The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope - By Rhonda Riley Page 0,102

curiosity followed by relief that I was not going to weep, not utter something terrible.

I wiped my eyes, took a deep breath, then I called the girls onto the porch.

When we got back to the kitchen, everyone sat with their instruments in their laps, their eyes on Adam. He stood at the edge of their circle, bow poised. My pulse quickened. He gave me a glance I could not read. As his eyes skipped across the girls’ faces, he played the first notes of “When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again” at a dirge-like tempo. The other musicians picked up.

Rosie was the first to begin singing. Soon Gracie joined her singing, then Sarah and Lil. They faced their father as they sang. He bent slightly at the waist, swaying. The natural harmony of the girls’ voices and the mournful tempo filled the room. “Hurrah. Hurrah.”

After the first verse, only Freddie continued playing with Adam; the others lowered their instruments. When the last note ended, no one moved. Adam bowed to the girls. Marge cleared her throat and said, “That was pretty, real pretty, girls. Adam.”

Then someone announced “Haste to the Wedding.” The lively jig sprang up and the room returned to itself. Adam nodded good-bye to Freddie and put his fiddle away. I waved to Marge and corralled the girls toward the door.

Marge followed and stopped us on the steps, her eyes shining. “That was some of the prettiest singing I’ve heard in a long time. Where’ve you been keeping those voices? Come sing something at Sunday school next week.”

On the way home, the girls debated Marge’s proposal. Neither Gracie nor Rosie wanted to give up their new freedom from church. Lil thought it was a good idea, but wanted to sing her favorites from West Side Story. Sarah, who’d been silent during her sisters’ discussion, ended the debate with a single pronouncement: “If they’re going to stare at us anyway, let’s give ’em a good reason.” She looked up at Adam. “If we’re singing in church, you’ll come listen to us?”

He cupped her head, smoothing her hair. “I’ll always be there when y’all are singing.”

The girls sang first at Sunday school services, visiting a different class in the children’s group each week. Depending on what part of the church they were in, I heard them as I sat in my adult class, their close sister harmony resonating down the church halls. My heart beat faster when I heard them, even at home when they practiced.

At least superficially, my family ignored what they now knew about Adam, as they had ignored the obvious fact that Addie’s father was not who she and I claimed him to be. Her situation had been beyond her control, an old story with easily traceable motives. She was clearly a relative and treated as such. Adam, on the other hand, had transgressed in an inexplicable, willful, and literally painful way. No one confronted him, but there was a short pause, an intake of breath, when he walked into a room.

Momma continued to welcome us with unaltered enthusiasm. On the rare occasions now when we were all at her house with my brother and sisters, Momma’s presence tempered Bertie’s judgmental chill. Joe retreated into a kind of jovial formality. Rita never quite lost that startled look around Adam, actually flinching if he spoke with any suddenness or volume. Only Daddy seemed completely unaffected, his smoking and rocking habits uninterrupted.

Momma was the only one to ever ask me outright about what happened at Jennie’s funeral. We were on the front porch, shelling the first of the white acre peas. All of the girls were out of earshot. Momma leaned over and looked straight into my face. “Evelyn, do you understand what happened at the funeral? Has Adam ever done anything like that before?” Her hands were still as she waited for my response.

For the first time in years, I felt the urge to tell Momma the truth about Addie and Adam. But I couldn’t face the possibility that she would not believe me, that she would think I was crazy. The truth seemed too fantastic for the porch we sat on, for the peas we shelled. I pushed away the urge to confide and wiped my tears. “No, Momma, I don’t know what happened. Adam didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“I know that. That should be clear to anybody. He was just hurting so much himself. I swear, though, I’ve never felt anything like that in my life and