The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope - By Rhonda Riley Page 0,101
Gracie brought Adam’s fiddle to me and laid the battered case in my hands. She tucked her hair behind her ears, a gesture that often preceded an important announcement on her part. “I talked to Marge. They’re still having their regular Sunday picking party. She said Freddie would like to see Daddy there. And Grandma says it would be nice to see us one Sunday evening before we head over to Freddie’s.” Gracie, the diplomat. She didn’t ask and she didn’t say I’d fallen down on the job. She just tried to fix things.
The next Sunday, after dinner, I slipped Adam’s fiddle into the trunk when we all piled into the car for an afternoon visit with Momma. Later, as we were saying good-bye to Momma, I shooed Lil and Sarah off down the road toward Marge and Freddie’s. I got the fiddle out of the trunk and strolled toward Freddie’s with it under my arm, Rosie by my side. I looked back over my shoulder to see Gracie tentatively grinning up at her daddy, her arm looped through his.
Sarah and Lil raced ahead of us and clambered up the steps and into the house. Marge’s voice carried past the music, “Well, look who’s here!” She held the screen door open and nodded at Adam as he passed by, her familiar smile forced wider than usual.
The pickers crowding the kitchen watched as Adam entered. No one moved to offer him space. I felt a shriveling heat in my chest. Then Freddie stood. With a grave smile, he extended his hand to Adam. “Glad to see y’all back.” He stepped aside, offering his chair. I was almost faint with gratitude for his simple gesture.
Adam sat, pulled his fiddle out of the case, and began tuning up. The other musicians shifted in their seats and plucked at strings.
The next tune began, a waltz. Adam paused, his bow above the strings a beat past everyone else, a distant look of concentration on his face. Then he plunged in. The tightness in my chest uncoiled a little.
Sarah grabbed Lil’s hand to pull her into the living room to dance, but Lil pressed against my leg and swatted her away. Marge led Gracie into the small space left in the center of the kitchen. They waltzed through the living room, out to the front porch and back, with Rose and Sarah following in exaggerated dips and swirls. Gracie stood taller than Marge now. Her small breasts pressed above the full shelf of Marge’s.
Soon Rosie would be budding, too. My girls’ bodies would ferry them away from this time. An awful joy swelled in my throat and I had no skin, no bone between world and heart.
I wiped my face and picked up Lil, a barely manageable weight for me, and waltzed her across the room.
Gripping his fiddle, Adam played with his eyes closed. The waltz ended and we clapped.
As the next tune, “Pretty Polly,” began, the girls, Marge, and I wandered off to the porch. The girls immediately vanished into the darkness, headed toward the mill. Their voices carried back to us. Marge and I sat in matching rockers.
“It’s good to have y’all here. To see the girls dancing,” Marge said after a moment. “How are you holding up, Evelyn? All of you?” The music wafted down the hall. I strained to keep one ear on the girls and listen for any falter in Adam’s playing. But in Marge’s question, I heard the now-familiar lilt that was more than simple condolences. Few people spoke to me those days. Those who did always asked the same question: “How are y’all doing?” But the questions not asked seemed to resonate in their voice: “What did he do? Will he do it again?”
“Fine. Fine,” I usually answered. I’d hardly done more than exchange greetings with anyone outside of family since the funeral.
I looked at Marge’s plump, sweet profile and wanted to bury my face in her neck and tell her that my husband seemed to be gone, that I saw how others looked at him now, a small, hard glance before their eyes slid over and away from him. I wanted to ask her how it could be that grief gutted me every day, yet my body remained whole and normal, unbloodied. Instead, I said, “It’s not easy, but we’re all doing as well as can be expected.”
She rubbed my hand and I saw in her face that same small surge of relief that I’d seen on others,