Songbird

by Lisa Samson

  “It is.”

  “And look at this table and the cabinets. Real oak laminate!”

  “It sure warms up the place.”

  He knocks on the table. “Sturdy, too.”

  “Seems to be lots of storage.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. Not to mention all the room we’ll have underneath now.”

  “Are we self-contained?”

  “Would I settle for less?”

  Oh, Harlan, dear Harlan. I love you so.

  The tour continues and in the bedroom, I turn around and fold his arms around me. “I think I can handle living here.”

  “So I’ve got your approval?”

  “You mean you haven’t already bought it?”

  “Well, no. I’ve made the preparations, but the owner agrees I can back out of it if you absolutely hate it.”

  Now’s my time to say something, something about taking tie down payment and putting it on a house. But then he’d know. Harlan would know that the life we now have just isn’t enough and I can’t do that to him.

  “I say let’s get it.”

  He lifts me up. “Oh, Shug. We’ve got us a good life, don’t we?”

  And I have to agree with him. Because life can be so much worse. Believe me, I know. It’s something I have to remind myself of everyday.

  Why?

  Why do I have to remind myself?

  I decide to call a doctor. Life shouldn’t be an internal struggle, a continual convincing that all is well when it surely is.

  I wait until nobody is around inside the church office and call a Dr. Braselton. They take me right away I tell him of my struggles, he shakes his head and pats my hand and says, “I’m writing you out a prescription.”

  I drive to the pharmacy and wait for them to fill it. I buy a Diet Coke at the gas station, position the Tofranil on my $ongue, and I swallow.

  Part Five

  1

  Harlan lifts his glass of tea. “Its time, Shug, don’t you think?” He sips.

  I ruffle my Leo’s carpet of hair. It has thickened up so these past few years! The once light blond cap is a dark, dirty blond now. He truly looks related to Harlan. “I don’t think I’m doing right by Leo in homeschooling, Harlan. I’ve known that since last year. And second grade is coming up this fall. He needs to be in a school.”

  Imagine me, the high-school dropout, homeschooling.

  Leo hugs me with his stick arms. Now, I can only tell you this, I never thought I could love a little guy the way I love this boy. Affectionate doesn’t begin to describe Leo. It’s as if our hearts kiss one another all day long, even when we are apart.

  Hope’s a busy bee. And we are much alike, always going strong and smiling. Oh, my, but she can be a hardhead! I like that about her. I like the fact that she chooses her battles and fights to the death.

  And has the Tofranil been great. I truthfully feel like the person I used to act like before. It’s worth the dry mouth it gives me. I just keep a cup of ice handy.

  We sit now at the dinette in my Class A motor home, Harlan, Leo, and me. True, the RV disappointed me a few years ago, but I’ve learned to appreciate this place. Ruby’s made the Class C her own and Henry and Melvin are in the travel trailer. Russell, Melvin’s no-good nephew flew the coop shortly after Grace did and we hired two brothers from Alabama fresh out of electronics school who take the truck camper. Everybody moved up when we got this thing, which made the entire deal a little more acceptable for me.

  Oh, Harlan’s become almost a celebrity! His crusades on getting right with the Lord and not relying on psychology and pills has been freeing people all over the South! My favorite quotes from his sermons are these:

  1. “Man needs to be saved from his own wisdom as much as from his own righteousness, for they produce one and the same corruption.” That’s by William Law, whoever he is.

  2. “But the true God hath this attribute, that He is a jealous God; and therefore, His worship and religion, will endure no mixture, nor partner.” Sir Francis Bacon.

  And I know Francis Bacon is right. People are looking to man for the answers when God has them. Counselors are resorting to psychotherapy instead of good advice from the Bible. I know Christians are hurting themselves and each other and Jesus is the answer.

  Just like the song says.

  Of course, I’m still taking my medication. I tried to get off it after a year, but fell right back down into the depression. At least now I know it’s a physical problem, not a spiritual one. Harlan still doesn’t know about it.

  Yes, I am torn. I believe his message, and surely my walk differs from Harlan’s talk. I save up money here and there from the household expenses each month, buying less meat, more pasta, and as much generic as I can, to pay for my medication and doctor visits. Grandma Min helps when I need it.

  Sometimes, though, I hear Harlan make it all sound so easy and I long to tell him what its really like, that it isn’t what he thinks. I want to tell him, but obviously I can’t. He’s so bold I and healthy. I wonder if there’s ever been a time he thought he was going out of his mind.

  Anyway, the crowds love it. We’re getting all sorts of letters of deliverance, and Harlan gives God all the glory.

  Over the last few years I’ve been a hit at Gospelganza. I was sold on performing for the masses from the very first concert. We’ve also had a regular itinerary of churches that ask us back year after year, usually for the same basic week. In spring we can count on being in Macon, Americus, Birmingham, Huntsville, Jackson, Pensacola, Ft. Meyers, Jacksonville, and Chattanooga. In fall we can always count on the folks in Suffolk as well as Chesapeake, Lynchburg, Richmond, Farmville, and Charlottesville. We do a lot of North Carolina in the autumn and the winter too, which makes Mount Oak, set right on the border of North Carolina and Virginia, right in the hills, a great i place to settle down. We sort of settled here anyway.

  Port of Peace Assembly welcomed us as their own after that first visit and invited us to park the RVs on their lot whenever we have some free days. That’s where we are now.

  Port of Peace sits right in town. All sorts of churches inhabit this town, but no other Assemblies churches. We even know the folks at Bill D’s Restaurant now and although I cannot vouch for their biscuits and gravy personally, thanks to MaryAnna Trench, my agent, dictator and dietician, Harlan put on at least twenty pounds.

  Although two of those pounds come from his new toupee, I’m sure. I offered to give him half of my hair and that just tickled him. “One redhead in this family is enough, Shug.”

  To be honest, it gets to me just a little. Why should Harlan get to wear a toupee to make him feel good about himself, and I shouldn’t pop a little pill into my mouth once a day? That’s hardly fair.

  Hope, five years old now with very long wavy hair and the worst, yet cutest case of knocked knees you’ve ever seen, runs up into the RV from a long stint on the church playground. “I’m done playing for now. Can I have something to drink?”

  “Sure, honey.” I stand to my feet and pour her a glass of Kool-Aid. I grab myself a Diet Coke. “Where’s Leo?”

  “He’s in the church with Melvin.”

  “What are they doing?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Redoing the sound system in there … again.”

  “Those two. Like peas in a pod!” I turn to Harlan. “See what I mean? Leo’s the mathematical technical type. I couldn’t do him justice. I can barely multiply fractions.”

  Harlan agrees. After all, Melvin’s been teaching the boy math for the past two years and I may not always be able to rely on Melvin. “And we can also put Hope in the church preschool.”

  “Preschool? Harlan, she’s old enough to go into kindergarten next year.”

  He pales. “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  And the picture of a bird clutching a ringing alarm clock in his claws flies across my mind’s sky. Naturally, it’s a little bluebird. The purple Fantasia dragon flies up behind him and wants to e
at him, but I just shove that demon lizard right back down where he belongs.

  Hope drinks down her Kool-Aid. “I’m going down to the nursery to play with the toys.”

  “This would be a good life here, Harlan.”

  “You up to being a regular old pastor’s wife?”

  “Harlan, I could never be a regular old anything!”

  “I thank the Lord for it.”

  “Bee?”

  “Hey, Charmaine.”

  “You won’t believe it! Harlan’s taking a church!”

  “Oh, my!”

  “I know. We just agreed at a meeting with the board not ten minutes ago and he’s going to be the senior pastor here at Port of Peace. We’re going to buy a house!”

  We both holler into the phone.

  Bee yells to her husband Robert. “Hey, Robbie, Harlan’s settling down!” Her voice softens. “Well, I got to tell you, I won the bet!”

  “What bet?”

  “I bet Robert that Harlan would settle down well before the age of forty-five and I was right.”

  “Congratulations. I’m glad you were.”

  “So what about the kids, they excited?”

  “Yep. Leo, you know how sweet he is, says, ‘Mama, I loved having you for a teacher, but I think it will be fun to go to school.’”

  “I love that boy.”

  “Isn’t he the sweetest thing, Bee? I find sweet little notes from him all the time in the cutest places.”

  Harlan rounds the corner into the lime-green church office.

  “I’m talking to Bee, baby.”

  “Did you tell her?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He grins. “Can I talk to her?”

  “Sure thing!”

  I hand him the phone. I can hardly believe this is happening. I’ve looked forward to this my entire life. “Can I find out about a real estate agent?”

  “I’d be shocked if you didn’t. Yes, I’m here, Bee,” he says and I am off and zooming like one of those fancy race cars, only I am purple!

  The church secretary, none other than Miss Tanzel from Suffolk who took the job here a year ago after I informed her of it, nabs me as I fly down the hallway. “Charmaine?”

  “Oh, hey, Miss Tanzel!”

  “Got a phone call. From that Mizz Trench lady.”

  Oh, my lands.

  Tanzel leans forward, pressing the receiver into her thigh. “I don’t like her. She’s pushy.”

  “I know.”

  “You watch out for that one. I don’t trust her.”

  I take the phone and cover the receiver with the palm of my hand. “Tanzel, could you ask Mr. Plummer if he knows what real estate agency I should go with?”

  “Be glad to.” She leans forward and whispers. “I’ve got to tell you I’m tickled to death you all are staying on here. That last pastor’s wife …” She rolls her eyes.

  I laugh and take my hand off the receiver. “Hey, MaryAnna.”

  “What took you so long?”

  “What’s up?”

  “Brooks Tone Records wants to see you!”

  “They already called?”

  “Yep. Apparently after hearing what we sent them, they sent a scout out to that gospel festival in Amarillo you did a while ago. And Brooks Tone is a good label, Char. This is no two-bit Christian thing.”

  “I thought they were a Christian label.”

  “They are. Just not a two-bit one.”

  “So when do I leave?”

  “They want to see you at the beginning of September. And behave yourself. We want a good deal.”

  “You think we’ll really get a good deal?”

  “A nice little chunk is what I’m going for. Char. They can afford it. And you know how the crowds love you.”

  I never know what to say to statements like that.

  She continues. “And your little homespun tape sells like crazy at the concerts. I told them your sales figures and they were thrilled. You’re a sure thing, Char.”

  “But can they do better for me? I mean, I won’t make nearly as much per tape now if all I get is royalties.”

  I hear MaryAnna’s lighter click. “True.” Puff, puff. “But you’ll be in stores and they’ll get you into mainstream record stores, I think. I mean Farris McCord is one of their artists and I heard that song “Always My Father” on the regular country station here in Nashville several times last week. You’ll get airplay, Char. We need that. And let’s face it, I get paid off your royalties on these deals, sweetheart. Got to make this worth my while.”

  True. “Well, let’s negotiate and see what happens. We can always turn them down if we think that’s right.”

  Judging by the pregnant silence, I can tell MaryAnna doesn’t like that, but right now, that’s just tough. “Look MaryAnna, I’ve got to go house hunting.”

  “House hunting?”

  “Yes. Harlan’s taking a church here in Mount Oak.”

  “He’s taking a church?”

  “Yes. Are you not hearing what I’m saying the first time around?”

  “It’s just a shock, Char. I mean, you get so much exposure at those things.”

  “But the crusades aren’t about my exposure, MaryAnna.”

  “Well they should be!”

  Here we go again. MaryAnna and I have this conversation at least twice a year. “No. It’s about ministry. I don’t know why you can’t get that into your thick head. Maybe if you actually came to one you’d understand.”

  She laughs with scorn. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a church.”

  “I know, I know, I know. Why did you take me on in the first place then?”

  She hesitates. “I needed a client.”

  “A client?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You mean you didn’t have any other clients when I hired you on? You lied to me?”

  She hesitates again.

  “Oh, come on, MaryAnna, you’re halfway into the confession, and after all this time, you might as well go all the way.”

  “No. I had no other clients.”

  “Why not?”

  “None of your business. You’re doing fine. We’ve turned into quite a team these past few years. So now don’t start nosing around into my personal life.”

  “Oh, my lands, MaryAnna, you take yourself way too seriously.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like to be me.”

  “Boo-hoo. Did your mother abandon you when you were eleven?”

  “Well, no.”

  “So stop the pity party.” Watch, her skeletons include cancer recovery, spousal abuse, and a runaway child.

  I hate myself just then. I don’t know why it is that some people touch my heart to its core, and others leave it cold. And what right do I have to differentiate from one person to the other? It’s hardly something Jesus would do.

  “I’d better let you go find that house.”

  “It’s a home, MaryAnna. I’m finally going to be able to go home.”

  Her voice warms as she says, “I know, Char. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

  “Me, either.” I laugh. “You can be really difficult sometimes. You know that? I mean, I’m the artist. I’m supposed to be the temperamental one and I’m the one fighting to be heard.”

  “You’re right.”

  “No wonder I’m your only client.”

  “Well, you’re not anymore, you know.”

  “At least there’s that, then.”

  “I’ll try to be a little nicer.”

  “Good. ‘Cause I’ve completed my three years with you, you know and we’ve never signed anything officially that I have to keep you on.”

  “You’re coming through loud and clear, Char. You don’t have to beat me over the head with it!”

  It was as close to an apology as she had ever come. “Don’t worry about it. Hey, why don’t you come to Mount Oak when we’re all moved in?”

  “I may just do that.”

  As if that would really ever happe
n. “MaryAnna, I don’t know what your problems are, and I’m sorry for making light of them like I did.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m a wallower. I’ll be okay.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve lasted this long haven’t I?”

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “Okay, Charmaine! Let it go!”

  “I just want you to know my ears are good at listening.”

  We say our good-byes and I turn to Tanzel. She shakes her head in disbelief. “Remind me not to cross you unduly.”

  I wave my hand. “Oh, that! That’s just the way MaryAnna and I communicate. If I didn’t do that she’d walk all over me!”

  “She that type?”

  “She’s more than that type. She’s the prototype of that type!”

  She puts her reading glasses back up on her nose. “So I’m right about her, then.”

  “Probably.” I lean over and rub her upper arm. “I’m so glad you’re down here now, Miss Tanzel.”

  “Me, too. Hey, why don’t you all come over to my place for dinner tonight after you’ve looked at houses? We can go over the flyers together and I can tell you what to look out for.”

  “Okay. That will be nice.”

  “You go on now. How about six o’clock?”

  “We’ll be there.”

  “Anything your kids hate to eat?”

  “Everything. If you make a side of macaroni and cheese, they’ll be all set.”

  “Do you spoil them?”

  “I guess I do.”

  I guess I have to, if only to prove things to myself.

  We only have so much money and it isn’t much, so we’re limited as to what the real estate agent will show us. I don’t want to see anything even a few thousand dollars above our price range. See, any old thing will do right now, and I want to keep it that way. I don’t want to get the yearns before I’ve stepped even one foot over the threshold of my very own home.

  I’ve blamed so much of who I am on my lack of roots, so I am feeling a bit of trepidation. What if we move in and a few months later, it’s not enough?

  The agent, a stick-bug of a woman named Gina Kraft, pulls her car up to a brick rancher. It’s long and unadorned.

  “Are you sure this is in our price range?” I ask.