The woman beamed and bobbed her head. “It’s my pleasure, Dawn. It’s such an honor—oh my, I forgot the apple butter. Homemade, you know, from apples off my own tree. I’ll be right back.” She skittered off into the kitchen.
“If she adds one more thing to this table, it’ll collapse,” Rae said. “Look at this—eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits, waffles.” She spooned a glob of blackstrap molasses over a biscuit and laughed. “I won’t be able to sing a note, but it sure is good.”
Lauren motioned for Lacy to pass the syrup. “Why does she keep calling you Dawn ?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Lacy said, handing the pitcher to her twin. “She acts like you’re some kind of big celebrity.”
Rae Dawn rolled her eyes. “I’ll explain later.”
“Yes, don’t get her off the subject,” Delta said. “Right now she’s explaining how she manipulated us all into being here.” She shot a mock scowl in Rae’s direction. “When you never returned my call—any of you—I assumed you didn’t want to do this.”
“I didn’t ”,’ Rae said.
“Me either, ” Lauren and Lacy said in unison.
“That makes four of us,” Delta chuckled. “So, how come we’re all here, sitting at Matilda’s breakfast table on Saturday morning and scheduled to do a concert tonight?”
Rae Dawn shrugged. “God, fate, destiny—”
“Coercion?” Delta supplied. “Conspiracy?”
Lacy grinned at her. “I’d say it’s poetic justice, given how we started with the Belles in the first place. If you recall, Delta, you were the one who signed us up for that first talent show without our permission—”
“That’s right,” Lauren added. “You’re just getting what you deserve.”
DELTA WAS THANKFUL she’d had a chance to talk privately with the twins last night and Rae Dawn this morning. All during breakfast Matilda Suttleby hovered nearby fawning over Rae, her ubiquitous presence offering little opportunity for any real conversation.
After breakfast and showers, they gathered in the parlor to rehearse. Lacy brought out her guitar, and as she tuned up and went through the music with Rae, Delta watched them. She sensed a change coming over her. Ever since her arrival here, she had found herself thinking less about the horrible details of Rankin’s death and more about the rich years of love they had shared. A love that now spilled over onto these friends she hadn’t seen in ages.
She wondered if Lauren had had time to talk to Lacy about the misunderstanding between them. They appeared to be all right—laughing together, poking fun at one another, just as they had in college. It might be an act, but it seemed real enough. At least they were on speaking terms.
Delta was more concerned about Rae Dawn. A shadow lurked around her, a phantom that haunted her, hovering behind her eyes in unguarded moments. This reunion concert was costing her. She had agreed to it for Delta’s sake, because she wanted to help a friend, but Delta suspected she was paying a high price in disturbing and painful memories.
“All right, let’s get started,” Rae said. “It’s been a long time, and I didn’t know how much you’d remember, so—” She handed out photocopies of several songs, including “Blowin in the Wind” and “Where Have All the Flowers Gone.”
“What about ‘If I Had a Hammer’?” Lauren asked. “That’s one of my favorites.”
“We’ll do it, if you like,” Rae said. “I don’t think we need music on that one.” She sat down at the keyboard and prepared to play.
Just then the front door opened and a noisy gabble blew into the parlor from the foyer. Matilda Suttleby swept into the room, followed by a gaggle of tittering gray-haired ladies decked out in their Sunday best.
“I didn’t think you’d mind,” Matilda said, reaching a hand in Rae’s direction. “They’re such great fans of yours.” She cleared her throat and turned toward the knot of old women in the doorway. “Girls, this is Dawn DuChante.”
Delta saw the roll of the eyes as Rae plastered on a smile. She left the piano and shook hands with each of the ladies in turn.
“Oh, would you mind autographing a few things?” one of the ladies said, holding out a couple of CD cases. “We brought our DCs with us, just in case.”
“It’s CD, Mildred,” another woman corrected archly. “She is so technologically challenged that her grandson has to load the CD player for her.”
“That’s true,” Mildred confessed. “But it doesn’t matter, Miss DuChante, because I keep both your DCs in there all the time. You have such a beautiful voice.”
“Thank you,” Rae said graciously. Behind her back, Delta caught a glimpse of the twins’ faces, which bore identical expressions of utter astonishment.
Rae perched on the edge of a pink velvet settee and accepted a pen from one of the ladies. “I’m Sarah, with an H,” the woman said. “Sarah Thomas.” Rae inscribed the CD case and autographed it. Sarah took it and peered at the signature. “Oh, honey, you’ve made a mistake. I want you to sign your real name.”
“That is my real name. Rae Dawn DuChamp.”
“Your name’s not Dawn DuChante?”
“No, ma’am. That’s a stage name.”
“But if you sign it this way, nobody will believe it’s really you.”
Rae took the CD back and made the correction. The rest of the ladies lined up for their autographs. One exceedingly old woman who reminded Delta a little of Grandma Mitchell had a vinyl album of Rae Dawn’s first recording. She leaned on her cane and held it out.
“I haven’t seen one of these in a long time,” Rae said as she scrawled her signature across the cardboard cover.
“Thank you, dearie,” the old woman screeched. “An autographed copy will bring twice as much at the flea market.”
Matilda brought up the rear, preening herself importantly. “I told the girls you might let them sit in on your rehearsal,” she said to Rae in a stage whisper. “We’ll be quiet as mice.”
Delta suppressed a laugh. The old women were clustered together, chattering about what an honor it was to have an autographed album and speculating loudly about the demise of Rae Dawn’s recording career.
“She hasn’t had a new album in years,” one woman declared as she peered back over her shoulder. “Was it drugs, do you think? Or an unhappy love affair?”
Rae stood up. “Ladies, it’s been a genuine pleasure meeting all of you,” she said smoothly, “and I appreciate so much your taking the time to come. But if you’ll excuse us now, we do need to rehearse for tonight’s banquet. Without an audience.”
Crestfallen, the old women slumped toward the foyer, casting venomous glances back at Matilda Suttleby as if she had deliberately plotted this turn of events to keep the star all to herself. When they had finally shut the door behind them, Matilda settled herself on one of the sofas and smiled. “Now that the groupies are gone,” she said, “I suppose we can get on with the rehearsal.”
Delta came over and sat down next to her. “Matilda,” she whispered, “could I speak with you for just one moment?”
“Of course, dear.” Matilda waved a hand.
“Ah, privately?”
Delta got to her feet and jerked her head toward the door. Matilda followed as she crossed the foyer and went through the den into the dining room.
“You know, Matilda,” Delta said, putting an arm around the woman’s narrow shoulders, “artists can be, well, a little eccentric.
Rae—I mean Dawn —tends to get nervous before a concert, and she prefers not to have anyone present at her rehearsals. And even if it seems silly to us, we need to honor a star’s requests in a matter like this.”
“Oh,” Matilda said. “Well, of course, she wouldn’t want all those old biddies gaping at her.”
“I knew you’d understand. I’ll tell you what. If you sit in the den, you’ll be able to hear her just fine, and she won’t even know you’re there. It’ll be like—like a private concert, especially for you.”
“Oh, the girls will
be so jealous. ”‘
“Yes, they will,” Delta agr eed. “They’ll be talking about nothing else for weeks.”
Matilda nodded. “And how about if I make some coffee and cinnamon rolls for later? Say in an hour?”
Delta gaped at her. After that enormous breakfast, who could eat again? “That would be lovely,” she said. “You’ll join us, won’t you? I’ll call you when we’re ready to break.” She turned to go. “Oh, one more favor, if I may.”
“Certainly. Anything.” Matilda gave her a wide smile.
“Could I use your telephone for a moment? Someplace private?”
“Use the one in the kitchen.” Matilda pointed. “I’ll be in the den if you need me.”
THIRTY-FIVE
THE FINAL GIG
It was a glorious October evening, cooler than Delta had anticipated, an early fall by Mississippi standards. At six, Lauren’s limousine driver pulled to the curb and let them out. They walked through the iron gates, past the Kissing Rock, and around front campus, pausing for a moment to look up at the spreading ginkgo tree.
The leaves had already turned to yellow, waving like tiny fans in the autumn breeze. Through the amber curtain Delta could see dapples like gold coins from the last of the sunlight, and slivers of a deepening blue sky.
There, under the tree, was the spot where she had first met Tabitha Austin and signed up the Delta Belles for their initial gig at the Harvest Fest Talent show. Up above, the round tower on the third floor, had been Rae Dawn’s old dorm room.
It had been a rainy summer throughout the southeast, and the grass underfoot was rich and lush as they walked across the lawn toward the banquet hall.
“Delta?”
The voice came from behind her, and she turned. It was a déjà vu two decades in the making—a voluptuous redhead running across the campus, waving to her.
“Delta!”
It was Tabby. Everything about her seemed to have enlarged and magnified over the years—her hair redder than it had once been, her figure rounder and pudgier.
“I saw you arrive,” she said breathlessly. “Did you just get out of a limo?”
“Well, yes,” Delta said. “We, ah—” She pointed in Lauren’s direction.
But Tabby wasn’t looking at Lauren. She was staring at Rae Dawn.
“I know you!” she squealed. “You’re—you’re—”
“Rae Dawn DuChamp,” Rae said formally, extending a hand toward Tabby and giving Delta a sly wink.
“Well, yes, of course,” Tabby said. “I know that. But you’re also Dawn DuChante. I watched on television the night you were nominated for a Grammy—that was years ago, wasn’t it? I have one of your albums too—one of the old ones. But on the cover you looked so—so different. ”
“Makeup artists,” Rae said. “Between them and photographers, they can make anyone look good.”
“I wish I’d realized,” Tabby grumbled. “I would have advertised Dawn DuChante singing at our banquet.”
“Oh, that would have drawn a crowd,” Rae said. “Maybe two or three more people would have shown up.”
Tabby ignored this, looked around, and finally realized that the twins were standing there. “Oh, hey, Lace. Lauren.”
Lacy grinned. “Nice to see you too, Tabby.” She turned toward her sister. “Speaking of makeup,” she said, “your mascara is smeared right here—” She licked her thumb and rubbed at a smudge on Lauren’s cheek.
“Will you quit spitting on me?” Lauren pulled away and slapped at her hand. “Jeez, you’re worse than Mama ever was.”
Everyone laughed. Just like old times, Delta thought. It felt good to be back again, good to be together.
She turned and gazed across the green expanse of front campus. In her mind’s eye she could see them all—young and innocent, joyous, ready to take on the world. Nostalgia overwhelmed her, the bittersweet memories of those golden days. Laughter and heartbreak, love and longing, the passionate conviction that they could, indeed, make a difference.
The youth, of course, was long gone; their lives were mostly behind them now. And had they made a difference?
Delta didn’t know. She thought about Rankin, about the causes he had stood for in his life. Equality. Justice. Inclusivity. She thought about Vinca Hollowell. About Grandma Mitchell. About Rae Dawn’s story of love lost and Lacy and Lauren’s tale of sisters separated.
Life was such a huge, complex puzzle. Perhaps all you could do was attend to your own small pieces and try to find the pattern in them.
“Come on,” she said, pulling herself out of her reverie, “let’s go make some music.”
THE BANQUET HALL was packed. From backstage, Rae Dawn could hear the low roar of conversation filling the room. In a corner Lacy leaned over her guitar for a last-minute tuning.
Tabitha, looking frazzled and disjointed, rushed over clutching a clipboard to her chest.
“Are you ready?” She looked around.
“We’re fine, Tabby,” Lacy said. “Chill out.”
“All right. Now, I’m going to give out some alumni awards first, and then I’ll introduce you. Five minutes. Ten, tops.” She muttered something inaudible and disappeared.
“This is going to be fun,” Lacy said.
“Have you been to the bathroom?” Lauren asked with a wicked grin.
Lacy curled her lip in a mocking sneer. “I’ll pee on you if you don’t shut up.”
Rae felt butterflies—or maybe it was caterpillars—moving around inside her stomach. She didn’t know why she was nervous. She had done this a thousand times, in front of huge concert halls filled with fans, in the more intimate setting of Maison Dauphine. Besides, it didn’t matter how good they sounded. It only mattered that they had done it for Delta.
Five minutes passed. Six. Seven.
“And now,” Tabitha’s amplified voice boomed into the hall, “the entertainment you’ve all been waiting for. From the class of 1969—we know her as Rae Dawn DuChamp—but she is a Grammy-winning writer and recording star—”
“Nominee!” Rae hissed.
“Please welcome Dawn DuChante and the Delta Belles.”
A wave of applause, hoots, and whistles greeted them as they came onstage from behind the curtain. Lauren and Lacy took one mike and Delta moved to the other one, beside the piano. Rae looked over the crowd but could make out only shadowy figures in the darkness.
Then, as her eyes grew accustomed to the stage lights, she saw movement. Someone threading among the tables, coming from the back of the room to the front table where Tabitha Austin sat. As the figure drew closer, Rae Dawn could see that it was a woman, small, petite. She crossed to the table, ducking down, and the spotlight caught in her auburn hair.
Then she slid into a chair, turned, and faced the stage.
It had to be an optical illusion, a trick of the light, a projection of a dream. All the air went out of Rae Dawn’s lungs and tears stung at her eyes.
It couldn’t be. But it was.
Noel Ridley.
And she was smiling.
THE DELTA BELLES, like the audience, were waiting for the concert to begin. Delta followed the direction of Rae Dawn’s gaze. She recognized Noel instantly, from the framed snapshot in Rae’s room.
Rae turned to Delta and motioned her over to the piano. “Did you do this?” she murmured.
“I didn’t drag her here bodily, if that’s what you mean,” Delta whispered back. “But my sister Cassie isn’t the only one who knows how to use a telephone.”
Her eyes drifted to Noel again, who sat at the edge of the stage with her hands clasped in her lap and her eyes fixed on Rae Dawn’s face. She was wearing the same expression as in the photo—the look of love, as if she might take off flying at any moment.
Rae reached out and squeezed Delta’s hand. “Thank you,” she said. And then, without taking her eyes off Noel, she launched into the introduction to the first number.
They played through all the old standards—“Blowin in the
Wind,” “Where Have All the Flowers Gone,” “If I Had a Hammer”—much to everyone’s delight. Rae sang a couple of solos too, and as she wowed the audience with a smoky, steamy version of “Come Rain or Come Shine,” only Delta knew she was singing for Noel.
The crowd loved it. Yet it wasn’t so much the applause and cheering that moved Delta, but the music itself. The songs that years ago had molded a generation of activists and informed her own social conscience now gave her a fresh infusion of faith. Those who had paid the ultimate price for what they believed— famous people like Dr. King and the Kennedys, ordinary people like Rankin—weren’t really gone. They were here, in the music, in the hearts of those who loved them and remembered them. Still inspiring, still empowering. Still hammering out justice and freedom and love.
Before she knew it, the concert was over. The audience was on its feet, demanding more.
Lacy stepped over to the piano. “We don’t have an encore,” she muttered to Rae and Delta. “We’ve sung everything we know.”
Delta exchanged a glance with Rae, who nodded.
“I’d like to play one last song for you,” she said into the microphone. The crowd hushed and resumed their seats. “It’s a piece I wrote years ago, when I was a student here, and it reminds me of things my heart needs to remember. Of love and friendship, of hope when all seems hopeless, of healing that appears when we least expect it.”
Delta knew what was coming. She stepped back from the microphone and closed her eyes as Rae Dawn launched into the opening measures of “Woman on the Wind.”
She recalled, quite vividly, the night she had first heard this music. That night so long ago when Rae Dawn had opened her heart and revealed the truth about herself. The night Rae had declared her independence from the past.
The music surged around Delta like a mighty wind, bearing her soul aloft. First the haunting, minor-key section, the song of a caged bird. And then the release, the letting go, the setting free. The climax she herself had once described as “making love with God and the universe.”
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