A Simple Song

by Melody Carlson

  Katrina swallowed hard. Pride was the same as vainglory . . . not an honorable attribute.

  “I agree with the other judges,” Jack said slowly. “You outdid yourself tonight, Katrina. Your grandmother would be proud too.”

  There was that word again. She simply nodded, quietly thanking them. But as she was leaving the stage, a couple of cameramen and Brandy stopped her. “Come on over here,” Brandy said. “We want to do a quick interview.”

  Katrina blinked as the bright camera lights came on. “All right.”

  “Tonight was fun,” Brandy said. “We know that you were supposed to sing something that represented you and your values and beliefs. Can you tell the viewers why you chose that particular song? Rather than, say, a hymn or religious song?”

  “My friend back home suggested it,” Katrina said simply. “It’s a song that reflects Amish values because we don’t believe in war. It also shows a separateness of two very different sorts of people. Like how Amish separate themselves from the English.”

  “Well, except for you. How do you explain that?”

  Katrina sighed. “It is hard to explain. Even to myself. What I am doing in this competition goes against everything that is Amish. In the beginning I told myself that it was my way of having rumspringa, but now I’m not so sure. I even wanted to quit the competition when I felt that I was compromising myself and my beliefs. In some ways this has been a very enlightening spiritual journey. Except that I am still trying to find my way. Who knows? Maybe I will go home tomorrow.”

  “We know you wanted to win money to help with your father’s surgery,” Brandy said quickly. “How is he doing?”

  Katrina explained that Daed was in the hospital. “I am praying for him always. And if any of the viewers pray, I ask for their prayers too. I know that God will do what is best, but I love Daed . . . I don’t want to lose him too soon.”

  “No, I’m sure you don’t.” Brandy looked at the camera. “So for any of you viewers who are still on the fence about voting, why not cast a vote for this young lady? I know I don’t want to see her going home yet.” Brandy thanked Katrina for the interview, and the cameras moved on.

  No one seemed too surprised that Katrina made it to the next level. “But I don’t know how you’re going to follow that up,” Breezy said as they went to the meeting room where Bruce Betner was going to give them their next assignment. As they sat down, Katrina spotted Tyler sitting by the windows. Other than a polite greeting here and there, they hadn’t really spoken since the night of their love song duet.

  Bruce came in and went to the front of the room with a camera crew trailing him as usual. First he congratulated them for making it, reminding them that they were getting close to the top eight. “Now that there are only twelve of you, we want to break you into four groups of three to form trios. Tomorrow’s challenge is to sing a song from a famous trio of the past. Maybe it’s the Jonas Brothers, or it could be the Bee Gees. It might be Nirvana or Motorhead or even Peter, Paul and Mary.” He chuckled. “But I would discourage any of you from doing something from Alvin and the Chipmunks.” He gave them some more instructions, then wished them good luck, and suddenly everyone was moving about, trying to form trios.

  Katrina was slightly surprised when Tyler came over, asking if she and Breezy wanted to be in a trio with him. “Sure,” she told him, relieved that he seemed perfectly fine, as if nothing was wrong and he hadn’t proclaimed his love for her . . . and she hadn’t rejected it. Was it possible she had imagined the whole thing?

  “I have an idea,” Breezy said as the three of them clustered together out in the hall. “Let’s do a song from Katrina’s grandmother’s group, Willow Tree.”

  “Really?” Katrina was surprised. “You would want to do that?”

  “Sure.” Breezy nodded. “You got a great response when you did that other song from them. The judges appreciate that your family has a history of music. And I think the voters like it too.”

  “It’s a good idea,” Tyler told Breezy.

  “Great.” Breezy looked at Katrina. “Which song do you think we should sing?”

  “After the Storm,” Katrina declared without even thinking. She explained how she’d sung it for her audition and how the judges really seemed to like it.

  “How does it go?” Tyler asked.

  Katrina sang it for them and they both agreed it was a great song. Tyler got the lyrics pulled up on his iPad, and Breezy downloaded the music onto her iPod. By later that afternoon, they had worked out their parts, and it was sounding really good. It was different than how Willow Tree sang it originally, but Katrina liked it.

  When it was time to visit the stylists, Katrina knew she would have to have a plan or else risk getting forced into wearing something immodest. So as soon as they were in the suite and before anyone else had a chance to say something, she jumped in.

  “I thought that since we’re doing a sixties song—and since it’s an antiwar song—maybe we could dress like the sixties again. That seemed to go over well the last time we did it. And I can wear my grandmother’s dress and boots.”

  Ronny rubbed his chin. “That’s not a bad idea, Katrina. Nostalgia sells. But I’m not sure about you wearing your grandmother’s dress again. Fans might not like that.”

  “It was many days ago,” she pointed out. “Maybe they would forget. And I could mention that the clothes belonged to Mammi.”

  “I like it,” Ian said. “Let her wear the old dress, and maybe we can spruce it up with some love beads and flowers in her hair.”

  “Can you bring us the dress and boots so we can see it and plan for Bekka and Tyler’s clothing?” Ronny asked.

  “Sure.” Katrina nodded eagerly. “I’ll go get them now.” Relieved that her plan had worked, she hurried out to get Mammi’s clothes. As she rode the elevator down, she prayed for God’s will to be done during this round. If she could simply make it through one more competition, she would be part of the top eight. Being part of the top eight meant a sure cash prize. After that, it wouldn’t matter if the judges or the fans decided to send her home.

  As it turned out, it didn’t appear that anyone wanted to send Katrina or Breezy or Tyler home following their performance of “After the Storm” the next night. Wearing their colorful sixties-style clothing, complete with love beads and flowers, they sang the folk song with a genuine sincerity that brought the house to its feet again.

  “You three should consider starting a group when this is all over,” Ricky told them when the judging began. “You are that good together. I loved that!”

  “I didn’t even consider myself a folk music fan,” Celeste told them. “But you have made me one.”

  “I know a record label that would sign you kids tonight.” Jack smiled. “But I hope you’ll all stick around until the end of the competition.”

  Katrina only hoped to be around long enough to win some prize money. Despite being told she had a chance at winning the top honors—she’d been told that media sources, whatever that was, predicted that she and Tyler would be the final winners—she truly hoped that the voters would choose someone else.

  22

  Once again, no one seemed very surprised that Katrina, Breezy, and Tyler made it into the top eight the following day. This meant they had to sign a new contract. Katrina had already signed a contract promising to abide by the rules of American Star, but this was something more. According to Breezy, this contract was to ensure that they wouldn’t run out during the competition.

  “Run out?” Katrina was confused. “What if we are voted out?”

  “That’s different. The show is worried that the final contestants are talented enough to be offered recording contracts or concerts or marketing endorsements.” Breezy held up the paperwork. “This ensures that we stick around until the competition and the show are over.”

  “But if you don’t win? Don’t you go home?”

  “Sure. But this is mostly for the contestants who will make it to the
end.” She grinned. “Like you and me. Although everyone is predicting you’re going to beat me.”

  “I do not think so.”

  “Well, it’s going to be a dog-eat-dog world from here on out.” Breezy picked up her guitar and started practicing. “I’m in it to win it, and I don’t care who knows.”

  “Ja. I hope you do win it.”

  Breezy stopped playing and studied her. “Are you serious? Or just being nice?”

  “You know I don’t want to win,” Katrina said. “I’ve told you before, I only want enough money to help Daed.”

  “But if you won the top prize you’d be set, Katrina. You’d have money and record contracts and—”

  “I don’t want that.”

  Breezy rolled her eyes. “I hear you saying that, but it’s hard to believe. How can you come this far and not want to go all the way to the end? Can you imagine how fantastic it would feel to be the last girl standing on that stage? Knowing that everyone picked you to win?”

  Katrina shrugged, then looked back down at the contract where the line remained unsigned at the bottom of the last page. “You think I should sign it then?”

  “Of course,” Breezy assured her. “And don’t worry. I faxed the whole thing to my dad, and he’s an attorney, and he said it’s all fair and legal. Just to protect the show. Once the show ends, the contract ends. Besides, if you don’t sign, you could forfeit your prize money.”

  “Oh.” Katrina swallowed hard, then signed. She hoped Breezy was right. Aunt Alma had already confessed that it sounded like a different language to her after she’d attempted to read it. Katrina was trying not to worry about Aunt Alma, but it seemed that she became more weary and quiet each day. So much so that Katrina had even suggested that Aunt Alma should go home. “I will be fine without you,” Katrina assured her. “It won’t be long until it’s over anyway. And we have the whole weekend off just to rest up.”

  “That’s good. You need rest. But I am not leaving.”

  “If you went home, you could visit Daed in the hospital.”

  Still Aunt Alma had refused. “I will not go home without you, Katrina.” She made a weak-looking smile. “Besides, I want to go with you to see Mamm’s old friend Larry Zimmerman. Remember?”

  “Ja.” Katrina nodded eagerly. “I nearly forgot. Jack told me that he has it all arranged. Mr. Zimmerman is back from a big trip, and he has invited us to come to his home on Saturday for lunch.”

  “Oh, that will be good, Katrina. I look forward to it.”

  They wore their best dresses and Sunday aprons to visit Larry Zimmerman. Jack had arranged for a car to pick them up. He had explained that he would’ve gone with them but was worried that it could be misunderstood as favoritism as a judge.

  “This is a house?” Aunt Alma said as the car went through some iron gates into an open grassy area where a large stone building loomed before them. “Or a hotel?”

  “This is a private home, ma’am,” the driver told her.

  Aunt Alma giggled just like she always did when someone called her ma’am. At first she’d mistakenly thought they were calling her mother. Now she knew it was just a word the English used to be polite.

  He drove around a circle driveway, stopping by a grand entrance. Then he got out and opened the car doors, waiting for them to get out. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to go,” he told them as he tipped his hat. They thanked him, then went up to the big set of double wooden doors.

  Before long a woman was guiding them through the biggest, fanciest home they had ever seen. Not that they had seen many. But this one was beyond Katrina’s imagination. Eventually they were taken back outside where some tables and chairs were arranged by a big swimming pool. “This is pretty,” Katrina said as she admired the flowers and grass and trees. “Are we having lunch out here?”

  “Yes,” the woman told them. “Make yourselves comfortable. Help yourselves to the iced tea. Mr. Zimmerman will be out shortly.”

  They sat down and drank iced tea as they waited . . . and waited. After what seemed an unreasonable amount of time, Katrina wondered if they’d been forgotten and was just about to go and ask, when an elderly man came out.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said in a slightly gruff tone. “I’m Larry Zimmerman.” He shook their hands as they told him their names.

  “Jack says you’re Starla’s daughter and granddaughter?” he said as he sat down across from them, peering curiously at them—almost as if he doubted this.

  “Starla was my stepmother,” Aunt Alma clarified. “But I thought of her as my own mother.”

  “My daed is Starla’s only son,” Katrina explained.

  “So you are Starla’s granddaughter?” He frowned.

  “Ja.”

  “And Jack says you’re a good singer too?”

  “Katrina is one of the final eight on American Star,” Aunt Alma told him.

  “I know. And I hear you’re making Willow Tree popular again.” He coughed. “That might make record sales pick up.” He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at her. “Is that why you’re here?”

  “What?” Katrina was confused.

  “Do you think that you can come collect on Starla’s royalties?”

  “What?” Katrina glanced at Aunt Alma, who looked as bewildered as Katrina.

  “Because if that’s what you’re up to, you can forget it. Starla gave all that up when she and Willy left.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Katrina said slowly.

  “I mean if you came out here looking for money, you are out of luck.”

  “We do not expect money from you,” Aunt Alma firmly told him. “Katrina might win money on American Star. But she did not come to get money from you. You can be sure of it.”

  “All right.” He nodded. “As long as we’re clear on that.”

  The woman returned now. She had a large tray with plates of food that she arranged on the table in front of them.

  “Eat up,” he said as he reached for his fork.

  Aunt Alma and Katrina bowed their heads and silently prayed. When they looked up, Katrina was pleasantly surprised to see that Larry had done the same.

  “We only came to see you in order to find out more about Mammi.” Katrina cautiously picked up her fork. “We didn’t know until after she died that she was part of the music group Willow Tree . . . with you. People have said I am like her, and, well, I just have so many questions.”

  His face seemed to soften now. “You are like her. How she used to look, anyway. She was a beautiful woman.” He sighed. “For a short while the three of us—Willow Tree—we were on top of the world. And then, just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“it was over.”

  “What do you mean it was over?” Katrina asked. “What happened to end it? And how did it begin?”

  As they ate, he told them the story of how he and Starla had grown up in an Amish settlement in Holmes County, not too far from Millersburg. “I was disenchanted with the Amish lifestyle. And I loved music. Starla liked music too. And she had the most fabulous voice. We were teenagers and not baptized, so I talked her into joining me in attending a folk festival. We were only going to go for a day. But a day soon became two and then three. During the festival, we met all kinds of musicians. We played and sang and wrote songs, and it was the most amazing time of my life. It was a happy time. Starla was happy too. That’s where we met Willy Brown.” He shook his head as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “Willy had more talent in his pinky finger than anyone I’ve ever known, and believe me, I’ve known plenty of musicians. Music just seemed to flow out of him. Almost like breathing. He’d pick up his guitar and start playing a brand-new tune, and then Starla would start singing words—just making them up as she sang—and it would be beautiful. I’d be the one to grab a pencil and start writing the words down, and later on I learned how to write music too—not create it, mind you, but I could write down the notes as Willy played them. I guess you could say I was
the one with the business head.”

  “But you sang too,” Katrina pointed out. “I’ve heard you.”

  He shook his head. “I was what you’d call a B-rate singer. Willy and Starla were the real talent. But they would never have gone as far as they did without me. Like I said, I was the business-minded one. I started booking us gigs. I kept the wheels greased and rolling. And after a few years, we had a good hit and doors started to open. We got some TV spots and then opened for some well-known bands and eventually got our own big concerts. But I should’ve seen the writing on the wall.” He grimaced.

  “What do you mean?” Katrina set down her fork.

  “Willy was one of those unfortunate musicians who brought his addictions along with him. Having grown up Amish, Starla and I were kind of innocents. We hadn’t seen that kind of thing yet. I mean all kinds of drugs—psychedelics, LSD, marijuana . . . the works. But it was the mid-sixties and we were out here in California doing concerts. It just came with the territory.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Katrina said. “Was Willy addicted to drugs?”

  He nodded, laying his napkin beside his plate. “Willy probably started out with the mild stuff, but somewhere along the line he became a full-blown heroin addict. I don’t know how much you know about heroin, but it’s a nasty, brutal drug. And Willy couldn’t live without it.”

  “Oh . . .” Katrina sighed.

  “Starla was in love with Willy.” He shook his head. “Can you believe it? Here I sit, nearly fifty years later, and it still hurts to remember it. I would’ve done anything for Starla. I had loved her for most of my life. I even would’ve gone back to the Amish settlement for her. But she didn’t want that. Or so she said.”

  “Did she marry Willy?” Aunt Alma asked.

  “She thought she was going to marry him. That was the plan. But instead of marrying her, Willy got her hooked on heroin too.”

  Katrina felt sickened. “Mammi used drugs?”

  He nodded sadly. “I felt like it was my fault too. I had talked her into leaving our settlement. I had introduced her to Willy. I stood by and watched it happen. Like a train wreck. A really bad train wreck.”