Montana Rhapsody

by Susanna Solomon

  Two women in dresses stood sentry behind him, their hands in prayer, their faces kind and illuminated with an interior light, their bodies vibrating with energy.

  Laura scanned the crowd for E.B.’s brown hair.

  “Their faith was patient.”

  The crowd murmured its assent.

  “We can do some incredible things through Him.” The preacher gestured and implored, holding his hands up to the sky and then out to the audience. His words rose and fell in a cadence in tune with Laura’s heartbeat. “It was an incredible leap of faith to cross that River Jordan.”

  Is my incredible step of faith here? Laura wondered. When I find E.B., I’m going to tell him everything.

  The women beside her, their bosoms heaving with passion, fanned themselves with their hands, unclipped their brown-leather bags, and opened coin purses. Men jangled change in their pockets.

  Laura weaved closer to the front, nudging people out of her way.

  “The people marched in faith and that march of faith felled a fortress,” the preacher said, his voice vibrating in Laura’s head.

  The crowd seemed to simultaneously sigh, and rose up on its tippy-toes, as if to get closer to the Lord.

  The preacher’s voice rose higher and stronger, hitting a crescendo. “Brothers and Sisters, do you want to fell a fortress?”

  Good question, thought Laura.

  The crowd seemed to move forward in a rush as they called back. “Praise Him!”

  Where was E.B.?

  The preacher put out his hand. “Do not worry. You are in God’s hands now!”

  Feeling a pull, she leaned forward, like she was about to fall, into the river, not the Missouri, but the Jordan. Regaining her balance, she ducked around a tall man in a twentygallon cowboy hat and spotted E.B. He was still walking, away from the campground, but a large woman was trailing after him, tugging at his elbow. She was round, pink cheeked, and dressed in a light pink housedress with loose petal sleeves. Laura could have picked her out of a crowd. Pretty dress for a farmer’s wife.

  “Sin has to be paid for!” the preacher called.

  “Amen!” a few responded from the crowd.

  Laura stepped behind two large men, her face hidden by their hats, and listened to E.B. and Berniece. She could hear them better than she could see them.

  “The Lord has delivered you to my side,” the preacher intoned.

  “How have you been?” Berniece asked.

  “It’s a perilous undertaking!” The preacher’s voice boomed over the gathering.

  “You look a little thin. Have you been eating right?” Berniece asked E.B.

  She sounded like a mother, not a wife, for Chrissakes. Laura noticed that she was clenching her teeth.

  “What is it?” E.B. asked. “I dropped all your stuff off at church a month ago.”

  “Treat a stranger like a brother or a sister!” the preacher commanded.

  “There was this girl,” Laura heard Berniece say. Her words tumbled forth. “She was freezing, weeping, barely making sense. She kept muttering a name. Campbell, I think, took a while to understand her. Marcy and I spent hours warming her up and understanding who she was. So we knew you were coming.” She paused. “Marcy and I, we baked a cake.”

  Laura saw Berniece tuck even closer to E.B. To E.B., maybe Berniece smelled like horses, barns, earth. Wet damp earth. Laura probably smelled like sweat. She kept her arms at her sides.

  “Berniece, not now,” E.B. said. “Call me, leave a message, send me an e-mail, tell me the story another time. I have got to go.”

  Berniece clutched at his arm.

  E.B. grabbed her hand. “Berniece. Leave me be.”

  His hand was on top of hers. Right there. Laura shivered.

  Berniece cleared her throat. “Cornelius said I could borrow his truck, bring it back tomorrow.”

  “For what?” E.B. asked.

  Laura dug her heels into the ground.

  “Please, just listen. Only take a minute,” Berniece pleaded.

  “But, if you’re saved!” the preacher shouted, “you can . . .”

  “Amen!”

  “Praise Jesus!”

  “You can walk with God.”

  Berniece leaned closer to E.B.

  Laura leaned into the farmers in front of her.

  “It’s you, not him I want,” Berniece said, her mouth warming his ear. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said, “in time for supper. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes, still your favorite?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Tuesday, afternoon

  Coal Banks Landing

  LAURA, E.B., AND BERNIECE

  It couldn’t be true, Laura thought, watching E.B. and Berniece. Oh Jesus, he was so close to her.

  She wound around the farmers in front of her, marched right up to the two of them, and planted herself a foot away, just a little too close for their comfort.

  “There you are, E.B.,” she said, full of warmth and light. “The whole crew’s been looking for you. Everyone’s waiting.” She glanced over at Berniece. Her face was flushed, and she scrolled her eyes from Laura to E.B. back to Laura again. Laura pierced Berniece’s steely gaze with her perfect Hollywood smile.

  Berniece shot E.B. a sharp look.

  E.B., surprisingly, just stood there, with a big smile on his face, beaming at Laura. It took Laura aback a bit. Was this a big joke to him?

  “Do you mind if I talk to my husband privately, miss?” Berniece asked.

  “Gee, I’m just the messenger,” Laura purred. “But E.B., Ken’s waiting, says he’s got another party to load.”

  “Right,” E.B. said, smiling now at Berniece. “I’ve got to go.” “Give us a minute, if you please,” Berniece said, sounding officious. “Tell him to wait. My husband and I have personal things to discuss.” She closed up the distance between them and slipped her arm through his.

  “If you don’t mind? Just give me another few minutes,” E.B. suggested. “Then I’ll help him load the van.”

  Berniece shot Laura a look of victory and grinned.

  “I’ll tell the others.” Laura turned on her heel. The sound of Berniece’s voice reverberated in her head.

  She walked like she was heading to her car at 3:00 a.m. She forced herself through the crowd, trying to move fast enough so that no one would see her reddening eyes.

  Back at the shore, she watched the Missouri move by. It was dirty and ugly and mean on its thousand-mile march to the sea. What had she been thinking, busting in on a husband and wife and all their shared history? E.B. was as slippery as all the men she’d ever known.

  Out of the crowd, she looked back, at the preacher, at the man who had pulled her in so strongly, just like she pulled in the guys at the club. He was just a man, an excuse for a man, his beard no longer full but scraggly, his arms pins on a wooden body. His words were just a seduction, an act, just like hers. She was just like the preacher. He was another charlatan, just like her. God was just another word for liar.

  Damn that Berniece. E.B. deserved better. She remembered his face near hers, the way he tucked her in their only sleeping bag and how he had been cold all that night. And how his mouth had felt on hers, tentative, lovely, smooth, open. And how he had looked with Berniece, shoulders slumped, body aching.

  Laura made her way back to the van, climbed inside, and sat next to E.B.’s backpack. Stella had been wrong. She always said that there was a man out there, who wanted to love Laura, who wanted to take care of her, and her him. I had come so close, Stella. There would be no one, ever, Laura knew.

  She tucked her nose to his pack and sensed the smell of him. She held it for a moment while outside the van campers and canoeists milled about the campground, happy, catching fish, playing Frisbee, setting up tents. And beyond, the preacher was collecting his flock of lost souls, while she watched the river flow on by, wishing she could turn back time and once again lace her fingers through E.B.’s.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Tuesday
, afternoon

  Coal Banks Landing

  CAMPBELL, DAISY, AND MARCY

  Campbell watched Daisy walk away, her hips swiveling under the poorly fitting yellow dress, her white sandals slapping the ground. He turned to the pile of gear at the ramp and imagined her soft hands in his, her sweet mouth, so eager, the scent of her skin. A minute later, he dropped everything and took off after her.

  He crossed the campground. At the far end a group of people were listening to a man in a black coat marching around and speaking loudly. Someone was preaching. Here?

  “Leave the door open to worship,” the man’s voice said.

  A shudder went over the group of people. Men tucked in closer to their wives, their mouths slack, murmuring “amen.”

  Campbell checked out the rest of the campground. Children played and a few people were asleep in lawn chairs. No Daisy. He turned back to the group.

  “Put yourself in an attitude to receive the Truth,” the voice continued.

  Truth, my ass. Campbell laughed, moving forward through the crowd.

  “Adulterers are wicked and God abhors them,” the preacher said.

  Adulterers? So, what else was new?

  “You have sinned in the eyes of the Lord,” the preacher said, his voice rising.

  A man in tan shorts and a brown T-shirt elbowed Campbell by mistake. “Sorry.”

  “Seen any short blonde girls?” Campbell asked. The guy looked like he was on safari.

  “Check with the preacher, over there. He’s got a whole harem,” the man said and slipped away into the gathering.

  “Our God’s not a punitive God,” the preacher continued. Beyond him, Campbell saw a girl with blonde hair, but when he stepped closer, he found that it wasn’t Daisy at all, just a middle-aged woman in overalls, shouting from the sidelines, stabbing the air with her cigarette.

  “Sinners, you know who you are!”

  Off to the side, Campbell noticed E.B. talking to a woman, and beyond, a flash of yellow weaving through the crowd. Daisy! He followed her, making his way to the front of the gathering, where the preacher paced back and forth, pounding on a Bible. Husbands wiped sweat off their foreheads, glanced at other guilty men, and tightened their grip on their wives.

  In front, beside the preacher, two tables sagged with two coffee urns, piles of biscuits, and foam cups in stacks. Behind, an RV stood in the shadows of a cottonwood tree. Two women, wearing dresses, stood on opposite ends of the tables, their hands clasped, eyes down. Then his gaze fell on a third, eyes open and radiant, pacing from RV to tables, carrying cups. A girl with an ill-fitting dress, a girl he would recognize anywhere. Daisy.

  Stung, Campbell waited, not sure what to do next.

  “Do I have an ‘Amen’?” the preacher called out and the crowd answered all at once. Men dropped their heads into their hands and women wept.

  “What a bunch of Philistines,” Campbell muttered under his breath. The crowd dissipated. His ears rang a little bit with the sound of the preacher’s voice. He walked up to one of the tables and stood behind a couple waiting for Daisy to pour their coffee. They strolled away, speaking in hushed tones.

  Campbell stepped forward and leaned over the table.

  “Coffee, biscuit?” Daisy asked.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Bet you’re thirsty after all that packing.” She held out a cup of coffee. “It’s good. Just made it.”

  “Sweetheart, no. Put it down,” he said, his voice holding more pain than he wanted.

  “It’s just coffee, Campbell. It won’t hurt you. Take it.” Daisy pushed the coffee across the table.

  “You don’t need to do this, Daisy. Come with me, now.”

  “Biscuit?”

  Behind Campbell, someone coughed.

  Campbell didn’t move. “Daisy, please.”

  A man nudged Campbell in the back. “Hey, buddy, make up your mind or step aside.”

  Campbell slowly turned, steaming, his mouth two inches from the farmer’s face. “Wait your turn, buster.”

  “Hey! I thought this is God’s place, a place of worship.” The farmer grabbed his wife’s hand. “Let’s get out of here, Betsy, before he starts a fight.”

  Campbell gave them a dirty look and held his ground. “Campbell, please,” Daisy whispered.

  “Give me a minute,” he argued, turning to the people around him. “Can’t you see? The preacher’s a charlatan. You all know better. Now, get on home and get a life.”

  They scattered.

  “Now, look what you’ve done.” Daisy’s eyes filled with tears. “Campbell, come on. Don’t be such a jerk.”

  “Daisy, what are you doing? They’ve got you all twisted and confused. You know better.”

  “They were there for me last night. Where were you?” She looked behind him, hopeful, and waved to some other people. “Next.”

  “Daisy, come on.”

  She went back to pouring coffee and handing out biscuits.

  “Had a tough day, Campbell? I’m not surprised,” a woman in a red dress pressed her slender hand on his shoulder.

  He spun around. “How do you know my name?”

  “I’m Marcy. Glad to meet you.” She held out her hand. Campbell hesitated. “Thank you for being kind to Daisy.” He wanted to yell at her, take her by her scrawny neck, and hug her too. “Where did you find her?”

  “I’ll tell you when we’re done serving—or better yet, ask Daisy to tell you. She looks happy, doesn’t she?” Marcy adjusted the high neckline on her dress.

  He had to admit, Daisy did look radiant. He walked around to her side of the serving table, and touched her arm. A biscuit fell out of her hand onto the table.

  “Come back in fifteen minutes, please, Campbell. I’m busy serving the Lord here.”

  “This man bothering you, ma’am?” one of the farmers said, biscuit crumbs in his long beard. He placed his meaty paw on Campbell’s arm. “The lady asked nice.”

  “Get your hand offa me!” Campbell yelled.

  Everyone went silent. Campbell scanned the crowd. Most stared at him.

  “Come on. You hate these kind of people, Daisy,” Campbell said.

  “Serving the Lord. His wonders never cease,” she answered, her voice shaking.

  “We can talk, over here, by the river, all you want. I’m with you, everything’s okay now.”

  “You bet.” She grinned.

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” said a man across the table.

  “Come on.” Campbell ignored his rising anger.

  Daisy turned to the next person in line.

  Campbell saw strain in her eyes.

  A woman, opposite Daisy, gray haired and wearing oversized glasses, leaned on the table. “Honey, he’s upset. Take him to the Lord. He’s ready.” She turned to a boy. “God moves in strange ways, Fred,” she said, and patted his blond head. “Let’s go find your mom.”

  “The Lord is ready to receive you, my son,” a preacher stepped up and murmured low in Campbell’s ear.

  “Not for me, not today.”

  “Treat him gently, Father. He needs you the most,” Marcy said, stepping close to the preacher.

  In the distance, a horn blared. Campbell forced his eyes into the preacher’s. “She gets confused easy,” he said.

  “Hey!” Daisy interrupted.

  “Son,” the preacher said. “The Lord can help you. Relieve your pain.”

  “Back pain? Heart pain? He didn’t do much for me while I was in the hospital last year,” Campbell spat.

  “But you’re here, aren’t you?” the preacher asked. “Be thankful. He doesn’t save everyone.”

  “Come on, honey,” Campbell said to Daisy. “Let me introduce you to E.B. and Laura. They’re nice people.”

  “God-fearing?” Daisy asked. “Thought not.” She stepped away from Campbell and toward the preacher. “Take good care of him, Father.” She kissed Campbell on the cheek. “You boys work it out.” She followed M
arcy into the RV and slammed the door.

  “Daisy! Daisy! Wait a sec!” Campbell yelled.

  “Resistance to God’s word is futile, my son.” The preacher sidled up beside him. “Give it up, Campbell, and welcome the Lord.”

  “You should be ashamed,” Campbell turned on him. “Preying on a weak soul in her moment of need.”

  “Have it your way,” the preacher said, and entered the RV. Once again the door slammed shut.

  “Daisy! Daisy! Come out, please. We can talk about this!” Campbell put his ear to the door and listened.

  He heard sobs. Was it her? Were they hurting her? Twigs cracked behind him. There were more? He turned.

  “Dad!” Francine was hurrying toward him. “I’ve been looking all over for you! Ken’s leaving!”

  Campbell pounded on the wall of the RV.

  The preacher cracked the door. “Lost your way with the Lord, Campbell? Ready to confess?”

  “Let me talk to Daisy,” Campbell urged in his most patient voice, the one he used when deals were going sour and they needed a little more time.

  “Dad!” Francine came into the clearing.

  Campbell looked from Francine, to the preacher, and finally to Daisy. Her face was riddled with tears. “If you so much as hurt her—”

  “Campbell,” Daisy interrupted, “if you love me, please let me go.”

  “God has brought us a new sister,” the preacher said. “Let us give thanks.”

  “What do you do, screw them all at once?”

  “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” Daisy recited.

  “Daisy! My daughter’s right here. She wants to meet you.” Campbell waved Francine over.

  Daisy didn’t move.

  “Say hi to my daughter Francine, at least.”

  “Are these the people who took care of you last night?” Francine smiled. “My dad was so worried. Thanks.”

  “Hello, Francine,” Daisy said in a small, scared voice. “Would you like to meet Berniece and Marcy?”

  “Time to go,” the preacher declared, nudging them both away from the door.

  “Not yet,” Francine said, and shoved her way inside.

  “Give us a sec, all right?” Campbell sidled in beside his daughter.