane on the other side of the school. “What happened in there?”

  “Fifth grade. Mrs. Adkins. She had a little aquarium we all took care of. She loved fish and animals. One day somebody found a bird by a tree on the playground and brought it to her and we decided to nurse it back to health. She set up an incubator that kept the bird warm and we tried to feed it. The little thing started to make a comeback until this mean kid . . .” She searched for his name. “I think it was Romey. Yeah, Romey McCallister. He was new to the school that year and didn’t fit in too well. I think he’d been held back a couple of times because he was a head taller than Mrs. Adkins. Well, I caught Romey picking the bird up. Mrs. Adkins had told us not to touch it at all, but here he was manhandling the poor thing.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I yelled at him to put it down. And he said, ‘It’s gonna die anyway.’ Mrs. Adkins was out of the room and there wasn’t a soul sticking up for the bird except for me.”