Song of Life

by C. L. McCullough

  She watched protectively until both figures disappeared into Reese’s room before turning away from the window. She didn’t want to know if Cas would come out, go back to his cottage. She was better off thinking him with Reese and not alone.

  Sighing, she went to the kitchen to make another cup of tea.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning Reese was as mean as a bear, from a combination of hangover and the vague suspicion that he’d dropped the ball somehow. He slumped in his chair, giving his coffee dirty looks and wishing Cas hadn’t wanted eggs over easy. Under his cowboy hat, pulled low over his eyes in a vain attempt to beat back the brightness of the new day, his brain sluggishly tried to make sense of what little he could remember.

  He had hazy memories of Darryl and the parking lot and sharp words being spoken. “What the fuck happened last night?” he demanded.

  “Nothing,” Cas replied, buttering a piece of toast. “Your friend Darryl just pulled a gun on me, that’s all.”

  Reese’s mug sloshed hot coffee over his hand as he straightened abruptly in his chair.

  “What the hell…he ain’t no friend of mine. A gun. Quit looking like a fucking idiot, Martin, and start talking.”

  Cas grinned.

  “Drink your coffee, Reese. Seems you’re needing it. Want me to get you some aspirin?”

  “I want you to tell me what the fuck happened last night. In detail.” He took a slug of coffee and glared at Cas.

  Cas told him, around mouthfuls of toast and eggs. When he’d finished, Reese injudiciously shook his head.

  “Oh shit,” he groaned, pushing his hat back to rub his forehead. “Well, what’s done’s done, but you shoulda kept the gun.”

  “And get arrested for theft?” Cas arched a brow. “I don’t think so. The sheriff’s just looking for an excuse to haul my ass to jail.”

  “You could have been killed.”

  Cas glanced over his shoulder. He turned back, frowning down at his empty plate.

  “You might have told me she was there,” he muttered.

  “Didn’t see her. My eyes are fucked up. I’m sick.” Reese lowered his face to his hands and tried not to move further.

  “You’re an idiot, is what you are,” Sunny said, sliding into the booth beside him. “Why on earth did you have to drink so much when you know Wayland is on the warpath?”

  “It wasn’t him,” Cas assured her. “I’ve never even seen this guy before.”

  “Way and Darryl are thick as thieves. You can be sure Way’s told Darryl everything, such as it is. But I’d bet money it got a whole lot bigger in the telling. Reese should have known better. He knows those two.”

  “He was sort of drowning his sorrows.” Cas smiled.

  “What sorrows? You’re just trying to defend him–”

  “No, no, I promise, he was very sorrowful. First of all, Stacy turned him down flat and then…well, I’m afraid I play a better game of pool than Reese counted on.”

  Sunny’s smile blossomed, softening her features.

  “I’m right here, you know, no need to talk about me like I can’t hear a damn thing. My hearing’s fine, too damn fine.” Reese scrubbed at his face.

  “Poor Reese.” Sunny put an arm around his shoulders. “I’m going to make you a Jim Special, guaranteed to cure what ails you.”

  “If it don’t kill you first. I’ve had that poison of Jim’s before.”

  “What is it?” Cas asked.

  “You don’t want to know, but there’s a damn raw egg in it and enough hot sauce to heat up the whole town,” Reese said.

  “Gives you something else to think about.” Sunny seemed remarkably unconcerned, Reese thought, and here he was dying. “I need you put back together, Reese. We have to plan the Songs of Joy. It’s next week and I promised we’d do the refreshments.”

  “Songs of Joy,” Reese grumbled. “It ain’t nothing but a good old fashioned sing along.”

  “Children have to learn the songs sooner or later, and this is a good way to do it. Father Yuri is making a special trip. He may get me back into the fold yet. I still haven’t forgiven Father John for all the things he said about Jim, but he’s gone now. Father Yuri’s different and I want to do him proud. Sandwiches for the children I think, just in case, but the adults…I want something special for them, something that will make them go ‘wow’.”

  Reese began to take an interest. “I’ll think on it, Sunny, soon as I can think. Get me that special then.” He sighed. “The things I do for you.”

  “The Crossroads needs its chef. Quit complaining and next time have more sense. I doubt you will though.” She smiled at Cas. “How about you, Cas? Can you help?”

  His face closed off. “I don’t cook and I don’t sing.”

  “Okay.” Sunny looked surprised. “But there’s chairs to arrange, things to set up. I’m sure we can find something.”

  “I’d rather not, unless you’re saying it’s part of my job. I can find plenty to keep me busy here. And I want to go up to the house, make a start on those vines.”

  “If you insist,” Sunny said stiffly. “I’m off to Bob Chandler’s. He’s got a tiller. I’m hoping he’ll let me have the use of it. I’ll let you know.”

  “I guess there’ll be no talking today then,” Cas said.

  “You guessed right. One day at a time, Cas, and I won’t be rushed.”

  “Sunny…” Reese groaned.

  “All right, Reese, I’m going.”

  Averting her eyes from Cas, she rose from her seat and disappeared into the depths of the kitchen.

  * * * *

  Somehow the ‘tomorrow’ talk never happened. Not ‘tomorrow’, not the day after. Cas, anxious to avoid any contact with what Reese called the sing-along, kept himself busy. He decided to make a start on the old homeplace.

  On the third day, he rose an hour earlier, made himself a makeshift breakfast in his little galley kitchen and, loading what tools he thought he’d need into his backpack, began the two mile walk to Jake’s Hill.

  The valley enclosing the town was fairly level and a pleasant walk. Main Street was deserted and Cas felt removed from everything, an observer rather than a participant. He suspected both Sunny and Reese were trying to integrate him into the town, but he wasn’t in any hurry. Slow and easy was the way to do it and maybe avoid any more trouble.

  The town was pretty, and, at this hour, silent and deserted. The Cornucopia had yet to open. The windows of Mimi’s Diner were dark and still, echoing the sound of Cas’s footsteps back to him. There was a small bookstore next to it that did double duty as a lending library, and across the street, Kruger’s garage and gas station had taken in the racks of oil and stacks of tires and was locked up tight.

  An antique shop, Old Things, closed in the winter but doing good business during the warm tourist season, nestled between Lila’s Cut and Shear and Mel’s Bakery. The smell of baking bread wafted into the street; Cas’s stomach growled, having forgotten it had just been filled. Next to it was a taxidermy shop, also seasonal, and next to that a faded Woolworth’s sign, the first Cas had ever seen.

  Main Street, known to the rest of the country as Highway 29, was paved, but the few side streets were packed dirt. Like most dirt roads he’d encountered, they’d probably be dry and dusty in the deep summers, muddy in the spring and fall, icy and dangerous in the cold of winter. The houses lining them were built mostly of wood or siding; when the roads began to climb as they reached the valley’s edge, changing into narrow and difficult tracks, the houses changed too. Here were the mansions, the summer homes of the rich. Brick and stone, built into the hillsides themselves it seemed, they sat at their ease and looked benignly down on the town that had created them.

  As he reached the outskirts of Nevis, a church reared up before him. The road took a sharp curve and Cas turned with it, having no desire to explore anything that belonged to God. There was no God, or if there was, He had created the earth in a moment of whimsy and then lost inter
est, went off about His other business and left His pretty toy to sink or swim by itself. Cas had no use for God, just as God seemed to have no use for him.

  The silence was broken by the mutter of an engine. A motorcycle swept around the curve, slowing as it approached the church. Its rider, dressed in worn jeans and a leather jacket, his long hair escaping from under a bright red helmet and tangling in the wind, raised an arm in friendly greeting as he passed. Cas returned the wave. He continued to walk but watched as the rider turned into the church yard and pulled to a stop. Then both rider and church were lost behind another bend in the road.

  He felt the muscles of his calves and thighs burn as the land began to rise. He kept doggedly on but was glad to turn off into the overgrown driveway that led to Jake’s Hill. These hills weren’t as aggressive and his legs welcomed the reprieve.

  The house seemed to recognize him, to welcome him. With difficulty, he got out of his heavy backpack and leaned it against the same pine he had chosen the first and only other time he’d been here. Standing in the front yard beside an overgrown rosebush, patchy and weedy with neglect, he studied the old house and its covering of honeysuckle. Selecting a machete-like knife, he set to work.

  Several hours later, when the house was beginning to look like a house again, he heard the rumble of a truck engine grinding its way up the drive. He took off his bandana, and wiping his face with it, waited to see who would show. To his surprise it was Sunny. He hadn’t thought she would be alone with him, much less alone in this isolated spot.

  “What’re you doing up here?” she called as she climbed out of the truck and moved toward him.

  “What I’m being paid for–working. I thought I’d make a start on this until the tiller arrived.”

  “Never mind the damn tiller–are you running again?”

  He was honestly surprised. “No, I’m not running again. I just thought it was time I started on this. It’s part of the job too, isn’t it?”

  “Not yet, it isn’t. I want the inn done first. It’s the most important. Be honest with me Cas. You didn’t like that I turned you down. You’re turning your back to me, aren’t you?”

  “No. If you think that…why would you think that? I’m just earning a living here, Sunny.”

  “Then come back down and earn it at the inn.” She raised a hand and let it fall again. “I’m not playing games with you, Cas. I agree with everything you said, because it’s true, but I’m not going into this blind. We have something, yes, but we don’t know each other, do we? Or perhaps I should say I don’t know you. I know nothing about you, except that you’re running and you don’t want to be found. I have to tell you, that’s not much to go on. And what I’m feeling for you, it’s too important to me to be treated casual.”

  “Sunny.” He cupped her face. “Casual is the last thing I feel.”

  “Then you’ll understand, I want this to be as normal as we can make it. I won’t fall in bed with you just to scratch an itch. But I want you as part of my life. I want to know you, all of you, your past, your hopes for the future, just like normal couples. Who are you, Cas?”

  He was silent, his eyes intent on hers. “I’m the man who’s falling in love with you,” he finally said, and rested his brow against hers.

  “Is that what this is?” she whispered. “From the very beginning? Did we know each other in another life?”

  He smiled. “We must have. I recognized you right away.”

  Her eyelids lowered. “Martha gave me a message from you.”

  “Did she now?” His smile widened. “Did you believe it?”

  “I have to, don’t I? You leave me no choice but to believe it. Cas, with all the young and beautiful girls in the world, why me? I’m nothing special.”

  “You’re wrong. You’re very special. And you said it yourself, we knew each other. Recognized each other somehow.” He caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. “I plan to stay here, just so you know. We’ve got all the time in the world, don’t we?”

  “I hope so. Things have a way of happening when you least expect them.”

  “Sunny, will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  “What? You mean at the inn?”

  “No. I want to take you out. Is there somewhere else we could go?”

  “Only Mimi’s, unless you want to drive fifty miles.”

  “I would, for you. But it doesn’t have to be fancy unless you want it to be.”

  “Mimi’s has great burgers.”

  “Mimi’s it is. We’ll give the town something to talk about, shall we? Are you ready for that?”

  Her hands rested on his waist as she stared up at him. He looked back at her, hoping his expression was open and sincere, still smiling.

  “Are you wooing me, Cas?” she asked lightly.

  “I believe I am. Are you willing to be wooed?”

  “I believe I am.”

  “Good. You might have to give me a few instructions. I’ve never done this before.”

  “Instruction number one–never admit you’ve never done this before.”

  “Duly noted. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He paused and ducked his head in embarrassment. “Um, can I borrow the pickup?”

  “You may, even though we could walk.” She laughed. “Now get your things together and come home.”

  “One thing first…”

  With his hands still cupped around her face, he bent his head and fastened his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, an affirmation of honest feelings, a promise of things to come, a pledge to work their way through the difficulties they both brought to this relationship. He gathered her to him, holding her tightly, until she ended the kiss and buried her face in his neck. He closed his eyes and laid his cheek against her bright hair.

  He could have stood there with her forever, but with a sigh, Cas finally let her go. Stroking her cheek with a finger, he kissed her quickly once again and managed to pull himself away. He sheathed the knife and gathered up the rest of the tools he’d used, putting them carefully into the backpack.

  She had told him to come home and she had no idea what that meant to him. Even he knew the difference between a house and a home. From the beginning, he had felt these mountains, this valley had welcomed him. People were iffy, but the land called to him and he was prepared to do whatever it took to make a place for himself here. He wondered if perhaps his mother had been a mountain girl, if such things could be carried in the genes.

  He was almost ready to take the leap of faith, to open himself up to Sunny, for better or worse. It would be a difficult thing for him to do. He had never talked of his past, not to anyone. Would loving Sunny make it easier? Perhaps it would. Since he had arrived here, he had said more to more people than he had ever thought possible.

  After throwing his pack in the truck bed, he climbed into the passenger seat, smiling over at Sunny as she put the truck in gear. She smiled back at him, looking so beautiful, so desirable, he almost regretted the bargain they had made.

  He hoped it would be a short courtship.

  Chapter 12

  Lila Mae Johnson called herself a BBB. The term was her own invention, or so she thought, but it didn’t really matter one way or the other. She was what she was and she was big, black and beautiful, and the owner of her own business in a picturesque town set in picturesque mountains, full of picturesque people. Like people all over the world, they had a good side and a bad side, but in her experience, the good mostly outweighed the bad.

  Miss Lila–called Miss although she’d been married for twenty years and had three children–loved Saturdays at her shop. Every day she worked there was a joy, but Saturdays were particularly fulfilling. Miss Lila was a dyed in the wool gossip, and the Saturday gatherings satisfied her nosiness and her love of being in the know.

  She liked to say her proudest moment was when she had hung her official State license on the wall of her very own shop, but the truth was it had been when she had been the very first to learn that Sara Graham had bee
n left high and dry by her husband of many years, and learned it from Sara herself.

  Miss Lila wasn’t vicious with her gossip, and she could keep a secret if asked, but she dearly loved to speculate and could go on for hours with ‘what ifs’ and ‘should haves’. Her husband, Stan often said the only time she wound down was when she was asleep and even then she didn’t come to a complete stop. Miss Lila, it seemed, talked in her sleep.

  Her shop was always crowded on a Saturday. The ladies of Nevis could have traveled the fifty miles to the next largest town, to a stylist who ran a shop called simply Stefan’s. They could have, but they didn’t. First of all, they didn’t trust a man to be fooling with their hair and second of all, they didn’t trust a man whose name they couldn’t pronounce, let alone spell. Stefan Izillescas might be the handsomest man in the Blue Ridge, but his pretty green eyes wouldn’t be flirting with any of them. They’d go to Miss Lila, where their secrets would be safe–if they remembered to make that request, “Just between you and me, Lila”–and they could let down their hair, both literally and figuratively.

  Saturdays at Miss Lila’s took on an almost party atmosphere. Someone would bring in some donuts, the coffee pot would strain at its warranty, and tongues would begin wagging in an effort of one-upmanship. The room was full of the sounds of buzzing blow dryers, the hiss of water as heads were rinsed, and the soft cadence of southern voices, with every now and then a squeal of delight or disbelief thrown in.

  A male entered at his own peril. The few that did sat uncomfortably in complete silence while Miss Lila or one of her employees worked on him. The work always went quickly, the women as anxious to get back to their talk as the man was to get the hell out of there. Some men made the long trip to Eufaula just to avoid Miss Lila’s, and it was rumored that Al McCrory had even patronized Stefan’s and pronounced him a likable feller who knew how to cut hair.