The Devil Take the Blues--Chapter 6

Good Lord send the sunshine

Devil he send the rain

Good Lord send the sunshine,

Devil he send the rain

I will be here tomorrow, on the morning train -Charley Patton

Beatrice

I was goddamned good and lost, stumbling my way home in the dark through the woods.

Pretty sure I passed that tree already. I squinted in the dark. Yup, cause it looks like Ms. Macey sucking on a lemon.

Cursing myself not paying attention, Agnes for running off, and the US government for good measure, I kept walking until I found a little patch of moonlight to rest in. My ears still rang from the music, and my throat was raw from hollering a few too many times. If the woods could just quit rearranging itself, I’d find my way back just fine.

A branch snapped nearby. My head jerked up. Fear flooded me. Could be wild hog or coyote or some tramp tromping through the forest. I grabbed a broken branch about the width of my palm. It was heavy and I could barely lift it, but I held it up, ready to bash in the head of whatever was coming my way.

The sound of leaves crunching got closer and closer.

I raised my weapon higher.

Some bushes parted, and my heart nearly seized when I saw the dark figure emerge.

“Yaaaaaahhh!!” I screamed, half angry, half scared, all foolish.

The figure leapt back in fright and screamed itself, afraid of the madwoman brandishing a tree branch. Something about his—for it was a male— voice stopped me, and my mind tried to pinpoint when and where I had heard it.

The figure lifted his face to the moonlight, and I recognized the piano player’s face.

“Christ Almighty, whatteryou doin’ out here in the woods?” I demanded.

The piano player—I struggled to recollect his name—was bent over double, catching his breath from his own adrenaline rush.

“I could ask you the same thing, ma’am.”

The bright moon illuminated his pretty face, the smooth glow of his skin, his delightfully curly hair.

“I live here,” I said.

He looked around at the elms and the oaks, the patches of bull thistle and black-eyed Susans. “Swell place you got.”

“No, I mean— near here. I got a little cabin ‘bout a half-mile away from the north edge of the river.” I paused. “You’re Anthony, I mean, Antoine, I mean…” I snapped my fingers. He smiled, like he was amused at my poor recollection. “Goddamn, I’m sorry, I cain’t remember your name.”

“That’s a shame, ‘cause I remember yours, Ms. Beatrice,” he said. “Angelo.”

I started walking over to him, chagrined, but also pleased he remembered. “Please, if we’re gonna be stuck out in the woods, you can at least stick with Beatrice. Even Bea.”

I don’t know why I said that. No one called me Bea.

“Bea,” he said, rolling my name around his mouth, as if he were tasting it. “Like a honeybee. Like a queen bee.”

Something in his voice made my face grow warm, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t the night air.

“So, why exactly are you out here?” I steered the conversation back to more polite musings.

“Well now, after the show ended, I needed to relieve myself, and the john looked downright scary.” He looked chagrined. “Begging your pardon. Didn’t think I’d run into a banshee.”

My face grew very hot indeed.

“Sorry about that. Thought you might’ve been a demon or something,” I said.

“A demon?” His eyebrows rose up to meet the moon.

“Or a razorback,” I said. “I mean, I had this dream the other night about a demon in the woods, and it killed my sister, and it was dark and slithery, and it seemed like it might kill me too, so I thought it was that,” I said.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut your mouth this instant. “Hog seems more likely,” I added.

He leaned closer to me, and my breath caught. “I saw something in the woods once, but it wasn’t no dream. To this day, I swear I saw a ghost walking through the trees. I know it was a ghost, because I could see right through it. Pale as watered-down milk.”

I moved closer to him, stepping over the brush. “And then what?” Goosebumps raised along my arms.

“Well, I was lost in the woods. Didn’t know where I was, nor how I’d get out. Thought I might be trapped there.” His voice was low, and I had to lean in closer to hear. His breath was warm, and his eyelashes curled like delicate butterfly tips. “And I was just about to go crazy when this woman, for it was a female ghost, lifted her arm and pointed the way. I ran about as fast as you can imagine.”

I released a breath I didn’t know I had been holding.

“So …Why are you wandering around the woods, terrorizing the good folks and razorbacks of Azoma with your stick?”

I laughed, then realized I was still white-knuckle clutching the branch. Throwing it down, I said, “Well, I was looking for my sister. Couldn’t find her in the joint, and I was worried.”

Angelo smiled, and something in my heart became unfrozen. I hadn’t realized anything in me was frozen until it melted. “Good of you to worry. Some folks wouldn’t.” He paused. “Some folks wouldn’t care at all, even if you were cold and lonely.”?

We meandered through the shifting, clever forest that leaned their bows to us, that craned their bushy heads towards us, that whispered to each other. After a few minutes, we both whipped our heads at the snap of a branch crunching like a broken bone. I wished that I had kept that stick; wild hogs, coyotes, and bobcats prowled the woods. I just didn’t know then that something even more dangerous stalked us.

“She lives nearby the river,” I said. “I know where to go if we hit it. Just got a bit turned around.” I stumbled over a tree branch, and Angelo reached out an arm to catch me. I told myself that my stomach leaped from nearly planting my face into the ground and not his strong arm which had grabbed hold of mine. What surprised me was the strength of him, for he didn’t look like much, buried under layers of suit. He didn’t let go of my arm, nor did I move to release it.

“I’m thinking you’re still a bit turned around,” he said.

I held onto his arm to prevent any more missteps, is what I told myself, and together we made our way through the trees. I wanted to say that I could take care of myself; I wanted to say that strangers shouldn’t walk together in the dark. Then again, I was glad for the dark, for it would hide any wandering eyes and wagging tongues. Trouble would come for both of us, if anyone ever saw, but all I could focus on was the coconut smell of his hair cream, the smooth feel of his skin against mine, and the golden light in his eyes. For the briefest moment, not even Agnes entered my thoughts. Around Angelo, I relaxed.

“You’re really good at playing the piano,” I said. He looked pleased and—was that shyness I detected? “Really good. I could listen to you all night.”

Night? Why did I say night? Don’t most people say day?

“Thank you, Bea,” he murmured. “But I’m not here for too much longer. We got a one-night only gig,” he said. Disappointment flowed through me me.

The magic and heat and wind and rain that had been building for days finally broke. It began to rain, softly gently at first, so that I thought we might be able to escape relatively dry, but like many things in the south, the gentleness turned ferocious, and it soon poured down so hard that we were drenched. My hair clung like ropes of Spanish moss to my face, and the cotton of my dress pressed against my body. Angelo looked worse than a drowned possum.

Thunder roared above, and I jumped. It rattled so loudly that it made my teeth chatter inside my head.

“Do you think we should wait out the storm?” asked Angelo.

The wise course of action passed through my mind like a freight train, and it was gone just as fast. I was cold, wet, and hungry, and all I could think about was the warm fire, biscuits, and hot water with lemon at home.

“I hear the river nearby. Once we pass over the bridge, it’s only a short walk to my house,” I said. “We can make it.”

“And your sister?”

Thunder struck again, and it rolled over the earth so fierce that it shook my bones. It was the kind of thunder that made you think your heart might reset from the sound.

She’s grown now. She’s married now. Are you going to drag Angelo through the woods all night looking for her?

“At this point, I’d strangle her as soon as I saw her. I’ve got a fire with my name on it at home. Look, there it is,” I said, pointing to the bridge. It was a small, simple thing, wooden, and nearly as old as the town itself. Suddenly, hairs on my arms stood up. A buzzing filled the air. A deep pull, a searing vibration sparked some deep instinct.

“Crouch!” I screamed and yanked Angelo down with me.

A blinding light shot out from the sky and streaked across my vision. At first, I mistook it for an angel; it was dazzling, so white that it faded to gold around the edges. It was beautiful and terrifying. In that moment, my heart stopped. Nothing else existed except this beautiful light, so intense that I wanted, needed, to touch it, knowing it would kill me. Just to hold that sort of power would be worth it. Every muscle in me screamed to run away, and every thought yearned to meld with it. ?It was so bright that I couldn’t see anything for a while after it struck. I screamed without realizing it. The sound followed almost immediately, and I thought my eardrums would split. I clung to Angelo, and he to me, and we fell back with the shock of the impact.

The bridge was on fire. Even in the pouring rain, it was alight, burning, flames licking and twisting around the old, rotted wood.

Lightning had struck the ground just in front of us, and we still lived.

We still breathed.

My heart pounded in my chest, echoing the drumbeats that I had grown up with, fierce and proud. My heart, which ran on electricity. My heart, danced to a rhythm that only Nature knew. I could cower or I could conquer the world. ?

I looked at Angelo, at his sweet, lovely face, and realized he was saying something. His mouth was moving, but I couldn’t make out the words. Not necessarily from the inability to hear, that too, but from the inability to form language. It was as if the lightning strike had zapped all coherence and reason from the earth for a moment.

Nothing made sense.

It took several minutes for me to realize that our way across was burning.

“Are you ok?” Angelo was speaking.

All of a sudden, I was back in my cabin, sitting on my Daddy’s lap, curled in a blanket, while a storm roared outside. Thunder cracked across the sky, and Agnes and I clutched each other in terror.

“It is only the Thunderbird flapping his wings,” said Daddy. The rain scratched ferociously at the windows and doors. “He rules the upper world, while the Great Horned Serpent rules the underworld. Thunderbird is throwing lightning bolts at his enemy.”

I blinked.

“There it goes,” I responded, not answering his question. “Our way back.”

The bridge looked eerily beautiful in the dark, orange and red dancing and mating against the dark brown of the trees. The river reflected all of the violent glory, washing it away, purifying it.

“What do you mean?” asked Angelo.

My heart pounded. “That bridge is the only way back for the next three miles. We’d have to walk up, then cut around back again.”

Angelo looked around. “There’s gotta be something,” he murmured. He walked around as though looking for something. I thought the lightning might have done something to his head, because there was no way we could get across. The river was too deep to wade through at this juncture, there were no fallen logs, nothing to get us across.

I sat down, took deep breaths and closed my eyes. I still heard music in my ears, deep down, and something was tugging on my heart strings and sinews to make it play. My heart was percussion and stringed instruments both that night. Something gripped my soul and shook it. I wondered if I would leave my body tonight. Probably should have. Probably should have grabbed Angelo’s hand and lifted us straight up into the clouds on nothing more than the old magic, happy thoughts, and ancient stories. But the earth, and the varmin who crawled in them, had other plans on its mind.

“I found somethin’” called Angelo.

My eyes wandered open. Rolling my head to one side, I looked to see what he had possibly found on this dark, wild night.

I hated it on sight.

Not just because of what it was, how he meant for us to cross the river. I hated it because it looked sinister, some long, sinuous serpent waiting to strike, to lure us in with the promise of mercy and deliver only death. I hated that Angelo was the one who found it. I hated that our salvation would be so close to murder.

It was a rope. Some filthy, nearly rotten old rope, probably tossed and forgotten by loggers or god-knew-who. I felt queasy.

“Angelo, I know what you mean to do, and I can’t do it,” I said. Misery piled on top of my fear right quick.

He stepped forward, then sat down next to me.

“What do you mean?” he said.

I looked at the rope, up at the trees, the rushing, roaring, reveling, risky river. I refused to die of water when I had avoided death by sky tonight.

“I know you mean to swing that rope up in them trees,” I said. “Pull it good and tight, then careen like some daredevil fools across.”

He grinned. “And then we wouldn’t need a bridge nor walk six miles,” he said.

Fear flowed down my arms and up into my throat.

“I can’t,” I whispered.

His grin faded. “Bea, I ain’t gonna let nothing happen to you,” he said.

“You don’t understand,” I said. “I…” nearly drowned. The water was my enemy, my nemesis, my blood feud. It seeped into my dreams and choked me until I couldn’t breathe and wouldn’t rest until I did forever…

“I was six when my sister slipped under,” I said. “I saved her, but I almost drowned. She clung to me so tight that she pulled me under. I’ve never been able to swim since then.” I looked up at him, pleading with my eyes. I would rather lie here in the wet, cold dirt than try to cross by swinging on a rope.

“I see,” he said. He stood up. He held out his hand to me, but I was paralyzed. I merely shook my head. “Bea,” he repeatd, so soft that it was almost swallowed in the rain. He sat down beside me. “Now then,” he said. “The thing I want most in this moment is to see us both out of these woods so you come to another of my shows someday.”

“Ain’t your show, Mr. Prideful.”

“Well, ain’t she still got some zest to her!” he said. “That means you ain’t all scared. I promise that we will both get ourselves across this river tonight. I’ll go first, then I’ll help catch you when you jump over.” He held out his hand to me.

I squeezed my eyes tight and gripped his hand. It was warm despite the rain, rough with callouses from playing many musical instruments. Something about holding his hand felt so right that I didn’t want to move from that spot. His nails were cut short, and his fingers were long, squared off at the end. Perfect fingers for the piano. Rivulets of rainwater ran down my head, down my neck. It’d be a miracle if we didn’t catch cold after this.

Angelo pulled me up. He led me gently to the rope. He climbed a tree, gripping the rope with him. I sent a little-used prayer up that he not break his damn fool neck, nor I mine. The branch he had tied it to extended far out over the water that there should have been plenty of room to make it all the way across. When he was finished, I would climb the branch, grab the rope, and climb back down so I could jump next. He got just enough leverage to haul off and jump, and I gave a small gasp when he did.

He swung in a graceful arc to the other side, as if he practiced swinging across deadly rivers in the dark all the time. He nearly slipped when he landed, and I flinched. He tossed the rope back over, and I climbed up the tree, bark scraping my hands and shins when my dress lifted. I grabbed onto the rope and shimmied back down to a lower branch so I could jump. The river below was a dark ribbon of blood, flowing and waiting to catch me when I inevitably fell.

I couldn’t do this.

“You can do this!” called Angelo from the other side. I gripped the rope so tight that my knuckles were bone white in the pale moonlight.

“Just jump on the count ‘a three,” he said. “One…two…three!”

I swear by the stars in heaven that I was not the one to make my body jump. I had been paralyzed with fear, staring my fate in the eyes, when something pressed my body to move. I swung down, felt my stomach heave, then felt the arc pull up again from my momentum. Angelo’s face came rushing up to meet mine, and I nearly knocked him over, but he managed to pull me down when my feet landed.

My legs gave out under me, and I landed in a heap, breathing heavily.

“Not sure,” I said, panting “if I should hate you…or thank you.”

Angelo laughed quietly. “I’ll take the latter.” He helped me to my feet. “Whoa, easy there,” he said, wrapping his arm around my waist.

I was trembling, from the cold, from the excitement of the lightning and the river jump, and something else I couldn’t, or wouldn’t quite name.

“It ain’t so far now,” I said.

He kept his arm around my waist until we reached my house. The air around us changed the closer we got. The easiness that had existed when we were silent and walking through the solitude of the woods—those woods which had eyes to see and ears to hear—but now he walked slower and slower. When we arrived at my house, Angelo looked mighty uncomfortable. He slid his arm away from me, and I would have gone back into the woods just to keep his arm where it was. He stood on my porch, just staring, as if he were afraid the house would bite him. Or worse.

Our mutual discomfort hovered in the air. No one did this. No one should do this. But here we were. He had helped me get home. He had helped me stop my constant river of worries about Agnes.

I gestured toward the door. “Come on in, and I’ll get us some towels.”

Still, he hesitated. “I mean no disrespect, turning you down,” he said. “But you’re a lady, and I won’t trespass on the honor of such. I walked with you to see you safe, now you’re home. So… I’ll be going now.”

His soaking wet clothes, the earnest look on his face, and the sincerity pooling in his dark brown eyes unraveled me. He shivered from the cold, just as much as I was, and I shook my head. I knew how it looked. I just didn’t give a damn.

I should have.

“Angelo, where’re you gonna go at this time? I promise you won’t be impinging on my honor.” I touched him on the shoulder as I pressed a hand over my heart. “And I got a shotgun in case you do.”

He blinked.

“I’m kidding. Well, not about the shotgun but about using it. You can get some towels, dry off by the fire, and be on your way at dawn…’fore anyone sees,” I mumbled. “I gotta extra room where you can rest your head.”

Angelo closed his eyes, nodded once. Then crossed my threshold, crossed my heart, and crossed a line that both of us would come to regret immediately.