Livvie's Song

by Sharlene MacLaren

  Livvie laughed at their enthusiasm and, every so often, reminded them not to talk with their mouths full. They’d swallow, take a swig of cola, and then continue, spouting about his harmonica and calling him the “best player in the world.”

  “So, where did you learn to skip rocks and play the harmonica, Will Taylor?” Livvie asked. She turned to face him, and he noticed that her olive green shirtwaist made her luminous eyes look more green than blue.

  “I grew up a mile or so from a little lake in upstate New York. A bunch of my boyhood chums and I used to walk down there, and we’d practice by the hour. ’Course, we fished, swam, hunted turtles, and looked for crayfish, too. You know, the usual kid stuff.” He snuck a grin at Nathan and Alex, then looked back at Livvie. “As far as the harmonica goes, well, my grandfather was a pretty musical guy. We used to sit out on the front stoop of his house, where he’d play while I listened and watched. Then, one day, he just handed it off to me and said, ‘Here, you try it.’ It just sort of started coming to me, real natural-like.” He instantly regretted having divulged so much with hardly a pause to catch his breath. He should have taken a second to think before letting it all roll off his tongue. The goal had been to remain an enigma, and yet, here he was, relating details from his childhood to a woman he barely knew, and to her boys, who kept their eyes fixed on him like he was some kind of hero.

  “And your parents…were they musical, as well?” Livvie asked, oblivious to his sudden wariness.

  He supposed it couldn’t hurt to answer a few more questions, as long as she didn’t dig too deep. “Not especially. My mother could at least hum a tune, but my pa…well, he was pretty much tone-deaf.”

  “So, your grandfather who played the harmonica, he was your mother’s father, I presume?”

  “Yes.”

  She lifted her glass to her pretty mouth and took a few small sips. Will watched that hollow place at her throat go in and out with each swallow. Purely mesmerizing.

  “Do you sing, too, Mr. Taylor?”

  He met her gaze. “I can do a fair job.”

  She set the glass back down and looked at her sons. “He’ll have to serenade us sometime, won’t he, boys?”

  “What’s ‘serenade’?” Nathan asked.

  “Sing and play, dodo bird,” Alex blurted out.

  “Alex,” Livvie said, lowering her chin in a disapproving manner.

  “Sorry,” the boy murmured, nudging his brother in the side. He picked up his sandwich and took another big bite.

  Livvie picked up her own sandwich, turning it slightly in her hands. “Your family, do they all still live upstate?”

  “No, they don’t.”

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  “Had a sister. She died.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did she pass recently?”

  His heart caught as the memory took him back twenty-one years. “She drowned. I was thirteen at the time, and Joella was seven.” He cleared his throat. “I was supposed to be watching her.”

  Livvie gasped and held her sandwich in midair. Even her boys ceased eating. They seemed to recognize the moment as brutally serious.

  “Your parents must have been devastated. Did they ever recover?”

  “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Whole thing was my fault. That’s when matters between my folks and me took a drastic turn. Looking back, I’m sure my pa’s anger influenced my mother’s, as I used to hear them talking in another room about how they never should have entrusted Joella to my care that day, how irresponsible it was of me to have taken her to the lake, and on and on. Don’t get me wrong; I know they loved me—no doubt there. They just failed to show it after that fateful day. It seemed like every time I walked into a room, about all I read in their eyes was shame and blame. And, of course, my mother never stopped crying.”

  That was when he’d taken up with the wrong crowd—a bunch of fellows all seeking approval, acceptance, and a place to fit in. To manufacture their own fun, they’d started smoking, drinking, and committing petty crimes—vandalizing vacant buildings and such—which had soon escalated into more serious offenses. He often wondered what had happened to that gang of troublemakers, particularly the ones who’d joined him in the jewelry store theft. Had any of them reformed over the past decade?

  “…shouldn’t have blamed you,” Livvie was saying. Her voice pulled him out of his reverie and back to the present. “You were only thirteen.” Good thing he’d had enough sense to clamp his mouth shut before divulging anything else. She’d fire him for sure if she learned about his stint in jail. “It must have been awful for you. Surely, you know that your parents probably blamed themselves and merely misdirected that blame because it made them feel less guilty.” She shook her head. “It’s all so sad. Where are they now? Do you ever see them?”

  “They’re both gone. Passed on a few years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry—again. You’ve had a rough go of it, haven’t you.”

  He shrugged. “No worse than anyone else. Look at you, young lady. Your life hasn’t exactly been a bowl of juicy red cherries. What we choose to do with our circumstances is what truly matters. I mean, yeah, for years afterward, the Lord’s grace and mercy seemed far off. I kept asking how a good and decent God could allow a young girl’s life to end so tragically, with me in the middle of it all. But then, there came a time when I had to lay it all down, just give it up, you know? That made all the difference for me.”

  He had Harry to thank for getting him to that point, too, but he’d keep that matter to himself, lest she or one of the boys start asking about how he played into the scheme of things. Harry had also reassured Will that his folks had no business placing blame on him unless they pointed the finger back at themselves, as well. He’d been a mere lad, after all. Will recalled Pa’s stern instruction as he’d climbed to his perch on the buckboard, preparing to leave: “Take care of your sister while I run some errands in town. Your mother’s in bed with that bad case of influenza, so don’t go running off, you hear?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll watch over things,” he’d promised. But, of course, he hadn’t. No sooner had his father disappeared around the first bend in the dusty road than he’d dragged a balking Joella away from her dolls so that he could go fishing down at the lake. He’d never dreamed that she’d slip and fall from a steep cliff, hit her head on a rock on the way down, and tumble into the deep waters below. Even though he’d scampered down the hill to get to her, screaming at the top of his lungs for someone to help him, not a soul had heard his cries. By the time he’d found his sister and pulled her out, she’d already turned a strange, milky-white color.

  He raked a hand through his hair to keep from shuddering at the memory. He supposed none of it mattered now; it hadn’t, ever since his mother had died of pneumonia and his pa had overdosed on liquor and aspirin while he’d sat in prison. In the end, a broken heart was probably what had really killed them. After all, they’d lost their only daughter in a senseless accident, their only son to a life of crime.

  “I could use a glass of water,” Will said when he realized how desperately he wanted to change the subject. “Any of you need anything?”

  “We’re fine, and you don’t need to wait on us,” Livvie said.

  He wanted to ask her when the last time was that she’d been waited on; when she’d last let someone else shoulder a burden of hers. Instead, he glanced over her head at the clock on the wall. “Man, where’d the time go?” He pushed back his chair, making the legs scrape loudly against the wood floor. “I’m going to start cleaning up the kitchen, if you don’t mind, and then I need to run upstairs and change my clothes for church.”

  “Church? For the second time today?” She gaped at him as if he’d suddenly grown a third eye. “Isn’t once a Sunday enough?”

  Her remark made him toss his head back and laugh. “It’s not a chore to me, Livvie. Fact is, I enjoy it. I’ve been attending that Wesleyan Methodist church at the corner of Market and Thorne. It
’s a bit on the strict side, I suppose, but they’re a loving, generous bunch, far as I can tell. This morning, they took up a collection for a missionary couple serving in Siam. Let me just say that when the offering plate passed by me, it sure did look full to brimming. The reverend’s sermon did a number on my conscience, too—always a sign of good preaching, if you ask me.”

  “Ha! Then I best not go there,” she said, pushing a few strands of golden hair out of her face. Her comment was worded like a jest, but her tone was dead serious.

  “Mom don’t ever take us to church anymore,” Alex said glumly. “We used to go, but that was before our daddy—”

  “Alex, hush,” Livvie said. She stood up hurriedly, making quite a racket with her chair.

  “No, please—sit. You aren’t even done yet,” Will said, nodding at her half-eaten plate of food.

  “I should help.”

  He smiled beneath his forest of whiskers. “Relax, would you? I’ll take care of things.”

  She gave a hesitant nod and lowered herself slowly into her chair.

  As he washed dishes and tidied up the kitchen, Will tried to think of the best way to go about offering to take Alex and Nathan with him to church sometime.

  Chapter Eight

  “But thou, O Lord, art a God full of compassion, and gracious, longsuffering, and plenteous in mercy and truth.”—Psalm 86:15

  Will didn’t know if Monday mornings were always this busy, or if more folks than usual had come out just because they’d heard about Joe Stewart’s replacement and wanted to see how he measured up. He’d been flipping pancakes and French toast, browning bacon and sausage, and frying up one egg after another for the past hour with nary a break—and loving every minute of it. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t had so much fun since…well, he couldn’t recall.

  Coot Hermanson sat on a stool at the bar and kept Will informed of everyone’s comings and goings, making introductions whenever someone joined him at the counter, and waving folks over when they rose from their seats to leave. He probably should have saved his breath, though, because Will forgot everyone’s name immediately after being introduced.

  Livvie and Cora Mae had been moving nonstop, too, picking up breakfast platters at the counter and dropping off new order slips faster than a blink. Somehow, though, Will managed to remain calm and cool.

  No more than a couple of sentences had passed between Livvie and him, for all of her running back and forth, but he did catch several glimpses of her mopping her shiny brow with her apron, promising Coot she’d be right back with the coffeepot, and bending to coo at a newborn baby in his mother’s arms. Despite her busyness, she still took the time to acknowledge folks. And Will admired her for that.

  Around eleven o’clock, when the breakfast crowd had dwindled to a few retired oldsters, Will started cleaning up the kitchen and thinking about the lunch menu. There would be the usual Monday soup options—chicken noodle and tomato—and the sandwich choices, which Cora Mae had scribbled on the blackboard: ham, roast beef, or chicken. Below these, she had listed their pie offerings at five cents a slice: apple, cherry, peach, and strawberry. They had enough pies to tide them over for the next day or so, but soon, perhaps as early as tonight, Will would have to bake a new supply. He looked forward to it, especially since he’d received a stack of recipe cards from Harry in the mail on Friday.

  Will had nearly finished scrubbing down the pancake griddle with steel wool when the screen door squeaked open, ushering in a bulky man in uniform—an officer of sorts—with a bulbous nose, a pudgy face, and a trim, gray mustache. He stood just inside the doorway with his thumbs hooked in his belt, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he surveyed the place in a way that put Will in mind of some Hollywood actor who played a shifty character in one of those moving pictures. Seeing that uniform put Will on edge, even though he had no cause for worry. Shoot, he’d done his time. Would he ever live like that was true? Long-ago memories flashed in his mind—the sounds of gunshots ringing through the air, voices shouting, and feet pounding the pavement as the police gained on him; the sensation of lungs burning and heart thundering; the sight of Clem and the others hightailing it out of there in the wagon as he chased after them, running for his life, still clutching the leather bag of loot.

  “Hello, Sheriff,” Livvie greeted the man from her seat beside Coot at a table near the window, where the two had been chatting for the past ten minutes or so. Coot was probably on his fifth cup of coffee by now. Outside, his faithful black mongrel, Reggie, kept a constant vigil by the door. Every so often, he pressed his snout against the screen, as if waiting for a handout. Will reminded himself to save a plate of leftovers for the pup.

  The sheriff touched a finger to the brim of his hat and dipped his chin, granting her and Coot the minutest smile. “Miss Olivia. Coot.”

  “Hello there,” Coot said. “Fine morning, ain’t it, Sheriff?”

  “Yes, sir. Fine, indeed.”

  Will turned his attention back to his kitchen chores. He set the clean griddle on the stove, then picked up a cloth to wipe down his work space, trying to look busy. He wondered why Coot hadn’t jumped up to make an introduction. Maybe his ancient bones were tired from the morning’s activity.

  The sound of boot heels clicking on the floor and keys jingling signaled the sheriff’s approach, yet Will continued wiping the counter, feigning obliviousness.

  “Anything I can do for you, Sheriff?” he heard Livvie ask. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her following the sheriff toward the kitchen.

  With a lazy turn of the head, he acknowledged the rotund fellow, who gave a simple nod as he lowered himself into a bar stool with a breathy sigh.

  “Just a cup of coffee would do me well, Olivia,” he said, keeping his eyes on Will.

  “I’ll get it,” Will said, reaching for the coffeepot and a clean mug from the stack beside the coffeemaker. He glanced up at Livvie and noticed that several strands of wavy hair had escaped the silver barrettes she’d used to pull it back behind her petite ears. It took no little effort to force his eyes away from her, but he had a customer to serve. He plunked the coffee cup on the counter in front of the sheriff and filled it with the steaming, black liquid.

  Livvie cleared her throat. “Sheriff Morris, I’d like you to meet Will Taylor. He’s come to replace Joe in the kitchen. Mr. Taylor, this is the sheriff of Wabash County, Buford Morris.”

  Will wiped his right hand on his apron front before extending it over the counter. “Mighty nice to meet you, sir.”

  A wary-looking smile appeared on the sheriff’s thin lips as he likewise reached up, and the two shared a solid handshake. “Same here,” he said in a croaky voice.

  “Mr. Taylor hails from upstate New York,” Livvie put in, “but, in more recent years, he lived in New York City. He got his kitchen experience working at a big restaurant there.”

  Will felt a knot form in his stomach.

  “That right? A big restaurant, eh?” Sheriff Morris took a sip of coffee. “What brought you clear to Wabash? You got family here?”

  “No, sir.” He weighed his words carefully while the knot in his gut tightened. “Just thought it sounded like a decent place to hang my hat. I’d had enough of the big city. I like a quieter lifestyle.”

  “Well, Wabash is a quiet town,” Sheriff Morris affirmed. “We pride ourselves on keeping it that way.” This he said with a hint of warning. Already, Will had the sheriff keeping a close eye on him, and he’d done nothing to warrant it except show up.

  The man removed his hat and slid four fat fingers through his thinning gray hair, scratched the nape of his neck, then plunked the cap back in place with a short sniff. “Yep, Wabash is a mighty fine place. Isn’t that right, Miss Livvie?”

  “It surely is, Sheriff,” she said. “Could I interest you in a slice of pie?”

  “Well, now, if you’re talkin’ Joe’s pies, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  And if they were Will’s pies? What then
? He decided to let the remark pass. “I’d be glad to cut you a slice, Sheriff.” He walked to the icebox and pulled open the door. “We’ve got apple, peach, cherry, strawberry, and…hm”—he bent to peruse the choices—“looks like that’s about it. I’m baking some more tonight or tomorrow.”

  “You bake pies, eh?” Another sniff gave way to a frown. “You don’t look like the pie-bakin’ sort. Ain’t that somethin’?”

  “He’s goin’ to give ol’ Joe some competition, Sheriff,” Coot piped up from his table. “Be forewarned.”

  Sheriff Morris tipped his head to the side and pulled on his sagging double chin. He did not look convinced.

  At two o’clock, the restaurant was finally empty. Livvie had stolen away to her apartment half an hour earlier, and Will flipped the cardboard sign on the door so that it read “Closed.” Then, he stepped out into the warm sunshine and headed up the street toward Bill’s Barbershop.

  Time to improve his image so that he looked more like the “pie-bakin’ sort.”

  ***

  Livvie snagged the last of the week’s wash, Alex and Nathan’s play shorts, off the line, which stretched from one end of her apartment to the other. She folded the shorts carefully and laid them on top of the stack of freshly laundered items that needed to be ironed. Then, she untied both ends of the line from the hooks on the wall and wrapped the rope in a circle around her hand. As she returned the rope and her basket of clothespins to the high shelf in the corner closet where she kept them, she heard footsteps approaching on the staircase. She waited, and, sure enough, there was a knock. She scurried to peek out the front window, then flung the door open wide. “Margie!” she squealed.

  They hugged, and Livvie pulled her big sister into the apartment. “Were you running errands in town?” she asked, taking Margie’s hat and hanging it on the coat tree.

  “Just started,” Margie said, setting her large purse on the floor. She fanned her face with her hand and blew upward at the gray hairs that had fallen into her face upon the removal of her hat. “I thought I’d stop by and see my favorite sister before heading over to McNarney Brothers for some groceries.”