Music to Die For (28 page)

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 back 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.”

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.”

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.

She looked up at Henry, who was watching her with that funny, quirky little smile dimpling at the corners of his mouth. The sun was overhead now, and its glare was off the windows. She could see Henry’s face quite clearly. Yes, he was smiling, but he also looked...scared...was that it? And hesitant. She’d never seen him look that way before.

“We’ve talked a lot about enjoying our single independence,” she said.

“Thursdays?”

“What?”

“We can be independent on Thursdays. That is...if...I mean I have no right...to...” He finished weakly, “I have no right to say what you want to do about Thursdays.”

“Oh, my goodness, Henry,” she said in the most matter-of-fact tone she could manage, “I will very definitely love you on Thursdays, too.”

She kicked off the rest of the covers and stood. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said, “and we need to think about breakfast or whatever meal comes at this time of day. I’m hungry.”

As she passed the rocker, Henry reached out and touched her arm. He pointed. “I found your box of food. You have apples, bananas, breakfast bars. Why don’t we eat a picnic breakfast here? We can have a late lunch with Jason and Eleanor before we pick up Tracy and Dulcey—and Chase, too, I’d bet—and go to Margaret’s house. But for now, let’s don’t even think about that. Let’s just be us.”

She turned to face him. “Henry?”

“Yes, Little One.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” he said.

He stood up. Night shirts were really rather cute. Then she couldn’t see the night shirt because her face was mashed against it, and Henry’s arms were around her.

After a while she pulled away and turned toward the bathroom. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” she said, “and it’s your turn to fix breakfast.”

Apple Chunky

•
12 cups cooked apples (Approx. one dozen large cooking apples, peeled and sliced, or one #10 can.)

•
2 cups apple cider

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2 cups sugar (To taste, and depending on whether fresh or canned apples are used. Canned apples take less sugar.)

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1 tsp. ground cinnamon

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¼ tsp. ground cloves

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¼ tsp. allspice