The Song

by Chris Fabry

  Bethany King knocked lightly and came inside her room. She shook her head and beamed. “You couldn’t be any more beautiful,” she said.

  “You don’t look half-bad yourself,” Rose said.

  “I just wanted to see you one more time before the ceremony and see this dress on you again.”

  “It was such a great day when you went with us to pick it out.”

  “I’m so glad you invited me. And I want you to know how happy I am for you and Jed. You’re going to be great together. He’s so taken with you, Rose.”

  “Thank you. For everything.”

  Rose sat obediently while Mavis Treadwell came to her room to work on her hair. The woman had styled every bride and prom queen in Sharon for the past two decades, and Rose wasn’t about to break the string. The woman primped and brushed and styled, and when it was time for the veil, Rose looked in the mirror and couldn’t wait to see the look on Jed’s face.

  “Your mama would be right proud of you today,” Mavis said.

  It was hard to even think of how her mother would react. It had been so many years and the memory of her had dimmed. Still, as Rose looked at her mother’s photograph by the mirror and the carved wooden jar she now kept by her bed, she smelled a sweet aroma that hung in the air like perfume, like some exotic oil that had been poured out and spread around.

  Her father came in and she stood and faced him.

  “What do you think?” she said, twirling once for his delight.

  “I think if you were any prettier, we’d have to cover our eyes as you walk down the aisle. You look gorgeous, punkin.”

  He’d called her this as a child, and the memory of his voice calling out good night to her brought tears.

  “Oh, now don’t do that!” he said. “You’ll get us both going.”

  She wiped away a tear with a tissue and some mascara came with it. Without looking at him, she said, “Am I doing the right thing, Daddy?”

  His voice was low and gravelly. “You’re doing a good thing, Rose. You’re doing something pure and holy by joining yourself to someone who wants to lay down his life for you.”

  “I’d do the same for him.”

  “I know you would. And that’s why you two are gonna be all right.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yeah, I do. And if he’s not everything we thought, he’ll answer to me.”

  “You gonna tell him that before or after the service?”

  “He already knows.”

  “I expect he does,” she said.

  The door opened and Denise appeared, all smiles. “It’s time. I’m headed over to sing your triumphal entry song.”

  “You ready for the walk of death?” her father said after Denise left.

  “It won’t be that bad, Daddy.”

  Before Rose got to the front steps of the chapel, she heard the guitar quietly strumming and Denise’s soft voice wafting over the hills like a gentle breeze. As soon as she and Jed began talking about the service, Rose had known she wanted Denise singing “I Love You Truly.” The words and music would be the perfect way to enter the assembly.

  Jed’s family, other than his mother, was absent, and she was glad someone had suggested they even the two sides by putting her family on his half of the chapel too.

  Her throat caught when she saw her brothers smiling and wiping away tears. She wasn’t prepared for that. She thought they were devoid of emotion.

  “You’re doing great,” her dad whispered. “Just keep moving, punkin, or we’re going to have to wring that dress out like a sponge.”

  And then Rose smiled and enjoyed the rest of the walk and her father’s easy smile and grace as they reached the front of the chapel and he put her hand in Jed’s. She teared up when Pastor Bingham asked, “Who gives this woman to this man?”

  “Her mother and I do,” her father said, patting her hand. And then she and Jed were alone.

  Pastor Bingham read from 1 Corinthians 13 and gave both a charge to practice love at every moment, and before Rose knew it, she was looking into Jed’s misty eyes and promising to love him forever and they were exchanging rings and to a joyous crowd they kissed.

  It all happened so fast, she thought.

  They walked out of the chapel and down the hill to the reception, where they enjoyed the fruit of the vine and songs and stories.

  It was a day Rose would never forget. A day she didn’t know would ever come. A day she had waited for all her life.

  CHAPTER 18

  SHE WAS POETRY and rhyme and everything he could ever imagine that was good in the world. And Jed couldn’t help remembering words of passion uttered thousands of years before.

  Like a lily among thorns is my darling among the young women. I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.

  They drove to a secluded cabin in Indiana, right on the Ohio River. It was owned by a man who had produced three of his father’s biggest albums. The man heard about the wedding and offered it to them for the week, no charge. “Call it a favor to your old man,” the producer said.

  Jed accepted with gratitude and as soon as they arrived, he knew it was perfect. He brought in their things and they looked at the rooms and the wraparound porch outside. And then he took Rose in his arms and kissed her with more urgency and passion than at the wedding or the reception. He was tender but could hardly control his hands and eyes.

  The most exciting part of the embrace was that Rose was equally pursuing him—if not more so. Then she pulled away for a moment, a strange look on her face.

  “What?” he said.

  “Can I be totally honest?”

  “Of course.”

  He thought she was going to say that she was scared, afraid she’d do something wrong or not be pretty enough in some way. Truth was, he was nervous too.

  “I’m starving. Do you think there’s anything to eat here?”

  Jed laughed. “Didn’t you eat at the reception?”

  “I was busy talking with people and taking pictures. Denise said that would happen, that I’d forget to eat and would be starving by the time we got here.”

  He smiled. “Wait here.”

  He ran to the car and opened the back. The caterer was going to toss the uneaten vegetables and dip, along with a fruit tray. Jed had looked at all the leftover food and asked if he could save some in a plastic bag. He’d meant to store it in Shep’s refrigerator, but he’d placed the food in the back of his car and forgotten about it until he unloaded their luggage.

  “My hero,” Rose said when he brought the food inside. “I can’t believe you saved this!”

  “I’d like to say it was advanced planning, but it wasn’t.”

  They sat at the table and Jed lit two candles and they ate vegetables and dip and fruit until they were full. As they laughed at how hungry they were, Rose brought up the night Jed had bought her ice cream. It had already been chilly outside and he had asked her to dance with him to help her warm up.

  “Want to dance again?” Jed said.

  Rose bit into a strawberry and the juice ran down her chin. She raised her eyebrows. “We’re going to do more than dance. And this time I’m not going to just kiss you good night.”

  He leaned forward and kissed the juice from her chin and their mouths met, sweet and wet.

  She took his hand and led him upstairs to the loft suite, and still clothed, they faced each other without reserve, silhouetted by moonlight through the window. He brushed back wisps of hair from her face.

  How beautiful you are, my love! How beautiful! Your eyes are doves. Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon, Jed thought.

  He shook his head. “You’re beautiful.” He gently traced her cheek and chin with a finger.

  She blushed.

  “I want you to know that. Did you know you’re perfect?”

  You are altogether beautiful, my darling. There is no flaw in you.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you,” she said, and the look in her eyes sa
id more than the words. He leaned forward and kissed her again and they fell into each other’s arms.

  Later as they slept, wrapped in each other’s arms, naked and unashamed, Jed dreamed. He was on an island, alone, stranded. Every day he would make it to the beach and look out on the ocean for any kind of movement, staring into the distance, and with each day the longing became more intense, more heart-wrenching.

  His eyes snapped open at 4:44—that’s what the clock beside the bed said in big red numbers. He would never forget it or the empty feeling the dream left. Like a bad wine that lingered on his breath. But seeing Rose in bed next to him, this thing of beauty and grace and innocence, set his mind afire. And the words came along with a melody—something that rarely happened. The words and music were just there, like ripened grapes on the vine, ready to be picked.

  He eased out of bed and grabbed some clothes and his guitar and crept downstairs.

  CHAPTER 19

  ROSE AWAKENED and turned in the morning light to see Jed, but she was alone. She wrapped a sheet around herself and looked out the window at the river meandering past the cabin, unable to believe that they were married or that they were here in this place of beauty.

  She went downstairs thinking he might be in the kitchen making breakfast, but he wasn’t there. For a split second she thought of those horror stories about honeymoons where one spouse was robbed or fell to their death and her stomach tied in a knot—until she heard the strum of the guitar.

  She followed the sound outside and the chilly October morning raised goose bumps on her skin. She was surprised to see him sitting in a rocking chair, his face turned toward the river.

  “You’re up early,” she said.

  “I had a dream.”

  Rose took the guitar away and settled on his lap, snuggling close. “About what?”

  “Your new song. You want to hear it?” He was like a kid with a new toy he’d gotten for Christmas.

  She gave him a look of longing, just a raised eyebrow. “Maybe later,” she whispered, leaning into him again, her hands exploring.

  He playfully pushed back. “Did you have something else in mind?”

  “Yeah, something.” She rubbed noses with him and the desire rose in her. If it wasn’t so cold, she would have thrown off the sheet right there in the rocking chair. In fact, maybe it wasn’t too cold.

  “Me too,” he said. Then he thought for a moment and smiled. “Well, I think something will be incredible after you hear this song.”

  How could it be better? she thought. How could anything eclipse the expression of love between a man and wife? How could a song . . . ?

  In a split second she made the decision not to hold this against him, not to think the worst. Not to complain about how cold she was or hungry or in the mood to go upstairs and enjoy each other again.

  So with her feet cold and her stomach growling and the desire white-hot inside, she sat in the other rocking chair but put her foot on Jed’s leg, where she knew it would be hard for him to concentrate.

  He started playing a constant downbeat with his pick—bum bum bum bum—and when he sang the first line, Rose knew she was hearing something other women complained they never heard. She was hearing his heart.

  “I’ve been waitin’ on you to come along,

  seeing notes on a page but not the song.”

  That was it, she thought. His life, her life, had been about playing something neither one of them could see written out, but together they were making the music.

  “Had a hole in my heart, things so strong,

  only a woman like you could take me on.”

  She drank the words in like new wine.

  “There’s a plan for us, a hand divine.

  Though waiting was worth it,

  now you’re my wife.

  We’ve been taking our time, doing this right.

  Tonight I’m not gonna just kiss you good night.”

  Her words. He had used her words in the song.

  Jed stopped playing and opened his eyes to look at her as if hoping he had bought the right birthday present. Rose could hardly speak, her mouth open in speechless awe. She couldn’t see through the blur of tears.

  “Play the rest,” she managed.

  And he did. The more she heard, the more she liked, and the closer her heart was drawn to this good man. And she knew they were going to make beautiful music all day long.

  CHAPTER 20

  JED HUNG ON ROSE’S every word. She was his biggest cheerleader—he knew that—but he had no idea how big until she breathlessly told him what she had done.

  “You called Stan?” he said.

  “I had to tell him that you’re back like never before. And that this song is evidence.”

  He let that sink in. He was initially upset that she would do this behind his back, but he also loved it that she believed in him this much. “What did he say?”

  “He was cool at first. Then I quoted some of the lyrics. He was impressed but still kind of acted distracted.”

  “That’s the classic Stan put-off.”

  “So I told him if he didn’t want to hear the song, I would call the Trammel Agency—they would listen to it.”

  Jed raised his eyebrows. The Trammel Agency was one of Stan’s competitors. “What did he say to that?”

  “He said to be there at nine tomorrow morning. In the studio. They have a session planned at ten and he wants to hear you play it.”

  Jed broke out in a wide grin. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. This is it, Jed. I can feel it.”

  “I kind of wanted to have more songs ready.”

  She rubbed his arm and drew closer. “More songs will come. You have to let them simmer. But he needs to hear this one.”

  “Can you help me with the simmer part?”

  She blushed and they laughed and embraced.

  Jed stayed up late that night tightening the lyrics—making sure it was exactly what he wanted—and Rose was right there. And when he was sure, she took the guitar from him.

  “Let’s practice something else before we go to sleep,” she said.

  Jed jumped out of bed the next morning ready to go. Rose was slower to get moving but the smell of freshly brewed coffee brought her to life. They made it to the studio a half hour early and sat in the parking lot, talking, laughing, and trying to calm Jed’s nerves.

  “It’s funny how I can stand up before any number of people, but it’s the audience of one or two decision makers that makes my knees knock.”

  “Show them your heart like you’ve shown me.”

  “That’s a little scary.”

  “It’s what Stan’s looking for. Heart. Soul. ‘The Song’ is amazing. Just look at me when you’re singing it.”

  And that’s what he did. After the awkward handshake with Stan and a guy from the record company who had dropped him, Jed picked up the guitar and looked at Rose, then closed his eyes and pictured himself on the front deck of the cabin by the river and the words flowed. He just left everything out there for them and when he was finished, he looked up. Some of the session players had come in while he was playing and stood listening. Stan looked stunned. Rose smiled, her teeth tight together in anticipation. Like he’d done the best job he possibly could.

  “Where in the world did that come from?” Stan said. “That was—that is fantastic. It’s the heart we’ve been looking for, man.” He looked at Rose. “Did you help him with that?”

  She glanced at Jed and gave a grin. “He wrote it on our honeymoon.”

  “So you did help,” Stan said, laughing and nudging Jed with an elbow.

  Groans all around and laughter and Rose’s face turned a deep crimson.

  Stan and the other man spoke in hushed tones in the corner; then Stan went into the control room. Through the open door Jed heard, “Dave, can we push the ten o’clock back an hour? I want to lay down a rough track of this right now so I can take it to the label.”

  And that’s how i
t worked, though it took a lot longer than an hour. The recording they finished that afternoon went to the label and the raw, spontaneous, energy-filled track was what they used for the single.

  Three weeks later, after several days in a row when Rose struggled to get out of bed, Jed suggested she see a doctor. “This is just not like you,” he said.

  He drove her to the afternoon appointment at a building filled with all kinds of doctors’ and dentists’ offices. He thought they would give her an antibiotic and she would be fine. Or perhaps they would find something ominously wrong. When she didn’t come out of the office, he began to be concerned. Then a nurse peeked out and called his name.

  They do these kinds of things when someone gets cancer, he thought.

  He walked in and found Rose with a crumpled ball of tissues, her eyes red.

  “Hey,” he said, sitting by her. “What’s wrong?”

  The doctor shook Jed’s hand. She was in her thirties and seemed all-business. “Mr. King, your wife suggested you be here for the results of the test.”

  “Test? I thought Rose just had the flu or something. What does she have?”

  The doctor glanced at Rose, who waved a hand as if telling her to break the news.

  “Rose has an illness that won’t clear up for a few months. Eight, to be exact.”

  “You can predict it like that? What kind of illness?”

  “It’s a baby, Mr. King. Your wife is pregnant.”

  He looked at Rose, then at the doctor, then back at Rose, who was smiling through her tears. His mouth dropped open and he couldn’t shut it. “But I thought . . .”

  “I don’t know what happened,” Rose said.

  Jed smiled. “I do. We made a baby. Rose, we’re going to have a baby—can you believe it?”

  She shook her head.

  Jed looked at the doctor, who seemed to be content just to take the scene in. He took Rose’s hand. “You are going to be the best mom in the world. I can see you with that little baby in your arms.”