by Jeff High
And how could they possibly have known? Who could have told?
The night had flown by, and there was still a quarter hour or so before the last song of the evening. Christine and I were on the dance floor, her cheek pressed to my shoulder. With what was likely a rather stern and unhappy face, I began to survey the room as we shuffled in a leisurely rotating circle. A few more bubbly faces winked at me, to which I gave an unkind scowl. Then it hit me. There was one person I hadn’t seen all evening. I knew she was there, but she had carefully avoided me.
Connie Thompson.
The dance ended, and I asked Christine to excuse me for a moment. After a minute of weaving through the crowd, I found Connie on the level lawn just off the bandstand pier. She was engaged in a lively conversation with the mayor and his wife, but her face lost all animation when she saw me approaching with an unhappy glare. For the first time in our history, she wilted into a look of unadulterated contrition. I had found my culprit.
She did her best to choke out a cordial greeting. “Evening, Dr. Bradford. Certainly has been a lovely night, hasn’t it?”
I stiffly greeted the mayor and his wife in a half smile and then turned sternly toward Connie. “Mrs. Thompson, a word please.”
Connie nodded penitently, and we walked away from the bandstand for a half minute before stopping to ensure that our conversation was out of earshot.
“Constance Grace, for some odd reason I’ve been getting the impression that everybody here tonight thinks they know something about me, like I might have something big planned for this evening. Something I thought was very personal and private. Care to shed any light on what you know about this?”
To her credit, Connie didn’t attempt to feign innocence. She nodded, exhaling a deep breath. “I happened to see the receipt from the jewelry store sitting on your kitchen table. Earlier this afternoon, I overheard Guy Dupree talking to the band about your request to play a special song to close out the evening. I guess I put two and two together and blurted out something in front of a couple of the ladies who were decorating. It was like throwing gasoline on a fire. I tried to get them to keep quiet about it, but this is Watervalley. One body always tells somebody.”
“Connie! Good grief!” I said, consumed with a swelling aggravation. I knew her mistake was innocently made, but that was scant consolation. My plans had been put on public display and moreover, I had the nauseating thought that by now Christine had been made aware of them.
“I’m truly sorry, Luke. I really am.”
I gave myself a minute to cool down and then spoke in a low, instructional voice.
“Connie, for some reason Christine loves this song called ‘Over the Valley.’ Why, I have no idea. I’ve never even heard it before. Guy Dupree agreed to play it as the last song tonight. And I just thought that it might be nice to tenderly and discreetly—and I do mean discreetly—ask the woman I love to marry me while it was playing. That doesn’t seem too much to ask, does it?”
Connie looked down and nodded, humbly accepting the full weight of my admonishment.
“I wish I could fix this, Luke. I truly wish I could.”
I blew out a final heavy sigh. “Oh crap, just forget about it. Look. My strategy is to bring her out here while the song in playing. I guess there’s no reason it can’t still happen. I just hope a crowd doesn’t follow us.”
Connie nodded, immediately in slightly better spirits. “If need be, I’ll block the entrance to the pier while you two slip off.”
I smiled in resignation. “Okay. Thanks. I hope that won’t be necessary.”
As we walked back to the bandstand, the mild sting of disappointment lingered. My plan was still intact, but I was a bag of nerves, my head in a spin as the final song approached. It was almost midnight, and even the old geezers who usually packed it in at sundown were still hanging around. They were all inconspicuously lingering, waiting, and staring with expectant faces. My trepidation grew.
Finally, the moment arrived, and Guy Dupree stepped to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have one final song to play to close out the night. But first, the band and I want to thank you for a wonderful time. You’ve been a great group, and we have loved being here.”
His words were met with an enormous round of applause and loud cheers. “We have an unusual treat for you with our last number of the evening. We’ve had a special request from one of your very own to join the band and sing our final song.”
A bolt of panic shot through me. This wasn’t right.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Christine Chambers to the stage.”
“What?” I blurted the word out loud and turned to Christine in a state of shock. A huge round of applause rose up as I grabbed her arm. “What’s going on?”
She smiled sweetly. “While you stepped away, I asked Guy Dupree if they would play ‘Over the Valley’ and if I could sing it. He said sure.”
I spoke before thinking. “But you can’t!”
Christine looked crestfallen. “Why not?”
“Because . . .” I froze. I had no words, no response, only a foolish look of complete confusion. I stood there, gripping her hand in a speechless stupor. By now the applause had ended, and for the first time that evening, the bandstand stood in complete silence. I looked around and realized that the entire crowd was staring at us. That was it. I was done, defeated. A proposal just wasn’t going to happen. I took a deep breath and smiled weakly. “Sure, go ahead.”
Christine nodded hesitantly, then turned and made her way to the stage. All eyes followed her as she took the microphone from the stand and nodded to Guy Dupree at the piano. He struck the first melancholy notes of the tune, and Christine’s rich, melodious voice filled the night with the words of the song.
Over the valley
I saw a silver cloud
With a pink lining
I said it right out loud
There’s no denying
You are my one and only love
And we’ll see over the valley
The moon rise above
I stood there for a moment, lost in a daze of bewilderment and disappointment. Couples began to gather on the dance floor, tenderly embracing and swaying to the silky lilt of the ballad. Even so, I felt that an ocean of eyes were still upon me, but I no longer cared. I took off my jacket and flung it over my shoulder, holding it casually by a single finger. Christine sang the second verse.
Over the valley
This house among the trees
Where we’ve been hiding
Making our memories
And I’m deciding
You are my one and only love
And we’ll be over the valley
As the moon shines above
Her voice was sweet, lovely, perfect. But I was beside myself. I wanted to escape from all the gawking stares, the invasive scrutiny. I moved toward the concession table, bought a beer, and proceeded to walk away from the pier and into the gloom of the far parking lot. As I departed, I guess my grim, dispirited expression told its ugly story. Passing through the crowd, I was met with a host of silent and downcast faces. I stepped into the darkness and found the Austin-Healey in the moonlight. Leaning against the fender, I took a long draw of the beer as Christine sang the refrain.
The autumn breezes carry all the bluebirds
Down to where the sun still shines
If we could hold this day
In our hearts some way
We would never roam
Ever far from home
Footsteps crunched in the nearby gravel. I ignored them, gazing into the night stars as the person approached. It was Connie. I took another swallow of beer and cut my eyes toward her. “What?”
Her words were calm but laced with reproach. “You need to wipe the vinegar off your face, that’
s what.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you’ve got a beautiful young woman back there who loves you from top to toe, singing a song that in her mind was written for just the two of you. And here you are, sulking in the moonlight because you don’t like anybody knowing your business. Well, Luke, I’ve got a news flash. This is Watervalley, and things don’t happen in a vacuum. You said it yourself. Your magic moment is while that song is playing. So you need to decide what’s more important: avoiding a few well-meaning onlookers, or letting Christine know how much you really love her.”
I stared at her in pursed-lipped silence. Her words washed over me. And I knew.
I knew in my bones she that was right. I took a deep breath of resignation, nodded, and handed her my unfinished beer. “Here, hold on to this if you would.”
I began to walk with determined steps back toward the bandstand. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Connie briefly appraising the beer bottle before tilting it skyward and draining the balance of it. Her exuberant words floated behind me. “Go get ’em, Doctor.”
As I briskly approached the narrow pier, Christine was finishing the second round of the song’s refrain. All that remained was the repeat singing of the third and final verse. With each step I was energized with resolve, oblivious to everything but Christine and her lovely voice lilting sweetly in the night air, singing the closing words of the song.
Over the valley
Just above the fray
The sun is setting
And when we’re old and gray
I’ll still be betting
You are my one and only love
The band had paused as she sang the word “love” and held it in a long, delicate a cappella just as I arrived at the bandstand. The crowd parted in front of me, giving way to my clear, focused advance through the center of the dance floor and the band’s elevated platform. Christine’s face glowed when she saw me, and as I stepped toward her, she slowly, sweetly sang the words to the next line.
And we’ll live over the valley
Without breaking stride, I tossed my coat to the side and dug my hand into my trouser pocket. In one fluid motion I came to a stop, dropping to one knee directly in front of her, and penitently bowed my head. I held the open ring case high in my right hand toward her. Christine gazed at me tearfully as she spoke the next words.
You’ll always be with me
I looked up at her with an adoring, confident smile, bursting with delight. She responded with an enthusiastic nodding of her head before affectionately singing the final line of the song.
As the moon shines above.
I reached and grabbed her by the waist and lifted her down from the stage. She wrapped both arms tightly around my neck and whispered the words, “Yes, yes, yes,” to me. And there in front of God and all creation, and about three hundred thunderously applauding citizens of Watervalley, we kissed lavishly.
I was engaged.
And most likely, there would be little need to put an announcement in the paper.
CHAPTER 32
In the Still of the Night
Guy Dupree and the Night Owls continued to play encore after encore as a line of well-wishers formed to congratulate us. Several patted me on the back, many of them hugged Christine, and all of them wanted to see the ring. Given that it was a two-and-a-half-carat stone, it was the focus of commentary.
More than a few of the well-meaning rural women commented, “Whoa, honey. What did you have to do to get that?”
John came and shook my hand, saying nothing and offering a mirthful wink. Hoot grabbed me in a jaws-of-life bear hug. He and Karen had spent most of the evening together, and she seemed delighted with his company. For Hoot, it was clearly a fortuitous match. They were roughly the same age, and Karen was likely one of the few women in the valley who wasn’t put off by the smell of silage.
Connie and Estelle both came and hugged me, each with the remnants of elated tears staining their faces. Connie held my arm and whispered, “I’m awfully proud of you, sweetheart.”
I regarded her with a rather puckish grin and whispered in return, “Thanks, for everything.”
It was almost an hour before we made it to the car. It seemed that no one wanted the night to end and so many wanted to share in our excitement. But we were thinking differently. The furtive glances between the two of us clearly communicated our singular desire to get away, to be blissfully alone.
On the drive to her home, I shared with Christine all the painful details of my foiled plans to propose out at the lake and then at the dance. She laughed almost to the point of hysterics. And yet, oddly, my efforts seemed to engender in her an affectionate devotion beyond words.
“It was perfect, Luke. Just perfect,” she assured me. It still amazed me that this beautiful girl who less than a year ago had so easily detested me now loved me so completely.
After we arrived at her home, Christine went upstairs and woke up her mother, Madeline, who had left the dance hours earlier. She came down in her housecoat and gave me a long hug as Christine told her about my center-stage proposal. I adored Madeline Chambers. She had married a farmer, but she had been a banker’s daughter and was the embodiment of charm and graciousness. She was a lovely, engaging woman of incredible strength who had imbued her daughter with the best of her own qualities.
Madeline bid us good night and returned to bed. Christine grabbed a quilt, and we retreated to the quiet shadows of the moonlit front porch, sinking into the deep cushions of the wicker sofa. We sat tightly beside each other. Christine turned and brought her knees across my lap and draped her arms around my neck, occasionally kissing my cheek and nuzzling me with her nose when she wasn’t gazing euphorically at the ring on her outstretched hand. It seemed she couldn’t be close enough to me. It was heaven.
Despite the late hour, we were awash in a delicate euphoria, unable to stop talking and giggling in voices that were low and sweet, echoing musically against the quiet serenity of the night.
I spoke barely above a whisper. “So, Miss Chambers, when do you think you’d like to become a doctor’s wife?”
“Mmm, I guess I’m kind of traditional. I’ve always wanted to be a June bride and get married at Watervalley First Presbyterian. That will give us time to plan the wedding. Besides, I won’t be out of school until late May.”
“June, huh. Seems like a rather long engagement.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. I guess not. It’s just that I see engagement to be pretty much the same thing as marriage, except without the fringe benefits.”
Christine laughed and shook her head, again rubbing her nose into my cheek. “Well, maybe we should just elope so we can get started on those six children you talked about.”
“Okay, so what about all that? You seemed a little shell-shocked when I mentioned it last night.”
“No, no, I love the idea. I really do. Look, you’re an only child and I’m an only child. We have no first cousins. We’re pretty much alone in the world, Luke. So the idea of a house bursting at the seams with little voices sounds absolutely wonderful to me. Although I have to admit, the thought of spending almost four and a half years pregnant is a little daunting.”
“It will be fine, Christine. I will be right there.” I paused a moment and looked into the darkness beyond the front porch. “You know, when I was little, I don’t believe my dad ever missed a Little League or soccer game. He might have missed an inning or two, but he always showed up. He was my hero. And I never sensed he saw it as some obligation, I think he just loved me and wanted to watch me play. That’s who my dad was, and that’s who I intend to be.”
“For all six?”
“For all six.”
“Okay, this might be a silly question, but will we be able to afford that many?”
“They sa
y that doctors make pretty good money, although granted, so far it’s an unproven theory. Besides, the family trust comes into play in about three and a half years. So that should cover things like bicycles, braces, and your shoe budget.”
She rolled her eyes at my teasing. “Easy there, Bradford. A girl has to keep her standards.”
She leaned over and kissed me lightly on the cheek again. “I think it’s wonderful. I love the idea of having six children.”
I looked down and ran my hand along the curve of her hip and then under her delightfully rounded backside. “And I, Miss Chambers, love the idea of making six children.”
Her eyes had a mischievous gleam. “Do you, now?”
“You know I do. Don’t you ever think about it?”
She looked down, but her impish smile never wavered. “I think about it all the time.”
It was not the response I was expecting. “Really?”
“Well, yeah. Really.”
We sat for a moment, intimately holding tightly to each other in the autumn darkness. I placed my hand beside her face and gently kissed her forehead. “Christine, I’m in love with you—deeply in love with you. I think you know that.”
She nodded. I looked down and spoke slowly, carefully choosing my words. “I’ve also come to understand from the things you’ve said that, well, you’ve held tight to a promise you made to yourself long ago, about waiting. And I love that about you too. But I won’t lie about or deny my desire. So talk to me. Tell me what you want.”
She searched my face, her piercing, luminous eyes reflecting her thoughts. And as I gazed at her, I saw all the strength, all the passion, all the tenderness of a woman who had clung bravely to an ideal that the larger world thought naïve and archaic.
