Chapel of Ease

by Alex Bledsoe

  He shrugged and put down his pen. “Sure.”

  “The play is about a ruined church. A chapel of ease. Do you know about it?”

  “I know what one is.”

  “Did you know there’s one here?”

  He looked dubious. “A church? In Cloud County?”

  “It’s there. I saw it a couple of hours ago.”

  “Where?”

  “Beats me. C.C. took me there. It was on land owned by the Durant family.”

  “Ah, that explains it. Most people wouldn’t go near their place. You know those old stories about revenuers who went up into the hills and never came out? The Durants may have invented that.”

  I did know about revenuers, but only from the play. “Well, I saw the actual church Ray wrote the story about.”

  “What is the story? Oh, and can this be back on the record?”

  “Sure. Sometime during the Civil War, a couple named Byrda and Shad were in love, but he went off to fight. His best friend stuck around. When Shad came back, he asked Byrda to marry him, and she agreed, but something had happened while he was gone. She buried something in the floor of the chapel, and then Shad was killed by his best friend, who was actually in love with him.”

  Swayback’s eyebrows rose. “In love with him?”

  “They had gay people back then, you know.”

  “Well, yeah, I mean, it’s just … a surprise.”

  I could tell what he wanted to ask. “Ray wasn’t gay.”

  “I never thought he was.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “No, but that sort of thing … Well, there aren’t a lot of secrets around here. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

  I wondered how many knew about C.C. “And they don’t approve?”

  “They don’t care either way. It might not look that way from the outside, what with everyone having the same hair and everything, but this is a whole culture of iconoclasts. The rule is, mind your own business and let the other fella do his thing. Even,” he said with a wry little smile, “if that thing is other fellas.”

  “Really?” I said, and made no effort to hide my dubiousness. I’d just that very morning heard the Durants call C.C. and me faggots.

  “I know what you’re thinking. And of course, there are some people here who have issues with it. But I think you’ll find for the most part that the Tufa, certainly the ones that came to Rayford’s wake, believe in letting people be who they are.”

  I remembered C.C.’s “other side” comment, but decided to let it drop; after all, I’d be leaving in two days. I said, “Is there more you wanted to know about Ray?”

  “Actually, yes. What do you think Rayford Parrish was trying to say with his play?”

  This was the sort of question I might get asked about any show, and I knew just how to respond, since Neil had given us “approved verbiage” for just this sort of thing. “That depends on the playgoer. We all imagine something different buried in the chapel, and what we imagine determines what the play means.”

  He looked at me with another sly smile. “That’s a canned answer, isn’t it?”

  “Well, you asked a clichéd question.”

  “Fair enough. How about this one: What’s your favorite memory of Rayford?”

  That one took me aback. I thought about our coffee dates, our lunches, the times he’d joked, a bit cruelly but never maliciously, about some of the other actors. He’d told me things about Emily that would make her turn so red, we’d see the glow from here. And yet …

  “I think it was the first time I met him. I came in for an audition, and I already knew the director, but I’d never met Ray before. He played piano while I sang, which is kind of unusual for the composer to do. And when he played, there was just this immediate connection. Like he somehow knew exactly what I was going to do with my voice, and exactly how best to support it. Does that make sense?”

  Don smiled, that same damn secretive, knowing little grin I’d started to notice on a lot of Tufa faces. “That makes perfect sense. You know, I’m only part Tufa, and for a long time I didn’t acknowledge it. Then one day, I pulled my old guitar out of the closet, and it was like … coming home. The music was the only way I could really be myself. I’m sure Rayford felt that way, too, and that he really enjoyed sharing it with you.” He paused, then asked, “So do you think the show will be successful?”

  “Well, the reviews are spectacular.”

  “Reviews? I thought it hadn’t opened yet.”

  “We did the press preview the night before Ray died.”

  “Did he see it?”

  “Yes. He died later that night.”

  He let out a low whistle. “Ain’t that some irony.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But how do you feel about it? Especially now, without Ray there?”

  Boy, this guy was good. Carefully, I said, “It really means a lot to me. Singing his songs means a lot, too. Watching how they work on people. Almost like—” I stopped before I said “magic,” realizing how lame it would sound.

  Don closed his notebook. “Don’t be afraid of saying what you know is true,” he said. “Especially around here. Nobody’ll laugh at you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Oh, and C.C.? He’s a good guy. Better than most, in fact. Anything he tells you, you can believe.”

  I glanced at his hand; he wore a wedding band. He also seemed very familiar with Thorn, which I knew wasn’t mutually exclusive with the ring. But now he spoke about C.C. as if he was very familiar with him as well. Was it the same kind of familiarity, or just the friendship bred of being from the same isolated little town? Or was my big-city cynicism, so used to seeing sexual indiscretions everywhere, simply imagining things?

  He said, “Do you mind if I take your picture for the article?”

  “Sure. Where do you want to do it?”

  He looked around. “Eh, this’ll do.” He took out his camera and stepped back, looking for the proper framing. He took three quick shots, then reviewed them. “Huh,” he said.

  “Did I blink?”

  “No, just … well, look.”

  He brought the camera over. On one of the three frames, there was a blur behind me that looked for all the world as if someone standing there had started to move just as the shot was taken.

  “Digital,” he said, as if that explained everything. “Never had these problems when we shot on film.”

  I followed him outside. Thorn and Ladonna were gone. C.C. sat on the open tailgate of his truck, casual as a model in a cigarette ad. Gerald stood beside him, and they stopped talking as the reporter and I approached.

  “Get all you need?” Gerald asked Swayback.

  “Got plenty. It’ll make a good story. Thank you, Gerald, and again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Appreciate it, Don.”

  “I’ll send you some extra copies when the issue runs.”

  We waved as he drove off. “Nice guy,” Gerald said. “Real nice guy.”

  C.C. climbed down from the tailgate. “Ready to go into town?”

  “What you need in town?” Gerald said.

  “A cell phone signal,” I said.

  “You welcome to use our phone.”

  “I appreciate that, but I have so many minutes paid for, I hate to waste them.”

  “Well, if you get stuck, feel free.”

  As we pulled out onto the road, C.C. took my hand again, and this time he didn’t let go. I could see him smiling as he drove.

  “How’d it go?” he asked at last.

  “Fine. I’ve done enough interviews, I know how to do them pretty painlessly.”

  “What did he ask about?”

  “Mainly Ray in New York. I guess he knows all about Ray here. Lots about the show.”

  “Did you tell him about the chapel?”

  “That we went to it? Yeah. Why? Should I have kept it a secret?”

  C.C. thought for a moment, then said, “No, I don’
t suppose it makes any difference. It’s not like the Durants read the paper.”

  16

  I got three bars, the best reception I’d had since we left Nashville.

  I stood outside and dialed Neil’s number while C.C. went into the Fast Grab convenience store. Neil answered and said, “Hey, Matt. Tried to call you a half a dozen times. How’s the trip going?”

  “It’s been eventful. I don’t get any reception at Ray’s parents’ house, or many other spots up in these hills. How are things there?”

  “Our run is entirely sold out, and we’re adding two more weeks. And there’s already talk about moving to Broadway. Marketing-wise, this was genius. It’s just hard not to think of it as some kind of blood money.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said sadly.

  “How was the memorial service?”

  “It was basically a party. Lots of music. I sang ‘The Chapel Song’ for them, and they loved it.”

  “They’re not mad because Ray’s talking about them? He was always worried about that.”

  “No, they’re not. They’re a little perplexed by the fuss, but that’s all.”

  “That makes me feel a little better.”

  A big truck rattled by, and the woman in the passenger seat looked at me. Her meaty arm blocked the lower half of her face, but her eyes almost gleamed with intensity. Was it because I was so obviously a stranger? Or was she a friend of the Durants, about to call them and tell them I was in town?

  I shook my head to get rid of my paranoia. I’d seen way too many movies with dangerous country bumpkins. This wasn’t Wrong Turn; not every small town in the South was a hotbed of danger, right?

  “I just sent you some pictures of the real chapel of ease, too,” I told Neil. “It’s amazing how close our set is to it.”

  “Thanks. I’ll look at them when we get off the phone. See if there’s anything we want to add to our set. So what was buried there?”

  “Well, I didn’t…,” I trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.

  “You’re kidding me,” Neil said in his icy scolding voice. “You went all that way, you were actually there, and you didn’t dig to see what it was?”

  I didn’t want to tell him about the Durants, since he’d warned me about that very thing. “It wasn’t exactly the right time.”

  “Uh-huh. After all that shit you and the rest of the cast kicked up about, ‘Oh, we have to know the secret, we can’t possibly act it if we don’t know,’ you didn’t find out?”

  “It’s on private property, Neil,” I said defensively.

  “And that’s what stopped you? Look, you dig it up, see what it is, take some pictures, put it back, and fill in the hole. No harm, no foul.”

  “It wasn’t a good time.”

  “Right. Well, you’ve got, what, two and a half more days? I expect an answer by then. Seriously, Matt. It was you and the rest of the cast who made this an issue; they’ll rip you apart if you come back without it. When they’re not moaning about Ray’s death, it’s all they talk about.”

  His tone had gotten harsher and was starting to piss me off. I said, “I thought I was here to represent the cast at the funeral.”

  “You did that. Now you have another job.”

  “I’ll do the best I can, Neil. Tell everyone I said hello.”

  I hung up before he could say anything else. It was rude, but not as rude as I wanted to be. Then I dialed Joaquim. When I got his voice mail, I said, “Hey. Just checking in. Everything’s fine here. I’ll try again the next time I’m somewhere I get a signal.” I started to mention that he’d sent me the wrong text, but I assumed he knew that by now. I’d have that scene to play out when I got back home, but it was probably for the best.

  Through the glass front of the Fast Grab, I watched C.C. talk to the girl behind the counter. Yes, breaking up with Joaquim would definitely be for the best.

  Finally, I called Emily. “Hello?” she said. She sounded tired and slurry.

  “Hey, Em. It’s Matt.”

  “Oh, hey,” she said, and perked up a little. “I didn’t look at the phone first. Are you still down with Ray’s parents?”

  “Yeah, for a couple of more days. How are you?”

  “Mostly sober, which is a change. The only way I can sleep is without dreams, and the only way to kill the dreams is to kill a bottle of wine first. But I can’t do that forever, can I?”

  “You getting out any?”

  “A little. I have an audition later that I suppose I’ll go to. I don’t really care if I get the part or not.”

  That didn’t sound like Emily at all. Ray’s death must have hit her even harder than I’d thought. “Then you’ll probably get it without a callback,” I said, trying to sound light. “Isn’t that always the way?”

  “I keep hearing his voice, Matt. I’ll be about to drift off to sleep, and I’ll hear him singing, just softly and right out of range so I can’t quite catch the words. But I know the tune, it’s songs from the show, he used to sing them all the time when he was working on them.” She paused, and I’d never heard her voice sound so vulnerable as when she said, “Do you believe in ghosts, Matt?”

  “I don’t know, Emily. But if you’ve been drinking as much as you said—”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve also been going through his files. I haven’t found it.”

  “Found what?”

  “What’s buried in the chapel.”

  So I wasn’t the only one nursing this particular compulsion. “Maybe you should stop looking for a while.”

  “But it’s got to be there. He wrote so many songs, Matt, and kept so many notes. Ideas, lines, melodies … reading through all of it is like crawling into his head. Except he can’t hear me.”

  I was really concerned now, and tried unsuccessfully to remember the names of any of Emily’s other friends, someone who might be physically present and could watch out for her. “Go to the audition. Go out to eat afterwards. Maybe go dancing. See some friends, hear some voices that aren’t ghosts. When I get back, we’ll go down to the Hamptons for the day. Sit on the beach.”

  “That sounds nice,” she said, like a child being promised a reward after the dentist.

  “I took some pictures of the actual chapel of ease. Do you want me to send them to you?”

  “Please do. It was such a special place to Ray.”

  “Okay, I’ll send them as soon as I hang up. Love you, honey.”

  “Love you, too. Be safe.”

  When she hung up, C.C. came out with a bag of chips, some dip, and a couple of sodas. We sat at the picnic table across from each other, the sun behind him so that it cast a thin halo around his unruly black hair.

  “Get ahold of your friends?” he asked.

  “I did. Ray’s girlfriend is having a rough time of it. They hadn’t been dating for long, but she’s really taking it hard.”

  He nodded as he chewed. “That happens when a non-Tufa gets involved with one of us.”

  “Oh?”

  “Especially somebody like Ray, who’s almost a pureblood. Once a girl gets a taste, it’s like she’s addicted. I knew one guy who must’ve driven half a dozen girls to suicide after he dumped them. Happens when Tufa girls date regular guys, too.”

  “And what about Tufa guys and…?”

  I was teasing, and I thought he was, too, but his look was dead serious. “The truth? I don’t know. I mean, I know there have been Tufa like … us … before, but they don’t get stories and songs sung about them. So I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you could be the first.”

  “Don’t joke. When it happens, it’s awful. I’ve seen it. It’s like a heroin addict who can’t get high no matter how much they shoot up.”

  Well, things had gotten grim fast. Then again, that accurately described the way Emily seemed to feel about Ray. When I remembered how she’d behaved that day at his apartment, it didn’t seem so far-fetched, and after talking to her just now, it occurred to me that perhaps I should watch my own
step here. I dipped a chip and said, “I need to ask you something, C.C., and I’ll understand if you want to smack me afterwards.”

  “Not much chance of that after I saw you handle those Durants.”

  “Do you think we could go back to the chapel and dig up that spot I showed you?”

  He looked at me with steady disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. I know this will sound crazy, but the entire cast of Ray’s show is obsessed by this, and if I come back without an answer, they’ll lynch me.”

  “The Durants won’t be so easy to surprise next time. They’re likely to just shoot you from the woods and be done with it.”

  “You think they’ll stake the place out?”

  “Is it really worth it just to see what’s buried in a hole?”

  “For me, yes. If you don’t want to help, I can’t blame you. But you’re the only person I know who knows where it is. I could never find it again.”

  Before he could answer, another truck pulled up beside his. A beautiful dark-haired woman was behind the wheel, and she said, “Hey, C.C.,” as she parked. After a moment she came around the two vehicles, carrying an equally dark-haired little girl less than a year old.

  “Hey, Bronwyn,” C.C. said. He held out his hand, and I thought they were going to shake, but instead he made an elaborate gesture, which she returned. I’d never seen anything like that before. “Bronwyn, this is Matt. He was Rayford’s friend in New York. Matt, this is Bronwyn Hyatt—”

  “Chess,” she corrected.

  “Sorry, Bronwyn Chess. She got married.”

  I stood for the introduction. Like C.C., the newcomer was backlit by the sun, so it wasn’t until she moved and the light fell on her face that I recognized her. I stared. “It’s you,” I said in a shocked whisper.

  “It’s me,” she said.

  “So you saw her on TV, huh?” C.C. said.

  “What?”

  “She was a war hero. Well, I guess you still are, right?”

  “I was never a hero,” she said. Her baby pulled at her hair. “Well, not until this one came along. Every day she doesn’t go for a ride in the dryer is a day I’m heroic.” She smiled. “I’m kidding, you know.”