Once There Were Sad Songs

by Velda Brotherton

  Praise for Velda Brotherton

  Winner of the 2008 Creme de la Crème

  at Oklahoma Writers Federation, Inc.

  Once There Were Sad Songs

  by

  Velda Brotherton

  A Love Story

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2013 by Velda Brotherton

  Originally published by Wild Rose Press

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonEncore are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  eISBN: 9781503992566

  Cover Designer: Debbie Taylor

  This title was previously published by Wild Rose Press; this version has been reproduced from Wild Rose Press archive files.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to

  all Vietnam veterans and their families

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  A word about the author...

  Chapter One

  Ouachita State Park, Arkansas

  May, 1985

  Walking into a mountain lake seemed to Mary Elizabeth as good a way as any to begin summer vacation.

  The chilly water crawled over her knees, trickled between her thighs, caressed her waist, and fingered her breasts like a cold-hearted lover. As if she’d know about that.

  A cool evening breeze swallowed up lingering warmth from the fading sun. She shivered, hugged herself, gazed mesmerized at her skirt, floating like swirls of multi-colored clouds. Surely something extraordinary would happen any minute now. A flash of enlightenment sent by God Himself, a message offering alternate solutions. Or even that cold-hearted lover. Anything would do.

  Only silence drifted in the pine-scented spring air. Tiny minnows kissed her bare legs, nudged her to move on, complete what she’d started.

  Levelheaded schoolteachers simply did not run away from their husbands. But she didn’t want to return home to Reudell and his withered soul. Come to think of it, she didn’t know anyone who had taken their own lives. Not even when they taught sixth graders, which was a wonder, considering what teachers put up with, but that had nothing to do with this.

  After all these years of failing so miserably in a life that should have been perfect, she found herself unexpectedly contemplating the alternative. Good girls didn’t commit dreadful acts upon others or themselves, but oh, how she yearned to breathe free, or failing that, not breathe at all. Yet she’d always done what was right, best for everyone. Drowning herself was definitely not best for anyone. So what was she doing?

  A light wind breathed across the water and kissed her cheeks, carrying the smell of birthing, reminding her of that April day she’d emerged from the rain-swollen creek, born again, her spirit burned in baptismal fire. Everyone shouting “Amen” and “Praise the Lord.” Ruedell smirking at her as if to say he'd won, after all. The white robe clinging to her, outlining her breasts, while Brother Edward stared at her body and licked his slobbery lips.

  Impatient with her own meanderings, she dragged in a deep breath. She couldn’t stand here till dark, nose-deep in water, reliving the past twenty-five years. Do something. Now.

  Fingers tickled the water, rippled the butter-and-honey reflections. She could not go back. By now Reudell knew she had run, escaped his furtive, old-man clutches, and he never allowed forgiveness in his drab life.

  Fists balled at her sides, scarcely breathing, she waited for the water to go still as death. Across its surface lay jade mountains and azure skies, soaring bluffs and a streak of melon-shaded clouds. On the far side of the lake not even a fisherman’s shiny silver lure cut the purple shadows along the shoreline. No boats, no birds, no humans. As if the world had ended and she’d been left behind to deal with the remnants as best she could.

  From out of that hollow knell of silence, someone coughed, men’s voices hummed in lazy conversation, startling her to twist her head and suck in a noseful of water. She gagged and spat, peered into the shadows. Tucked into a shelter of trees, one of those old, heavy, umbrella canvas tents hung from supporting ropes. No sign of anyone around. Maybe inside.

  She snorted and cleared her burning nostrils. No matter who might be there. That need not distract her.

  An odd inner calm cradled her close. Death was nothing, therefore it shouldn’t be feared. Leaving life, such as it was, is what bothered her. Might be interesting to know how some things turned out.

  Ah, well, never mind. Another step, then another, the bottom, sloping steeply underfoot, turning to slick mud that gushed between her toes, dropped sharply and suddenly—before she could make a final decision, one was made for her.

  Crying out in surprise, she slipped beneath the surface, hung there a moment staring into the cloudy water, curious what the God she doubted with such ferocity had in mind for her this time. Considering his sense of humor, this could be intriguing.

  ****

  Hunched forward, Steven moved through the door of the tent, straightened, and gazed across the lake. The damndest thing. One minute a woman stood there in water up to her neck, the next she was gone, leaving only the slightest ripple over the slick surface. Might've been one of his flashbacks, just not so violent. That’s why it took him a while to respond. Was what he saw real or conjured by the wreckage of his brain?

  On the off chance that a woman was drowning, he ran, stripping off the sweaty T-shirt, kicking free of the rubber sandals, and diving into the water. Like one of those damned lifeguards you saw on TV. Hell, he might look almost like he knew what he was doing.

  Reaching the spot where she’d sunk out of sight, he nosed under, feet kicking toward the dusky sky. In the murky water, scarcely lit by the dying sun, shades of a muted blue skirt billowed like a parachute. A halo of hair, long and wavy, undulated above pale, indistinct features. Long, powerful strokes took him closer. He peered into her face. Hanging upright, eyes closed so her long lashes curled on her cheeks, she didn’t fight or kick. So eerily beautiful. So peaceful. For a moment the sight of her set his heart pounding with anticipation and desire, like a dream in which he could indulge in sexual lust without anyone getting hurt.

  Unreal. His mind flashed the message, and he thought of turning away, leaving her to whatever insane desires possessed her. For sure he’d be pissed if someone mucked up his attempt to do away with himself. She had the right, didn’t she? Didn’t everyone? Besides, maybe she was just a figment of his imagination. He let out bubbles of air, studied her a bit longer.

  A shudder rode over him, the brackish taste and gory smell of a long-ago, bloody battlefield thick in his nose and mouth, until he feared sucking in the water. No way to go, drowning. Gun in his mouth. That’s the way he’d do it. Or on the bike sailing off into nothing. Yeah, that’d be a fine and glorious way to die.

 
To hell with it. He couldn’t hang around any longer unless he was ready to make some kind of decision. Drown himself, get the woman, or simply leave her to her fate.

  Kicking hard, he hooked her under the arms and shot toward the feeble light above. Let her be mad if she had to. They’d both have to live with the consequences of his actions, but he’d sleep nights, though that wasn’t much consolation, considering the nightmares.

  Maybe she was already dead, and he’d do no real harm dragging her to shore. The first death he’d ever seen sure as hell hadn’t been the last, but he’d remember being a child staring down into Papa’s coffin long after memories of all the others came only with night sweats.

  He hung on to the woman, even though she might be dead, or maybe not real. There was every possibility that he’d come out of the water squeezing a struggling catfish and looking foolish.

  When he burst into the evening air, the woman in his arms gasped like a newborn babe taking its first breaths. Choking done, she let out a screech that nearly punctured his eardrums, then went to hammering at him with small, hard fists. Definitely not a fish.

  “Stop it, lady. Cut it out,” he yelled. One of the swings connected with his jaw, rang his chimes, and he let go, shook his head to clear it as she drifted once more beneath the surface.

  “For two cents, I’d leave you be.” He grabbed a fistful of hair and dragged her toward the shoreline, careful to keep out of the way of her flailing arms. Like some damned caveman with his mate. All he needed was a club.

  She kicked and caught him hard on one shin.

  Now she’d pissed him off. Now, by God, he was determined to save her.

  By the time his feet touched bottom, she had stopped fighting and clung to his arm to keep her head out of the water. Or maybe to keep him from snatching her baldheaded.

  Seemed she wasn’t so anxious to die after all.

  Shadow and Lefty stood on shore, cheering him on, like this was some damned football game and him the receiver hugging a larger-than-life football. Headed for the goal line. Kicking ass on all sides.

  He waded out, cargo tucked under one arm, her hanging on for dear life, digging in with both feet in an awkward attempt to take backward steps over the damp sand and keep up with his long strides.

  “Don’t bother to give me a hand,” he shouted at his buddies.

  “Looks like you-all handling it by you self,” Shadow yelled. In his southern black man mode. Tomorrow or the next day, he might be an English butler or, worse yet, an Aussie nobody could understand.

  Lefty cheered, raising a hairy arm in a fisted salute.

  “Let me go,” the woman croaked, coughed up some more water, and tried to kick him.

  Safely on shore, he honored her wish and dropped her. She landed flat on her bottom with a thud, let out a grunt and encircled her head in both arms. Swirls of wet hair spread over heaving shoulders. Probably crying. Another thing women did that confused him.

  “I tell you one thing, you go back in there, I’m not coming after you,” he said down at her. “And you’re very damned welcome.”

  Shadow stood, hands on hips. Silent as his namesake. Lefty guffawed and waved his dominant hand. They called him Lefty for the most obvious of reasons, and also because his ideas were often far out in left field. Too far.

  Steven wheeled, put the woman behind him, and joined his pals.

  Couldn’t help but think of her, though. Sort of a pretty thing, wearing a dress that clung to her until he could see everything she had. Nice breasts, so you couldn’t count her rib bones, good hips, not those narrow plank-like things that were so popular now. Couldn’t see her face for all that hair, not brown like he’d thought but a deep, rich red. Or maybe the late afternoon sun set it on fire. Even if he no longer held any truck with women, he still noticed their looks. Be a fool not to. Funny how a thing like that stays with a man. Long after he loses all desire to put his mouth to a woman’s breast, he can’t help but look, and remember how they taste.

  His johnson rose up against the fly of the chopped-off jeans. The urge felt good, though it would come to nothing. Lust with no follow-through. Unwelcome sexual fantasies always caused his body to make promises it couldn’t keep. He drew in a ragged breath and turned away from his friends so they wouldn’t see his hard-on. Didn’t look again at the woman who had gone strangely quiet. Picked up his shoes and shirt and walked barefoot back toward the campsite.

  Stupid to expect her to say anything to him. He’d only saved her life. And maybe that’d been a mistake. Hell, he wouldn’t want anyone saving his, when he finally got the guts to offer it to the demons who crouched over yonder beyond that far hill, waiting.

  ****

  Mary Elizabeth remained sprawled in the sand, peeking through tangles of hair toward the three men who’d left her lying on the beach. Most especially the one who had pulled her from the lake’s embrace. The hardened body and soft skin, a husky, weary voice that both intrigued and frightened her, disturbed a latent yearning she didn’t care to contemplate. He had a head of hair that would be the envy of any woman. Blond coils escaped from a thick braid that hung nearly to his waist. Blue eyes flashed ice and fire, revealing a glimpse of something haunting, bewitching, terrible beyond measure. Beneath a golden stubble of several days’ beard, the lines of his face were sharp, as if sketched in quick strokes by an artist with a hunk of charcoal. Left unfinished. Made him look hungry... starved. Delicate ears framed a deep dimple in each cheek. For all his shabbiness, he was stunningly handsome, with a body just muscular enough to be enticing. A man she might have once fantasized about, a long time ago, before she realized that dreams and reality were never one and the same. And in the end, wasn’t that a good thing?

  So how in the world had she noticed so much about her rescuer? And why had she bothered? Angry with herself, she fetched the wet sneakers and crammed them on, not bothering to tie the laces before stumbling to her feet. The soaked fabric of her dress hung in heavy folds, clinging to her hips and thighs. Bet those three guys were having a good time. She wanted to shout at them to enjoy the view or something smart-alecky, but her throat ached from swallowing lake water, and so she settled for grumbling the words to herself.

  Damn him, she hadn’t actually intended to take her own life, sure hadn’t needed rescuing. It was just that the tranquility had been so enticing. This bum or hippie or whatever had to come along and disturb her, when all she’d wanted was to float there a while, see what true serenity was like. Tempt the dreadful God of her past. Typical of him not to want her. No doubt he’d wait till she wasn’t looking.

  Who was she fooling? She had no idea what she really wanted, figured life was a crapshoot anyway, so why bother?

  Within the ominous shadows that gathered around the tacky tent, a fire flickered. Welcomed the three scruffy men, their shouts and laughter ripping at the quiet. Shaking free of the visions her mind conjured, she went finally to her own campsite, where the Coleman lantern burned a cheerful circle of light in the growing darkness.

  As casually as if she hadn’t almost drowned, she stored the reckless act with other foolish memories and heated a pot of water for tea. Perhaps the entire scene hadn’t happened, and she had merely sat on the shore daydreaming what she might do if she had the courage. And who might come along to stop her. Fantasizing such scenes had become a part of her life recently. She’d never been brave enough for reality, had always taken the easy way out of everything, and settled for imagining what excitement was missing from her drab life.

  Until yesterday, when she’d finally driven away from the school where she’d taught all her adult life. Gone home for the last time, loaded the car with hidden treasures cached in the barn over the long winter months. This tent and lantern, cookstove, bedrolls, camp box, jeans and pullover shirts, sneakers, even a few pairs of shorts and skimpy tops. Clothing alien to what she normally wore at work and at home. Like nothing she’d ever owned in her entire life. All carefully hidden from Reudell and stowed in
the car while he worked in the fields. Back-bending, hard, tedious work. So like the man himself.

  Coming in weary, he would find no wife, no hot meal, only emptiness and unexplained silence. And lying on the table, the brief note and her ring mocking him and what he stood for.

  Shame on you, Mary Elizabeth. Go down on your knees this instant and ask for forgiveness, then pack up and go home where you belong.

  How awfully tempting to once again do what was right, but she refused. Had to have just one summer all her own. Then maybe she’d go home. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she wasn’t brave at all but still a coward, running away from a bad situation rather than facing it and doing something about it. Reudell did not believe in divorce, so how could she dare do such a thing? ’Course, he didn’t believe in women taking matters in their own hands, either. Guess she’d shown him.

  At forty-four, had she finally summoned enough courage to change things before it was too late to matter much one way or the other? If this was a midlife crisis, then so be it. She would spend the summer camping and traveling, thinking about her past life and what the future might hold.

  A furtive glance toward the nearby campfire revealed dark shadows humped around it. Rising in the soft, warm air, strains of a song she couldn’t quite place. She wanted to join them, sing along with their poignant music. Sit with them and stare into the flames while they talked of foolish things. Of cabbages and kings?

  Mary Elizabeth, you need a keeper. Shivers rode through her with the unspoken words.

  How dangerous this was, coming out here alone. Camping in a place where her only companions were three wild men who might do anything to her. But she’d always been alone. Well, almost always. There was that brief time with Levi, so long ago that the glorious memories were filed away in the deepest recesses of her mind. Brought out occasionally to get her through another day. His urgent touch, his wild desires. His glorious youth beckoning to her own, lost somewhere along the way.