Engaging Carol

Chapter 1 Mountain Grove, Idaho 1988 Daniel stood in the middle of the old church, inhaling the sweetly familiar aroma of pinewood, morning dew, and musty books, filling his lungs with fresh air. Birds twittered outside, breaking into the occasional song, accompanied by the wind whistling through the tops of ancient trees. He felt rejuvenated, like the boy who once raced from the foot of the steep hill to the top to meet his mother after choir rehearsals. The church hadn’t changed in the past fifty years. Hand-carved, pine pews lined either side of the chapel, the floor was freshly stained, and the alter—a gift to Carol’s father when he first assumed the position of minister—dominated the front of the building, as severe and solid as the man who had bellowed passionate calls for salvation from behind it. “Dad?” “In here, Becky-girl,” Daniel called, wiping his hand across his eyes. “So this is the Woodside Church?” Becky asked, stepping into the chapel. “It’s beautiful.” Daniel nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Becky’s hair was a little longer and darker than Carol’s, but their eyes were both almond-shaped and bright green. They shared the same crooked smile, the same bubbly laugh, the same high spirit. “When you brought me here to visit, I didn’t really appreciate how lovely it was,” she said, sitting on the first pew. “Where’s your mother?” Daniel asked, sitting beside her. “Looking for her dress. She said she’d meet us up here.” Daniel jumped to his feet. “What? You left her alone?” Becky blinked, surprised by his exclamation. “Well, yes. She doesn’t need my help to get dressed, Dad.” “Right. And what if she runs away again?” Becky laughed at the question, but Daniel wasn’t amused. “She’s not going to run away this time.” “You don’t know that. What if she decides she needs to go help the children in Africa? What if she suddenly realizes that women’s rights in Saudi Arabia is more important than her own wedding?” Daniel began to pace, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. “Look, you know I support your mother, no matter what she wants to do, but I’m running out of time here. I can’t wait another fifty years.” Becky stood, putting a soothing hand on her father’s shoulder. “Dad, I promise, she’s not going to run away this time. But so what if she did? It won’t change the way you feel about each other. Why is it so important that you get married now?” Daniel smiled, not surprised by his daughter’s question. “Because I made her a promise, Becky-girl, and I intend to keep it. Besides, she made me a promise, and she better keep her word.” “I just don’t see how it makes a big difference. I mean, it won’t change anything. I know things are hardly normal for us but—” “Are you saying you don’t want me to marry your mother?” Becky laughed. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just don’t want you to be disappointed if she—” “Runs out again?” She nodded. “Yeah.” Daniel sat, willing his nerves to settle. “She said she’d be here. Shoot, she chose the church, didn’t she? This means as much to her as it does to me.” “Tell me about the church.” Daniel took her hand. “I thought your mother already told you all the stories.” “She told me all her stories,” Becky countered. “I want to hear yours now.” Daniel took his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and mopped his damp brow. The summer sun had crested the hill, turning its full attention to the little church in the mountain clearing. The building had always been too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer with nothing to protect it from the elements. “It’s not much different,” Daniel said. “I can still hear your grandmother’s choir group. They couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, you know. But Momma whipped them into shape. They still couldn’t carry much of a tune, but they sang with passion!” He paused, his vision blurring a bit. “She demanded everything from them, but then, that was her way.” * * * * Mountain Grove, Idaho 1950 Patricia Scambray rapped her knuckles across the podium, calling her motley group to order. There were two dozen men, women, and children, all with one thing in common—a calling from God to make His music. Daniel always wondered why God never called people who knew how to sing. “Daniel? Give us our pitch,” Patricia said once they were all settled. Daniel didn’t know how to play the piano—he had resisted all of his mother’s lessons until she gave up—but he could pick out a few notes. He dutifully played middle C while his mother raised her arms. The group took a simultaneous breath. Daniel braced himself for the cacophony, but no matter how hard he tried, he was never quite prepared for when his mother brought down her arms. Two dozen voices bellowed forth, on two dozen different pitches, with two dozen different volumes. Patricia’s face remained professional, as though she was directing the finest choral group in the nation. Daniel envied her ability to keep her emotions masked—they never knew she was truly horrified by their happy butchering of beloved church hymns. Daniel sent up a quick prayer of thanks that the song was only two verses long. In more competent hands, it would have been a simple, lovely devotional to God. Patricia sharply cut off the hymn at the final word, but several people were quite happy to draw out the note for another seven or eight beats. “Perhaps we should find a piano player,” Patricia sighed, more for Daniel’s benefit. She had this discussion with him before, arguing that if they could hear the music, perhaps it would act as a guide. Daniel always pointed out that they were tone deaf, and adding accompaniment would just further confuse them. When the blessed silence finally fell over the church, the sudden, loud clapping coming from behind the pews startled them all. Everybody turned to look at the strange man, accompanied by what must have been his daughter, applauding them with enthusiasm. “That was certainly something,” he exclaimed, stepping forward, and obscuring Daniel’s view of the girl who had followed him in. “Thank you. And you are?” Patricia asked. “Pardon my rudeness. My name is Bradford Thorn. I’m the new minister.” Patricia’s hands flew into the air, her face a bright red. Daniel couldn’t help but snicker at his mother’s shock. “Oh, Dr. Thorn, of course. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. We were just preparing a song of welcome, weren’t we?” An excited whisper erupted among the group as all the old men stood up to introduce themselves. Bradford Thorn dutifully made his rounds, shaking everybody’s hands, repeating their names, and assuring them he couldn’t wait to hear them sing during Sunday’s services. Daniel didn’t think he was lying. “Everybody, I want you to meet my daughter, Carol.” Daniel stood to get a better view of the girl. What he saw knocked the breath out of his lungs. He thought she was around his age, probably fourteen or fifteen, with fine features, and a delicate, dancer’s body. All the girls he knew in the area were from a hearty stock. They were raised on the land, and they grew up as sturdy and solid as the oak trees that surrounded their homes. He liked them just fine, but he had never seen anybody as wisp thin and pale as Carol. She reminded him of spun sugar. “I can play the piano,” she volunteered. “If you’d like.” Patricia clapped her hands. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Come, come everybody. We’ll go through the song one more time with accompaniment.” Carol practically skipped up the stairs to the platform with the piano, Daniel watching every move. Her hair looked like his mother’s fine silk dress. He wanted to run his fingers through the light curls, feel the incredible smoothness against his skin. “Can I sit there?” Carol asked. “What? Oh, right, of course.” Daniel stepped away from the piano bench. “It’s all yours.” “Thank you.” Carol settled on the bench, her skirt spread around her. She positioned her hands on the keys, nodding when she was ready to begin. “A C please,” Patricia said. Carol played a C. “You know,” Daniel whispered, amused, over her shoulder, “it won’t do any good.” “What won’t?” “The piano won’t help them.” “It’ll help me,” she said through the smile plastered to her lips. “I can drown them out.” He smirked. “I’m Daniel, by the way.” “Lovely to meet you, Daniel.” When Patricia brought down her arms, Carol did drown out most of the singing, making his ears ring in the process. Her fingers were like birds on the ivory keys, fluttering over them before flying away to land on another note. Daniel couldn’t help but be impressed. It was a simple song, but she played it with vibrant intensity, pouring herself into the music. The two powerful sounds overwhelmed the small church with their battle for dominance, but an odd thing happened around the beginning of the second verse. The disharmony to his left somehow evolved enough to merge with the harmony to his right. Daniel looked at Carol with awe, as she accomplished in three minutes what his mother could not in almost three years. They were finally sounding like a group, like real, honest-to-God musicians. They rallied themselves, following Carol’s lead until the last note of the song hummed above their heads. Glancing at Daniel with confused eyes, Patricia’s hands helplessly fell to her side. Daniel could only shrug. He didn’t know what the hell had just happened either. He looked away from his mother to the girl sitting near his right hand. She looked incredibly pleased with herself, almost smug. Bradford clapped again. “That was really great. Isn’t my little girl something?” The group all clapped and nodded enthusiastically. “Ok, everybody,” Patricia said over the crowd, “we’ll be picking up at the same spot tomorrow night. God bless.” “Is there anything fun to do around here?” Carol whispered as the dismissed crowd swarmed her father. “What?” Daniel asked with mock confusion. “This isn’t fun?” She arched her eyebrow and pursed her lips. “No. It’s not.” Daniel laughed. “Well, it’s too bad for you that this is the most exciting thing going on around here.” “Are you serious?” She stood, her face an open book of horror. “Oh, you can’t be serious.” “You think we’re hiding a jazz club or something around here? You’ve been through the town.” Carol frowned, confused. “The town? What town? You mean those buildings we passed on the road? That’s the town?” Daniel walked to the fireplace, throwing a few logs over the flames so the fire would survive the night. “Well, yeah. What did you think it was?” She sat on the steps of the platform, hugging her knees to her chest. The flush of anger on her face confused Daniel. Had he said something wrong? Maybe he shouldn’t have teased her—though he thought she shouldn’t be so sensitive. “This is awful,” she muttered. “Just awful. How could he do this to me?” Daniel brushed the sawdust from his hands, looking over her shoulder to her father. Daniel knew Bradford Thorn would be intimidating with his tall, imposing form if it weren’t for his easy smile. He had Carol’s bright green eyes, but his hair was a stark contrast—jet black with just a few hints of gray around the temples. He towered over the little old ladies, but they looked up at him with reverent, amused eyes. “They’re going to tie him up here for a while,” Daniel observed. “I could walk you home if you like.” “Do you even know where we live?” Daniel laughed at her snide question. “I imagine you live in the cabin, like all the ministers did before.” Carol stood and flounced over to her father. Daniel watched as she pointed to him before pointing to the door. He laughed again when she marched to the door, ignoring Bradford’s protests, who was helpless to stop her. The mob didn’t want to lose their new prize just yet. “Mom, I’m going to walk Carol home,” Daniel said as he passed his mother. “That’s fine, dear. Just make sure you don’t forget about me! You know I hate going down that da—” She paused, smiling sweetly to cover her near slip. “That road is so difficult to navigate in the dark.”