The Song

by Chris Fabry

  Jed looked good; she had to admit that. He’d shaved and had a haircut and looked like the old Jed she’d fallen in love with. The Jed she had met here at the harvest festival. The Jed her dad had been leery of, and now she realized it was for good reason.

  He’d said he loved her. He’d said he’d quit his old life. Just turned his back on the music and travel and all that money, and he’d said it like a little boy showing his mother the beautiful mud pie he had made. What was Rose supposed to do with that? Pat him on the back and tell him what a good boy he was to go through rehab? Congratulate him for being so grown-up and welcome him back with open arms and not wonder if he’d return to the other life? Fall back into Shelby’s arms?

  She shook her head and returned to the table to help the women who wanted to know which wine was the best. She told them about the 1995 crop and the Syrah with those deep-red grapes. It was one of their best years; her dad had talked about that year and said there would never be another like it.

  But one of the women in front of her had a funny look on her face. She interrupted Rose and pointed at the stage. “Is that who I think it is?”

  Rose turned just as the band stopped the instrumental song they were playing and Jed stepped onto the stage with them, borrowing someone’s guitar. She couldn’t believe it. How dare he interrupt the show? How dare he try to take over the festival?

  She walked straight up to the stage, fire in her veins. “Jed, get off the stage,” she said, pointing to the ground like he was a dirty dog who had climbed onto a leather couch.

  “Rose, I want to play you a song,” Jed said in the microphone, his voice carrying throughout the farm. “All right? I’ve wanted to play it so much, but I never can because it always makes me think of you.”

  She knew he meant “The Song,” the one he had written her, the one that helped him climb the charts. The one she couldn’t stand anymore. “I’ve heard it,” she said. “Everyone has.”

  “Not like this,” he said. “Please.”

  Crickets and frogs and night sounds. No crowd noise. Even the band was silent.

  “No,” she said, the final nail in his coffin. At least that’s what she hoped he would feel.

  Rose turned and walked away, feeling like she was doing something important for herself, for her family, the farm, Ray, their unborn daughter. She was doing something for her own dignity.

  Then she heard his voice, soft at first, like he was whispering something familiar in her ear.

  “To everything, turn, turn, turn

  There is a season, turn, turn, turn.

  And a time to every purpose under heaven.”

  Rose stopped in her tracks but couldn’t turn around. The words and melody she had mentioned to him on that first night they met. She loved that song. And he had remembered.

  “A time to be born, a time to die,

  A time to plant, a time to reap

  A time to kill, a time to heal

  A time to laugh, a time to weep.”

  She slowly turned and faced him. Her eyes were filling and she wanted to control her emotion, to keep her face from showing the dam that was bursting inside.

  Then the band picked up in the same key and played the intro to the old song she remembered, only with a little more pace and rhythm and flair. Jed followed along perfectly.

  “To everything, turn, turn, turn

  There is a season, turn, turn, turn.

  And a time to every purpose under heaven.

  A time to build up, a time to break down,

  A time to dance, a time to mourn,

  A time to cast away stones. A time to gather stones together.”

  As he sang, Rose remembered all the things they’d done, all the dancing and mourning and casting stones. Everything in her felt like she needed to walk away, needed to run from Jed because she was scared of what he might do, how he might fall again. But the more he sang, the more she could tell this song wasn’t being sung from sheet music but from the pages of his heart.

  The band kicked the tempo up a notch and Jed laughed as he sang and it was like wine pouring over the assembly. The music was pure joy and every musician was playing his part.

  Jed ended the song by singing, “‘. . . a time for peace, Rose, no, it’s not too late.’”

  All those years ago he had sung a song about Eddie and used it to win her heart. And here he was again, chasing away the bad man, himself, in order to win her.

  The band played the last few chords as Jed left the stage and walked toward her. Rose wept and shook her head at him.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said softly, tears in his own eyes. “Marrying you is the only smart thing I ever did. You’re enough. You’re a gift from God.”

  He held out his hand and in it she saw the wedding band and engagement ring she had given back to him. When she saw those unending circles, she couldn’t hold back anymore and sobbed softly.

  “All I want,” Jed said, “is to be your husband. I want to raise our children.” He paused until she looked up at him, and with great feeling said, “I will never leave you again.”

  Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so cold.

  “I’ll never sing another note if you’re not there to hear it. Please forgive me.”

  “It’ll take a really long time,” she said softly.

  “I just cleared my schedule for . . . forever.”

  He smiled and Rose looked down, laughing through her tears. He gently took her chin and tilted her head up to look at him.

  “If it takes forever, I’ll be here. Forever.”

  He took her in his arms and kissed her cheek, and she grabbed him and held on like there was no tomorrow. As far as she was concerned, there was no tomorrow. There was just now. Here. This moment. This step of forgiving and welcoming him. And as she held him there, Rose thought, Isn’t it funny what a song can do to a broken heart.

  CHAPTER 50

  SHELBY BALE WALKED into a darkened tattoo parlor in downtown Nashville, a Yankees baseball cap pulled down low. She showed the man what she wanted and where she wanted it.

  “Gonna be painful,” he said. “Ankles are pretty much the worst.”

  “From the looks of you, you ought to know. There’s no space left.”

  “I got a little canvas left,” he said, smiling.

  “This will be the first time I’ve really felt the tattoo. Let’s get to it.”

  He shrugged and prepped the area and did a sketch. She lay back and closed her eyes.

  “What’s the point of this?” the man said.

  “The point of what?”

  “The crown you want. It must mean something.”

  “It just seemed prudent. Better than a picture in a scrapbook.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “I could have taken a picture of him and put it on my nightstand, but pictures kill memories.”

  The man looked up, finally recognizing her. “The King guy, right? You’re the fiddle player, aren’t you?”

  She put a finger to her lips. “Keep it to yourself and you’ll get a bigger tip.”

  He put a fake key to his mouth and locked it. “You still singing?”

  “Here and there. Looking for a new manager to resurrect my career. You know, make lemonade when you’re handed lemons.”

  “What about him? King. What’s he doing?”

  She shrugged. “He has a family. Two kids. A wife. I heard he’s doing well. Still clean.”

  “That’s good. Good for him. Think you two will ever sing together?”

  “I doubt it,” she said.

  The prep work was done and he readied the needle. “Any regrets?”

  “What was that?” she said.

  “Any regrets about what happened? The stuff they wrote in the tabloids?”

  “I don’t like that word. Regret is like . . .” Her voice trailed off. Then she said, “Maybe I have one or two.”

  He nodded and put the needle to her skin. She closed her eyes again and saw Jed’
s face flash before her. The last song they sang together. The tears in his eyes. The way he walked away from the stage and didn’t look back. And the words he sang about chasing after wind. Somehow she couldn’t get that tune or those words out of her head. His songs always did that to her for some reason.

  “Hey, hold up,” she said.

  “You want something to take the edge off the pain?”

  Shelby got up from the chair and put her shoe on. “No, it’s not about the edge anymore.”

  “What? You don’t want the crown?”

  She took out a twenty-dollar bill from her back pocket and handed it to him. “I don’t think I need it.”

  She opened the door and walked into the darkness, but above her were the stars, sprinkling the night sky like confetti.

  EPILOGUE

  JED CLIMBED to the roof of the chapel with a bucket of paint to put the finishing touches on the cross. He looked out at the expanse of the vineyard. Two gravestones stood side by side next to the pond, and he remembered the old dog buried by the tree. So much had been buried, but so much remained. The dormant plants that had gone away for winter were readying themselves for new life.

  The chapel had been a promise he made to Rose that he could actually keep. A man who commits adultery can never undo his sin. But there was forgiveness from God and, he hoped, forgiveness from Rose. That was taking time. A long time. But he could wait for her heart to heal and the warmth to return to her embrace. A man who has hurt his wife that deeply could listen and love and wait. What else could he do?

  Rebuilding trust in a marriage that has fallen apart takes time. That’s what Pastor Bingham said in the first counseling session with Jed. And the man was right. Old wounds festered and leaked at some of the strangest times. But little by little, Rose was opening. Maybe God was giving Jed the thing he had prayed for so long ago—wisdom.

  Rose carried Lily to the chapel and Ray tagged along beside his little sister and mom. It was a sight Jed had pictured in his mind. His little girl, Lily Shepherd King, who had weighed seven pounds, seven ounces. The perfect number and the perfect child.

  “Welcome to the grand opening of the Vineyard Chapel and Picnic Area,” Jed said, smiling as he climbed down to meet them.

  “We brought peanut butter sandwiches.” Ray fist-bumped his dad.

  “Awesome,” Jed said.

  Rose walked inside to look at the pews and the sun glinting through the stained glass. “It’s really nice. You finished.”

  “I told you I would. Took a little longer than I thought.”

  “Some things are worth the wait,” she said. She spread out a blanket and put Lily down on the floor. It was the same place Jed had found her weeping and praying when Shelby had shown up, and he couldn’t help remembering the despair Rose had been in at that very spot.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Rose said, digging into the picnic basket. “This came in the mail. Looks important.”

  It was from a law firm that Stan used. Just the look of the three names in the left-hand corner sent a shiver down his spine. He opened it and pulled out the single page.

  “Is he gonna sue your pants off?” she said.

  Jed read the letter quickly.

  “Why would anybody want Daddy’s pants?” Ray said.

  “It’s an expression,” Rose said. “They don’t really want his pants.”

  “No, he’s not,” Jed said. He took a breath and sat beside them. “He’s listed all his losses and is offering to split them fifty-fifty with me.”

  “Sounds like a pretty good deal.”

  “The guy turned out to have a heart after all,” Jed said.

  “When can we eat some more grapes?” Ray said, stuffing half of a peanut butter sandwich into his mouth.

  “We need to wait a few months, buddy,” Jed said. “You have to let them grow and be patient. Let them mature.” He thought a minute. “Somebody once said, ‘Treat ’em right. Give ’em time. And when they’re ready, they’ll let you know.’”

  Rose gave him a look like she remembered. Like she knew Jed was talking about himself and about their relationship and everything in the world.

  “Can I go throw rocks in the pond?” Ray said.

  “As long as you stay by the tree. Don’t get close to the water.”

  “Okay.” Off he ran.

  Rose pulled Lily close and began nursing her as Jed watched Ray go to the tree and toss rocks, trying to skip them like his father had shown him. Jed wished his own father could be here to see their family.

  “What are you planning to use this chapel for?” Rose said.

  “I thought we could have weddings here. Small ones, like ours. Maybe retreats.”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  “And I was thinking that in October, we might have a little ceremony.”

  “During the harvest festival?”

  “Just before it. I was thinking that maybe we could renew our vows. Maybe we could start over again.”

  Rose looked up at him and a sad smile came to her lips. Jed felt like the sun was peeking through the dark clouds of their life.

  “We have enough wine for a real celebration,” Rose said.

  Jed nodded. “And peanut butter sandwiches.”

  Lily finished eating and Rose burped her. Jed carried her in the crook of his arm to the front of the chapel, singing softly to her. He glanced out at the pond and saw Ray toss a rock with the perfect wrist flick, skipping it across the water’s surface. His eyes misted and he kissed his daughter’s head.

  “Love is the power that heals,” he whispered. It was the end of “The Song” and the beginning of a prayer he would pray the rest of his life.

  EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS FROM THE FILM

  You have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes.

  My son, pay attention to my wisdom, turn your ear to my words of insight.

  I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.

  I said to myself, “Come now, I will test you with pleasure to find out what is good.” But this also proved to be meaningless.

  What do people gain from all their labors at which they toil under the sun?

  A time to mourn . . .

  . . . a time to embrace

  For the lips of the adulterous woman drip honey, and her speech is smoother than oil. Keep to a path far from her . . .

  . . . for your ways are in full view of the Lord, and he examines all your paths.

  To everything there is a season

  And a time to every purpose under heaven

  Love is the power that heals.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Chris Fabry is a 1982 graduate of the W. Page Pitt School of Journalism at Marshall University and a native of West Virginia. He is heard on Moody Radio’s Chris Fabry Live!, Love Worth Finding, and Building Relationships with Dr. Gary Chapman. He and his wife, Andrea, are the parents of nine children. Chris has published more than seventy books for adults and children. His novels Dogwood, Almost Heaven, and Not in the Heart won Christy Awards, and Almost Heaven won the ECPA Christian Book Award for fiction.

  You can visit his website at www.chrisfabry.com.

  Award-winning director Richard Ramsey has brought the story of Solomon to life. With a BA in theater from the University of Houston, he spent his early career impacting the independent film world in Texas. The Song marks his first feature as a writer-director. His short films, done in collaboration with his brother, John, have been featured in numerous film festivals and websites including the New York Times, Huffington Post, LA Times, CBS News, The Atlantic, and IFC. Richard serves as artistic director for City on a Hill Studio. He and his wife have four children all named after Beatles songs.

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  In the prologue to the story, when Jed King’s life has fallen apart, he thinks, If this were a song, it wouldn’t be worth singing. What circumstances in your life are a song not worth singing? What circumstances are worth singing about?

  After dealing with a diffi
cult neighbor, Shep Jordan tells his daughter, Rose, “You have to give people who have been smacked around by life a little extra rope.” How do you typically respond to difficult, ornery people? How would you respond if you remembered this advice?

  Rose makes the decision to give away the dollhouse her father built for her when she was young. What might this symbolize? Do you think she should’ve kept it? Why or why not?

  Songwriters like Jed process life’s events by writing music. How do you process life’s events?

  Jed says that the past doesn’t have to define you. Where do you see people you care about allowing their pasts to define them? How could it be true of your own life?

  Jed decides that if he could ask God for anything, he would ask for wisdom. What would you ask God for and why?

  Jed’s desire to go out and sing for God has a cost—for both Jed and Rose. Do all of our callings require this kind of sacrifice? How do you determine whether a calling is from God? What would you do if you felt the calling God placed on your life came with too high a cost?

  As Jed and Shelby grow closer, but before he has gone too far, Jed hears a voice telling him it isn’t too late to run. Have you ever heard a similar voice or impression steering you away from something destructive? How did you respond?

  Jed tattoos his arm with something permanent that he later wants removed. What else can we tattoo ourselves with—emotionally, spiritually—that we might want or need to remove later?

  Does Rose have a role in the rift between her and Jed, or is that a wayward husband shifting the blame? If anything, what could she have done differently?

  Jed grew up in the shadow of his father and comes to realize that a man who commits adultery can never undo his sin. Do you believe that’s true? How would you advise Jed as he tries to manage his guilt and shame? What insight does Psalm 51 give you?