Song of Life

by C. L. McCullough

  He was shown the location of the public rest rooms and told it would be his responsibility to attempt repairs before a plumber was called in. Loose shutters were pointed out to him as they circled the outside of the building, along with a cracked window pane and sashes and sills that needed repainting. He was feeling quite optimistic until they’d arrived at this sorry excuse for a garden.

  He stood hipshot with his hands in his back pockets as he tried to separate the wheat from the chaff.

  “Looks like there were roses over there,” he commented, waving to the right. “Along that stone wall…”

  “Seems like there was,” Sunny replied but sounded uncertain. “I know there was a path leading down to the bridge. That railing should be tended to first, I suppose. I’ve posted signs to keep folks out, but you never know, kids might take it as a dare. That gully’s deep, come a rainfall it could be dangerous if anyone fell in, especially a kid.”

  Cas sighed. “You got any idea what you want done back here?”

  “Nope,” Sunny said cheerfully. “Do what you think is best, just run it by me first. I’m no gardener, I just want it pretty and I want it safe.”

  “Okay, I can do that. If you’ll trust me with an advance on my salary, I’ll get what tools I need.”

  “That shouldn’t be necessary. We should have everything you need. Follow me.”

  She led him over to a large prefab shed, pulling the door wide so light would penetrate inside.

  “What the hell…” She stood in the middle of the room, turning in circles. “Get out of the light, I can’t see.”

  Cas obediently moved to one side, but it didn’t take twenty-twenty vision to see that the walls, where rakes and shovels and hoes should have been hanging, were bare. As were the wooden counter and the pegboard above where smaller tools should have been stored. All that was left of what should have been a shed full of tools was a lone hammer head lying forlornly on the counter.

  “Looks like you’ve been cleaned out.”

  Sunny shot him an irritated look. “No shit, Sherlock.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to take it out on you, but…what the hell!”

  “Was the door locked?”

  “What? No, no it wasn’t. It’s never been necessary. Who would…it must have been someone passing through, no one here would do such a thing.”

  “Yeah, it’s always the stranger, isn’t it,” Cas said dryly. He supposed he couldn’t blame her for reaching for straws. It would be hard to admit she’d been ripped off by someone she’d known all her life. “I suppose I should be glad I didn’t get into town until this morning.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sunny said again. “Oh Lord, I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s just that–”

  “Just that everyone in this town is upstanding and law abiding and wouldn’t harm a fly, is that it?”

  She hesitated. “You’re right, but there’s no need to rub my nose in it. Of course there’s folks that live on the edge. I can think of several right off the top of my head. But why would they? That’s what I can’t get my head around. The tools are all old, they’re not worth squat.”

  “Maybe you pissed someone off.”

  “That’s possible, that’s entirely possible.” She made a face. “Oh hell, I’ll have to get Ennis over and that’s the last thing I want.”

  “Who’s Ennis?”

  “Ennis Ratcliff, our local sheriff. He thinks I’m the ‘little woman’ and incapable of handling my own affairs. I just hate to prove him right.”

  “Sort of like Reese.”

  “Worse. Reese’s reactions are knee jerk. He knows me too well to ever think me helpless. But Ennis, he’s always criticizing–for my own good, of course. Didn’t I realize how much those steaks cost? Weren’t those bedspreads just a little too good for a hotel? The soap in the bathrooms, he’s sure he could find something cheaper for me. And I shouldn’t be spending all that money on ad campaigns. Word of mouth works just fine, and after all, Papa Douglas never advertised. He conveniently forgets that Jim did.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got two men trying to father you.”

  “I don’t need a father,” Sunny almost snarled. “What I need is a good–” She stopped abruptly. “Never mind what I need. Looks like right now I need some tools.”

  “My offer still stands. If you’ll trust me with an advance, I’ll get what I need. This town have a hardware store?”

  “It’s got the Cornucopia, next best thing. Old time general store,” she elaborated at his questioning look. “But you shouldn’t have to use your own money. This…” she waved a hand at the bareness of the shed, “…is my responsibility, not yours.”

  “You can refund me come payday. I’d really like to choose my own tools anyway. And a padlock.” He grinned, trying to lighten her mood. “Can I buy a tool belt?”

  “I’m not your mother,” Sunny snapped. “Buy what you want, keep what you want, I’ll refund you the rest, like you said.” She turned toward the door, shading her eyes against the brightness. “I’ll show you the bridge, we have to use it to get to the cottage.”

  She marched off into the garden wilderness, cursing as brambles tangled around her ankles, swatting at tangles of weeds impudent enough to impede her progress.

  Cas, again wondering what he’d done to upset her, followed slowly after.

  The cottage, small and compact, was set back from the river, blending into a grove of pine and cedar. Its shake siding might have been considered plain, even ugly, but someone in the not too distant past had painted the door and the shutters a bright fire engine red. Sunny separated keys as they approached, making their way through calf high grasses and the pale shyness of spring primroses.

  “I had Chepi and Ki come down and clean a bit, bring some linen–just in case. It should be livable. They didn’t report anything too awfully bad. And you are the handyman…” Sunny shot him a sly look.

  “So I am,” he grinned. “And glad to be too.”

  There was no porch. They stepped through the front door into a good sized living room furnished with an old faux leather couch, a rocker and a moth eaten brown arm chair that looked like it would collapse at any moment. The small fireplace was filled with a wood burning heater, more utilitarian than picturesque. A square formica table surrounded by four tubular chairs was pushed against one wall. There was a galley kitchen with a minimum of pots and crockery, and a short hallway that led to two small bedrooms and a bath.

  The bathroom was tiny, so tiny that Cas could spread his arms and almost touch each wall. It boasted a skinny shower, a toilet and a rust stained sink.

  The linen closet in the dark hall had new shelf paper. Clean towels and sheets, scented with wind and sunshine, were stacked neatly on two shelves.

  “Smells good,” Sunny remarked.

  Cas watched over her shoulder. The closet didn’t smell near as good as Sunny did. What did she use to wash her hair? He couldn’t quite place the scent. Maybe it was something exotic from far away. He stared at the back of her vulnerable neck while her scent rose around him and felt himself get hard.

  She turned to leave and walked into him. “Oh! I didn’t realize you were there.”

  He grasped her as she staggered, drawing her toward him. The warmth of her, the feel of her, filled his senses and that seductive scent beckoned and teased. His gaze came to rest on that contradictory mouth, his hands tightened, his head began to lower. Sunny’s features softened, her lips parted as she stared at him. She made no effort to pull away.

  A memory of his father shocked him back to reality. What the hell was he doing?

  He let her go so quickly she staggered, turning his back and stalking down the hall into the living room. My God, he was a pervert like his father, wanting to make love to a woman who was the next thing to a stranger!

  He ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. Unwanted memories engulfed him. They’d haunted him for years and he’d never been able to push them back, no matter how hard h
e’d tried. This time was no different.

  * * * *

  The dark room, his father’s bedroom, and the woman on the bed. He was in his twelfth year and his father had decided it was time he became a man. He stood stiffly against the wall, a reluctant witness to what happened in the shadowed bed, wanting to close his eyes but unable to look away. His father had stripped him naked, had stripped them both naked and now he watched as Jose Aguilar took his pleasure with the unknown woman. “Heating her up,” he’d told his son. “Getting her well greased for you.”

  Now Jose was finished and rose from the bed, leaving the woman gagging and crying. Her pleas had not stopped what had happened. Cas considered her lucky to have bruises only.

  “Come, mongrel, it is your time.”

  “No.”

  His father’s brows drew together. “You will not say no to me.”

  “I won’t do it.” Cas’s voice broke and deepened into the voice he would have for the rest of his life.

  “You say no to me? You?” Jose threw back his head and laughed. “Look at you!” He gestured to Cas’s groin, to his erection. “It is small for the job, but see how willing it is.”

  Cas felt his cheeks heat but stared defiantly at his father.

  “You have forgotten who has the power.” Jose moved slowly toward the bureau and the dog whip lying there. He picked up the whip, running the lash through the fingers of one hand as he moved with deliberation toward Cas. “Perhaps it is time you felt the lash elsewhere, to remind you that you are nothing. Si, I think so. From now on, when you look in a mirror, you will know you exist only by my will, mongrel that you are. You lack the pure bloodline, you will never be worthy. Your bitch of a mother saw to that.”

  “You married her, the blame is yours.”

  “You dare!” Jose raised the whip, his lips curled in rage. The lash darted toward Cas like a venomous snake. Reflexively he raised his arm and caught it around his fist, biting his lip at the pain. Surprise colored Jose’s features and he took a step back as Cas jerked the whip stock from his suddenly lax hand.

  Emotions churned inside Cas–pain, fear, hatred, and through them all, triumph. He took a step forward and didn’t have to look up to his father to look him in the eye.

  “Never again,” he said, in his new, deep voice, grateful that it didn’t break. “Never!”

  Scooping up his clothes, whip still in hand, he left the room, and left what had been laughably called his childhood behind him.

  * * * *

  Sunny stood watching Cas from the hall. He was obviously in the grip of some memory that kept his body motionless and his gaze remote. Sweat beaded his upper lip and forehead, his hands clenched and unclenched.

  She had been shocked at her reaction to his closeness. It had been five years since Jim’s death and there had been no one in her bed since. She was at a loss as to why this man should affect her so. Other than his size, he bore no resemblance to her dead husband.

  Jim had been a red head, his hair a deep auburn wasted on a man. Any woman would have sold her soul for such beautiful hair. He hated wearing caps. In the hot summer months the sun kissed him. It tanned his skin, painted blond streaks in his hair and gilded the tips with gold. She used to tease him that he made every woman in town jealous because they had to pay and pay well to get that effect. His eyes were blue and always seemed to be laughing. Jim himself always seemed to be joking and laughing, his personality as sunny as his hair.

  He’d had no demons riding him as this man did. Cas was a man, Sunny admitted, no matter his chronological age. He was polite and considerate, but she didn’t forget his little flair of temper in her office.

  He touched something deep inside her. Something elemental. It was apparent he found her attractive, or was she just a challenge? An older woman to be seduced just because he could? No…no, she was doing him an injustice there. He could have followed through with the kiss that had been in both their minds, but he hadn’t. Something–something very bad–was holding him back. Crushing him down, despite his valiant efforts to overcome it.

  All her instincts shouted to help him. Woman to man, not mother to son. Damn it, she wasn’t old enough to be his mother! When she found the courage, she’d ask about his age. He might be a young thirty and that would make her only five years older.

  He looked up and noticed her. His eyes cleared and he made a deliberate effort to relax his hands.

  “Mrs. Douglas–”

  “Please don’t call me that, it makes me think of my mother-in-law. I’m Sunny. That’s what everyone calls me and I expect the same from you.”

  “Sunny, then. I want to apologize.”

  “For what? For wanting to kiss me? I think you’re insulting me by apologizing.”

  “Last thing I want to do is insult you. You’re my boss.”

  “So I am. And your boss wanted you to kiss her. What do you think of that? Aren’t I the hussy! I think we’ll have to agree it was mutual and leave it at that. And we’ll both be more careful, won’t we?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sunny winced. “Do you always have to address me like I’m collecting my social security?”

  He laughed. “Sorry. I’m not used to having a beautiful woman as my boss.”

  “Adjust, Cas, adjust. I’ll surely have to. Now, come with me to the office. I’ll get you your advance and you can go buy your tools. And your tool belt, if you so want,” she added with a smile.

  Cas took in a deep breath and blew it out again. “After you,” he said with a sweeping arm gesture toward the door.

  Warily she walked past him. He looked relaxed and maintained his distance. But she felt the heat of his gaze as he followed behind her, until he caught up and fell into step at her side.

  Chapter 6

  The Cornucopia was an anachronism. It shouldn’t have worked in this age of technology and express lanes, but somehow it did. From the rocking chairs on its deep front porch to the pot bellied stove that was more or less for show these days, it still served as a meeting place for senior citizens of both sexes and for more than a few younger gossips too.

  Cas looked around with interest as the screen door slammed behind him. Every square inch of space had been utilized, crammed full of shelves that were themselves crammed full of merchandise ranging from wool socks to canned peas to dress patterns. It was a big room, with plenty of space for cramming.

  He began to wander, hoping to come across something that resembled the tools he needed. He passed by a stack of blue jeans and hesitated, looking down ruefully at the well worn pair on his body. Not today, maybe the next paycheck. A stack of tees nestled cheek to jowl with cellophane-wrapped underwear and further down the row pairs of boots and heavy work shoes took pride of place beneath a collection of hats ranging from baseball caps to straw sunhats. He rounded the corner to the next row and found himself face to face with a big jar of pig’s feet. Not exactly what he needed.

  “Can I help you, son?”

  Cas gratefully turned his back on the pig’s feet and studied the man belonging to the deep, gravelly voice. He looked like an older Ichabod Crane, tall, thin and stooped, a long fringe of gray hair around a large bald spot pulled back into a Carlin tail. His smile turned wrinkles into deep furrows which threatened to split his leathery skin.

  “Clayton Smith, proprietor,” he introduced himself, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Had a couple of first cousins got themselves married way back when, caused quite the scandal according to my granny, but that’s how I become a Smith. Otherwise I’da been a Frazier.”

  “Uh…right.”

  “Emmaline Harris saw you down by the river with Sunny. You gonna rent the cottage?”

  “Comes with the job.” Cas smiled but was a little appalled at the swiftness of the town grapevine.

  “Oh, she hired you on. That sure was quick! Saw you when you come into town early this morning. You ain’t buying nothing, son. I do apologize, I get to talking and clean forget what I’m about. You j
ust tell me what you’re needing, I got it all up here.” He tapped a finger to his head and winked.

  “What I really need’s a bulldozer, but I’ll settle for pick and shovel. Mrs. Douglas wants a start made on that wilderness she calls the back garden.”

  Clay laughed. “She’s been fussing about that for awhile now. Won’t accept no help. Said she’d figure it out her own self. I reckon she did. Always did think it was just an excuse to hold off Wayland. Never seen such a man for taking over. Say, Sunny ought to have a passel of tools. She making you buy your own?”

  “No, she thought she had some tools but that shed was the next thing to empty. Somebody helped themselves to everything but a broken hammer.”

  “You don’t say. Well I’ll be damned. Not much thievery in these parts. Hell, there’s not that much to steal. Still, if I remember right, Jim had that place pretty well stocked. You follow me son. I got another room for such things, and horse feed and car parts and such. You need any hub caps?” he asked hopefully.

  “I’d need a car first,” Cas said, laughing.

  “Can’t get rid of the damn things, ever thing’s so damn fancy these days.” He looked up as the bell over the front door chimed. “Hey Ennis, how’s it going? You needing more Redman?”

  A short, portly man with a head of thick white hair and ferocious black brows drawn together in a frown strode toward the counter. His dark brown shirt strained across his belly. The Sheriff’s patches on his shoulders announced his calling, but his figure didn’t exactly inspire respect.

  Cas didn’t feel like laughing though. He leaned against the counter, trying not to tower over the local law. Sheriff Ennis Ratcliff didn’t appear to have much of a sense of humor.

  “Afternoon, Clay. Ain’t here for my pleasure. Come to check this feller out. We’re real careful about strangers in this town,” he said to Cas. “Don’t want no trouble and unemployed transients are sure to give some. Saw you hiking in yesterday. You need to be moving on, son, we don’t need or want your kind here.”