“Who was going to feed them before you had your midnight frolic?”
Reese’s scowl deepened. “Goddamn it, you oughta be willing to help a friend. And I’m asking as a friend.”
“Look, Reese. I hate to say no, but I don’t want to be there.”
“Why the hell not?”
“For one thing, that priest will be there.”
“Father Yuri? Damn right he will, him and every other preacher around these parts. And their congregations. The whole damn town’s gonna be there and every farmer for fifty miles. Sunny can’t do it by herself.”
“You fight dirty, Reese.”
“I don’t know why the hell I have to fight at all. You ain’t said nothing yet to be making any sense.”
How could Cas explain? How could Reese understand that he just didn’t want to be around all that proposed music? Not even Sunny understood completely.
They had spent the week, when the work allowed them, surfing the net. The internet connection this deep into the mountains was iffy at best, but it wouldn’t have mattered if they’d had the fastest DSL made. They could find nothing pertaining to Kathryn Elizabeth Martin after her Madrid performance. She wasn’t linked with Jose Aguilar in any way that they could find and after Madrid, she had simply disappeared from recorded history. She had either hidden herself so well that it would take experts to find her–which neither of them were–or she was no longer alive to be found.
Cas’s feelings were in a turmoil. Relief and guilt if she were dead because it meant she’d had no choice and had still loved him. Anger and confusion if she were hiding and had made no attempt to save his younger self.
He was beginning to suspect that Sunny was the saving of his older self. She had a way of seeing to the core of things and making his fears seem foolish without looking down on the fact that he had them in the first place.
“Cas, you associate your mother with music. Why can’t you embrace it again?” she’d said as they’d shut down the computer for the last time. “There’s no one here to punish you. In fact there’s a whole town full of people who would love you for it. I don’t think you realize how talented you are. Have you even heard yourself?”
He’d had to admit he hadn’t. That he hadn’t sung a note for years, not until that afternoon in the conservatory, and even then he was barely aware that he was singing.
“You can’t fear it anymore,” Sunny had told him. “It’s too important, too much a part of you. You have no need to hide it here,” she had reiterated.
He frowned as he thought of that conversation. Reese shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Now, Cas, no need to be getting testy over this,” he said, uneasily. His face brightened. “It was Sunny’s idea anyway, she thought it’d be a good way to be spending the day with you.”
“Sunny knows you’re asking me?” Cas asked.
“I reckon so. It was her idea, like I said. She’s looking forward to it. She told me, she said ‘I think he might be over it now, we’ve talked.’ Course, I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, but she seemed to have it all settled in her mind, so if you’re wanting her upset, you get to tell her. Cause I ain’t.”
What was it about these southerners? Here was another one pushing him into a corner, making him do things he’d had no intention of doing. Maybe Reese and Martha were related. Hell, they probably were, the whole town seemed to be tangled up in relationships.
He wondered if he were getting soft. This was a hard land, and he’d worked even harder since he’d come here, but something inside him had relaxed, or so it seemed to him. All his previous, set in stone rules were falling by the wayside and somehow these southerners took the sting out, made it seem the most natural thing in the world.
Martha, at least, had been right. His church attendance had yielded almost immediate benefits. People called him by name, spoke to him on the street, invited him to dinner or on excursions to Eufala–once a bowling expedition, and another a birthday party for his friendly waitress Brenda, being held at a fancy dancing club. He had refused both but in such a way that there had been no hurt feelings.
A Mrs. McGregor had called him into her yard as he was passing one day and told him she’d heard he was courting and she had just the thing for him. She led him around to her backyard, came to a stop in front of a long row of mature lilacs and held out a pair of small clippers.
“Here you go,” she’d said. “For your lady. Help yourself.”
He had, imagining Sunny’s delight. The scent of lilac, strong yet delicate, had surrounded him as he’d snipped away. Sunny had been delighted. She’d put them in a big vase and set them on her desk. They’d worked on the computer surrounded by the sweet fragrance. Sunny was doing all she could to help him. If what Reese was saying was true, he couldn’t let her down.
“Where’s Sunny?” he asked abruptly.
“How the hell would I know? I ain’t her keeper. You gonna do it?”
“Yes, damn it, I’ll do it, soon as I talk to Sunny.”
“Well go find her, then. I gotta tend to my stew. Damn fools tried to put ginger in it. I’ll tell you Cas, I earn every penny I charge ’em.”
“Shall I tell Stacy ‘hey’ for you?” Cas asked slyly.
“Fuck off, Martin, I’ll do my own talking.”
Cas laughed and went to find Sunny.
* * * *
“That damn bassard is making himself to home, ain’t he?”
“Won’t last long, I promise. I got it all fixed. He’ll be gone afore you’re knowin’ it and we’ll turn a nice little profit too.”
“You got a bad habit of going off half cocked. This here’s a partnership. You coulda ruined everything.”
“You was drunk and crying in your beer like you always do. I seen my chance and I took it.”
“I ain’t saying it’s a bad idea, I’m just saying don’t be pulling any more fast ones without me knowing. When’s it going down?”
“Soon…soon. He put both of us in the dirt. Ain’t gonna happen a third time. Waltzing in here, thinking he can have his pick of our women… Damn women don’t have no taste. It’s all you hear around here anymore, talk about that bassard.”
“He gonna be at that singing?”
“How the hell would I know? But if he is, you leave him be! I got everything set up. Don’t need you to be ruining it. He won’t be struttin’ around here much longer.”
“If I see my chance I’m taking it. Won’t spoil him for the big finale. No. But I ain’t letting a good chance pass me by. I’ll crush him.”
His dirty hand, calloused and stringy with prominent veins, crushed a beer can in emphasis. There was a loud thud as the crumpled aluminum hit an exposed stud.
“I’ll crush the goddamned son of a bitch.”
* * * *
Reese had packed away any cordon bleu tendencies he might have felt and provided a meal straight out of a ‘How to Cook Southern’ cookbook. The ‘wow’ factor Sunny wanted wouldn’t be expressed in exotic, unknown foods, but in familiar, down home cooking prepared by himself, a skilled chef who considered any menu to be worth his time and effort. Reese’s cooking provided the nucleus, but every woman attending would show her mettle and bring a covered dish, something that had come to be known as her specialty.
The Gideon B. Douglas Municipal Park wasn’t much as parks go. It was small but it did have a baseball diamond that got good use, and a shaded area furnished with several picnic tables and a set of swings.
That wasn’t near enough to support the crowd that was anticipated at this gathering, or all the food that they’d eat, so long planks had been set up over wooden saw horses to form a large square. Table cloths of pristine white sheets were used to cover their roughness, but enough hadn’t been donated and they were left with an expanse of splintered wood showing at one end. Norah Ledbetter, who lived almost next door to the park, ran home and returned shortly with a sheet of such a bright lime green it almost hurt the eyes. She e
xplained, with some embarrassment, that she did like a bit of color in the bedroom and Marcel had no complaints, him being almost completely color blind.
Some rearranging was quickly done, and Reese’s big kettle of Brunswick stew took pride of place in the middle of the longest table, sitting on the lime green sheet surrounded by the eye popping red disposable bowls and plates contributed by the Mount Calvary Church of God. This was Lila Johnson’s church. She and all her fellow members were looking forward to the eating, but especially to the singing.
Women bustled around the long table, helping Cas and Sunny set up. The pickup was backed as close as they could get it to the tables, and it seemed to yield up an endless stream of food. Golden fried chicken, platters and platters of it. Big tubs of potato salad loaded with onion and sweet relish. Barbequed ribs. Deviled eggs. Large bowls of vegetables–turnip and collard greens, green beans, and black eyed peas swimming in their liquor. Casseroles of all kinds, made in the biggest dishes Reese could find; sweet potato, squash topped with cornbread dressing, broccoli loaded down with cheese. Young sweet corn, boiled on the ear, along with lots of butter to drown it in. And five big rolls of paper towels.
Huge commercial coffee dispensers were filled with sweet tea and set up beside a table holding washtubs of ice and large disposable cups. Another smaller table displayed the desserts, everything from a seven layer chocolate cake to pecan pie and banana pudding, its meringue beading in the soft mountain air.
By the time everything was set up, it was almost noon. A generic grace was dispensed by Pastor Evans of the Morning Star Baptist Church, and everyone lined up and began the process of making all that food disappear. Cas found himself in the middle of the square, wielding a big ladle and dispensing the stew; beside him Sunny helped the smaller children fill their plates. The sun shone down, the weather having cooperated for once, but the heat was not yet unbearable. A slight breeze cooled things even further. Cas found that sense of contentment, of belonging, well up in him again.
People had brought blankets and folding chairs; when they’d filled their plates, they retired to them and relative silence descended for a time as stomachs were filled. The hum of conversation began to rise as eating slowed. Children ate their fill and began to gather in their own groups. The squeal of happy laughter rose and fell as the young ones made up games.
With everyone served and happily chowing down, Cas and Sunny fixed their own plates, using the lowered tailgate of the truck as a table.
“Thank you for changing your mind,” Sunny said softly. “Has it been too awfully bad?”
Cas shook his head, his mouth full of fried chicken.
“Sometimes I think it’s all habit,” he said when he’d swallowed. He took another bite and lifted his gaze above the trees to the misty blue of the mountains, studying them as he chewed, feeling the peace seep into his soul. “This place–it’s hard to explain, but somehow it’s mine. I’ve done a lot of traveling and stayed in lots of places, but none of them…”
He gave an embarrassed laugh. “If it didn’t sound so silly, I’d say these mountains recognized me and welcomed me home. And I’ve never been east of the Mississippi in my life until now.”
“It doesn’t sound silly,” Sunny said. “I’ve always believed these mountains are special, they cure troubled souls. They sure cured mine. I’ve heard it said by others too. Mystical, maybe that’s the word. If they’re helping you, what’s so silly about that?”
He made a face. “Nothing, if you put it that way, but I still wouldn’t say it to anyone but you.”
She laughed. “Lack of testosterone?”
“You must know big, strong men don’t need help. Hell, they don’t ever have problems. Weak minded, that’s what it is. Along the lines of what my father would tell me–real men don’t sing.”
“Your father’s an idiot.Maybe a dangerous idiot, but an idiot all the same. I’ve never heard of such narrow minded–”
“So you decided to come after all,” someone interrupted them in a cheerful voice.
Cas looked around to see Father Yuri smiling at him. A very changed Father Yuri. For the first time Cas realized the priest was the motorcycle rider he had seen at the church the other day.
Father Yuri was wearing well worn jeans and red cowboy boots. Somehow it didn’t clash with the black, short sleeved shirt that was buttoned to his neck. The clerical collar was blindingly white, competing with the glinting gold of his pectoral cross. His long brown hair blew around his narrow face in loose curls; there was a guitar slung across his shoulders and resting at his back. Such a statement of contradictions Cas had never seen.
“Reese had an accident,” he replied, trying not to feel uncomfortable. “Sprained his ankle and Sunny needed the help.”
“I hope you’re staying for the singing?” Father Yuri asked politely.
“Depends. We have to clean up. Hope it won’t interfere with your program.”
“Oh we’ll leave it up awhile,” Sunny said. “Folks’ll be coming back for seconds, they’ll be grazing all afternoon. Makes less to take back.”
“And you, Sunny. I hope we’ll be seeing you at church Sunday so we can thank you properly for feeding us so well. And you too, Cas. Perhaps you can accompany Sunny.”
This was said in a very innocent tone, but Father Yuri’s eyes were laughing at them. He seemed to take pity on their discomfort and added, “Any particular songs you’d like us to go over?”
“Bring Flowers of the Rarest ,” Sunny replied promptly. “It’s my favorite.”
“And you Cas?”
Cas shook his head. “I’ll be learning too.”
“We’ll be starting shortly,” Father Yuri told them. “Finish your food and come on over. I think you’ll enjoy it, my son. I don’t know why, but I think you have the music in your soul. Maybe we’ll find out today.”
“That man makes me damn nervous,” Cas told Sunny as Father Yuri strolled off. “Sometimes it’s like he can see inside me.”
“All good priests are like that. One thing for sure, he’ll never hurt you, not intentionally. He might even help you. Cas…” She hesitated but continued on as he raised his brows in encouragement. “It probably seems silly, living in a place like the inn and having a famous chef at my fingertips, but I’d like to cook for you. I’m inviting you to supper tomorrow night.”
“I accept. I’d like for you to cook for me. Reese is a good guy, but I’d rather bond with you.”
“Well, it won’t be a feast like this, but if you like spaghetti, then I’m your girl.”
“I hope you’re my girl anyway,” Cas said, and watched with delight as she blushed.
“Yes. Well. Tomorrow night, then. And no garlic on the bread.” Her eyes laughed at him.
He leaned closer to her and murmured, “Don’t press your luck. All that’s keeping me from kissing you right now is about two hundred people.”
Her flush deepened. She busied herself gathering up dirty plates and cups. “Let’s see if you survive this sing along, then I’ll worry about kissing.”
“You can kiss me to revive me.”
“Good Lord!”
Grinning, he followed after her as she stomped over to the tables.
Chapter 17
Father Yuri had had song sheets printed up which included both Catholic and Protestant hymns and even some secular songs. These were passed out as the people gathered together in the shade of a huge old oak that rivaled the one at the inn.
The priest sat cross legged between two exposed roots, his guitar on his lap, waiting patiently while people arranged their blankets and chairs. Beside him Stan Johnson tuned up his fiddle and on his other side Horace Whittaker, as crusty an old Baptist as one could ever hope to find, tapped his mouth organ gently against his hand.
“First song up is Go Tell It on the Mountain ”, Father Yuri announced, pitching his voice so even those farthest away could hear. “We’ll run through it first,” he gestured to himself and his two compani
ons, “and then go over it again with you all.”
He bowed his head, watching his fingers delicately pick the guitar strings. As he began to sing, his head came up and he found Cas, standing at the edge of the group, Sunny at his side.
* * * *
Cas was caught in the priest’s gaze. Father Yuri’s voice, a mellow tenor, strong and true and clear as a mountain stream, pulled at him, seduced him. His mouth opened and closed, as if he would join in, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He couldn’t do it.
He closed his eyes, fighting to control his panic. The music bared emotions he’d fought against all his life. What was the priest trying to tell him? Probably nothing he didn’t already realize himself, he decided. It was time to look the monster squarely in the face and defeat the lifetime of fear it had created.
He gave Sunny a helpless look. She shook her head and held his hand tightly. She was his one constant. She was on his side and no way would she have talked about his fears with anyone, not even the priest. Which made Father Yuri seem even more magical. How did he know things he wasn’t supposed to know?
Cas sighed. He’d agreed to come to this songfest with his eyes wide open. It was only fair that he suck it up and soldier on.
Looking around, he found a good sized pine. He lowered himself to the ground, using it as a backrest, and guided Sunny to sit between his legs. He tipped his head back against the tree, holding Sunny loosely, studying the blunt mountains with their coverings of shaggy pines and low lying mists. The music washed over him.
The music, the mountains, Sunny herself–they all represented the same thing. Love…and belonging. He had never before in his life felt such a deep peace, a sense of belonging. Even the awkwardness of the singing when the crowd joined in was a balm to his spirit. He dreamily sat through Salve Regina , The Old Rugged Cross and He’s Alive . Sunny’s favorite put him in mind of her and he tightened his grip on her shoulders. He could almost feel the notes pulsing in his throat.
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