Something Old, Something New

by Beverly Jenkins

  Tamar said, “I used to have his mother’s number, but that was so many years ago, I doubt it’s current now even if I could find the old address book it was in.”

  “So will you still need me?” Paula asked.

  “Yes,” Trent replied, “but looks like we’ll be adding some Native elements to the ceremony.”

  “Just let me know what to do and how you want to play it.”

  Sheila said, “I’ve never done anything like this before, but I’m looking forward to learning.”

  “Me, too,” Bernadine echoed.

  Trent took a moment to explain about the dancing and singing and that a ball game is usually played on the afternoon of the day before the wedding. “I’m guessing it will be football.”

  “What else would it be?” Bernadine asked.

  “Lacrosse,” Mal replied.

  Trent shook his head. “We’re not playing lacrosse. It’s either football or nothing. Last time those Lakotas brought their sticks to town, they kicked our butts so bad, half of the Henry Adams team came back from the ER in casts.”

  “Goodness,” Lily breathed.

  Mal said sagely, “The Natives don’t call lacrosse ‘Little Brother of War’ for nothing.”

  Conversation turned back to the wedding.

  Tamar said to Sheila, “Tell Rocky she needs to have more meat on hand, and to add fry bread to the menu.”

  As Tamar and the ladies continued to plan, Mal threw in a few suggestions. Trent glanced Lily’s way to see how she was taking the news that the simple wedding they’d both wanted would now be much more. “What do you think, Lil?”

  She shrugged. “This is as much your wedding as it is mine, Trenton. I think the old-ways touch will be nice. Not sure how it’ll turn out, but as long as we’re man and wife when it’s all said and done, I’m in.”

  “That’s my girl,” Mal said approvingly.

  Trent nodded his approval as well. He hadn’t talked about the other reason for Griffin’s call but would do so now. Everyone in the room was family, and they all loved Amari as much as he did and needed to know. Although Reverend Paula was new in town, she was fitting in like a long-lost relative, and he was certain she’d come to love his son, too. “Griff’s other reason for calling was to let us know that he’d found out the name of Amari’s father.” The room went still. “He didn’t want to give me a name on the phone, but said we’d talk about it when he comes for the wedding.”

  Lily asked, “Are you going to tell Amari?”

  “Think I’ll wait until after Griff and I talk.” Trent looked to Paula. “Sound good to you, Reverend?”

  “Don’t start doubting your parenting decisions simply because I’m here and have a bunch of letters behind my name. You’ve been doing an amazing job raising your kids. Go with your gut.”

  Tamar said, “Please don’t let Amari turn out to be one of my brother’s cubs.”

  “I think Uncle Thad’s past the age of fathering kids, Tamar,” Mal pointed out. “Although Amari was a car thief, and Uncle Thad’s folks are the branch of the Julys that steals cars. It’s in their blood.”

  “There is no car-stealing gene, Mal.”

  “That’s not what you said when they stole Olivia.”

  “Stole Olivia?” Lily echoed.

  Trent told the story and when he finished, a concerned-looking Lily asked, “We’re having a family of car thieves at our wedding?”

  Mal answered, “They’re not so much car thieves as they are coyotes.”

  “What’s that mean?” Bernadine asked.

  “Tricksters,” Paula replied with a knowing smile. “Right, Malachi?”

  “Exactly. Forgot you were from Oklahoma, Reverend.”

  “Heard lots of Coyote tales growing up.”

  Mal explained the animal’s role in Native mythology. “Coyote can take any form—male, female, another animal. Plays tricks good and bad. Sometimes brings gifts like corn, or meat.”

  “Or steals your truck,” Tamar groused.

  Mal chuckled. “But whatever Coyote’s up to, he’s always got an agenda.”

  “There are even stories from the Plains tribes that have Coyote in the night sky putting up the moon and the stars,” Trent told them, trying not to laugh at Tamar’s grumpy face.

  “And let’s not forget all those fair young maidens he impregnated,” Mal tossed out slyly.

  “When you all kept referring to coyotes, I thought you meant the real animal,” Bernadine said.

  “Same here,” Lily echoed.

  “Nope. These are the Julys time left behind,” Trent voiced with amusement. “The outlaw blood still runs true in some of them.”

  Sheila appeared worried. “Are they dangerous?”

  “Yes,” Tamar declared flatly.

  Mal rolled his eyes. “No, they’re not. They just like to have fun.”

  “They’re not going to screw up my wedding with this so-called fun, are they?” Lily wanted to know as she looked between the Julys.

  “Don’t worry,” Tamar replied reassuringly. “If they get out of hand, a shotgun always gets their attention.”

  Trent wondered if Tamar was going to have to be tied up and tossed in a closet when Uncle Thad’s clan arrived, but knowing such an action would also involve a shotgun, he turned his attention to Lily. “Weren’t you the one who wanted the fates to bring on the fun?”

  “I’m also the one who wanted us to elope. That option is still open.”

  The room filled with laughter, and they returned to the wedding plans.

  When it was decided they’d done all they could for the moment, the meeting broke up. After the others departed, Lily lingered in Trent’s office. “Do you have any idea who the father might be?”

  “I’m guessing I do, but I’ll find out for sure when I get with Griff.”

  “How do you think Amari will react when you tell him?”

  “Don’t know. We’ll have to wait on that, too.”

  But Trent had been wondering about Amari’s reaction, too. Whatever the reaction might be, Trent was certain he and Amari would be able to talk it through. There was something else he was wondering about. “Are you sure you don’t mind the change in plans?”

  She walked over and eased herself against his heart. “Positive. The first time I got married, it was done at the courthouse. We were in one minute and out the next. This one’s going to mean more, so the service should, too.” She leaned back and looked up. “Okay?”

  He nodded. “Have I told you how honored I am to share your life?”

  She gave him the smile that always melted his insides. “I’m honored to share yours, too.”

  They stood in the silence for a moment, holding on to each other while savoring the past, the present, and the future. Finally she asked, “So what other kinds of things are going to be happening with this very interesting wedding?”

  “Have I mentioned the celibacy part?”

  She snorted. “No.”

  “For the week leading up to the big event, I can’t have any, shall we say, contact.”

  “What about me?”

  He gave her a look.

  “What if Bernadine brings in a hot young hunk of a stripper to my bridal tea? I can’t throw him down on the table and have my way with him?”

  When he didn’t respond, she added, “I’m serious.”

  “I got your stripper, girl.”

  And for the next few moments the kiss he gifted her with rocked her world so long and hard, she forgot what the word stripper meant.

  When he finally and lazily broke the contact, she said breathlessly, “You’re way too good at this, Trenton.”

  “It’s the July blood.”

  “Modest, too.”

  His eyes glittered. “Now that that’s settled, you should probably get back to your office.”

  “Probably,” she whispered softly, as if she wasn’t sure she could make it that far.

  “Go on before you wind up on a table.”

 
; She grinned and gave him a saucy, flirty look. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Out.”

  “You’re such a tease.”

  He pointed to the door.

  She leaned up and gave him a soft parting kiss. “See you later.”

  Trent watched her departure, proud to be the only man in Henry Adams to know how fabulous the Fabulous Fontaine really was.

  Chapter 19

  In the weeks leading up to the end of October, the trees and grasses put on their yearly display and the countryside was painted with the vivid reds, golds, and oranges of autumn. In spite of the beauty, the weather continued its slow headlong march toward winter, still over a month and a half away. The daytime temperatures hovered in the mid-fifties, but on more and more nights the thermometers dropped to the low forties. The first snowfall could come any day.

  Over at the Dog, Rocky’s assistant chef, Matt Burke aka Sizzle, Siz for short, finally convinced Mal to let the jazz band he managed play on Friday and Saturday nights. The group made up of young twentysomethings went by the unlikely name of Kansas Bloody Kansas. They treated the audience to a mix of old and new, and were unbelievably good. Only the locals and a few friends of the band members attended the maiden performance, but Roni was so impressed by their talent that at the end of the first set, she gave them a few pointers on how they might tweak their onstage presence for an even better sound, and wowed the band members by promising to sit in when she finished up her CD.

  The second weekend they played, word had gotten around, and the Dog was packed with people of all races, ages, and genders. Getting access to good jazz was difficult on the plains of Kansas, and lovers of the genre were ecstatic.

  “The only complaint,” Mal told the assemblage at the monthly town meeting, “no liquor. But I told the complainers to either drink the sodas we offered or find someplace else to go. A couple left in a huff, but the rest made do.”

  As the mayor, it was Trent’s job to preside over the meeting, and he asked, “So are you booking them every weekend?”

  “For as long as I can. The way they play, they won’t be local for long, though.”

  Trent agreed. Siz’s band was outstanding, and destined for larger and more lucrative venues than Henry Adams’s Dog and Cow.

  Siz raised his hand. His hair was the color of spinach this week. “I just want to say thanks.”

  Mal replied, “No. Thank you. And when the band goes big-time, we know we’ll be losing you, so start looking for a replacement.”

  Siz grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  Trent saw Bing Shepard raise his hand. “What’s up, Bing?”

  “Got a letter from a gas company asking permission to lay a pipeline across my property. Want to know if anybody else got a letter.”

  This was the first Trent had heard of this, but he saw a few of the farmers in attendance raise their hands.

  One man stated plainly, “Not selling them squat. My land’s not for sale.”

  “Price they quoted me sounded fair,” another farmer countered. “Especially when I was told the work wouldn’t disturb my cows, and that the company would need only a few acres on the back of my plot. Told Leo I’d think about it.”

  “Leo Brown?” Bernadine asked.

  “Yep. He’s the front man on this.”

  From the coolness in Bernadine’s eyes, Trent guessed this was her first time hearing about the offers, too.

  The farmer who didn’t plan to sell added, “Brown bragged that if I didn’t sell now, his company would push for eminent domain in the courts, and once the judge ruled in their favor they’d put the pipeline on my land for free. You can imagine what I told him after he said that.”

  Bing asked Bernadine, “Can the court make us give him our land for free?”

  “Sounds like a scare tactic, but let me ask my legal people about it and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Promise.”

  Lily had been suspicious of Leo’s motives, and she wondered if this might be the proof. The discussion brought to mind the prophetic last words of Ms. Agnes warning Marie to keep Leo away from her land. She wondered if Marie knew what Leo and his employer were up to. “When did you get the letter, Mr. Shepard?”

  “This morning. Certified mail.”

  The others had received theirs over the past two weeks.

  “Sounds like he’s being selective about who he’s targeting,” Trent said. “I’ll make some calls in the morning to see just how many people have gotten the letters, and we can go from there.”

  Bing seemed satisfied with that, as did everyone else, so the meeting moved on to the next item on the agenda.

  On the ride home with Trent, Lily wondered aloud, “Do you think Leo came to town just to buy up land and used reconciliation with Bernadine as an excuse?”

  “Maybe. I don’t want to pass judgment without all the facts, but this doesn’t smell right.”

  “When I get to the office in the morning, I’ll look into his company and see what turns up.”

  “I’m sure Bernadine will have her people doing the same. Be nice if for a few months we could turn back the clock and become the sleepy boring little town we used to be.”

  “Then we’d all whine about what a boring sleepy little town it is. We did that a lot in high school, remember?”

  “I do. I think I like this twenty-first-century version better, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Got you back in my life.”

  “Aww.” She hooked her arm through his and leaned her head tenderly against his shoulder. “You say the nicest things, Trenton July.”

  “Doing what I can to compete against hot young hunky strippers.”

  She laughed, and they basked in their feelings for each other for the rest of the ride home.

  After dropping Lily off with a kiss and a wave good-bye, Trent pulled up into his garage and parked. In the bed of the truck were two boxes he’d retrieved from Tamar’s barn.

  Amari was watching television when he came in.

  “Homework done?”

  “Yep. What’s in the boxes?”

  “Some of my old stuff from high school. I’m looking for something I need.”

  Trent sat and opened the first box. Inside he found papers, yearbooks. He tossed one to Amari, who opened it and slowly turned the pages. “This is you!”

  Trent leaned over and grinned. “I was pretty skinny back then.”

  “Is this Mr. Clark?”

  “Yep.” It was a group photo of the basketball team. They were lined up with their arms around each other and looked incredibly young. Trent played forward. Gary was guard. “That’s Stevie Mills, Tommy Burton, and Bruce ‘Big Head’ Rice. We called him Big for short.”

  “They still live around here?”

  “No. They all moved away. Haven’t heard from them in years.”

  “Is Mom in here?”

  “Should be.”

  They flipped a few more pages, and there stood the seventeen-year-old Lily Fontaine, surrounded by her many trophies.

  “She was really beautiful, even then.”

  “What happened to her being hot?”

  “She’s my mom now. You don’t call your mom hot.”

  “Oh, good to know,” Trent answered with a straight face.

  Trent left Amari to the yearbook while he returned to searching the box. He pulled out the ancient-looking pair of black track cleats he’d worn the year he won the state four hundred meters.

  “Those look old,” Amari remarked when Trent laid them on the floor.

  Trent told him the story behind the shoes.

  “You played football, too, right?”

  “Along with basketball, baseball, and I ran track. I was a four-letter man.” Trent opened an old shoe box held closed by a large rubberband and looked inside. VCR tapes.

  “Those look old, too.”

  Trent read the labels. “Wow. Forgot all about these. Tamar had a video camera back in the day, and these are the tapes. We have t
rack meets. My prom! High school graduation.”

  Amari grinned at Trent’s reaction. “Do you think they still play?”

  “Who knows? You’d probably need one of those real old machines, though.”

  Trent set the tapes aside and opened the second box. From beneath a plastic bag holding his orange-and-black basketball uniform he pulled out something wrapped in a roll of white cotton. “This is what I’ve been looking for.” He unwrapped it to reveal the black flute inside. He placed it against his lips and blew, but no sound came out.

  “You play the flute!”

  “Used to.” Trent scanned the instrument in an effort to determine why it wouldn’t play and found the answer in the dried, cracked trill pads and the keys that were stuck closed.

  He swallowed his disappointment. “There’s a music store over in Franklin. I’ll run over there tomorrow and see if they can fix it so it’ll play the way it’s supposed to.”

  Having the flute in his hands again made memories surface. “I took playing pretty seriously until I got heavy into sports, then I put it down because I didn’t think it went with my four-letter athlete image.”

  “Why were you looking for it?”

  “Need it for the wedding.”

  “You’re going to play it for the ceremony?”

  “Nope. I’m going to play it for Lily. It’s part of the courtship tradition, and it’s going to be a surprise, so you can’t tell her. Back in the day, braves romanced their ladies by playing the flute.”

  “What?”

  Trent gave Amari a short lesson in Native courtship traditions, finishing with, “In some tribes every male knew how to play. It was expected.”

  “Geez.”

  Trent laughed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Playing a flute for some girl? Not going to happen.”

  “You’ll be surprised what you’ll do when the time comes.”

  “You keep telling me stuff like that.”

  “Because it’s the truth. Don’t want you to be surprised.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be too busy racing cars to care about flutes or girls.”

  “I should make you write that down and sign it.”

  “I’m game.”

  His fearless acceptance of the challenge made Trent love him all the more. “Go grab a sheet of paper.”