“I guess you didn’t.”
Time for a subject change.
“Look. There’s Abby waiting for us on the steps.” Emory hurried to embrace her.
“I ran into Gwen after dropping Phillip at the nursery,” Abby said. “She said if I saw the two of you, to tell you there’s Sunday night supper tonight.”
“About time!” Christian said. “We haven’t done that since wedding season started.”
Occasionally, when it was a light weekend and they didn’t have an event going on until midweek—like this week—Gwen cooked a big meal on Sunday night and gathered everyone around the big Beauford Bend dining table.
No doubt the Lord of the Manor would occupy the place at the head of the table tonight.
Emory wondered where her place at the table would be.
• • •
Christian and Abby stopped to talk to Neyland, who was seated with her family, but Emory slid into their usual pew where Dirk was already seated.
Dirk gave her a sidelong glance. “Sleep well last night?”
Damn. She had hoped Gwen had missed that Jackson wasn’t the only who had slept on the sofa.
“Your wife talks too much.”
“Don’t criticize my wife.” He waved to Christian and Abby as they took their seats beside Emory.
Then the organ began to play and the acolytes marched in followed by Pastor Tim. The choir, including Gwen, filed into the choir loft. Emory scanned quickly. No Jackson.
“He’s in the robing room waiting to make his big entrance,” Dirk whispered.
Caught. “Who?” She tried to make an innocent face.
Dirk just shook his head and gave her a knowing look.
The service progressed—prayers, hymns, the children’s moment.
Finally, Pastor Tim announced the anthem.
“Trite though the phrase may be,” he said, “our soloist today truly needs no introduction.”
And Jackson stepped through the door to the left of the choir loft and made his way to the microphone beside the piano.
An audible gasp emitted from the congregation and Jackson smiled. It wasn’t the stage smile, the sarcastic grin, or the one that had a little sadness etched in the corners of his mouth. No. He smiled like he was happy to be seeing old friends he hadn’t seen in a long time. Emory was happy for him. Of course there were people in this church and in this town who he’d known all his life. If he did, indeed, stay in town, he would eventually reconnect with those people. Then he wouldn’t need her companionship anymore.
Just when she was getting used to it.
He nodded to the pianist and when the music began to play, the smile disappeared and he closed his eyes.
Suddenly, she became anxious for him, which was ridiculous. He’d played arenas that held thousands of people. Singing one song before this congregation would be easier for him than planning a birthday party for a five-year-old would be for her.
Still, she didn’t breathe easily until he began to sing.
Because of love
He’ll lift me up.
Because of love
He’ll help me stand.
And if at times He has to let me fall, it’s all
Because of love.
And he smiled a smile so radiant and pure that her heart turned to warm butterscotch syrup. Amelia had always said that the twins looked like angels, but in that moment, in his silvery white choir robe, no one could have looked more angelic than Jackson Beauford. He continued to sing.
I’ve been weary
I’ve felt forsaken
I’ve had troubles that were all of my own making.
But He’s there, with love beyond compare, to
Always lift me up.
He stepped back a bit from the microphone when the choir joined in on the chorus.
Because of love
He’ll lift me up.
Because of love
He’ll help me stand.
And if at times He has to let me fall, it’s all
Because of love.
He looked so serene for the rest of the hymn, as he sang the verses alone and the choir joined in for the chorus. Was it possible that he actually felt that serenity?
I’ve been hopeless
I’ve felt despair
I’ve lost my faith and my capacity to care
But I can prevail because He won’t fail to
Always lift me up.
Because of love
He’ll lift me up.
Because of love
He’ll help me stand.
And if at times He has to let me fall, it’s all
Because of love.
So if you’re helpless
If you feel afraid
If you’re in need of some love, comfort, and aid
If you ask, He’ll be steadfast to
Always lift you up.
Because of love
He’ll lift you up.
Because of love
He’ll help you stand.
And if at times He has to let you fall, it’s all
Because of love.
Because of His amazing love.
It was not until Jackson met her eyes at the beginning of the second to last line that Emory realized he had not looked at her at all until then—not that she would have expected him to. When his smile widened on the word love, she knew that smile was just for her. Her gut turned over and her hair stood on end.
Ridiculous! He was singing about God’s love—not romantic love. And even if he had been, he wouldn’t have been singing about her. This wasn’t like her, and she had to stop it now. But maybe there was nothing to stop. Probably, her reaction could be attributed to the emotional roller coaster she’d just ridden and her gratitude to Jackson for his help and care.
When the music ended, the congregation remained completely quiet, as if they had just witnessed something great. And hadn’t they? Hadn’t she?
Jackson delivered a little piece of heaven everywhere he went.
Chapter Twenty
From where he sat at the head, Jackson surveyed the people gathered around the big dining table. He’d never gotten used to sitting in this spot, though Aunt Amelia had moved him here the first time they’d eaten in this room after burying half the family. They had always taken most of their meals in the family wing around a big round table, but on Sundays and holidays, they ate in the original formal dining room.
“You can,” she’d said to him that Sunday when he’d told her he couldn’t sit in his father’s chair. “You have to. Just like I have to go sit at the foot of the table. If we don’t act like a family, pretty soon we won’t be.”
So he’d put his twelve-year-old self in a chair that wasn’t his then and wasn’t his to this day. Tonight, the chair at the foot of the table that would have belonged to the hostess of the house if there had been one, had been moved to make room for two highchairs. Gwen and Abby sat across from each other beside their babies, spooning some kind of nasty slop into Carter’s and Phillip’s mouths. He remembered another hand bringing a silver baby spoon to another mouth and he looked away.
“Who needs more iced tea?” Emory asked from where she sat directly to his right. He’d pulled out the chair and put her there himself. She started to rise.
“Keep your seat, Emory.” Sammy jumped up from his plateful of fried chicken, stewed squash, creamed corn, and sliced tomatoes. “I’ll get it.” He headed to the sideboard where the full tea pitchers sat.
Sammy made the rounds, pouring the same way Amelia had taught Jackson and his brothers, with a cloth napkin at the ready in case there was a drip.
“This is a mighty fine meal, Gwen.” Jackson spoke the same words his father had always uttered a few minutes into a meal, though Jackson would never sound as cultured, as educated.
“Thank you, Jackson,” she said. “It’s your reward for singing today.” She spooned more green goo into Carter’s mouth and then took a bite of her own food. How did she do
that?
“If I’d have known I’d get a meal like this, surrounded by all these beautiful women, I’d have sung sooner.” He acknowledged Gwen, Abby, Christian, Neyland, and Ginger by briefly meeting their eyes. Then he let his eyes settle into Emory’s for a longer look.
“The table is really beautiful tonight,” Neyland said.
Was it? Yeah. He supposed so. There was a highway of green stuff paving its way down the middle with some flowers thrown in this way and that. There were so many old dishes and glasses in this house from so many generations of Beauford brides that he couldn’t have kept up with them, even if he’d been interested. The dishes tonight had a lot of gold on them—which meant they couldn’t go in the dishwasher. He knew all about that from his dishwashing days.
“What’s with having everything all fancied up?” Dirk was cutting up bites of chicken for Julie. “We usually eat off plain white plates.”
“I think it looks nice,” Gwen said. “Emory did it.”
“It was nothing.” Her cheeks turned pink. “I just salvaged a few flowers from the party last night.” She looked at her plate, embarrassed.
Then it hit him. She’d made the table look nice for him and the best thing he could do was keep quiet because it would embarrass her even more if he mentioned it in front of the others.
“I’m not going to have to wash all these dishes, am I?” he asked and that got a laugh from the whole table. Her embarrassment forgotten, Emory looked up and joined in. “You laugh.” He raised his tea glass. “Go ahead. But there was a time when I did a lot of dishwashing. I’m not too good.”
“No?” Gwen said. “We might just let you prove that tonight.”
“I’ll do the dishes!” Sammy said quickly.
“And that,” Jackson said, “is why Sammy is my main man.”
• • •
After serving the strawberry shortcake, Emory slipped back into the chair that Jackson held for her. Christian made her way around the table pouring coffee and Sammy came in with the sugar and cream.
“Is that regular cream, Sammy?” Jackson asked.
“Half and half. Organic. That’s all Gwen gets.” Sammy set it on the table at Jackson’s place. “Do you want some? I thought you drank yours black.”
“I do and I’ll pass this around. But will you go out to the kitchen and see if there’s any of that sissy, flavored-up stuff for Emory?”
And she turned to mush. He remembered. She shouldn’t like being mush but it felt so good.
“Oh, Sammy, that’s not necessary,” she protested.
“Yes it is,” Jackson said. “I decide what’s necessary around here and I say it’s necessary for you to have what you like.”
Careful what you wish for. Christian shot her a told you so look.
Jackson dug into his strawberry shortcake. “I just ate like a field hand at noon with no supper in sight, but I can’t turn this down. It looks great, Gwen.”
“Thank you. If it’s good, it’s just because I know where to get the best strawberries. I hope they hold out for a while longer. Gabe loves strawberries. I’d like to make this again for him when he comes home for the concert.”
“Don’t waste it on him, or any of those high-class ingredients you set such store by,” Jackson said. “He’d be just as happy with pork rind shortcake made with mayonnaise and Ritz crackers.”
“Hey!” Dirk said. “Pork rinds have their charm—and that doesn’t sound too bad.”
Gwen reached across Julie to swat at Dirk. “I’ll remember that next time I don’t want to cook.”
Emory smiled a thank you to Sammy when he set the small cream pitcher by her cup. For the moment, things were pleasant. The meal had vacillated between relaxed and tension-filled—thanks to Ginger’s relentless nagging of Jackson. She might have good intentions but she never gave herself or anyone else a break from her ultimate goal of Making Jackson’s Life Better.
And, heaven help them all, she was about to speak again. You could always tell when Ginger was about to further her mission because she squared her shoulders, leaned forward, and narrowed her eyes.
“I haven’t seen you eat sweets since you ate all that blackberry cobbler when we were in Merritt, Alabama, for that celebrity golf tournament. You said you felt sluggish for a week.”
This time Jackson didn’t let it get under his skin. He just smiled and shoved another spoonful of cake and whipped cream into his mouth. “And my cousin’s cobbler was entirely worth a sugar hangover, as is anything Gwen makes.”
“Maybe not pork rind shortcake,” Emory said. Everyone laughed. Jackson shot her a grateful look. Maybe he was a better actor than she gave him credit for.
Ginger was at it again—squaring her shoulders and all the rest. Emory tried to catch her eye, but Ginger was having none of it. Emory wondered what would happen if she picked up her iced tea glass and dumped the melting mess on Ginger’s head.
But wait. Was she any better? Was wanting to rescue Jackson from Ginger any better than Ginger trying to herd Jackson in the direction she thought he needed to go? Maybe he inspired the women around him to try to rescue him.
“Jackson, about the Opry. They called again. As a member you know you are expected—”
“Julie, what’s that song you’re singing?” Jackson said.
Gwen and Dirk’s little girl looked up the table at Jackson and put her hands over her face. Then she peeped through her fingers and smiled.
Jackson laughed. “I see you! What was your song?”
Julie widened her brown eyes. “Old MacDonald.”
“Yeah? I know that one. Come sing it with me.” He held out his arms to her.
Not gonna happen, Mr. Hall of Fame. That’s a girl who kowtows to no man. Julie was a shy, sweet child, who often spoke in a whisper and hid behind the legs of her trusted adults. As far as Emory knew, Jackson had paid no attention to the child since he’d been here. No way would she go to him.
“But I can’t remember how the duck goes,” Jackson said.
“A quack, quack here!”
“That’s it! I am so dumb!” Jackson smacked his forehead.
After a brief look at Dirk for permission, Julie jumped from her chair and flew into Jackson’s arms; then he picked her up and began to dance around while singing the children’s song.
Another one bites the dust. Welcome to the club, Julie. No doubt it’s a big one, Emory thought. Not that she was a member; she just knew them when she saw them.
“Here an oink, there an oink, everywhere an oink oink,” Jackson and Julie sang together.
Gwen and Dirk exchanged looks and smiled. Emory knew they believed that Jackson kept his distance from their children because they reminded him of his little sister. Gwen had confided to Emory that she hoped it would change when the children got past the baby stage. Now, Julie was a year older than Camille had been when she died, and maybe, tonight, Jackson had looked up and noticed that.
Or maybe he just needed to avoid Ginger’s haranguing that bad.
Still, it was impossible to watch him and not feel the sweetness. He might have needed the distraction but he’d had it now and didn’t need to go into “The Wheels on the Bus.” But he did. All of a sudden, she wanted to sleep with him.
The future be damned. The past be damned. She wouldn’t be able to do it, of course—even if he wanted to and that was no guarantee no matter what he’d said. What Jackson wanted last week, last night, today, didn’t necessarily have anything to do with right now. But it was all academic anyway—though the want was there and that was something, something big and something he had given her.
He was twirling Julie around now, still singing, and Emory was overcome with the desire to kiss the back of his neck. It would be warm and muscular and taste a little salty. She picked up her coffee and took a gulp. What was wrong with her?
Maybe nothing was wrong; maybe this was good. It would never be Jackson, but was this a sign that she could recover? That she might some day be able
to have a normal relationship with someone else?
Trouble was, she didn’t want to kiss the back of another neck. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. She wasn’t sure how long she sat like that before she became aware of the sounds of a party breaking up around her.
Phillip had started to cry and Abby was saying something about hating to eat and run but that she needed to get him home. Ginger pleasantly thanked Gwen for the meal and said she had been on her leg too much today, that she was going to take a pain pill and go to bed. Dirk extracted a reluctant Julie from Jackson and was talking about baths and bedtime. Sammy, Neyland, and Christian assured Gwen they would clean up and urged her to go home.
Emory got up and began to gather dishes.
“No,” Christian said. “We’ve got this, Emory. Go.”
Emory hesitated.
“I’ll walk you,” Jackson said, taking her arm. In spite of herself, Emory’s heart took a little flight. Should she ask him in? Maybe suggest they watch the movie they’d missed last night? Or would that be forward and misleading?
Maybe he would kiss her. Maybe she could kiss the back of his neck.
Stop it! Dear God, she was going crazy.
“What a night,” he said as they moved in the moonlight toward the carriage house.
“Good food,” she said.
“Good food, bad Ginger.” He laughed a sardonic little laugh.
“She does want the best for you,” Emory said grudgingly. “I’ve seen that, though I didn’t think so at first.”
“She does,” he agreed. “Just like a bulldozer wants the best for a road.”
“You could send her away. Don’t deny it.”
“I could.” He sighed. “But even though it looks like this concert is going to happen with or without me, it would be hard for it to happen without her.”
“So, which is it?” she asked. “With or without you? You were great in church this morning.”
“Thanks.” He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “I don’t know yet. I might. I have something else I need to do before I decide.”
She almost asked what that was, but something in his tone said he didn’t want to say. Instead she said, “I hope you do it,” as the stepped up on the porch.
Nashville Nights Page 17