Music to Die For

by Radine Trees Nehring

  Tracy accepted the paper graciously, scrawled her name, and said a quiet, “Thank you,” as she handed it back. Stardom, it seemed, was a never-over job.

  Silence returned as the three of them walked toward Eleanor and Jason’s lighted motel room. When they stopped at the door, Carrie saw Tracy’s face in the glow from the porch lamp.

  Margaret’s special salve had cleaned the lovely skin, and the red marks were almost gone. Tracy’s face was beautiful and should be. Dulcey was safe, she had gained a whole new family, and now she had a way to escape constant performing, which is exactly what she’d said she wanted. But there was no joy in the face Carrie saw in the porch light.

  Yes, no matter what she said or how he’d treated her, Tracy Teal was still in love with her husband. If Carrie was any judge of humans, Tracy was having a difficult time deciding what to do about that now that she had options.

  Part of Carrie wanted to tell Tracy to dump Chase. The man simply wasn’t worth fretting over. But then she would be denying that change and reformation were always possible, as well as overlooking the importance of working to make a marriage succeed. Carrie puffed her cheeks and blew out air. It seemed there was still something to settle here.

  Jason opened the door to Henry’s light knock and had to turn aside quickly as Tracy rushed past him into the room. She fell on her knees by the rocking chair where Brigid Mason sat, the sleeping Dulcey sprawled across most of her lap. A worn rag doll with a smile made lopsided by missing embroidery threads filled the rest of Brigid’s lap space. Tracy knelt, still as a statue, staring at her daughter.

  “She’s fine,” Brigid whispered. “She wanted to stay awake ’til you got here, but jest couldn’t make it.”

  Chase was in the room, but Tracy ignored him. He had been lying, fully clothed, on one of the beds. Now he sat up, slid to the edge of the bed, and spoke Tracy’s name. She seemed not to hear him, and he didn’t stand.

  “Tracy?” he said again.

  She looked at him.

  “Tracy...”

  She said nothing.

  His voice went on, low, faltering. “I guess...guess I’ve made a botch-up of things. Don’t know exactly what to tell you...what to say. I’m still sortin’ out what I think, and maybe it’s too late to say anything. If I could think what to do... If I...”

  She interrupted him. “Chase, stop. There are things you need to know before you try and talk to me. See, I got all this started, and it sure caused a mess I didn’t expect, but it also opened doors I didn’t know about. You need to listen and hear me out before you say anything.”

  She took a deep breath and looked around the room. After another swish of air—in, out—she began. “One thing is, I wasn’t born a Teal, so your jokes about a feud won’t work anymore.”

  There was a pause. In the silence, Chase got to his feet and held his hands up and out at each side, palms toward Tracy. A theatrical gesture of helplessness, Carrie thought. Theatrics seemed to be built into this family.

  “You’ve called my Teal relatives scummy. Well, tonight I found out who I really am by birth—a Culpeper. Yes, that’s right, part of the infamous Culpeper family of Mountain View. My birth mother was Margaret Culpeper’s daughter, Elizabeth, and that’s another thing. Elizabeth Culpeper never married. I was born to a single mother.” Tracy paused, looked down at her folded hands. “She died a week after I was born, and I was adopted by my Teal parents.

  “So now I have a whole second family here, and some of them are in jail. They’ve done bad things—drugs, kidnapping. I’m sure you’d call them scummy. I can’t really defend every Culpeper from that label, though it’s not true of my Granny Margaret or my Uncle Nahum. Neither was it true of the Teals who raised me and loved me. The Culpepers, though, they’re probably not people you’d ever want to associate with.

  “I found out who my biological father is, too. You know him as Ben Yokum. He’s going to be charged with Farel’s murder.

  “So, you’d better stop right now, Chase Mason. These people are my family, and the tabloids are going to love it. I’m sure you’re already picturing the headlines. You’d better get Dulcey and me out of your life while you can.”

  She bowed her head again, and her defiant tone softened. “So, how did I get this started? Well, see, I arranged for Farel to take Dulcey. It was to keep him from blackmailing us and so you wouldn’t find out I didn’t write the music for ‘Lying to Strangers.’

  “No, Chase, don’t you talk. You listen to me.

  “I lied to you about writing that song. I got it from Farel, and all along I thought Farel wrote it for me, back when we were kids. I heard it first from him. Bobby Lee knew that, of course. When Farel needed to get away from here and make a fresh start, he decided to blackmail you and me...claim the royalty we owed him for his song. If we didn’t do what he asked, he said he’d tell the world I didn’t write it. I thought I couldn’t let you know about the song not being mine, so I convinced Farel to let me fake the kidnapping and get money for him that way.

  “But, you know what’s funny, Chase? Farel didn’t write the song either. My mother, Elizabeth Culpeper, was the one who really wrote what we’ve called our song. Farel must have heard Granny Margaret playing my mother’s song out in the woods and picked it up. Granny told me she often does that—sits in the woods playing music.”

  Chase wasn’t moving at all. He might have been carved from a block of wood. He’d stopped opening and closing his mouth, trying to talk, and was now just staring at his wife.

  “So there you are,” she said. “And I’m ready to get out of your life, bring Dulcey here to Mountain View, let her keep regular hours, play like a regular kid, go to a real school at proper times. I’m ready to be her mother. I don’t want strangers to raise her while I only get to spend little bits of time with her.

  “I’ve got money of my own. You did that for us, saw to it I had my share of our take. And I reckon I can get a job in one of the music shows here. Granny Margaret can baby-sit, and maybe Mama Brigid will help out too. I want her to stay a big part of Dulcey’s life. And...you’ll always be her daddy.”

  At this, Tracy’s voice broke, and everyone stayed statue-still, ignoring Brigid’s murmured, “Whoo-eee.”

  Tracy swallowed, lifted her chin higher. “I know who I am. I know who I want to be. I know that doesn’t fit in your scheme of things, so Dulcey and I will relieve you of the bother of worrying about it. You’re on your own.”

  During this speech, Chase had dropped to the bed again, and Carrie wasn’t surprised he looked frozen. Talk about a double whammy!

  Well, hadn’t she told Tracy just a couple of hours ago, there in the bedroom at Habakkuk’s house, that it was time to tell Chase everything? And now Tracy had gotten just about everything out at once. Maybe that was best. Maybe that had more chance of getting around Chase Mason’s enormous self-centered ego.

  No one in the room seemed to be breathing. Finally, Chase spoke, his words rolling out quietly, slowly, without inflection. “Mama said this would come. She said things had gone too good for my own good. Those were her very words. She said that to me last summer.”

  He was still looking at Tracy, but his real seeing was far away, in some secret world.

  “You know I was a music star from the time I was in my teens. Praise, applause, money, all of it. Mama said to me it was time I grew to be a man, a family man, a real man. Time I recognized a strength beyond my own, time I knew Him who gave me my talent. She said all that. But just last summer—those few months ago—I couldn’t see it with her. How could things get better? I was a star. That was good, wasn’t it? Nothing could be better, right?”

  Again there was that theatrical gesture, hands out, palms up, but now, tears were streaming down Chase’s face.

  Glory be, thought Carrie.

  He looked at his mother. “Well, maybe things couldn’t get better, Mama, but they sure could get worse...they could get a whole lot worse.”

  He turned bac
k to his wife, his voice faltering now. “I just didn’t need anyone and even told myself I didn’t need you, because I thought it wouldn’t be long and I wouldn’t have you anyway. See, Trace, I’ve known you were adopted since our last visit here. Bobby Lee was very pleased to be able to tell me all about it after that fund-raiser we did. At first I didn’t believe him, because I’d-a thought you’d have told me. But, see, I also knew Farel had come to you in Branson when I was gone. A couple of guys in the band saw him. I was sure the man they described was Farel. So, when Bobby Lee said all that, and I thought about it, I saw that you...you and Farel...well, you were so quiet about it, why else wouldn’t you have told me unless you were in love with Farel Teal and planned to go with him? I figured the kidnapping was somehow part of that, to get more money for you and Farel and...Dulcey. That’s what I figured, and it was hard to pretend I didn’t know...”

  Now Chase looked at his feet. “Though I thought I’d already lost you, and it was tearin’ me up, still I told myself I could deal with it. But then Farel was killed, and, God forgive me, I was almost glad. I thought you’d stay with me then, because of Dulcey, you know, even if you didn’t love me. I could handle that, couldn’t I? But the one thing I couldn’t handle was that you...that...you and Dulcey might be...dead, which is what came on me this night.”

  Now Chase’s whole body was shaking with sobs. He covered his face with his hands and said, “Oh, God, Tracy, it doesn’t matter, Culpeper or Teal, I...I...love you, I love our daughter. Oh, dear God, what am I gonna do?”

  This time Carrie knew Chase was not swearing. This time he was really speaking to God. Tracy must have realized it too, because she went to him and she was holding out a piece of Margaret’s clean white rag.

  Tracy touched her husband’s face. “Blow,” she said.

  After a polite pause, Brigid cleared her throat and said, in a matter-of-fact tone, “How about pickin’ up yer daughter, Chase Mason, ’n’ takin’ her to the car? It’s sure past ever’one’s bedtime. It’s time we let these poor folks alone and went home.”

  Chapter XXIV

  Saying goodbye took a while, and Carrie didn’t even mind. She was beyond tired anyway, and there was so much to think about.

  It helped to see that Brigid was full of hope. She’d said so the last thing before she shut the door of the van. “Future’s full of hope, Carrie, hit shore is.”

  When the four friends were back in the room, Jason leaned against the door he had just closed and said, “Still can’t believe it. It’s just like a TV story—not real. But I sure hope the Branson vacation Chase offered is real enough.”

  Carrie, who’d plopped in a rocker still warm from Brigid’s recent presence, said, “Oh, yes, it’s real. And now I imagine you two want to hear the whole story...”

  “Plenty of time for that,” Eleanor said. “We’ve put together quite a bit of it already, and we’ll get your part later, after we’ve all had some sleep.

  She turned to Henry. “And you can have your room back. I got fresh sheets and towels from the housekeeper. It won’t take a minute...”

  Henry looked thoughtful. “My things are already unpacked in Carrie’s room, and you know she got that bump on her head. Never can tell about head bumps. I don’t think she should be alone.”

  Carrie, who had forgotten all about the bump—though she realized now that Margaret’s bandage was still wrapped around her head—nodded in agreement.

  Carrie watched two adults and one child skip through a field of wildflowers. Ox-eye daisies. Oh! She knew the people. The Masons. Chase, Tracy, and their little girl, Dulcey… skipping in daisies.

  A slight rustle. Paper sound.

  Consciousness grabbed her, the meadow faded.

  Another paper rustle. Carrie wanted to open her eyes and see what it was, but there was a bright light, too hot against her eyelids. Instead of looking, she stretched her body, sliding arms and legs against smooth sheets.

  A rocker creaked, ever so slightly, and after a space of silence, there was another paper rustle.

  Umpf. She pushed pillows against the headboard, scooted back to lean against them, and popped her eyes open into the sunlight coming through the window.

  Oh, my! There appeared to be an enormous cherub in a white robe sitting in the rocking chair at the foot of the bed. The cherub looked up and said, “Good morning.”

  For goodness sake. Henry slept in a night shirt! She’d never seen one of those on a real person.

  And she remembered why she hadn’t seen Henry in his big cherub shirt. She’d fallen asleep while he was still in the shower. That would be earlier this morning.

  She looked back at Henry. He had her Bible open on his lap. Well, now. There was certainly a lot she didn’t know about this man...

  “Good morning.” Had she said it out loud?

  His face was hidden in the glare of the sun, but she thought he smiled.

  “You were sleeping soundly. I guess you feel okay?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “I’ve been sitting here thinking about how much we have to be grateful for,” he said.

  “You’re right.” She looked down and arranged the ruffles on the sleeves of her nightgown. There were so many things she wanted to ask, and she might as well do it now.

  “Um...Henry, I’m wondering, will the sheriff do anything to Margaret or Nahum? I guess they really did break the law. At the least they knew about the family business… and Nahum helped with growing that stuff.”

  “I think Sheriff Wylie’s got what he wants. He closed down the business. It sounded like he has no plans to charge either of them. Besides, kidnapping is a more serious crime, and he knows Margaret and Nahum had nothing to do with that. Margaret did her best to get all of you away to safety.”

  “What about the three boys?” She giggled as she realized what she’d said, and Henry smiled too.

  “Their age may be a factor, but they’ll pay for what they’ve done. Exactly to what degree is up to the law.”

  “Benjamin Calhoun?”

  “I don’t believe he’s really a violent man, do you? He acted violently, but I’m sure it was for what he saw as justifiable reasons. I think the testimony Tracy has offered will make a difference there, though he may still serve time. Tracy may not avoid having a father in prison—whatever the tabloids want to make of it. I’ve thought about that since last night. Seems to me her reaction to what the tabloids say is going to be more important than any black headline words by themselves.”

  “You’ve been thinking a lot, haven’t you! Did you get any sleep?”

  “Oh, yes. Enough. I’m used to long nights on duty, remember? And your questions are things anyone in law enforcement thinks about, or should.”

  After a moment of silence, she asked, “Would you go back to police work now if you could?”

  He smiled again. “Would you want me to?”

  “No. But that’s selfish.”

  “I wouldn’t go back. That part of my story is over.”

  There was another space of silence before Henry continued. “Now is the beginning of other things, though.”

  She played with the ruffle on her gown, wondering exactly what he meant. Finally she said, “Henry, you had to shoot at Habakkuk, didn’t you? There in the hall? The shot barely missed. If he hadn’t backed into the room...”

  “He had you captive, Carrie, you and Tracy. I wasn’t shooting to kill, and it was for a reason I understood completely and had already justified. As it turned out, I wasn’t the one who stopped him anyway.”

  “But the shotgun...Habakkuk shot at you.”

  “Yes.”

  “He might have hit you.”

  “Carrie, look at me.”

  “I am.”

  “He didn’t hit anyone. Not me, not anyone else. He just messed up his house a bit. The end of the story matters, Carrie. It matters a lot. Neither of us has any reason to feel guilty or frightened. Sometimes we might. But not this time.”

&
nbsp; His voice changed, became softer, and she had to listen carefully to hear his next words.

  “When I learned you were in danger...that was very hard for me. Oh, not that it wouldn’t have been hard for any law officer who’s trained to help people in danger...”

  “But, I understa...”

  “Shhh, now let me finish. I’ve been in similar situations many times before, of course, where the lives and safety of innocent people were involved, but this was much more than that. You were in danger. I cared about that, rather like, it seems, Chase found out he cared about his wife and child. What was different for me this time, Carrie, was that it was you.”

  He paused, looked at her, dropped his eyes to the book in his lap, then looked up again.

  “Do you understand?”

  She sat in silence, thinking he would surely be able to see the wiggle of her nightgown as her heart bumped vigorously in her chest. Questions rattled through her thoughts with the drumbeats of her heart: What’s coming next? Does this mean Henry and I are in love? Do I know what that kind of love is like? Have I ever really known?

  Amos and she had enjoyed a good, companionable marriage, but...but now... And she just couldn’t say, “Henry King, act your age.” She didn’t even know what that meant.

  She thought back to last November when, not long after they met, Henry had kissed her. Amos hadn’t kissed her more than a brief brush on the cheek for many years before he died, but even when they were first married and he kissed her, it hadn’t been like that, not ever.

  But when Henry kissed her, held her, and the warmth of their coming together was so overwhelming, well, it had turned quite a few of her ideas topsy-turvy. She’d never imagined that a kiss could mean that much, do that much, for Carrie Culpeper McCrite.

  Love? Henry was such fun, they talked together like old friends, they understood lots of things without even saying them. Yes, they had become very close friends, but now...?

  She was still picking at the ruffle on the sleeve of her nightgown. The fabric was doubled there. It wasn’t doubled anywhere else on the gown. Though there was a high neck and long sleeves, she knew quite well the light-weight cotton didn’t conceal...everything.