by Amy Harmon
Samuel simply stared down at me.
I floundered, not following his line of thinking at all. “David caused the death of Uriah, Bathsheba’s husband, because Bathsheba was pregnant with David’s child, and David wanted her for himself. Maybe that is the blood that is referred to, the blood God couldn’t overlook. Not the blood of those that David had commanded in war, or killed in battle.”
“Am I really so different?”
“Samuel! I don’t understand how you can equate yourself with David. Even so, David died in God’s good graces. We have the book of Psalms to prove he was favored by God.” I was truly befuddled. Samuel’s silence lasted several minutes this time. I was getting better at waiting him out. When he spoke, the subject had seemingly changed, and I mentally cart-wheeled to catch up.
“I got a letter from my Grandma Nettie when you got engaged, Josie. She thought I would remember you. She mentioned it kind of in passing.” Samuel paused.
“I remember where I was when I read that letter, where I was sitting, what I had been doing in the moments leading up to it. I was completely leveled by the news, to say the least. I had been gone for almost five years; I hadn’t seen you for more than two. You were still so young, and I thought I had time. You see, in my mind, I always kept track. I would mark time with your birthdays. Josie is sixteen—but I’m twenty-one. Josie is seventeen, still too young. Then out of the blue, this kid came in and snatched you up, and you were suddenly taken.”
I stared at Samuel, my mouth hanging open, completely undone by what he had revealed. Samuel expelled a short, harsh laugh at my stunned reaction, and suddenly his wet hands gripped my shoulders, and he rose to his feet, pulling me with him.
“I didn’t know who Kasey was. My grandma mentioned his name and said that he was a nice local kid. I just remember how angry I was and how much I wanted to hunt him down. I had another two years on my contract with the Marines, but all I wanted to do was come to Levan and kill him and plead my case to you. I wanted to beg you not to marry him. I even wrote a letter to you telling you to wait for me.”
“I never got a letter.” My lungs were burning. I realized I was holding my breath.
“I never sent it. I couldn’t. I had absolutely no right.”
Samuel suddenly held my face in his hands. They were cold and still a bit wet from the water. I shivered as his eyes burned holes down into mine. “A few months after that, my grandma sent me a letter telling me Kasey had been killed. I felt sick, because in my heart of hearts I had wished it. I had wanted him gone. So am I really so different than David?”
I couldn’t answer immediately. My head was spinning with the passion in his voice and the intensity in his eyes. He interpreted my stunned silence as censure once more, and he dropped his hands from my face. “I’m sorry, Josie. I had no intention of telling you any of this. But I just couldn’t let you kiss me and comfort me, and let you tell me what a good man I am, without telling you everything. And the worst part is…I’m glad he’s gone. I’m not glad he’s dead. I don’t wish that. But yes, I’m glad he’s gone. And I don’t know what kind of man that makes me.”
“I guess it makes you an honest one,” I whispered, finally finding my voice, unsure of what to say beyond that. He stared at me intently, and I met his gaze without blinking. “I never would have guessed you would have reacted like that…that you even thought of me after you left. I didn’t know you…you cared,” I finished ineptly, unable to communicate the awe I was feeling at his confession.
“I did, and I do,” Samuel responded flatly. His mouth was drawn into a tight line, his eyes on mine. I exhaled slowly, feeling faint. The water from my dripping hair found its way down my back, and I shivered violently. Samuel reached down and took my hand, and we walked back to the truck, the blanket trailing behind me. He stooped and picked up the cooler and set it in the back as he opened my door and helped me in.
With the heater on full blast, we drove back toward Levan. Music tinkled softly from the speakers, and I heard a hint of Rachmaninoff’s “Elegie.” I had always loved this piece. Rachmaninoff was considered one of the finest pianists of his day. Sonja had a live recording of him playing “Elegie”, and it had brought me to tears when I had first heard it. It had been many years since I had enjoyed the expressive breadth and the rich lyricism in his piece. Hesitantly, I reached up and slid the volume louder, allowing the music to fill the cab and reverberate off the glass.
“This is my favorite piece of music, by my favorite composer.” Samuel’s voice broke through as the music slowed and sighed.
“You always did love Rachmaninoff.” I remembered the first time he had heard Rachmaninoff on the bus and his reaction to the power and the intensity of “Prelude in C Sharp Minor.”
“Rachmaninoff was the last of the great Romanticists in classical music,” I mused. “He was often discouraged by the modernist music that was becoming popular. Once, in an interview, he said that the modern music of the new composers was written more in the head than the heart. Their music contained too much thought and no feeling. He said the modern composers ‘think and reason and analyze and brood, but they do not exalt.’“ I held up my fingers and wiggled them to indicate quotation marks.
“I looked up the word exalt in the dictionary when Sonja made me memorize his quote. The meaning I liked best was to ‘make sublime, to magnify, to praise, to extol.’ Rachmaninoff’s music raises us up, it elevates.”
“I love ‘Elegie’ because it is what yearning sounds like.” Samuel stared ahead as he spoke.
I stared at Samuel for a moment, moved by the simplicity of his description. “I think ‘Elegie’ actually means lament. Some say Rachmaninoff was depressed when he wrote it, but there’s such pronounced hope woven throughout the piece that I tend to think, in spite of his suggested moroseness, ‘Elegie’ wasn’t an expression of defeat. He was just...yearning.” I smiled at him slightly as I echoed his simple synopsis. “He considered quitting early on in his career. His philosophy was one rooted in spiritualism. He wanted to create beauty and truth in his music, and he felt like his music didn’t belong. It’s ironic that he gave his last major interview in 1941, when the world was at war. The world needed truth and beauty then more than ever.”
We drove through Nephi and out onto the long ridge connecting the small towns. Soon, the lights of Levan twinkled before us, and we pulled into the sleepy little town, turning on to a pot-holed side street, driving past the bar and the old church before heading up the dimly lit street toward home.
We crunched over the gravel in front of my house. It was dark and empty, my dad long gone on his way to Moab and the beckoning Book Cliffs.
“Would you like to come in for a minute? You could check the house for bad guys, and I could make us something yummy to eat. I think I have ice cream in the freezer and I could make us some hot fudge topping to put on top?” I waggled my eyebrows at him in the dim interior of the truck, and he smiled a little.
“Bad guys?”
“Oh you know, I’m here all alone, the house is dark. Just look under the beds and make sure no one is hiding in my closet.”
“Are you afraid to be alone at night?” His brows were lowered with concern over his black eyes.
“Nope. I just wanted to give you a reason to come inside.”
His expression cleared, and his voice lowered even further. “Aren’t you reason enough?”
I felt the heat rise in my face. “Um,” was all I said.
“Josie.”
“Yes?”
“I would love to come in.”
We climbed out and walked inside. I flipped on the lights and excused myself for a minute. I ran upstairs to my little attic room and pulled off my wet clothes. I ran around looking for something to wear Sweats? No. Pajamas? No! I settled on a loose pink sundress and ran my fingers through my damp ringlets. My hair smelled a little like pond water…ugh! I spritzed myself with lavender and pulled my hair up into a clip, not wanting to look like I w
as trying too hard. I left my feet bare and ran back downstairs. My feet got a little tangled up, and I came hurtling off the last stair into the washroom like a bat out of hell. I steadied myself on the dryer and took a deep breath. “Geez! Calm down, woman!” I told myself sternly. When Samuel was around I seemed to be one frazzled bundle of gooseflesh and hormones. “That’s just what we need, fall down the stairs and spend the rest of the time Samuel has in Levan on crutches,” I muttered.
I walked into the kitchen where I’d left Samuel a few minutes before. I gathered the butter, evaporated milk, sugar, vanilla, and cocoa powder as we chatted about this and that. Soon the smell of hot fudge sauce wafted through the kitchen, and I sighed in contentment. Grabbing a couple bowls, I scooped up two large servings of cookie dough ice cream and drizzled generous amounts of hot chocolate over the top.
“Let’s eat!” I declared, sitting down and scooping up a giant spoonful of ice cream.
Samuel laughed right out loud, a rich rumble that echoed in my heart.
“What?” I said, my mouth full of ice cream.
“You make me laugh.”
“Why?”
“You’re this beautiful girl, blonde curls, big blue eyes. You always wear dresses and paint your toenails and you’re completely old fashioned—books, music, you name it…you’re completely all girl. I just didn’t expect you to dig in like that. You did the same thing earlier tonight at the pond. You like food. I thought for sure you would put a napkin on your lap and eat very small spoonfuls like a dainty little lady.”
“Lady, schmady,” I giggled. “I love to eat. That’s why I run every morning. Otherwise, I might grow to be very voluptuous and rubenesque.”
“I’m not sure what rubenesque means exactly, but I’m sure it would look good on you.” Samuel dug into his bowl as well, and we enjoyed our ice cream in silence until the last of the hot fudge sauce was scraped away. I restrained myself from licking my bowl. Samuel didn’t.
“That was unbelievable sauce,” he said appreciatively.
“Yep! My mom’s own recipe. It’s an original.”
I washed our bowls, and Samuel wandered in to the family room and sat on the piano bench, watching me through the narrow door opposite the kitchen sink.
“Will you come with me to see my grandma?”
“Nettie?” I questioned, confused.
“No. I want you to come to Arizona with me and meet my Grandma Yazzie.”
My eyes flew to his face, and I could see from the firm set of his wide mouth that he was serious.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“But…I have to work at the shop tomorrow and…how long would we be gone?”
“Your aunt wouldn’t let you go?”
“Of course she would. I don’t have anything scheduled. I would just be there for walk-ins.”
“Dilcon is over 700 miles away. We’d need an entire day of driving each way, and I want to stay for three days in between. So five days. Tomorrow is Saturday. We’d be back late on Wednesday night. Could you arrange it?”
I bit my lip as I mulled it over. I was so tempted. The long hours of driving were incredibly enticing. Conversation with Samuel was always enlivening, and the thought of listening to music and talking for hours on end with him was more than I could pass up. My dad was gone. He wouldn’t be calling home. Cell phone reception wasn’t available where he was going. I would have to cancel my piano lessons, but the loss of revenue wouldn’t hurt me. What did I have to spend my money on anyway? I guess I hesitated a moment too long.
“Please, Josie?” His voice was insistent. “I want you to meet her. I’ve told her about you. You’ll love her.”
I turned to face him. “All right. I’ll go. I’ve always wanted to meet her. But…” I held up one finger as a stipulation, “I can’t leave bright and early. I have to call my students and Louise…”
“Call them on the way, Josie. Bring your cell phone. I’ll pick you up at 6:00 a.m.”
So much for “please, Josie.” Bossy Samuel was back. Bossy really wasn’t the right word. He was more blunt and plain-spoken, but calling him bossy made me feel better when he started giving orders. He continued on:
“I want to get to the reservation before dark. It’s hard enough to find Grandma’s hogan in the daytime. And she could be anywhere. I called the trading post when I got back stateside and left a message for her. I told her to plan on me this weekend. I got word to her through the man that works at the trading post. I called him today, and he said she had been in with one of her rugs. He gave her the message for me.”
“Is that how you communicate?” I said incredulously.
“It works. Grandma doesn’t read or write, and she doesn’t have a phone.”
I felt a frisson of unease that this meeting might be very awkward. Talk about two different worlds. Samuel must have seen something in my face, because he stood and walked to where I still stood, leaning against the sink. He reached out and ran a hand lightly down my cheek.
“Don’t worry. Grandma is easy to love. Just think of it as an adventure.”
I smiled tremulously.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his voice husky.
“I promise to pack some jeans and boots,” I said with a grimace. I’d given up wearing my Wranglers and hand me down T-shirts long ago. I still had Wranglers and T-shirts (who doesn’t in Levan?) but they weren’t my preference.
“My grandma wears a skirt every day too….but, yeah. You might want to bring some jeans, unless you have a big long pioneer skirt you like riding a horse in,” he teased. He said goodnight and slipped quietly out the door, and I heard the truck start up and drive away.
I sped up the stairs and started throwing stuff in my suitcase. It was almost ten o’clock. I would never be able to sleep. My heart thudded in anticipation.
Oratorio
I slept restlessly, getting up to repack my bag several times. I had never been on an Indian reservation. I had no idea what I would need. I woke up before the alarm and laid there feeling tired and wishing I hadn’t agreed to go, wondering what had initiated such a bone-headed move. Actually, I knew why I was going. If I was being honest with myself it was strictly to spend time with Samuel, which again was completely moronic. Samuel would leave again. Soon. And I would be back here again. Soon.
I threw off my covers and showered, trying to get the sleep-deprived, hairy eyeball feeling to retreat. I was ready before Samuel got there and sat on the front porch waiting with Yazzie. He laid his big head in my lap and looked at me with mournful eyes. He knew I was going and that he wasn’t coming with me. Samuel had called after he left the night before and said Nettie would come and feed the chickens and look after Yazzie. It embarrassed me a little that she knew I was going with him, although I appreciated him making arrangements for Yazzie. I wonder what she thought of his invitation. I really didn’t want to know. I hoped she would be quiet about it, but figured the entire town would know shortly. Maybe when I got back it would be old news. I sighed gustily, knowing that I was going to get curious looks for a long time for this little “adventure” Samuel had planned.
Samuel pulled up promptly at six, and my heart sped up like a silly girl when he shut off his truck and stepped out, a small smile playing around his lips.
“Ready?”
I gave Yazzie a hug and a nuzzle and stepped off the porch with my bag. I may not have known exactly what to pack, but I knew enough to realize that showing up at Stella Yazzie’s hogan with a huge trunk full of clothes and toiletries would be all wrong. I’d packed as light as I possibly could.
Samuel looked at my duffle approvingly and took it from me as he eyed my worn Levi’s. I’d dressed them up a little with a gauzy white tunic and hoop earrings. I just couldn’t rough it completely. I had on a pair of sandals, too. I put my old boots behind the front seat of his truck, knowing I would need them once we got there.
“Yep, all girl,” Samuel smirked.
“Hey, I can ride a horse, muck out the stalls, milk a cow and fight off ornery chickens, Mister,” I said tartly. “I just like dressing like a girl. I spent too many years wearing my brothers’ old clothes. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No ma’am. I definitely don’t have a problem with the way you look,” Samuel replied, all signs of teasing gone from his voice.
I swallowed hard and tried not to smile.
Samuel had gassed up the truck before he’d come for me, and there was a Diet Coke in the cup holder waiting for me, as well as a heavenly smell coming from a brown bag sitting on the seat.
“Sweaty Betty’s cinnamon rolls!” I squeaked, recognizing the aroma.
“What did you just call her?” Samuel raised his eyebrows as he slammed his door and started up the truck.
I filled him in on Betty’s unfortunate nickname as I happily munched on the warm, sticky piece of paradise.
“I wish I had known her nickname before I inhaled three of those rolls.” Samuel shuddered in mock horror.
“If you’ve lost your appetite I still have room for this last one,” I supplied, licking my fingers. “Say what you want about Levan, but it definitely has its perks. Sweaty Betty’s cooking is one of them, sweat and all.”
“Honestly, I have nothing but good things to say about Levan.” Samuel rested his forearms against the steering wheel, settling in for the long drive.
“Really?” I was a little surprised. I remembered how his grandmother’s words at my kitchen table so many years ago had left a different impression. “Do you think you would ever want to live here?” As soon as the words left my mouth I viciously regretted them, realizing how eager and desperate I must seem, like a woman who was already making wedding plans and looking at houses. I hadn’t meant it like that.
Samuel stared out his window for a minute and then looked at me soberly, his eyebrows drawn down in a slight V.
“No Josie. I don’t think I’d want to live here,” Samuel said softly.