Chapel of Ease

by Alex Bledsoe

  The bad ones can do as they please.

  There were more verses, and then she finished with a blistering solo that, even on an acoustic guitar, made the room seem warmer than it had been. Thorn suddenly seemed sexy even to me; I could just imagine how she’d affect a straight listener.

  She looked up at me, and instead of the grin of smug satisfaction I expected to see after this virtuoso performance, she looked small and uncertain. “Am I as good as the people you usually see?”

  There was no denying the truth. “You’d blow most of them into the East River.”

  At last she smiled, with none of her usual mockery and sarcasm, and it was dazzling. “Back during the winter, I played with a band called Tuatha Dea when they came through. They said I was good enough to make it, too.”

  “There you go, then.”

  “So … can I come back with you? And stay with you for a while until I get on my feet?”

  I stood there speechless, not from outrage, but fighting the urge to say, “Sure!” My life was complicated enough without a straight girl roommate, especially a straight girl from the smallest town I’d ever seen, with stars in her eyes and a belief in her own specialness. Yet there I was, already thinking the word “roommate,” and envisioning us walking down Canal Street like the couple on the cover of the Once soundtrack.

  I was saved, if that’s the right word, from making a commitment by the sound of a door slamming into a wall and C.C. shouting, “Ladonna! Get help, Gerald’s been shot!”

  18

  Thorn and I rushed into the kitchen in time to see C.C. carry Gerald in through the back door and lower him gently into a chair at the table. There was blood on his left shoulder, and his face was pale and slack-jawed.

  C.C. was drenched with sweat from the effort and could barely breathe. Gerald was not a small man, and evidently C.C. had carried him quite a distance. Ladonna pushed her way past us and, with a wail, ran to Gerald. “Oh Lordy, what’s happened? C.C., what happened?”

  “Shot just … came out of … the woods,” C.C. gasped. “Didn’t see … anyone.…” But he looked right at me, and I knew exactly who’d done it.

  Ladonna pulled open Gerald’s shirt, revealing a nasty round wound, ragged in his pasty flesh. I had to look away—I had no stomach for that sort of thing. Beside me, Thorn gasped.

  Ladonna’s momentary panic changed to grim purpose. “Thorn, get on the phone and call Bliss Overbay. Then let Mandalay know what’s happened. Matt, start some water boiling. And grab C.C. a beer from the fridge, would you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Thorn and I said together.

  I filled the pot from the stove and started it boiling, handed the still-gasping C.C. a beer, and then helped Ladonna ease Gerald up onto the table. He was breathing hard, and his eyes never left his wife as he reclined, his muddy boots dangling off the end.

  I heard Thorn in the living room conversing urgently with someone. I said, “Shouldn’t we call 911?”

  “That’s who Bliss is around here,” Ladonna said. Blood pooled beneath Gerald and dripped from the table. Its metallic odor overpowered the kitchen’s normal homey smell.

  “What about the police?” I offered.

  “Time for that later. Gerald, can you hear me? Speak to me, honey. Say something.” She lightly slapped him. “Say something!”

  He coughed and said with great dignity, “What would you have me say, woman?”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “I reckon so. Did you expect it not to?” Then he coughed again, and a little spray of red stained his lips. I knew from the movies that that meant it was serious.

  The front door burst open and Bliss Overbay rushed in carrying a first aid bag. I’d heard no siren or vehicle; how had she gotten here so fast? We all stepped aside as she expertly snapped on blue latex gloves and bent over Gerald’s wound. “What the hell happened to you, old man?” she drawled with mock casualness, but her movements were all urgent business.

  “Bullet was heading south for the winter, and I got in the way,” Gerald said.

  “You sure did.” He winced as she probed at the hole. “I won’t bullshit you, Gerald, this is pretty bad. We got to get the bullet out, and I think it might’ve knocked the corner off a lung.”

  “That explains that blood I keep tasting,” he rasped. At this news, Ladonna let out a little sob, and he reached out to take her hand. “Now, you just calm down there, old woman, Bliss has got everything under control.”

  “I’ve got water boiling,” I said helpfully. They ignored me.

  Thorn grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the table. She whispered urgently, “Is there a song in your show about Daddy?”

  “I … what?”

  “In that play Rayford wrote! Did he write a song about anyone’s daddy?”

  “Well, there’s one the female lead sings about missing her father on her wedding day.”

  “Can you sing it?”

  I looked at her. There was no mistaking her urgency, or seriousness. “What good would that do?”

  “Daddy’s a Tufa,” she said, as if I were an idiot and that explained everything.

  “I’m sorry, Thorn, I’m glad to help, but—”

  “If you want to help, get your ass over there and sing that song.”

  She pushed me back toward the table. Gerald moaned and weakly squirmed as Bliss worked over the wound. C.C. sat watching, silent and distraught. Ladonna stroked Gerald’s hand.

  Thorn said, “Y’all, Matt here is going to sing for Daddy.” Then she forcefully jabbed me in the back.

  I took a deep breath. I’d never sung this number, and although I heard it almost every day, it hadn’t permeated me the way my own songs did. Still, if it would help …

  I remember how rough your hand felt on mine

  When you walked me to that old school bus

  That day I was so scared to leave home alone

  But you made sure I knew I was loved

  Now here I am, in my white dress and veil

  Beside the man I love

  But the man who first owned my heart

  Blows in the winds above.…

  I sang softly, not wanting to disturb the medical work. Bliss’s gloved hands were dark with blood now, and she worked over the wound with metal instruments I couldn’t identify. My voice wobbled a little, and I had to look away. I closed my eyes and tried to visualize the stage, Cassandra in her costume wedding dress, hands clasped and singing as the spotlight bathed her face.

  My daddy was strong, my daddy was tall

  He sang, and danced, and played

  And whenever I cried, he was there with his arms

  To drive the bad feelings away.…

  And I felt that click in my head, and heart, that said I was in the pocket. It wasn’t just about hitting the notes; it meant I’d locked into the emotion of the character singing the song. I didn’t even realize it, but I began singing in my full voice, the one that filled the Armpit to the back row, even without the microphones. I forgot the life-or-death drama playing out three feet away from me.

  And when I opened my eyes between the end of the chorus and the second verse, for an instant I swear I saw Ray standing beside his mother, one hand on his father’s forehead. He glanced up at me with that unmistakable half smile of approval, then vanished in the breath between lines.

  I’d had plenty of practice carrying on despite all sorts of distractions, from other performers passing out to audience members jumping drunkenly onstage, so the apparition didn’t trip me up. I kept singing, even though I was absolutely certain I had not imagined it.

  Bliss rose up with something small and metallic caught between the tips of her long tweezers. Blood dripped from it. C.C. held out an empty coffee cup, and it made a solid clang when it hit the bottom.

  When I finished the last chorus, a voice said at my elbow, “How is he?”

  I jumped. The young girl from the wake, Mandalay, stood beside me. She wore a tank top and cut-off shorts, and
her bare feet were dirty. I hadn’t heard her come in, and her commanding presence was totally at odds with her age.

  As if to emphasize that, Ladonna, C.C., and Bliss all paused in what they were doing to make elaborate little hand signs at her. She quickly made one in response.

  “I got the bullet out,” Bliss said. “I think he’ll be okay. It was a .220.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Size cartridge you use to hunt deer.”

  “And it ain’t deer season,” Mandalay added.

  “He was coughing up blood,” I said, trying to be helpful. “Maybe he needs to be—”

  “If Bliss says he’ll be okay, then he will,” Mandalay said. She was a tall girl, so when she looked at me, she didn’t have to turn her face upward much. But there was something in her eyes that wasn’t childish. Not at all. “I promise.”

  “Matt sang for us,” Thorn said quickly, as if to make sure the girl knew I’d helped. “One of Ray’s songs, from his play.”

  “It helped,” Bliss said. “A lot.”

  Now the girl smiled up at me, and suddenly she was a child again. “Thank you. Around here, singing the right song at the right time is a big deal.”

  “You’re welcome,” I managed to choke out. I caught C.C.’s eye, and he winked.

  What the hell is going on? I thought. First a demand that I sing, then a ghost, and now some girl acting like she had all the authority in the world. And everyone else seemed to agree with her.

  Gerald sputtered a little, then said weakly, “In case anybody’s interested, I’d like to get off this damn table. Y’all making me feel like a casserole.”

  “Keep your old ass still while I patch you up,” Bliss said.

  “Yes’m,” Gerald said, immediately cowed.

  “Thorn, get some blankets ready on the couch,” Bliss ordered. “And go rustle up a fresh shirt for your daddy. A button-up one, not a pullover.”

  Thorn left to do her assigned jobs, but I was still lost. “So … he’s not going to the hospital?”

  “No need,” Ladonna said with visible relief. “Bliss done took care of him. With your help—so thank you, son.” She patted me reverently on the shoulder, like I’d done some amazing thing.

  “What about the police?” I pressed.

  All eyes turned to Mandalay. She asked, “Who did this?”

  “The Durants,” C.C. said. “Matt and I were up on their land this morning, and Matt…” He trailed off and looked away.

  “What?” the girl prompted.

  “Well … he kicked Winslow Durant’s ass pretty good.”

  Everyone but C.C. looked at me with disbelief. Even Gerald raised his head. “I know martial arts,” I said, a little defensively.

  “Why were you up there?” Mandalay asked sternly.

  “We were just—,” C.C. started.

  “I wanted to see the chapel of ease,” I said. “Ray’s play is all about it, and I wanted to get some pictures to show the rest of the cast. We didn’t start the fight. And it wasn’t really a fight: They had guns, I just took them away. Then we left.”

  Mandalay barked out a giggle, then fought to keep her face straight. “Did you?”

  “He did,” C.C. confirmed. “Took about three seconds. They were probably aiming at me when they hit Gerald. Not that I reckon it bothered them much.”

  “That sounds likely,” Mandalay said. “I reckon I’ll need to talk to Junior, then.”

  “He already tried to tree us at the Fast Grab,” C.C. said. “So he knows all about it.”

  “I’m sure he does. Well, I’ll take it from here, and I hope it isn’t necessary to say this, but leave the Durants alone until you hear back from me.” She looked at C.C., then at me for emphasis. “Please?”

  “Sure,” C.C. said. He made another hand gesture.

  She kept looking at me, waiting for my response.

  “I don’t know your little finger-wiggles,” I said. “And not to be rude, miss, but I’m not sure exactly why this is any business of yours.”

  “You see a little girl, don’t you?”

  “Well … yeah.”

  “I understand. It’s what I see in the mirror, too. But it’s not all I am. I don’t have time to make you a believer, but I do need you to accept that I have deserved authority. Can you go along with that?”

  “Uh … sure, I guess.”

  “Then please, give me your word that you won’t go bother the Durants any more until you hear back from me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  She nodded to the rest of us, then went out the front door. When the screen slammed, I jumped, and the spell was broken. “Okay, who was that?” I asked, probably more urgently than I needed to.

  “I’ll explain later,” C.C. said. He stood up and said, “Gerald, you reckon you can walk to the couch, or do you need me to carry you?”

  “To the couch?” I exclaimed, alarmed at how high my voice went. “We should put him to bed. He needs a doctor. And we need the police. Somebody just tried to kill him.”

  “Calm down, sweetie,” Ladonna said in her kind and warm way. “I know this may seem stranger than a bull with an udder, but I promise, we know what we’re doing. Them Durants, they got their own ways up there. No police would ever find them. And there’s no police in Cloud County, anyway.” She said the last bit with a What can you do? shrug.

  “You don’t have cops,” I repeated.

  “Don’t need ’em,” Gerald said as C.C. helped him sit up. A white bandage covered his shoulder, and Bliss cut away the rest of his blood-soaked shirt. Then she fastened a sling to hold his arm in place. “Mandalay will handle it. That’s her job.”

  “She’s a kid!” I exclaimed, astounded that such an obvious thing needed to be pointed out.

  Thorn almost giggled. I glared at her. “So this is funny to you?”

  “No, not at all,” she said, still trying not to laugh. “It’s just that when you know about us, it’ll—”

  The accumulated fear, frustration, and annoyance finally burst out. “Know what? What is this great secret that everybody keeps hinting at? I see a man with a bullet hole in his shoulder who bled red just like anyone else, and you’re telling me just singing a song at him is as good as taking him to the hospital?”

  They all stared at me now, even Gerald. I felt my face burn. Then Thorn slipped my arm through hers. “Matt, there’s some things you need to know. Come with me.”

  “No,” C.C. said. “I’ll tell him.”

  “Okay,” Thorn said. To me she added, “Just wait until he explains things, honey. It’ll all make sense then. Maybe not good sense, but sense.”

  As Gerald—a man who, minutes before, had been about to die of a gunshot wound—settled onto the couch and demanded the remote control, I remained standing, transfixed by all this apparent insanity. What bizarre parallel universe had I wandered into? And what if C.C.’s “explanation” was the permanent kind that resulted in me keeping company with Ray Parrish, wherever he was these days?

  19

  I went onto the front porch and pulled out my phone. I needed contact with my world—you know, the normal, rational one where singing didn’t immediately heal gunshot wounds and people didn’t listen to little girls in life-or-death situations. I’ve never wanted to see bars on my cell phone more than I did then, but it still resolutely said, NO SERVICE. And there was no way I was having this conversation in the Parrishes’ living room.

  Frustrated, I looked around. It was late afternoon, and the sun had turned amber. There was no sign of any vehicle Bliss used to get here, no fresh tire marks in the yard or disturbed dust on the drive. The girl Mandalay had vanished into thin air as well. The only living things were the dogs, Ace and Tom, sprawled flat in the shade beneath C.C.’s truck.

  A crow cawed in the distance. Did they always sound like they were making fun of you, or was this crow just amused by me in particular?

  I sat on the front porch swing,
rocking vehemently (yes, it can be done) until C.C. came out and leaned against one of the supports.

  “So is Gerald over being shot yet?” I asked, the sarcasm so heavy, it made even me scowl. “I mean, that usually sets you back a whole fifteen or twenty minutes, doesn’t it?”

  “I know what it looked like,” C.C. said. “But you saw it: he was shot, and it will take him a while to recover. We’re not superhuman or anything.”

  “‘We’? So if I shot you, you’d be back on the couch watching TV a half hour later, too?”

  “I don’t know. If Bliss got here in time, and there was someone to sing the right song … then, yeah, maybe.”

  “So it was all about the song?” I said, ratcheting up the sarcasm even more.

  He looked at me seriously and said, “Yes.”

  I stopped pushing against the porch, and my momentum gradually slowed. He meant it. C.C. truly believed that if I hadn’t been there, to sing that particular song at that particular moment, Gerald might be dead now.

  It hit me like a thunderbolt. C.C. was nuts.

  “You don’t believe me, ’cause it don’t make sense anywhere else but here,” he said.

  “On the porch?”

  “In Cloud County. Where the Tufa have been for thousands of years.”

  “Thousands?”

  “Thousands.”

  “And how is that possible, since the country’s only a couple of hundred years old? Are you saying you’re Indians?”

  “No. They got here about seventeen thousand years ago. We were already here.”

  There was no levity, no sense of teasing in his words, despite their obvious ludicrousness. He looked at me with the steady, even gaze of someone absolutely secure in his delusions. I said, “So … you’re descended from Vikings?”

  He smiled a little. “They got here after the Native Americans.”

  “And you know that because you were here.”

  “No, I was born later. But … you’ve met people who were here then.”

  “Who were here thousands of years ago?”

  “Yes.” He paused. “I’ll prove it to you as soon as it gets dark.”

  I stood up and blurted out, “I think I should go. Can you give me a ride to the airport, or somewhere where I can call a taxi?”