by C. D. Hersh
Table of Contents
CAN’T STOP THE MUSIC
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
CAN’T STOP THE MUSIC
The Soul Mate Tree
C.D. HERSH
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
CAN’T STOP THE MUSIC
Copyright©2017
C.D. HERSH
Cover Design by Wren Taylor
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-300-0
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is dedicated to our parents
who instilled a love of music in us.
Acknowledgements
A special thanks to Kathryn for acting as our beta reader on this book, and to our Cookies and Critique group. Kathryn, Jason, Kristen, and Patty who supported, made suggestions, and commiserated with us on this journey.
THE LEGEND OF THE SOUL MATE TREE
I am old, I am ancient,
my purpose is clear
To give those who are needy
a treasure so dear.
They who come to my roots,
touch my bark, stroke my leaves
Find the soul of their lives
if they but believe.
When I call and you listen,
your prize will be great
If your heart remains open
and you don’t hesitate.
Do you yearn? Be you lonely?
Is your time yet at hand?
Reach for me and I’ll give to you.
I’m yours to command.
For your trust, for your faith,
keep my secrets untold
And I’ll gift you forever,
to have and to hold.
Chapter 1
Bethel, New York
August, 1969
Rosemary Sterling pulled her striped, gauzy maxi-skirt to her knees, stuck her sandaled feet out the rear passenger door opening of her friend Willow’s ‘51 Woodie, and wiggled her toes. Sweat rolled down the center of her back. Not even a tiny breeze tickled the air on the crowded, one-lane road to the Woodstock Music Festival.
The heat radiating from the string of cars stretching in front and in back of her only added to the hot, summer air. Most of the vehicles’ occupants lounged on the hoods, the dirt road, or sat cross-legged on the ground, smoking pot or playing their guitars, their psychedelic clothing bright spots of neon color against the deep-green grass.
“How much longer before we find out what the holdup is?” she called as she exited the steamy vehicle.
Shielding her eyes, Willow straightened from her slouched position against the side of the car and peered between the row of stopped cars. “I see Bodi coming now. Maybe he’s found out what’s causing the traffic jam.”
“Aren’t you burning up?” Rose flapped the bottom of her cotton peasant blouse to stave off the hot, humid air. When the motion didn’t cool the sweat running between her breasts, she jammed the fabric under them, swiping at the damp flesh. Then she clambered onto the sun-scorched hood, careful to tuck her skirt under her bare legs.
“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into burning my bra last night.” She glanced at Willow, envying her pert A-cups. You couldn’t tell Willow’s girls were unchained. “Even that thin layer would have kept the sweat off. Bra burning might be the rage right now, and that’s fine for someone built like you. For C-cups or bigger, loose boobs are a drag. Pun intended.”
Willow laughed. “You’ll get used to it. Once you do, you’ll see the advantage.”
So far the only thing her hippie friend introduced her to that she’d embraced was the shortened flower name Willow had given her.
“Rosemary’s the name of your grandmother, not a flower child. I’m renaming you Rose,” Willow had said.
Jake and Starr, the other two in their group, came around the side of the Woodie. Jake’s tangled curls looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed. Grass stuck out of Starr’s hair in a green corona. Rose doubted they’d been doing anything that merited halos.
Frowning, she slid off the hood, motioned Starr over, and began picking grass from her braids. “I hope you two weren’t cavorting in poison ivy. I don’t think we packed any anti-itch lotion.”
“You should cavort sometime, Rose.” Starr gave her a friendly shove. “You need to loosen up, girl. Partake of free love.”
She couldn’t get used to free love either. “No thanks.”
“You might not be here alone this weekend if you’d give it a try,” Starr whispered.
She yanked Starr’s braid.
Starr jerked and scowled. “Hey! Watch it!”
“Sorry. You have a big burr.” Rose flicked an imaginary burr from her finger.
“Leave her alone, Starr. You don’t have to rub salt in her broken heart.” Stepping closer, Willow put her arm around Rose. “He’s a jerk, sweetie. Leaving just because you wouldn’t sleep with him. Then lying to you. What kind of guy alibis out of a relationship using his dad’s fake illness as an excuse? If you pissed him off because you wouldn’t put out, he should have been man enough to say so. Right, Jake?”
All three women stared at Jake, awaiting an answer.
“Umm . . . yeah.” He didn’t sound convinced.
He’d no doubt pull the same stunt if Starr refused him. Rose sighed. Just one more failure in her search for true love.
Sure, this was the Sixties, and she didn’t need a man. She’d have a college education in a few months. Then, if things worked out, she’d get a good paying job as a teacher. She could make it on her own. She just didn’t want to.
&nb
sp; She wanted someone to share her life with. Someone who understood her and could be her best friend and soul mate. The partner who’d be there for her no matter what.
Starr wandered over to Jake. They immediately entwined limbs, sharing a kiss. Jake felt Starr up in full view of everyone. Wincing at their public display of lust, Rose glanced away in time to see Bodi arrive and lean against Willow.
I should have stayed home. It’s stupid to think I’d fit in with the hippies and peace and love. No matter how much I want to be a part of this scene, I don’t think I’m cut out for this.
“What’s going on, Bodi? Is the concert canceled? Stopped by hippie haters?” If the townspeople managed to stop the music, she could go home and not have to watch all the free love going on while she was a single woman. Again.
“No, man. The townspeople don’t dig us being here. They’ve formed a human blockade at the entrance to the farm. They need to swing with the happening. Get real and get the power of the people.” Bodi flung his freak-flag hair away from his face with a jerk of his head. “There’s so many beautiful people coming, we’ve jammed the road and the interstate.”
“How many?” she asked as claustrophobic panic jumpstarted her heart.
“Some dude told me about fifty thousand arrived yesterday and hundreds of thousands are on the way. They can’t keep up with the ticket sales. They’re letting them in for free.”
“You mean I wasted eighteen dollars on my three-day tickets?” The total had really been thirty-six. She’d paid for her loser boyfriend’s, too, but no way would she admit that. She already felt like an idiot because of him.
“Peace and love is never wasted, Rose.” Bodi dug in his pocket and withdrew Willow’s car keys. He glanced at his watch. “Nearly five. They’ll be starting soon. I’m gonna pull off the road. We can hoof it the rest of the way.”
He got in the car and revved the engine. The crowd parted as he eased the wagon onto the field. The group emptied the Woodie, hoisting their camping gear, sleeping bags, and food supplies on their shoulders.
“Aren’t you going to lock the car?” she asked as Bodi started to walk away.
“Nah. None of these beautiful people are going to bag anything. It’ll be okay.”
She wasn’t sure Bodi’s faith in the honesty of the crowd lounging alongside the road could be trusted. Any one of them could hot-wire a vehicle.
Rose glanced at the sky. Gray cumulous clouds loomed on the horizon. Opening the back door where she’d been sitting, she rolled up the window. Then she pushed the door lock down. “Maybe, but it might rain. I think you should at least close the windows.” When he didn’t move, she added, “You wouldn’t want to get Willow’s ride wet, would you? Her dad might be mad if she brings it home all soggy.”
“Close ‘em,” Bodi commanded, his scowl conveying his annoyance at being bested by her.
She skirted the vehicle, closing the windows. “You got the keys?”
He held them aloft.
“Good.” Rose snapped each lock down before slamming the doors closed.
Bodi shot her an irritated stare, then addressed Willow. “Your bookbuster friend is one uptight chick. I don’t dig her vibes.”
“But I love her.” Willow linked her arm in her boyfriend’s. “She’s new to the scene.”
“She’s plastic, Willow. All her bad vibes are bringing me down. You need to drop her.”
“We’ve got to ease her in. Give her some space to get used to our ways.”
Tromping out of the grass onto the road, Rose trailed behind the two couples. Bodi’s take on her was right. She dressed the part, but inside she was a fake. She didn’t know if she would ever get used to the scene Willow had introduced her to, no matter how hard she tried. Willow and Starr would push her to hook up with someone this weekend. She didn’t want a hook-up. She wanted forever.
The twang of guitars drifted on the air. Rose’s spirits lifted. The music was what she came for. She’d concentrate on the tunes and put her sucky love life behind her for now.
Chapter 2
As they made their way to the festival site, Rose and her friends grooved to the music coming from the stage.
When they reached the makeshift bridge over the road, someone yelled, “Hey, beautiful! You with the red hair.”
She looked around to see if there was anyone else with red hair. Then she glanced up and spotted two guys, one blond and the other dark-haired, leaning over the side of the bridge.
“Yeah, you,” the blond called out as he caught her gaze.
Willow halted beside her. “He’s cute. How about him?”
Rose looked away, her gaze landing on the other guy.
He jabbed his companion in the ribs. “Quit trying to pick up every girl you see.” Then he leaned farther over the rail. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s high.”
“So she’s not beautiful?” Willow yelled to the hippie.
Rose poked her friend. “Stop it, Willow, you’re making a scene.” Despite her protest, her gaze remained on the dark-haired guy.
He rested his elbows on the rail and stared back at her. The intensity of his expression shot heat into her belly.
“I didn’t say that, just that she shouldn’t pay attention to him.” He flapped a hand at his blond buddy, then tapped his own chest with his thumb several times as if to say, ‘Choose me!’
Does he want me to pay attention to him? Her heart thumped in rhythm to his jabbing thumb.
“Take that one,” Willow whispered. “He’s the real cutie.”
Before she could respond, the crowd pushed them forward. When they reached the other side of the bridge, Rose looked back, searching for the dark-haired hippie, but the spot where he’d stood was empty.
Just my luck. I see someone who’s intriguing and he disappears.
With a sigh, she continued the trek to the festival grounds.
Despite the unexpected crowds, and the time it took to pitch their tent at the top of the hill, Rose and her friends managed to score a spot close to the fence separating the crowd from the humongous wooden stage holding the musicians. Already, the mass of humanity swirled up the side of the hill which formed a natural amphitheater in front of the stage. From the top of the hill, she could see the people streaming down the dirt road to Max Yasgur’s hay field.
Because of the traffic snarl, none of the first four acts arrived in time to play at their assigned slots. By the time Rose and her friends wrangled their way to their coveted spot, Richie Havens had been playing for nearly three hours, his music blaring from the loud speaker scaffolding bordering the fence.
When Richie finished his set, Sri Swami Satchidananda took the stage for the opening speech of the festival. The crowd pressed closer in an effort to get a better look at the guru. The swami sat on a cloth-covered dais with his cluster of devotees assembled in crossed-legged repose on either side of him.
Rose’s claustrophobia kicked into high gear as the heat from the surrounding bodies washed over her. “Can we find a spot on the edge of the crowd?” She drew in a deep breath to calm her pounding heart. “All these people are making me nervous, Willow.”
“They’re not going to bother you. We’re all friends here. Peace and Love. Remember?”
“It’s not that.” Self-conscious about her condition, she leaned in closer and whispered, “I’ve got claustrophobia.”
Willow threw her arms out. “Move back!” she commanded the crowd around them. She motioned to Bodi, Jake, and Starr. “Circle ‘round Rose.”
Rose put her hands over her flaming cheeks. “Please don’t create a scene, Willow.”
The trio stared at Willow, then at her. “She tripping?” Bodi asked.
“No. Claustrophobia,” Willow whispered. “We need to make some space for her.”
>
The four friends circled around, forcing the onlookers away. At first the crowd grumbled. When Bodi exposed her dilemma to them, they stepped back. Rose prayed the ground would open and swallow her.
Willow draped an arm over her shoulder, giving her a comforting smile. “See, honey, how beautiful we all are. No one wants to make a bad scene for a kindred spirit.”
The bit of space her friends carved out eased the panic. Starr snapped a blanket onto the grass, urging Rose to sit. She lowered herself to the ground, giving her attention to Sri Swami Satchidananda, deep breathing to forget the press of bodies who stood mere feet away instead of yards.
The guru welcomed the festival goers with terms of endearment, speaking of his joy about seeing so many young Americans gathered in one place to celebrate music. The swami’s lyrical Eastern accent filled the air as he spoke of sound energy, sound power, and the peace and joy of celestial music.
Rose understood his message. The chords and notes lifted her spirits. The harmonies filled her with joy and energy. Music had always been a part of her. Music was the one aspect of her life she could lose herself in, while discovering herself at the same time. Music was engrained in her. She would never deny or stop it.
The swami continued, apologizing for being late. He spoke of the spiritual awakening of America, urging them to make the music festival a success.
She glanced around at the crowd. The possibility of problems with this many people crammed together spelled potential disaster if trouble started. She hoped the crowd would heed the swami’s suggestion.
Before Swami Satchidananda concluded his speech, he gave them three words to chant which he said would make them feel the power of sound and the peace it could bring to the world.